June 18, Thursday

8:00 a.m.

Poor Crookshanks. Poor naked Crookshanks. It seems he is very aware of his lack of fur as he has taken to hiding underneath the bed less the occasional bathroom break (the last of which was in Mum's Prada bag, as he is not taking the trip to the vet lightly). Sigh, will let him be and simply go pack.

Noon

Okay, so haven't packed much (by much, mean nothing, of course) but on the bright side, have managed to rearrange sock drawer and catch a marvelously fascinating three hours of soaps on the tele (can't believe Samantha tried to kill Greg all the while being his father in drag and having an illegitimate child with his wife thus causing Greg to raise his brother as his own. Simply amazing.)

Oooh, either someone just apparated or Crookshanks is breaking Mum's china. Must go inspect.

3:00 p.m.

Was Ron and Harry who both sat on the couch and proceeded to tell me how Ginny had gone bonkers. But it must be understood that they're only boys, thus can't be expected to comprehend why Ginny started her day by adding Chocolate Frogs to her omelet or why telling her that the robes she wore in her First Year were too small (even if they did barely reach her knees) was a horribly bad idea. But to Ginny's credit, all that time she spent playing Quidditch and developing her upper arm strength wasn't a complete waste as the bruise covering the majority of Ron's left arm is evident of this fact.

We sat around for a bit, and was thoroughly pleased to find that they quickly took to indulging in my new found guilty pleasure (soaps, of course).

"No, you see, Greg is actually his father."

"So Greg is his father and shagging his wife?"

"Oh, and don't forget that Greg sometimes dresses up as a woman and goes by Vicky only to seduce his best mate."

"Bloody brilliant."

Sadly, around 2 or so, beloved soaps were replaced by some ragged old woman ranting about the brutality of carbohydrates and our conversation quickly turned to World Cup.

"Can you believe it? We're going to be in our seats right in middle of the field in a mere-"

"Forty one hours and twenty three minutes" I had mumbled, taking another sip out of my tea.

"Glad to see you're finally coming around to Quidditch, it's going to be great!" Ron had said, giving my back a slug with his fist. Obviously, the female back muscles aren't equipped to handle such abuse as I practically spit the liquid through my nose. Meanwhile, Harry looked at me suspiciously.

"You hate Quidditch."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Let's just say I have a new found interest in the sport."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Then who's playing?"

Cursed myself as had heard the team names a thousand times. "Erm. The Chudley Cannons."

"And?"

Bit lip as had no proper response but was saved by saint in the form of an eager Ron, "The Braga Broomfleet." Harry sighed as this had ended his Quidditch Inquisition, but Ron simply looked at me, "You knew that."

"Mhmm. Of course. The Braga Broomfleet."

June 19, Friday

Noon

Hoorah! In the matter of a few hours, will be comfortably inside Remus Lupin's tent sharing a bottle of Chardonnay while he compares my eyes to Chocolate Mousse.

Bloody shit, must really start packing. Am supposed to be at the Burrow within the hour to catch a portkey.

12:45 p.m.

Shit, shit, shit. Should really have started packing earlier. Had suitcase open, and really couldn't think what to take. Was going to pack grey zip up, but simply seemed dull so left it in closet. Same to black slacks, usual flats, and everything else usually wore. Decided that tiny knickers were in order if not only as a hygienic necessity but in preparation for night of terrific shagging. Thus, searched frantically for tiny knickers before realizing that only had one pair (was bought in a moment of weakness with Ginny at Diagon Alley's version of Frederick's of Hollywood). Of course, can't find tiny knickers, so the usual will have to suffice.

Thus far, have packed:

Hogwart's: A History (which isn't even necessary as will surely be too preoccupied with the kind Professor to read)

One pair of black socks

Two pairs of large, ungodly knickers popular with grandmothers the world over.

Stressed, so stressed. Supposed to meet everyone at the Burrow to catch a portkey in five minutes. What else can one pack that isn't drab and boring? Shoes. Must pack shoes. Men like heels, right? Of course they do.

1:30 p.m.

Apparated into the living room of the Burrow with my dreadfully large suitcase only fifteen minutes late. Thus, thought a pat on the back was well deserved as punctuality has not been my best asset, but an eager looking Ron resembling a Chudley Cannon merchandise rack obviously begged to differ. To say that the living room was crowded is only comparable to saying that Voldemort was only slightly irritable due to an ingrown toenail that had been pestering him for several years. Really can never get used to seeing so much red hair at the same time (have always considered Mr. and Mrs. Weasley an Adam and Eve in their own right: populating the world with red headed children one at a time.) Ginny, Ron, Harry, George, Fred, Percy, Penelope, Bill, Fleur, the Mr. and Misses, and I had managed to make it to the moore via a portkey in the shape of a broken dish which is a miracle in itself.

Was immediately surrounded by rabid Quidditch fans with painted faces smelling of skank beer and wild children running around spanking their arses while riding on play brooms and screaming obscenities. It was at this point considered turning around, finding the box filled with used portkeys and hoping to find the broken dish (truth be told, would have settled for whatever portkey touched hands first as ending up in the heart of the jungle facing off with an animal who only saw me as dinner would have been better than drunken Portuguese man grabbing my arse upon arrival.) Thankfully, Knight in Shining Armor or rather Professor in Chudley Cannon Jersey shooed his way through the crowd and led us towards his tent. Was rather optimistic at first as from first glance, tent was rather small. In fact, was so small could have easily fit in the kitchen at home. Thus, was optimistically hoping that the large tent that had been expected was in the shop, burnt to the ground, etc., etc. therefore would require all the Weasley's to sleep outside while yours truly shared the single bed as he would never leave a poor girl out in the cold. Of course, optimism is overrated as upon stepping into tent, found that it was the size of Grimmauld Place sans nasty portraits and dim lighting. Instead, there was a large living room and a spiral staircase leading at least three floors up.

Having noticed my disappointment with stairs (cleverly disguised as interest), the kind Professor says, "There are plenty of rooms to go around. Didn't think I'd make you bunk with me, did you?" Well, was hoping on it, to be quite honest. But as to be expected, was guided to my room on the second floor and told that would be rooming with Ginny. Hmph.

2:00 p.m.

Am very disgruntled over rooming situation as love Ginny dearly, but the girl snores horribly. Decided to dig into suitcase and drown self in Hogwarts': A History only to find that what should have been an empty suitcase (less a 700 page book and two pairs of ungodly knickers) had been replaced by neatly folded lingerie and robes that I suspect are worth more than the Malfoy's. Where have my giant knickers gone? Oh god, think am about to find out.

2:07 p.m.

Followed screeching sounds out into hallway only to find Fleur, Professor Lupin, and Bill. Upon further inspection, see that Fleur was holding giant knickers on full display in all their glory.

"My clothes zis gone. I opened ze zuitcase, and I find zis. I don't understand, is zis a parachute? Zor a hat of some sort? Perhaps ze are full body stocking?"

"They're knickers." I said as quietly as possible, causing Bill and the Professor to both muffle laughs.

"No, no. Ze are not knickers. Ze are far too large."

Quickly snatched them and rolled them into a ball. "Well." I huffed, "They're not my favorite pair."

8:00 p.m.

Declined invitations to explore the grounds with Harry, Ron and Ginny as am still quite embarrassed concerning knicker display. Dared to come out for dinner only to find that Fluer, who has never been able to remember my name, thinks it is quite amusing to refer to me as "Ze girl with ze gigantic panties" whenever she sees fit (i.e., "Ze girl with ze enormous knickers, can you pass ze butter?") Was much happier when she simply called me Alice. Really would apparate home right now if it wasn't for the fact that have been invited to a pre-game get together of sorts for the adults. Being invited to such an event is like going to a family get together and finding that for the first time ever, you don't have to sit at the kiddy table with the toddlers who insist on covering their faces with food rather than simply eating it (Mum says I have never gotten along well with children, even when was one myself). Am very excited, although can't bask in glory of being acknowledged as a mature, independent witch as Ginny is the only one not old enough to attend and is quite sour about the ordeal.

Here comes the dreaded A/N:

This entire story has been so fun for me because it's a combination consisting of equal parts of HP, Bridget Jones (no originality with either one of those, of course), and self admittedly, my life (as some of the things mentioned are very, very close to home.) But I must admit, I've been dreading writing about the World Cup as you lot seem to have actually looked forward to it and I have a constant fear of disappointing you (psych majors can read into that as you wish). Fear not, I have actually started it and will finish it- eventually. Let's just hope its sooner than later.

Now, only if I could find a beta. How great would that be?