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So, here's the thing. Sage is already not a fan of Quidditch. She doesn't understand the joy in watching a bunch of tossers on brooms throw around a ball and catch a golden thing for points. She gets that it's exciting that Ireland won, and Ron's crush on the seeker of the Bulgarian team was funny to see, but she still doesn't see the point. She doesn't like Quidditch. And she especially doesn't like Quidditch when probably the entire campground is having a party around them.
"I hate the Irish," says Sage.
"Aren't you friends with Seamus?" Ron asks.
"That's irrelevant," Sage scowls. Ron raises his hands in surrender. "S'what I thought."
"They're getting really rowdy," one of the twins says, looking a little bit worried even though he's still got a giant grin on his face. "Maybe they're sacrificing leprechauns to repay their gods for the win."
"The Irish don't have a different set of gods to anyone else, you idiot," Ginny scoffs. Ron smacks her over the back of the head, so she shoves him off of his chair. Sage cackles.
"Alright, you lot," says Mr Weasley, clapping his hands as he stands up and then dusting them on his trousers, like all dads do. "Finish your drinks and then off to bed. We've to be off the campground early tomorrow morning."
Sage's mug is already empty, so she stands up. Harry catches her eye, so she walks to him.
"I forgot," she says, digging in her cardigan pocket and retrieving a folded-in-half photograph. "Your mum and dad and Sirius and you. Nicked it from a photo album, I'm sure Dad won't notice."
Harry beams at her. "Thank you, Sage."
"It's nothing," she says with a smile. "Least I can do."
Then she, Hermione and Ginny all go to their tent (even though she doesn't understand why the boys and girls have to be separated) (like, Ginny's a little kid) (Hermione's like a sister to the Weasley's) (and Sage) (well) (Sage is a lesbian) and start to settle down for the night.
"Night girls," says Sage from her bed.
"Love you guys," says Ginny from her bed.
"Sweet dreams," says Hermione from her bed.
Sage closes her eyes. And, what seems like only seconds later, they snap back open.
"Come on," Mr Weasley is saying to them, over the top of loud screams and shouting from outside. "You need to get up. We need to go. Now."
"What's the matter?" Hermione asks blearily, scrubbing her eyes and running a hand over her cloud of hair.
"Is it the Irish?" Ginny murmurs. "Still?"
"It isn't the Irish," says Mr Weasley. "Come on, we'll get to safety and I'll explain everything."
