Merlin, but it was loud. Rose’s father had told her about the Quidditch World Cup he’d been to — many times, in fact — but he’d never mentioned the sheer cacophony that came from thousands of wizards from all over the world packed into one camping ground. Quite frankly, it was giving Rose a headache. (Which, to be fair, most things did.) They had Apparated to the campground at the crack of dawn, and Rose hadn’t sat down since, what with fetching water, watching the younger ones, exploring with her cousins, and just all around being worked like a pack mule.
Finally, Rose had managed to sneak away to a semi-quiet place in the woods for a bit of piece and quiet. She fumbled in her bag for the pack of cigarettes she’d managed to hide from her mother, checking furtively to make sure nobody was watching. Placing one between her lips and lighting it, she took a long drag, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching until a twig nearby snapped, and her eyes flew open as she tried (rather unsuccessfully) to conceal the cigarette in her hands. “Merlin, you scared me.”