Disclaimer: These charecters belong to J.K. Rowling, except of course Cecelia, she's all mine, and later on Linsi...she's my friends. I DO NOT OWN anything from the world of Harry Potter, other than Cecelia.

R&R please!


Chapter 1-A Rude Awakening

"Cecelia wake up!" a familiar voice shouted from the corner of my bedroom. I rolled over to look at my alarm clock, but couldn't quite make out the numbers. I flopped my hand lazily onto my bedside table and groped around for my wand, before yawning,

"Lumos." I blinked in surprise as my room filled with light, and I could finally see the clock. A wave of drowsiness caught me off guard in realizing the time. "Two o' clock!? You woke me up at two o'clock! Why in the hell would you do that? Do you want to die young?" I could feel the anger coming out of my mouth as I screeched at the rather flabbergasted shape of my brother Cedric. By the look on his face I could tell he hadn't expected me to be so snappy this early in the morning. (I honestly surprised myself. Normally all I can do that early, is rub my eyes, snort a few times, and go back to sleep.)

He threw up his arms defensively. "Sorry, I just thought you might want some time to get ready before the match."

"It's alright Ced, just warn me next time alright?" He scratched his stomach while yawning and turned around drowsily to head back to his room at the end of the hallway.

I groaned and stretched my legs and arms out like a sleepy cat. I didn't much care for my older brother to see me in my bra and panties, but I think it would bother him more than it would me.

I gazed at my overstuffed closet, regretting that getting dressed actually involved getting out of bed. My bed was warm and cozy, and as I placed my bare feet on the wood floors of my room, I realized something. I was awake at two o'clock in the morning with no coffee; that, and the fact that my feet were now frozen thanks to the lack of heaters in the attic.

My room was in the attic, the coldest part of my little town house in London England. Only half of my room had carpet on it, and regrettably it was the side that my bed wasn't. I made a mental note to change that when my term at Hogwarts ended and walked quickly to the other side of my room. I stepped thankfully onto the warm shag carpet and began to paw through my elaborate collection of clothes. I picked out everything I could find that was scarlet and black, the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team's colors.

For the first time in my life, I was going to the Quidditch World Cup, and I was as excited as a three year old alone in a candy shop; granted I had never expected waking up at two in the morning without any coffee, but what the hell…it was worth it. Or at least that's what I thought at the time. I think I could've done without that particular night. Come to think of it, I could've done without that whole year.

After wracking my brain over what I was going to wear, I pulled on a pair of tight black jeans and a scarlet T-shirt, pulled my long black hair, into a tight ponytail, and stroked on a light bit of mascara. Makeup was never a point of conflict for me; all I really needed was mascara, so I was done pretty quickly. After a few more minor adjustments, and after I was sure I was perfect, I grabbed my lucky Bulgaria sweatshirt and hopped on one foot down to Cedric's room. Easier said than done when you're trying to pull your sock on at the same time.

"What do you think?" I asked, popping my hip out and raising my arms into the air.

"You look great." He mumbled from behind his haphazardly place hands.

"Cedric, what did you do?" I knew my brother, and if he was covering his face, there was something wrong. He lowered his hands to reveal the worst attempt at face painting I had ever seen. He had tried to paint something somewhat resembling a checkerboard, but it looked more like an owl had flown in and died on his face.

"Oh my," I gasped, trying my hardest to hold back laughter. "Would you like me to help you?"

He waved his wand over his desk chair to clean the pile of clothes off of it. "You might say that." I sat down and smiled at him.

"Dad says we can't wear face paint anyway. Too obvious to the muggles, said they might suspect something if we all show up with red and black painted faces to a campsite." I wiped half of his face roughly with a washcloth in an attempt to see his natural skin again. He raised an eyebrow and batted my hand away.

"You don't think thousands of grown men in knit ponchos and tutus are going to draw attention?" I laughed. He did have a point, most wizards and witches had no idea what normal muggle clothing was, and thought that a neon orange rain slicker and fishnet leggings would blend in. Explain that to me.