Disclaimer: Even though I've read it almost twenty times, I still don't own Harry Potter…

3

Rose slumped next to Lou and crossed her arms. Fred, James, Greg, Dom and Frank were still in their tent. She could hear them cackling about one thing or another, the occasional argument, the sporadic cry of amused pain. She glanced at Lou. For once, he wasn't in a skirt. He had spiked his hair meticulously, even in the middle of camping, and was wearing a quarter-zip blue fleece sweatshirt with the Australian flag emblazoned on the breast. Lily and Molly didn't look nearly as put-together as Lou. In fact, they looked quite the opposite. Both of them had haphazardly thrown their hair up, they wore sweatshirts that were too big on them (Lily a Harpies sweatshirt, Molly a Manchester United sweatshirt), and both were still in their pajama pants. Hugo and Al were both reading books -- Al his usual fare and Hugo a book on dragon mistreatment. Roxy and Lucy were giggling about something.

"Do you think Knotts has what it takes?" Lou asked, his arms folded over his chest, his legs crossed. Rose glanced at her younger cousin, amused by his general demeanor. He seemed much more like Aunt Fleur than either of his siblings -- completely with it and perfectly perfect in a totally Gryffindor sort of way.

"Yes," Rose answered confidently.

"Oi! Rose," Hugo said, suddenly looking up from his book. "Mum wanted to talk with you last night before you went to bed, but I forget to tell you. You might want to go check in now."

Groaning, Rose lifted herself from the log she and Lou were situated on.

"I'll explain more later, if you want," Rose said, abandoning Lou. The boy nodded once, his face the epitome of seriousness. He was probably the only one of her younger cousins she could stand for more than three minutes.

She made her way to her parent's tent. How they managed to get their own tent was beyond her. She was sharing a tent with all the girls -- Molly, Lucy, Lily, Roxy, and Lou. She was just glad she didn't have to share a room with Hugo. That would not go over well. At all. He was just so…useless sometimes. Her mum insisted he took after their dad. It didn't explain why he was in Ravenclaw, though; her mum took credit for those genes.

She unzipped her parent's modest tent and slipped inside.

"Ronald…I really don't like those boxers on you," her mum cooed.

Rose was rooted to the spot, unable to move as her mum slipped her fingers down her father's boxers, gently coaxing them off his body. They slid down, compliant to her touch. Quickly, Rose turned around, not wanting to see anymore.

"Mione, I must say," her dad replied. "Those panties just don't do you justice."

Rose felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Without wasting any time, she noisily tried to get out of the tent unnoticed.

"ROSE?" her dad shouted, quickly reinstating his boxers. "What are you doing here?"

"Hugo…" Rose cleared her throat. "Hugo said you wanted to talk with me."

"Merlin, girl, don't you make any noise?" her dad demanded.

"Why don't you…why don't you go have some breakfast and we'll catch up later?"

Nodding, Rose finished exiting the tent, not looking back. She went to the log by the dieing fire and sat down next to Lou, her eyes wide and her cheeks still flushed.

"You alright?" Lou asked, putting his hand on her knee. Rose looked at him; he spent way too much time with Lucy and Roxy.

"Yeah," she replied shortly, offering a sigh and rubbing her eyes.

3

Rose stared at Fred, anger burning her stomach.

"Australia's going to lose," he said again, reclining on the ground.

James, Greg, and Frank sat on a log, watching the transaction with wide eyes.

"They're going to win," Rose growled, refraining from getting technical with her…impaired…cousin. He wouldn't understand the tactical differences between the two keepers if she spent hours trying to explain it to him. Fred was almost as dense as Hugo.

"No they aren't! Brazil is going to win! Didn't you hear them last night? Nothing is going to stop them!"

"Fans having nothing to do with playing the game!"

"Wrong! They have everything to do with it! Without proper support, how're the teams supposed to rally?"

"I agree that something is to be said about having a strong fanbase, however, talent trumps fans every time. Especially because no one can match Mandy. The beaters are mismatched, too. The lead for Brazil really ought to be the defender, and the defender the lead. They need to switch it if they're going to be successful at all."

"What are you even talking about? There's no 'leads' in quidditch."

"Fred," Greg said, shaking his head. "She's right."

"I play beater; there's no lead."

"I'm lead," James said.

"What?"

"The one that initiates plays and formations and attacks is the lead. Then there's the defender -- the supporter. That's usually you, although we switch it up moment by moment, so…" James said, shrugging.

"Look…I may not know much about the behind the scenes thing, but I do know Brazil is going to win."

"No, mate," Frank said, shaking his head.

"Rose is right," Greg admitted, shrugging.

"How confident are you?" Fred asked, crossing his arms, a glint in his eye.

"The question is -- are you so confident that if you're wrong, you'll let the guys deface your body with paint, go to the middle of the Brazillian Pavilion, and scream profanities about their lack of skills?" Rose asked, grinning. She would really love to see Fred make a fool of himself. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"The question is," Fred said, returning the dare, "are you and guys confident enough that if you're wrong, you'll all dress up like frilly little girls and run around camp looking for your dolly, while crying all the while?"

"Yes," Rose said, speaking for all of them. She saw Frank start out of the corner of her eye. Greg calmed him down.

"Well, then, it seems we have a bet," Fred said, spitting in his hand and offering it to Rose. She spit in her hand and shook on it. She wiped her hand off on her pants. It was on.