Carrie's POV

I was so scared that my Aunt and Uncle weren't going to allow me to leave with Carla, but I was in luck. All they had wanted was confirmation from my mother that it was alright with her, and a promise that I would call them at least once a day so they knew that I was okay. I couldn't believe my luck.

I had been to the World Cup once before, when I was just a kid and it had been held in America. Carla had taken me then, too, and it was something that I would never forget. Because of that one trip, I was now a huge Quidditch fan; it had been that trip that had completely immersed me in the magical world.

I was counting down the days until Carla would arrive in England, and I had a very hard time paying attention to what my Aunt and Uncle were planning for us to do. I felt bad about my lack of attention, but I couldn't help it, and I wasn't the only one who had a hard time paying attention. Hermione, too, seemed excited about something, but I wasn't sure what. Math camp, maybe. I knew it was mean, but I laughed anyway. That would be just the thing that she would be interested in; she was not a sporty person, like me.

Finally, the day arrived. I had packed a small backpack with just the bare necessities; a change of clothes, tooth brush, toothpaste, and, of course, my wand. I tucked this carefully in among my socks, hoping to God that I wouldn't need to use it.

Hermione was waiting in the car with her parents. She was bouncing in her seat, and I laughed at her impatience as I climbed in the back with her.

"Well, it took you long enough," she scowled as I buckled myself in and set the bag down on the floor by my feet. "I want to get going."

"Where are you going?" I asked as we pulled out of the driveway.

"I'm going to stay with a friend and his family for a couple of days," she explained, still bouncing slightly.

"You're staying with his family?" I asked, smirking when she blushed furiously.

"Yes, with Ron and his family," she muttered, squirming uncomfortably. "And his sister Ginny, and my other friend, Harry."

"Oh, okay," I chuckled. "I was just clarifying. Do I get to meet this Ron?"

"No," she said quickly. "We're dropping you off, first. Maybe some other time."

"I'll hold you to that, you know," I told her, and she grinned sheepishly at me. "I will meet him, and sooner rather than later, I would prefer."

"Maybe," she muttered, and turned her attention to the passing cars out the window. I laughed, and followed her example.

We arrived at The Savoy much sooner than I thought we would, and I saw Carla standing outside, having a smoke while she waited for me. I waved at her as we crawled out of the car, and she waved back, grinning. Aunt … looked at her worriedly for a moment, and I could tell that she was debating whether to change her mind or not. I rolled my eyes and told my aunt not to worry. I knew that Carla would never let anything happen to me, but now that I thought of it, her outward appearance wasn't totally comforting.

She was wearing a pair of tight red skinny jeans and a white tank top with a black and grey striped sweater, which was far too big for her. Her black Converse were ratty looking and dirty. She had several piercings in her face and a large dragon tattoo on her back that trailed down her arms and could be seen because her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows. Like always, I thought she was beautiful.

I still remember the first time I had ever met Carla. My mother had decided against sending me to Salem's Academy of Magic in my second year, because of the lack of talent had by the teachers, and decided to have me home schooled instead. And because both she and Dad are Muggles, they couldn't teach me, so she began looking for a tutor for me. Carla had been the first person to be interviewed, and when Mom had opened the door to greet her, she had almost passed out. But Carla had proven herself to be very competent in teaching, and I quickly surpassed my grade level. She had been an almost permanent fixture at our house ever since.

And apart from magic, Carla taught me all of the things that an older sister should; all about boys, and dating and kissing; about drugs and alcohol, which she would not let me even look at until my most recent birthday; and, most importantly, in my books, she taught me everything about Quidditch.

"Hello, love," she said, walking forward and wrapping her arms around me. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

I laughed at her familiar, thick accent, and hugged her back. "I'm pretty sure it's only been three weeks, Carla. Not the end of the world."

"Well I know I've missed you," she laughed and kissed my cheek dramatically. "That's it; you're never leaving me again."

"Cut the dramatics," I rolled my eyes. "Carla, this is my Aunt….. and my Uncle…, and this is my cousin, Hermione."

"It's great to finally meet you all," she said, holding out her hand politely. "I've heard tons about you from Carrie and Mrs. Walker."

"It's lovely to meet you, too," Aunt …. Smiled back, deciding that Carla wasn't as bad as she had previously thought. "Are you sure you're up to handling this one by yourself?"

"Of course," Carla assured her, flinging an arm around my shoulders. "Carrie and I have gone on many little adventures together, haven't we?" I nodded enthusiastically. "We'll be perfectly fine, I'm sure."

"Alright," Uncle …. said, looking down at his watch. "Well, we're going to have to head out, if we're going to get Hermione to her friend's place on time."

"Oh, of course," I grinned. I leaned forward and hugged my family, leaving Hermione for last. "Now don't you have too much fun with your Ron," I stage-whispered to her, and to my satisfaction, she blushed beet red. I could hear Carla laughing from behind me. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Bye." Hermione got into the car, and they drove off, leaving me and Carla standing on the sidewalk.

"Are you ready?" she almost squealed, grabbing my arm and dragging me through the crowded streets. I laughed as her accent broadened; it only did that when she was extremely excited about something.

"Of course," I replied, clinging to her arm. "Where are we meeting up with your family?"

"Just a couple of blocks from here," she told me. "At this little pub called The Leaky Cauldron. You'll finally get to meet Seamus, too."

I could tell that she was looking at me out of the corner of her eye, but I refused to acknowledge her last comment. She had shown me a picture of her family one day two years ago, and I stupidly made a comment on the cuteness of her little brother; she hadn't left me alone about it since.

The Leaky Cauldron was only about six blocks away from The Savoy, where my Aunt and Uncle thought we were staying, but it seemed to take us absolutely forever to walk there. It was probably because I was just so nervous about meeting Carla's family and excited about getting to the camp ground where we were staying.

In all of the times that I had been in London, I had never been to this part of the city. The streets were narrower and the buildings, stores and houses alike, were more shabby and grubby looking. Carla and I continued down the street, stopping in front of a shabby, dark looking building. I wrinkled my nose in distaste, and was deeply grateful that my family was not with me; there was no way that they would let me go inside.

"Come on, Carrie, it's not that bad," Carla grinned brightly, noticing the looking on my face. "It's really a nice place; wait until you get inside."

I shrugged and, knowing that I didn't really have a choice in the matter, followed Carla through the heavy door and into the dim-lit pub. I was surprised when I looked around; I had expected to see a filthy interior and some pretty sketchy people, and I wasn't disappointed (there were some pretty shady characters in the corners of the room) but there were also groups of normally dressed people, even some families with young children.

"I told you it wasn't so bad," Carla whispered in my ear. "This is a pretty popular spot here in London."

"Yes, I see," I muttered. "Is your family here yet?"

"I don't see them," she muttered, frowning as she searched the room. "Come on, let's go grab a drink at the bar while we wait."

"I'm only fourteen," I reminded her quickly. Carla had a habit of trying to sneak me a drink every now and again. Usually, I didn't complain, but as we were in a pub in London where I knew no one, and I was about to meet her family for the first time, I didn't think it was appropriate for me to be intoxicated.

"Well, you can have a butterbeer," she grinned. "Those aren't very strong, you know."

Carla ordered our drinks, and then led me to a small table in the middle of the pub. I set my bag down on the floor in front of me, and looked cautiously at the bottle that she offered me.

"What is this, again?" I asked, peering through the bottle top.

"Butterbeer," she laughed. "Just drink it, Carrie. It's good for you."

"Yeah, that's what you told me about lemon gin, too," I muttered, but took a sip anyway. I was surprised by how sweet and rich it was; it was delicious.

Carla laughed and smacked her hand on the table, remembering the first time I had ever gotten drunk. It had not been a good night. "I told you to take a sip, you fool, not chug the whole bottle. You can't blame me for your stupidity."

"You were supposed to be watching me!" I accused, jokingly.

"It's a sad tale when a girl can't take a wee nip to the loo without her charge getting smashed," she grinned, raising a pierced eyebrow at me. "It taught you a lesson, though."

"Yes," I replied drily. "Don't go to parties with Carla."

She shook her head, still grinning, and took a sip from her glass. I wasn't sure what she was drinking, but I could guarantee that it wasn't butterbeer. Something caught her eye, and she choked on her drink for a moment before standing up and rushing towards the door. I turned and saw her embracing a short, sturdy looking man and a beautiful, plump woman, both who looked to be in their early-to-mid forties. A young boy stood beside them, grinning admiringly up at Carla, and after a moment, she turned and pulled him into a tight hug. Keeping her arm wrapped around the boy, she led the group to where I was still sitting.

"Carrie," she said, smiling brilliantly at me. "This is my parents, Joe and Sarah Finnegan." I looked up at the two of them, and they both grinned down at me, offering me their hands. I got up from my seat and shook both of their hands politely. "And this here, Carrie, is my little brother, Seamus." I caught the evil grin she gave me, and it took all of my self-control not to roll my eyes. Instead, I smiled at the boy beside her, and offered my hand, acting confidently. When he spoke, however, I nearly fell down. His voice was deep for someone so young, and although Carla's Irish accent was amazing, something about it coming from the lips of a better-than-decent-looking guy around my age made me want to swoon.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, looking me right in the eye as he shook my hand warmly.

"You too," I squeaked, trying my hardest not to blush, and knowing full-well that I was failing miserably.

"We've heard lots about you, dear," Carla's mother told me, sitting down at our table while her husband went to get drinks.

"Yeah," Seamus agreed, sitting in the seat beside mine. "You seem much smarter in person, though."

"Oh, hush yourself, Seamus," Carla scowled, smacking her little brother up the backside of his head. "You don't need to tell her everything that I tell you."

"Please, don't," I agreed. "I don't need to be reminded about all of the idiotic things that I've done."

Mrs. Finnegan smiled softly down at me, and Seamus laughed, making me blush more than I had before. Mr. Finnegan came back moments later, his hands filled with drinks for all of us. Everyone took their glass and took a large drink out of it immediately, but I was apprehensive.

"What is this?" I asked, peering into the glass. It was filled with a clear liquid that looked like water, but it was letting off a strong, alcoholic aroma.

"Fire whisky," Seamus replied brightly. "It's good stuff, it is."

"Is it strong?"

"Not really," he replied. "Just gives you a nice warm feeling, is all."

I took his word for it, and took a large mouth full of the liquid. It was much stronger than I had expected, and gave my mouth a slightly uncomfortable burning sensation, but I decided that it was rude to spit it back out, so I swallowed my mouthful in one large gulp. This was a mistake; the spirits burned my throat and down into my stomach, where they settled with a warmth that threatened to overwhelm me. I choked, and felt my eyes water. My face was as red as a Carla's pants.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, trying to fight back a laugh.

"You said it wasn't strong!" I coughed.

Carla looked up at me in concern, but once she realized that I was perfectly fine, she began to laugh, and it took her a very long time to calm herself down.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, wiping tears from her eyes. "You should have seen your face, Carrie."

I crossed my arms and glared at her, my face still red, but now more from embarrassment than from the strong drink.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Finnegan asked, confused.

"Carrie's not used to alcohol," Carla explained. "The drinking age in the states is twenty-one; I should have warned you not to get her anything."

"Twenty-one!" Seamus looked at me as though I had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer and had been told I only had two weeks to live. "You poor girl! So, you've never drank before?"

"Nothing that strong," I admitted, pointing to the glass of Fire whisky that still sat in front of me. "But I did have lemon gin, once."

Carla snorted again, but I shot her a warning glance and she said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Finnegan said, looking at me with a frown. "I didn't even think about that."

"It's fine," I assured him. "I'm okay, now."

"Yeah," Carla stood up and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. "Carrie here is pretty tough; she can handle it."

I nodded, and Mr. Finnegan looked at his watch.

"Sweet Mother!" he exclaimed. "We've been here longer than I had planned. If we want to get to the tent tonight, we'd better leave now. The portkey is going to leave in a few minutes."

We all stood quickly, Seamus downing the remainder of my drink with a grin and a wink, and we all hurried from the pub and back out onto the busy London street.

"Where is it, Dad?" Carla asked.

"Down the next alley," he replied, pointing to an alley where a group of four others were headed. "With them, I suppose."

"Urg," I shuddered, and Carla fell back to walk with me. She knew how I felt about alleyways; I'd watched one too many episodes of CSI.

"You guys too, eh?" asked a man from the other group, holding up an old tire. "Well, come on then; it leaves in just under a minute."

We all took a good hold on the tire, and waited. I wondered idly what would happen if a Muggle happened to walk by in the next few seconds. Would we have to let go, and find another portkey? Luckily I didn't have to find out. A few seconds later, an eerie blue light shone from the tire, and I felt myself being jerked forward, and traveling into nothing at a frighteningly high speed.