Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding W...
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Massive crowds where gathered in the campgrounds. Tents of all sizes, large and small, some several stories high others not, some with flagpoles bearing banners and flags of either Irish green or Bulgarian red. Lively music was being played and brooms whizzed above the heads of the Lestranges and the only Saintday as they walked by aweing at the sights.
The Quidditch World Cup was, alike most of the magical world, absolutely unbelievable. Drunks cheered in the streets with painted faces showing their team pride. Nel had wanted to paint her face Irish Green but Cloelia had slapped her hands away at the simple mentioning of it. Instead she had been cohered into wearing a clean face with dark gray formal dress that resembled a coat and seemed to reach right above her knees matched with a pair of pointy witch boots. Her guardian insisted proper attire would be essential if they were to be in the presence of the Minister of Magic himself Cornelius Fudge.
Elowen's dark eyes scanned the crowd as she sought out any familiar trace of her friends. Tracey had said they would be by the Press tent. It took her some time to spot them not far from the entrance to the stadium.
"I'm going to go say hi to my friends," she said to the Lestranges. Both shot her a disapproving look. "Want to come?" She asked Ellar with hopeful eyes and a broad smile.
"No," he shot down coldly before walking into the stadium disinterested. She frowned a little at his cold response.
"Don't be long," Cloelia said before turning and following after her son.
Nel crossed a maze of people dodging drunks and loud cheering individuals until she reached the trio standing just outside of the tent. She tapped Theo's shoulder and he turned around giving her a confused look.
It took him a moment to realize it was his friend tapping his shoulder and not a stranger. "Nel?" He asked eyes going wide at the realization.
The long shaggy bangs and choppy hair were gone. So were the oversized worn clothes she would wear. Before the group stood someone, who seemed to look like what polished young lady in sophisticated Pureblood Society would look like.
Tracey turned around and was less discrete about her shock.
"Holy smokes! What happened to you?" She asked in awe, still tackling her friend into a hug.
"What are you talking about?" The orphan responded cluelessly in the embrace. "I told you, I got adopted," she simply shrugged.
"Seems like manners aren't the only things the Lestrange have instilled in you," Daphne butted eyeing the girl's new fashion from head to toe. She herself was wearing something similar. Of course she knew about her adoption, it seemed like most individuals belonging to the same social circle as the Lestranges were well aware.
Nel still found it odd that Greengrass had been invited in her spot when she wrote to her friends saying she'd simply meet them at the game.
"Manners, schmanners. Who cares if your finger is up or down when you're having a drink?" she said reaching from some green paint from Tracey's face and smearing it on her cheek.
