𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄 ★彡ᶜ.ᵈⁱᵍᵍᵒʳʸ

three

NIGHT FELL over the campsite and this is when the real excitement grew. The match was about to begin. Bulgaria v Ireland — the Quidditch World Cup Final. The Weasleys coming from an Irish decent were naturally supporting the Irish. Zola didn't have a desired team, she just enjoyed the thrill of the game. But to satisfy her best friends, she choose to band her face with the Irish flag, but not nearly as bold and dramatic as the twins had done.

The Weasley party trekked up thousands of stairs and they still hadn't got to their seats yet. "Blimey, Dad. How far up are we?" Ron had asked Arthur.

"Well, put it this way," A voice called up to them from the tier below them. Zola immediately recognised it as her uncle's so hid behind George so the Malfoys and Montgomerys wouldn't see her. "If it rains, you'll be the first to know."

"We're in the Minister's box!" Draco spoke smugly as he walked alongside Zion, behind both of their fathers.

"By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!" Zion continued, smugly smirking up to the ginger family.

Lucius jabbed the end of cane into Draco's front while Sylvester whacked the side of Zion's head. "Don't boast, boys," Lucius scolded hi son and nephew. "There's no need with these people."

Harry scowled down the past and present Slytherins and began to usher his friends away from the barrier until Lucius hooked the handle of his cane onto the top of Harry's foot. "Do enjoy yourself, won't you? While you can."

He let Harry go with a smug smile and the group was off.

"That was your uncle?" Cedric had asked Zola, who nodded gravely. "Don't take offence to this, but he's a rather horrid person."

Zola chuckled. "Tell me about it."