𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ʰᵖ ˣ ᵐᶜᵘ

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖙𝖜𝖔

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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  I stood there, in shock of what Draco said to me.

  "Well, I am damn gorgeous with everything." I mumbled to myself, my confidence was like an aura around me.

  I shrugged it off, shaking my head and walked towards the trio.

  "I guess I could finally accept the fact that Ireland won, but Viktor still did his best! It was only a difference of ten points!" Ron frowned.

  "Don't be so sad, Ron. I'm sure Bulgaria would be able to win next time." Hermione patted Ron's shoulder.

  I looked at Harry who was staring in the distance, his hand on his forehead, specifically his scar.

  "It hurts again, doesn't it?" I asked as Harry turn to me in shock.

  "What?" Harry frowned, pretending to have no idea about what I just said.

  "Your scar? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." I spoke, before he nodded. Arthur called us as we walked down the box, exiting the stadium.

  I stepped on a few rocks as I groaned, felt like I stepped on a Lego. I was almost knocked down by the twins as they passed by me.

  "Fred, we're rich!"

  "George, we're going to be able to build our joke shop!"

  "Told you, Coley. We'll win." George stopped beside me with a teasing smirk, wrapping an arm around my shoulders while Fred cheered, the bag of galleons in his hands.

  "Congratulations, then. I am so honoured to talk to the richest wizards of this generation!" I mocked, placing a hand on my chest.

  "As you should be." George and Fred kissed my cheek before running off.

  I snorted when I saw the twins jumping around, their arms locked together while holding their bag of galleons. We walked down the hill and headed back to the camp.

  It took us a few minutes to find our tent, which I'm confused about because I think it took me ten minutes or more to find the tent.

  "Home sweet home!" Arthur sighed as he lit up the fireplace, the twins cheering boomed through the small house.

  "Boys, don't tell your mother you've been gambling." Arthur announced as he sat on the couch

  "No worries, Dad," Fred turned to him as he covered himself with the Irish cloth. "These galleons are in good hands, right George?"

  "You're right, Fred." George winked at him.

  "Krum isn't an athlete, he's an artist!" Ron stood up, holding up his small Viktor Krum doll.