Plot Twist [GEORGE WEASLEY]

17.

The atmosphere at the stadium was exciting. The people's love for Quidditch was buzzing through the air, electrifying it. It took hold of Amara's own heart, making it jump happily in her chest.  

Her father and she were making their way up a long staircase up to the stands. She could view faces painted with either Bulgarian or Irish colors. Some wore top hats of green. Some were shirtless, chest decorated with red text saying, 'Painted with the blood of the Irish!'. A bit vulgar but, she could see it was the spirit of competition. She was here for it. 

She, herself, had shamrock green stripes on her cheek. She had brought some magical hair dye and dyed half of her hair green. The navy blue from last time had faded back to Amara's natural dark brown. She was also wearing a large shirt with one of the players' names and numbers on it. The hem dangled at her knees.

Her father had shapeshifted his bald head to green dreadlocks. He was wearing a full-on green ensemble. He looked like broccoli, thought Amara. It was weird to see her father having hair as well as he was usually bald.

"Our seats are at the top," Zane pointed at the top ranks. Where the government officials and the rich people sat.  One could see everything. The crowd. The advertisements. The Quidditch players zooming around. 

Amara's legs were stinging when they reached the third tier. Why they could not just have a magical elevator? If muggles could do so without any magic why they could not? What kind of person forced another to walk ten feet of stairs? 

Zane, a trained auror, was having no trouble braving the stairs. In fact, he was happy to sweat his way to the top. Amara now regretted not going on jogs with her father on mornings. "Come on, don't you want to live longer?" he had asked.

"I don't mind dying early. Bye," she answered before she fell back into deep snores.

Their seats were in the front. There were no tall heads to peer over. Amara was quite stout. The seats next to her fathers and hers were not vacant thanks to two familiar people. Her sister and her boyfriend, hands intertwined. Her boyfriend was wearing red and Madeline green. Shocking. They both supported opposite teams.

"Maddie!" Zane exclaimed.

Madeline turned her face, alarmed. Her eyes wide, she stood up, tearing away from Tom. Madeline looked different. Last time she had seen her sister, her hair was in dreads. Now, her hair was straight. How strange.

Her pale-ass boyfriend gave a meek wave. Not a hint of happiness of in his eyes. His presence did not seem as genuine as before. More sinister, Amara noted. His lips grimly curved into a smile. He stood up too, hand extended. "Sir," he said, politely, to Zane.

Hastily, Zane shook his hand.

"I'm glad to see you came along with a fellow Quidditch lover," he eyed Tom's attire warily.

Tom stared down at his jersey. He wore a red, Krum jersey. He shrugged, laughing slightly. "It's a family thing. We've been supporting the Bulgarians for a long time," he explained. 

Zane nodded before sitting down. It was clear that Zane did not give a fuck. She didn't either.

Amara acknowledged her sister and her boyfriend with a nod. She was not quite ready to chat with her sister. Her boyfriend also gave her the creeps with his cheekbones sticking out like that. It was as if he had not experienced joy or happiness in a while. It was strange as Madeline was happy with Tom. Was it not supposed to be mutual? Amara pondered.

"I didn't know you two were coming to the match," Madeline told.

Zane lifted an eyebrow. He regarded Madeline in a dubious fashion. "Of course I would've come. Why would I just give you extra tickets if Amara and I weren't coming?" said Zane. "The World Cup is a family affair like it always was."