Louis Tomlisnon had been amazed from the moment he landed on the campsite for the Quidditch World Cup; surrounded by wizards and witches of all ages, all ready to cheer on their team of choice. Louis, and one of his closest friends, Calum, had come with their families to cheer on Bulgaria, and their star player, Viktor Krum. Louis had no doubt that Krum would lead the Bulgarians to victory, and to prove his point, Louis wore a scarf with the Bulgarian colours; showing anyone who glanced his way where his loyalty rested. Hearing Calum's voice, Louis turned to look at his younger counterpart, nodding. "Alright, mate. Don't get lost." Louis teased, one corner of his mouth lifting into a mischevious smirk. "Shout me if you see anything good, yeah? I'm probably going to stretch my legs, shouldn't be too far away." Louis reassured. "Yeah, tell him yourself if you see him!" Louis smirked, saluting Calum before turning to walk away, his hands buried in his pockets casually as he began to study the bodies of people around him, each one as excited as the other, the atmosphere absolutely brilliant, something Louis wanted to commit to memory: it felt good. Walking down a row of tents, Louis whistled a happy tune, nodding at a few wizards who turned to look at him, offering them his signature, Prince Charming smile as he walked past.
Rosie tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear as she listened to her younger brother - too young to yet attend Hogwarts yet - badger on about getting some souveniers - he seemed desperate for an emerald green top hat to show their support for Ireland. Their parents had gone off to greet some old friends a few tents over, leaving Rosie with the over excited ten year old. "Oh, alright, James." She relented. "We can go and see if the souvenier cart is still around, but you must stay close, do you understand?" And when her brother nodded vigorously, Rosie rolled her eyes playfully, throwing on a hoodie to keep herself warm. The air was humid, but England had never been famous for it's wonderful weather. Tightening her ponytail so she didn't look too unkempt, afraid of bumping into someone from school in her relaxed state, Rosie took her little brother's hand and guided him out of the tent, ensuring he stayed close to her. The crowds were large, and the buzzing of various conversations were difficult not to eavesdrop on, but Rosie kept her calm, sighing in relief when she heard a vendor calling up ahead. Approaching the cart, Rosie smiled, checking the pockets of her hoodie for some galleons as her brother picked out a green, white and orange scarf and the green top hat.
Fred Weasley had only dreamed of ever attending the Quidditch World Cup, and yet, here he was, in actual attendance, surrounded by his family, his closest friends, and the woman he loved. Grinning with the thought, when Rosalyn sat beside him, Fred offered her a smile, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her close, leaning to press a kiss to the top of her head as he watched the others roast marshmallows in amusement. "Bloody hell Dad, you're going to set the whole tent on fire." Fred teased, his hold on Rosalyn tightening gently, because all he wanted, what he really wanted, was to relish in having her close, having her by his side, how he hoped it would be forever. "Oi," Fred chuckled, looking to George then. "There's nothing wrong with a little wager." Looking to Rosalyn then, Fred grinned. "How about it, sweetheart? Who are you putting your bets to?" Fred arched an amused brow, but his expression soon softened when he caught Rosalyn looking to him. "Are you having fun, darling?" Fred asked quietly so only she could hear him, and his eyes travelled from her, to her mug of tea, to the fireplace, and back to Rosalyn once more, admiring how she looked in the light of the sun setting among the horizon. Rosalyn had always been such a beautiful vision, and Fred couldn't believe that he got to call the beautiful Ravenclaw his. Fred had never known a love like it, the love he felt for her, and the pride and happiness that she caused to burn through him at a high velocity each and every day. "Are you looking forward to the match?" The corners of Fred's lips upturned then, his usual, mischevious exterior shining through.
Cherrie sat contently beside George, watching Harry and Hermione teach Arthur Weasley how to roast a marshmallow with a soft smile, not wanting to admit she was fond of muggle customs. Coming from a long line of purebloods, Cherrie learned to appreciate the small things the most, and when Rosalyn offered her a cup of tea, Cherrie smiled and leaned to accept the hot drink. "Thank you, love." Cherrie spoke softly, leaning back once more. Hearing George's voice, a sound which brought her more comfort than she could ever explain, Cherrie grinned with his question. "Ireland," she supplied easily, turning to look at her boyfriend, giggling as he tugged her towards him. "Be careful." Cherrie nodded towards the warm mug she nursed between her hands, taking a sip and sighing happily, resting her head on George's shoulders. Hearing his offer though, Cherrie smirked, looking up to George with adoration. "Oh, you're on!" But hearing Rosalyn's warning, Cherrie's smirk only grew. "What're you willing to sacrifice, Weasley?" But when she saw George wiggle his eyebrows, Cherrie laughed, pulling away from George. "Behave yourself!" And although things were going swimmingly so far, Cherrie remembered her parents' words before she'd come to the Weasley's tent. Be careful, and stay quiet - and that was before they'd gone to meet with the Hemmings' and the Clifford family, respectively.
Luke knew what his parents would say if he was caught in the Weasley family tent. He would be accused of besmirching the Hemmings' reputation of a proud bunch of purebloods who thought they were above anything else who carried anything but pure magic through their veins. Luke had to refrain from rolling his eyes with the thought of his family's outdated ideologies. He'd spent his whole life listening to their mind numbing lectures of superiority, how the Dark Lord would favour him upon his return for being a pureblood from a family with influence, but Luke didn't care anymore - he wanted to open his mind, to broaden his horizons, and he silently credited his changing ways to Dahlia Weasley, a beautiful Gryffindor who held his once black heart in her hands. Luke realised he was in love with the girl when he realised he couldn't think of anyone else who deserved to be trusted with his heart. Looking to Dahlia with the thought, he smiled as he followed her gaze to the fluffy things that Harry, Hermione and Arthur Weasley were roasting over the fire. "He most certainly is." Luke smiled softly, his attention back on Dahlia then. "Has he always been so fascinated by muggle things?" And Luke wasn't making fun of Arthur, not at all - he held a large amount of respect for the man, but he couldn't just openly admit that muggle customs fascinated him, too. Grinning, dimples on show, Luke studied Dahlia as she offered him a try. "Will you do it with me? Because if you will, then I'll give it a go." Luke nodded, wanting to think he was brave for accepting Dahlia's silent challenge. "Are they delicious?"
Lily watched in amusement as she watched her Dad holding what Harry and Hermione had called a marshmallow over the open fire, and she wondered what the whole point of roasting the thing was. Tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, Lily turned to look at the boy sat beside her; Michael Clifford. A pureblood Slytherin who Lily didn't want to openly admit she had grown fond of - even coming close to say she loved the boy. He had the most beautiful green eyes, and the most contagious smile Lily had ever seen, and everything about him was so addictive. "Michael," Lily hummed easily, glad the boy was sat beside her, glad that he had the courage to defy his parents and their ideologies and come to a family more accepting. "Do you want to give this a go?" Lily offered the boy sat beside her a gentle smile, but when Lily heard his question, she took a moment to, once again, commit the sound of his voice to memory. He seemed so relaxed, Lily couldn't stop herself from wanting to memorise everything about the moment. "Oh, I don't know. Two very talented teams, it's certainly going to be a close match." Lily offered in response, gently reaching to fix Michael's Irish pattern scarf.
Ashton Irwin had been in complete awe since he'd arrived. This whole experience was something Ashton wanted to memorise, down to the last detail. It was so surreal. So many people, from different countries and different walks of life, had gathered to show their support for whichever side they'd chosen: Bulgaria or Ireland. Resting back on his palms, Ashton even took a moment to relish in the feeling of the grass beneath his hands. "This is so incredible." Ashton grinned to his friend, Namjoon, and although Ashton was still taking everything in, his eyes still studied each person that walked past, subconsciously knowing who he was looking for; a certain Slytherin by the name Octavia Fairchild. The beauty wasn't like others in her house, she held some sort of humanity within her, and Ashton knew - or, Ashton hoped - she was working hard to break free of the shackles of outdated ideologies her parents had placed on her since her birth. On their first day of Hogwarts, Octavia wouldn't even give Ashton a second glance because of his blood status, and yet here they were now, able to hold meaningful conversations, able to laugh together, and each time Ashton heard Octavia's laugh, or witnessed her smile, he fell a little more in love, if that was even possible. He was sure his heart belonged entirely to Octavia, and he although he knew she was unaware of it, Ashton wanted her to keep it. Hearing Namjoon's question, Ashton arched an amused brow at his older friend, but he couldn't tease: he was doing the exact same thing, looking for the girl he adored. "I'm sure she'll be here soon, mate." And although his words held a double meaning, Ashton perked up - quite visibly - when he saw Octavia. "Octavia!" Ashton called with a grin, lifting a hand to wave at her. "Nice of you to join us, at last!"
Ruby weaved through the crowds of people with ease as she searched for any of her friends' familiar faces, but she knew she was searching for one in particular: the handsome face of Namjoon, a fellow Seventh year and the boy she'd been so hopelessly in love with over the past six years. They'd met during their first Potions lesson, and the rest had been history, easily written in both of their timelines, as if they were meant to be a part of each other's stories. Tucking a strand of dusty blonde hair behind her ear, Ruby spotted Octavia and Ashton and quickened her pace, feeling relief flood through her when she saw Namjoon, his back to her. "Joon!" She called happily, crouching beside him. "What're you doing out here?" She asked with a soft smile, wondering why he wasn't joining in with the fun inside of the tent, no doubt hosted by Arthur Weasley and his contagious, eccentric attitude. Reaching to mess up his hair, Ruby giggled. "I've been looking everywhere for you, I thought for sure I was lost." She shifted to sit on the grass beside the beautiful boy that held her heart and soul in his hands, and surprisingly, she was perfectly okay with him keeping hold of them. But this her final year of Hogwarts was approaching, and Ruby had told herself she had to get a move on with telling Namjoon how she felt.
April 27th, 2019 at 01:40am