Dragon's Core

Chapter One- The Game

Chapter One

The Game

Fields upon fields of tents lay, clustered alongside hundreds of thousands of bodies- all of which eagerly awaiting the same singular event. An event where history was sure to be recorded. A battle of two teams, Bulgaria versus Ireland. Thousands gathered over a span of two weeks to witness the Quidditch World Cup that was to take place this evening.

But among all those who gathered, none were as brash and as loud as this particular group. Consisting entirely of teenagers, this assemblage shared similar apparel of brightly coloured loose pants and long skirts, clinking gold jewelry and silk adorning scarves. The group of six- three boys and three girls, crowded around the outside of a square tent, shouting to each other in a foreign language –each competing to be the loudest.

Corin heaved a sigh from where she sat –surrounded by the rowdy group. Her Uncle had unwittingly given her far too many tickets to the event –in which she had handed them off to her school friend, who, in turn gave the tickets to a group of travelling gypsies. To be fair, she hadn’t been expecting an invite to travel with the group –swept up in the prospect of escaping the Carpathian Mountains –where her overbearing father and capricious mother secluded her for the entirety of her childhood –Corin had immediately accepted the invitation to travel.

 She had enjoyed the summer travelling with this band of estranged teenagers –so much so that she was currently weighed down with the knowledge that this was her last night with the group, before her Uncle would take her home on his way back to Bulgaria.

A hand lay on her shoulder –interrupting her in the middle of her brooding. Corin glanced up from where she had been staring down at her lap, absentmindedly fiddling with her silken shoulder-wrap. Stefan –her school friend, blinked down at her with his large brown eyes, his thick, dark brows furrowed in agitation.

“Corin –Aventis and I searched everywhere for wood piles, but the idiot can’t read a map for shit, and he won’t give it to me,” Stefan spoke in heavily accented English, as to ensure that his insults would go over the others’ heads, “Let’s ask someone where the wood is.”

She fought a smile at Stefan’s cantankerous attitude, and allowed him to tug her up from where she was seated. Clasping her hand in his own, Stefan all but dragged her to the nearest campsite of Englishmen. Corin briefly admired the drastic contrast between his bronzed skin and her own milky-white flesh –attributed to the lifetime she spent in the thick mountain clouds, in which no sun could breach.

“Excuse me,” Stefan approached an Englishman, a tall man –although equal in height to Stefan –with receding ginger hair and horn-rimmed frames. “Do you know where the wood is?”

But the man merely blinked, unable to understand Stefan’s rough English. “Sorry?”

Stefan heaved a sigh, and turned a look back at Corin. The message was clear on his face, and all Stefan had to do was mutter her name helplessly before she stepped up to the plate.

Corin pulled her hand from Stefan’s tightening grip, and smiled up at the man, “Er –hi, we’re from the camp next to yours, the uh, the loud one.” She shrugged helplessly, “my friend and I were wondering if you knew where the wood piles are?”

“Oh,” the confusion melted off of the man’s face at her explanation. “Oh, yes of course –my sons can show you, if you’d like.” Distractedly, he called to the family clustered around the fire, “Fred! George! –Come here!”

He smiled kindly at the pair, “Two of my boys look to be about the same age as you –sixteen, right?”

“Seventeen,” Corin corrected, “And Stefan is eighteen.”