❝freddie, focus on the letter. your grammar's atrocious.❞
❝you know i can't focus when you sit so close to me.❞
arabella sayer is unusual. not quirky or unlike other girls, mind you, and not unusual because she's a witch, but because she is unafraid...
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❝KRUM GETS THE SNITCH...❞
.・。.・゜✭・.
As they stroll through rows and rows of tents, all belonging to Wizarding families, Ara can't keep her mouth closed. She's never seen this many magical people all in one place, and it's apparently hilarious to Fred and George when she nudges them and points out a particularly ostentatious tent–such as the striped silk tent in the shape of a castle, with white peacocks strutting about at the entrance.
"The Malfoys have arrived," George whispers, rolling his eyes.
"Always the same," Mr. Weasley says, shaking his head with a smile. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
The space Mr. Weasley's pointing to is the empty patch of grass in the far corner of the field, with a wooden sign that reads WEEZLY in large block letters. They all dump their backpacks in one corner, and Mr. Weasley excitedly sets about putting up the tents, chattering about the no-magic rule when they're in such close proximity to Muggles. However, he's not very good at it, and so Harry and Hermione kindly step in to help.
"Let's get out of here before it gets any worse," Fred says out of the corner of his mouth, grabbing Ara's hand and pulling her away. "I heard from Angelina and Lee; they're staying in the next section over."
"What about Alicia?" Ara asks, as George runs to catch up, assuring Mr. Weasley that while they're walking, they'll gather some wood for the fire later. Mr. Weasley certainly is bought in to the Muggle way of things. Ara doesn't mind, though; she finds it endearing.
"Couldn't make it," George replies, falling into step with her and Fred. "Angie said her mum wanted her to get a job this summer. Says she spends too much time on Quidditch."
"Oh, rubbish," Fred scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment. "She should've come, we could've got another ticket."
"She'll be listening on the radio for sure." George nods his agreement.
The sun is rising, the mist around them evaporating, and people everywhere are waking up, cooking breakfast, and talking amongst themselves. They turn the corner into the next section and are immediately overwhelmed by a staggering amount of green and shamrocks: It's as if a clover patch exploded. Ireland's staunch supporters make their dwelling here, that's for sure.
"The end of this row, I think," says Fred, counting signs as they pass each tent, every single one practically swallowed by shamrocks, large and small alike. There are loads of people outside, some of whom Ara recognizes from Hogwarts, who wave excitedly, calling out to friends, chattering animatedly about the match. It's a joyful early-morning atmosphere and Ara revels in it.
