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( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 ) — the quidditch world cup
''Good morning,'' Evangeline greeted the tired and grumpy looking-wizard, who was holding a thick roll of parchment and a quilt.
''Morning, surname?''
''Rosier.''
''I'll find your campsite . . . Rosier . . . Rosier . . . about a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come too.''
''Thank you,'' she replied, beckoning Pinky and Nyx, her new black cat, to follow her.
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. If you had told Evangeline a year ago she would be attending the Quidditch World Cup, she would have laughed in your face and made fun of the sport. But that was then, and this was now. Freshly disowned and her only friends being a house elf and a feline, the brunette thought adding a social event to her calendar wouldn't hurt, even if she would be alone.
After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it were the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a colossal field towards a dark wood on the horizon. A man was standing in the doorway of the building, observing the tents. When he heard their approach, he turned his head to look at them.
''Good morning,'' the Rosier girl addressed once again.
''Morning,'' he replied.
''Would you happen to be Mr Roberts?''
''Aye, I would, and who're you?''
''Rosier — a tent, booked a couple days ago?''
''Aye,'' he replied, consulting a list tacked to the door. ''You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?''
''That's it.''
''You'll be paying now, then?''
''Right— certainly—'' Evangeline muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from her handbag and starting to peel the notes apart. ''This one's a— a— a ten? Yes, I see the little number on it now . . . so this is a twenty?''
''You foreign?'' Mr Roberts asked as the brunette finally handed him the correct notes.
''Foreign?''
''You're not the first one who's had trouble with money,'' he teased. ''I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.''
''Did you really?''
Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. ''Never been this crowded,'' he pondered, looking out over the field. ''Hundreds of pre-bookings, too. People usually just turn up . . . ''
