Orange Trees | Fred Weasley

Chapter Five

August 26th, 1994

Jericho's grip tightened on his sketchbook as he quietly snuck out of the tent. The cool night breeze hit him dead in the face as the tent flaps opened. He hoped the sudden coldness wouldn't wake his family, and thankfully, as he turned to check one last time, Cedric and his father were still fast asleep.

With one last breath of excitement, he stepped out of the tent and zipped it back up, making sure to make as little noise as possible. He knew however, it didn't matter too much, since the loud partying of their neighbors drowned out any noise he made.

It was now thirty minutes past two in the morning; only two and a half hours since the World Cup ended. The Irish National Team won, much to his family's joy, and the remnants of the match's energy plagued the occupants of the surrounding field. People were still up. Actually, most people were. Partying and celebrating the win or loss of whichever team they were supporting. Jericho didn't care, however, about who won or who lost. He currently had other things on his mind.

Jericho watched the occupants of each campsite as he weaved in and out of the lots. Large groups of people sat gathered around campfires, laughing and talking about the events of the game. Supporters of the Irish sang loudly about the win of the game, while they sloppily danced what Jericho assumed to be was an Irish jig. In many of their hands, large cups of liquid. And seeing as how many of them slurred and toppled around as they moved, it was most likely alcohol.

Many of them cheered and hollered as the young boy passed, yelling 'Go Irish!' as he came into view. Jericho gave them a weak smile as they did, internally praying they wouldn't do anything else.

"Yeah... go Irish... or whatever." Jericho said back, putting an apprehensive and awkward fist in the air. Many of them yelled back enthusiastically, and thankfully, turned back to whatever they were doing.

Jericho eventually made it out of the field of tents, and was thankful he did so without any issues. He now stood before the forest he walked through earlier, paths of lights still flickering toward the now empty stadium. Before he walked through the trees, he thought back to the conversation he overheard after the game.

"After that win, I'm sure the Irish are gonna be partying hard tonight! All of Broomstick Village is gonna wreak of Firewhisky! I feel bad for the Bulgarians!"

"You think we can sneak in and party with them, man?"

"Hell yeah!! I heard the village is just a few minutes west of the stadium!"

"A few minutes west." Jericho repeated to himself, and hoped he wouldn't get lost. A brief thought flashed through his mind, one of his mother telling him not to get into trouble. But in Jericho's eyes, as long as he didn't get lost, there wouldn't be any trouble. With one last breath, the boy trudged down the lit path.

The night was alive with the sounds of the forest: the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant call of an owl, and the soft crunch of Jericho's footsteps on the forest floor. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting a silvery glow on the path ahead as he made his way toward the victors' village..

As Jericho grew closer to the stadium, the loud sounds of the partygoers slowly faded, and Jericho found himself alone with his thoughts. However, this wasn't exactly a bad thing, as Jericho often preferred his thoughts to that of others. He was his own best friend, and as conceited as it may sound, could never get tired of listening to himself think. So for the next twenty minutes, while the boy trudged through the dimly lit path of lanterns, he entertained himself with the company of his mind.