I became instantly jealous the moment we entered the tent. On the outside, it didn't look like much, but on the inside, it was even bigger – and much nicer - than my house. The rest of the Weasleys – including, much to my surprise, Charlie – dashed about as they prepared for the match. Fellow family friends Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were practically hidden by the sea of redheads.

"We know it's not quite as extravagant as what you're used to," George teased, leaning against one of the wooden posts as he looked out across the tent, the way a king admires his kingdom.

"But it'll do, won't it?" Fred asked.

"Yeah," I snorted, roughly dropping their briefcase on the ground. "It's fantastic."

Bill chuckled, ruffling my already messy hair as he and Mr. Weasley made their way inside, "Hey guys, look whose here!"

Every head in the tent jerked up, and a dozen eyes suddenly landed on me. All of the facial expressions in the room changed, displaying varying levels of excitement.

"Lola!" several familiar voices exclaimed together.

"Fred!" George said, smiling at his twin. "So good to see you!

"George!" Fred said excitedly, embracing his Fred. "It's good to see you, as well!"

"You two knock it off," Percy scolded. I decided he must be filling in for Mrs. Weasley, who I noticed was not present. It made me a little sad; Molly Weasley had been like a second, slightly more stable mother figure to me.

"Yeah, knock it off," I said, shoving the nearest twin playfully. "I can't help it that your whole family likes me more than you."

"It's good to see you, Lola," Ginny said, smiling at me. She was sitting in a chair at the large, round table while Ron painted shamrocks on her cheeks with finger paints.

"Stop moving," Ron hissed at her. "You're smudging it."

"Sorry," Ginny giggled, the smile not leaving her face for a second as she leaned back again and closed her eyes.

"It's good to see you too, Gin," I said.

"Well, quit standing in the doorway and come on in," Charlie said, his voice filling the room. "Get over here and give me a hug; I feel like I haven't seen you in years!"

"You haven't seen me in years, Chuck," I said, gliding over to the second oldest Weasley son.

Charlie was short – his head didn't even clear Bill's shoulder – and his collection of freckles was larger than that of any of his siblings. He'd built up a lot of muscles, working with dragons in Romania, and I thought he might snap me in half when he wrapped his thick arms around me for a hug.

He laughed, squeezing me tightly for a few seconds before he let me go. I stumbled out of the embrace but managed to catch myself before I fell over completely. "You're really growing up, Lo."

I scratched the back of my neck, "Um… Thanks, I guess…"

"Yup," George said, stepping up to my left side.

"She's turning into a fine young lady," Fred said, stepping up to my right.

"You guys are embarrassing her," Hermione said sternly. "Honestly, why do you too always have to pick on poor Lola?"

"Because she asks for it," they said, pinching my cheeks.

"It's okay," I grumbled, my voice almost uncomprehendible with their hands stretching out my face. "I'm used to it by now."

"But still," she said. "You should stand up for yourself…"

"You shouldn't take it too seriously, Hermione," Ron said, putting the finishing touches on Ginny's face paint. "That's just their thing; the three of them act like that all the time."

"You should get your face painted, too," Ginny said as she got out of the chair. She ran over to the bathroom, to examine her own face in the mirror.

I grinned, "Sure, why not."

"Just don't let Ron do it," she called. Her reflection looked quite disappointed as she touched the tips of her fingers to her cheeks. "This looks awful."

"There's just no pleasing some girls," Ron muttered, crossing his arms.

"I'll paint your face, Lola," George offered. "My hands are much more graceful than Ron's."

I snickered, "Oh, is that so?"

He nodded, "Yes, it is."

"I wouldn't trust him, if I were you," Harry whispered to me.

"Well, it's just paint," I said, hesitantly sitting down in the chair. "If he does something weird with it, I can just wash it off, right?"

"Exactly," George said. "There's no need to be paranoid. Now Lola, just close your eyes, and I'll fix you up real nice."

"You sound like such a creeper," Fred said. I watched him sit down at the table before my eyes closed.

"All of the world's greatest artists were creepers," George said proudly. I felt his fingers smear the cold, wet paint across my cheeks.

"And you're ready to lump yourself in with the world's greatest artists?" Percy asked. "Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Monet, Pablo Picasso – you're saying you belong in their company?"

George snorted, "I don't know what you're playing at, Perce. My talent extends far beyond that of a bunch of old dead guys."

I could picture Percy rolling his eyes in my mind, "Whatever you say."

Hermione cleared her throat, "Um, George, I don't think you're using the right colors."

"Of course I am," George answered, and I felt another blob of paint being speared around my face. "Green and gold – Oh! Was I wrong in assuming that you'll be rooting for the Irish, Lola?"

"I really don't care," I shrugged.

"See, there's no problem," said Fred. "No one needs to complain about Lola's face. She looks ravishing, as always."

I smiled, "Aww, thanks, Fred."

"Stop moving," George scolded. "I'm almost finished."

"Right," I said, relaxing my face again. "Sorry."

"You two are awful," Ginny said; though she was laughing while she said it.

"There, all done," George said finally. "Am I awesome or what?"

"I think this is your best masterpiece yet," Ron said, struggling to hold back a few snickers.

"Yes; very deep," Bill said, smirking as he pointed to my face. "This part here is clearly symbolic of the strained relations between wizards and goblins throughout history."

"For Bill, everything relates back to goblins somehow," Fred whispered to Charlie, who erupted into a fit of laughter.

"I think I'd like to see this masterpiece for myself," I said, rising from my chair.

"There's no time for that, Lola!" George said, latching onto one of my arms.

"He's right!" Fred said as he snatched the other. "We must be off; the match will be starting soon!"

"Um… alright…" I swallowed, knowing better than to put up a fight as the twins pulled me from the tent. We waited for the rest of the family outside, and Mr. Weasley closed up the tent before he led us through the crowd. Most of them were starting to move in the same general direction; everyone was chatting and singing and chanting their team's chant. Even as someone who wasn't a big sports fan, I couldn't help but enjoy the upbeat atmosphere –

Until the feeling of something splattering against the side of my arm, and my face was suddenly splashed with bits of tomato as someone in the crowd screamed at me, "Go back to Helsinki!"

"Yeah!" someone else agreed. "Get the hell out!"

"Merlin's pants, what's wrong with you?" I hollered back at the crowd. When I looked, I found that dozens of angry eyes were staring at me with contempt.

Fred, George, and most of their siblings were laughing hysterically. Hermione was shaking her head in disgust, and Mr. Weasley looked like he wasn't quite sure how to react. Harry, like myself, seemed quite confused.

"What's wrong with you?" an Irish fan replied. "Wearing Finland's colors 'round these parts! You looking for a good beating?"

"Now, now," one of his friends – a short bloke with a green and gold painted face – coaxed. "We already wiped the floor with the Fins, remember?"

"What are you…" I paused, finally realizing what had happened. Frowning, I reached up and touched my face, peeling off some of the paint. Sure enough, when I looked at my fingers, they were covered with blue and white paint.

Someone threw another tomato, hitting me square in the chest. It hit with enough force that I fell over backwards, landing roughly on my ass.

"That was magical!" Fred said, clapping his hands.

George joined him, "I had no idea they'd be so hostile!"

"I hate both of you," I grumbled, wiping off the bits of smelly, rotting fruit that had splattered onto my face.

"Alright, move along," Mr. Weasley said, waving the angry mob away. "There's nothing to see here; just kids playing a joke."

Charlie was still snickering, "Yes, move along…"

"Honestly, you think you'd learn your lesson," Hermione scolded as she offered her hand, to help me up.

"You'd think, huh?" I said, gratefully accepting her assistance.

"Granger, you don't understand," Fred said. "Lola can't help but fall for our plans; it's part of her curse."

"That is a load of rubbish," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows that the Friday the Thirteenth curse is just a superstition, even in the muggle world."

"I'm with her on this one," I said, pointing at Hermione with my thumb. "It's just some made up story."

"Then how come you always walk so willingly into our trap?" George asked.

"I… I'm incredibly stupid," I answered simply.

"Oh Lola, you're not stupid," Mr. Weasley said. "You're just… er…"

"Here," Bill said, chuckling as he handed me a white hanger chief. "Use this to wipe the paint off."

I blushed slightly as I took the cloth from his hands. Once again, my inner child squealed with delight when my fingers brushed across Bill Weasley's hand. The delicate rag was soon covered with blue paint and tomato juice.

"Sorry about your… um… shirt," George said, examining my poncho, not really sure what to call it. "I just thought they'd jeer a bit; I had no idea they'd be throwing tomatoes."

"Who carries around rotten tomatoes, anyway?" Ron asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Sports fans," Harry replied logically.

I laughed a little, "They're a rowdy lot, aren't they?"

"At any rate," Charlie said, his eyes glittering with impatience. "I think we should get going. Otherwise, someone might be tempted to steal our seats."

"There's nothing to worry about," Mr. Weasley assured him as we picked up our journey. "We're in the Top Box, after all."

"There will be enough room for Lola too, won't there?" Ginny asked. "She doesn't exactly have a ticket..."

"Again, nothing to worry about," he said, shooting a wink in my direction. "I think I should be able to wing it."

Well, the twins had to get it from somewhere, I thought, holding out the soiled hanky to Bill. "Thanks."

"Um… you can keep it," he said, smiling awkwardly.

Of course he wouldn't want it back, I thought, laughing nervously as I shoved the dirty thing into my pocket. Why on earth would he want it back? I really am stupid…

"Don't fret," Fred whispered to me. For a brief second, I was afraid he was going to mock me, but then he continued, "I'm sure Mum knows a spell that'll clean your ugly shirt right up."

"Oh, right," I said, looking down at my stain. "Yes, I'm sure she does…"

"And your face is still really blue," he teased, pinching my cheek.

"Prime seats!" the witch who was checking tickets said, sounding just a tad envious. "It's straight up there, Author; just keep going up until you can't go up anymore."

"Thank you," he said, nodding at her before he beckoned us to follow.

She didn't even count to make sure the numbers matched up, I thought, managing to sneak by rather easily between all the tall Wealeys. It seemed like forever before we reached the top box, but the accommodations appeared to be worth the climb; the chairs looked much more comfortable than the chairs we'd passed on the way up.

"We're one short, of course," Mr. Weasley whispered into my ear. "So someone is going to have to squeeze."

"These two can do it," I said, nodding at the twins.

"Say what now?" they said together, raising their eyebrows as if they were all controlled by the same nerve.

"You two can share a seat," I told them, happily claiming mine. "You're used to it."

"Why don't you and Ginny share one?" George suggested.

"Yes," said Fred. "You'd both fit into one of these chairs much easier than George and I could."

"No way," Ginny scoffed, taking her own seat, a few chairs to the left of me. "I don't want people throwing tomatoes at me by association."

George sighed with defeat, "Come on Fred; let's let her have this one."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," Fred said as the twins sat down together, awkwardly squirming in the tight space. "Lola deserves to win one every now and again. Otherwise, she might get depressed."

"Ahhh," I said, smirking as I wiggled around in my seat. "I'm loving all this extra space."

"We let you win," Fred said dryly. "You don't have to rub it in."

Bill, who was sitting on my other side, tapped my shoulder, "It seems we're sharing our box with some very important people."

I smiled, "Oh?"

He nodded, "See those men Dad and Percy are talking to? Well, I guess that odd looking one is the Bulgarian Minister, and then the one with the bowler is Cornelius Fudge."

I inhaled sharply, "We're sharing a box with the Minister of Magic?"

"It would seem so," Bill said nonchalantly.

Mom would love this, I thought. She had never been a fan of authority of any sort, and complained about this wizard's "dirty politics" whenever the topic came up. However, she thought all politics were dirty politics, so I knew that he was probably only half as bad as she claimed.

"Oh, fantastic," George said, glancing up at the group of wizards. "Look whose here."

Fred looked up at the group, frowning instantly, "Wonderful."

"What?" I asked, turning back to see who they were talking about. They didn't have to answer; I spotted the cause of their displeasure almost right away.

Perhaps it was my friendship with Harry that was the source of my utter distaste for Draco Malfoy, but I'm sure I wouldn't have liked him even if the two boys weren't bitter rivals. I knew some of it was jealousy; established wizarding families like the Malfoys could provide a child with everything they wanted growing up, while I often had to go without. But all of those privileges had spoiled little Draco, and when I looked at him I always felt a little proud of my upbringing.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy looked enough alike to be relatives – and, if one believes all the gossip about pureblood families, it is very possible that they were. They both had long, pale blond hair, which they had passed on to their son, and looked at the Weasley family with contempt.

"Goodness, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said, quite shocked. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the top box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much…"

Asshole, I thought, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep it from popping out. A quick glance around told me that all the Weasley children, as well as Harry and Hermione, were having similar thoughts.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered, once the adults had gone back to their conversation.

"Oh, don't let them get to you," said Bill. "Just enjoy the game."