“Dad, dad, dad, dad, daaaad,” Jamila nudged the snoring man in his cot. His arm was thrown across his face and his mouth was hanging open just wanting her to drop something in it. Despite her calling and her poking - and several attempts to hold his nose - Lee Jordan was out like a light. “For Merlin’s sake Dad, you sound like a drunken hippogriff,” she sighed and pushed him one last time for good measure before pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and slipping from the tent silently. Going to the Quidditch World Cup had been the most exciting news she had gotten all summer, but her Dad had failed to tell her that she would be the only one going with him. Well, her brother and sister were around somewhere, but he seemed to think they were old enough to go on their own. Which was beyond ridiculous, when did you get too old to spend sleepless night with your roaring, snoring Dad in a cramped tent that smelled like firewhiskey and old socks? Apparently, not until after sixteen, so Jamila was trapped. Her Mom wouldn’t be caught dead camping, even it they had a pretty nice tent, so it was just Jamila and her Dad.

Tents dotted the field around her, the quiet sounds of the early hours of the morning the only thing that pierced the silence. Hushed voices echoed from nearby campus and dying fires glowed around the landscape. Jamila could almost see her breath in the cool air of the very early morning, the sun not even starting to poke it’s head over the horizon. It was too early for the sun, but the sun didn’t have Lee in it’s tent. The man sounded like a chorus of dragons. Hugging her arms around herself, Jamila picked her way around campsites and travelers that clearly couldn’t afford tents. She nearly jumped out of her skin as a clearly drunk man practically bowled her own when he hollered in his sleep with his arms and legs flailing angrily. Jamila didn’t stop long enough to see if he was alright.

The grass was damp under her sneakers, a slight squeaking matching her steps as she made her way toward the trees that outlined the field of tents. Jamila darted around an impressive tent, that looked like it must have held a mansion inside as the trees loomed in front of her. Her Dad had told her about the attack on the World Cup when he was her age, he would have lost his mind if he knew that she had wandered off. He had told her all about the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. She glanced at the sky and tried to picture the green skull glowing directly above her, she squinted hard to try to will the nearest cloud to take it’s shape or at least something like it.

Would she had been scared? Jamila didn’t want to think so, she was sixteen, she knew about Death Eaters, they didn’t seem too scary. Harry Potter had been the same age that her father had been and he had defeated them. How bad could they be if they were beaten by a teenager? Jamila laughed and kicked at a pile of leaves, she could take Death Eaters, probably. She dragged her sneakers through a pile of leaves, drawing pictures in the dirt when she heard the sound of rustling behind her. “Who’s there?” she asked nervously, suddenly scared. Who was she kidding, she couldn’t take Death Eaters, she was only sixteen! She couldn’t even use magic outside of Hogwarts yet!

tag - OPEN
wordcount - 608
outfit - coming soon