Our Endless Numbered Days

Fireworks had been bursting since the early hours of the morning, the sky a constant collage of multicolored sparkles and explosions. The main congregation of partiers was established closer to the central stadium, their presence signaled by a distant rumble of ruckus. Clementine’s camp was settled further into the woods, removed to the point where sights and sounds of the main event were just barely visible through the mirage of trees. Their site consisted of several tents that formed a semicircle around a blazing fire pit.

The final game of the Quidditch World Cup had put the crowd into an uproar - half in pleasure and half in an angry disappointment. Despite having won 10 galleons on the results, Clementine hadn’t put any particular stock into the outcome of the game. She watched with some amusement as her classmates danced around, some boasting loudly, others reenacting, and a precious few drowning their sorrows with drinks. Slipping a shawl over her shoulders, Clementine floated towards the fire.

Avoiding a boy that was going an impression of one of Jack Dyllan’s more impressive hits, Clementine settled herself on a nearby stump. The heat immediately began pushing at her skin, enveloping the air around her and settling the small goosebumps that she hadn’t noticed on her legs. The soft smell of wood smoke was filling her lungs and seeping into her clothes, a welcome side effect of her new position. If you asked Clementine she would tell you that there was nothing better than camping - the endless open air above, the crackling of logs bursting like fireworks, and the echoing laughter of her friends - it was easy to let lost in.

Clementine caught the eyes of a girl standing across the fire and gave her a little smile. Nora had been grumpy over her two-galleon loss for ten minutes at most, forgiving Clementine by the end of their walk to camp. The girl bet enough (and lost enough) that she had learned not to take the bad days too harshly. She was now poking a marshmallow dangerously close to the coals - oh yes, too close.. it was now on fire. Nora’s curses blended in to the music and shouts already playing throughout the clearing. Clementine reached down to pull a cotton-candy blue marshmallow out of the bag on the ground.

They had hours and hours before the sun was due to rise.

"Baker's going to be there."

After sucking contentedly on her cigarette for the past ten minutes as the two women wandered the campgrounds, Molly had found something to be displeased about. She had been looking forward to the party - Margo could tell because Molly had simply followed her once Margo had revealed there was a party to be had. Margo wanted to change first and they had stopped at the loos, before appearing at their families' tents to nick a tent and some supplies for their last nights, swearing to each family that they would be with the other girl that night. Molly's quiet compliance had pleased Margo - her friend rarely thought her ideas were good ones.

Of course it was when they were within eyesight that she found the complaint.

Margo rolled her eyes. "Which mean Bev will be nearby."

Molly blew smoke into the air. "Doubtful."

Margo turned to her, tilting her head. "It is sort of weird, innit? Supposedly they're best friends, but Ducky's always bailed every time Bev's been about." She gasped. "What if, like, he and Bev are actually gay lovers-" Rolled eyes came to rest on the blonde. "No, no! Hear me out-"

"Bev's not gay," Molly said, continuing through the scattered trees to the campsite.

Margo shifted the pack on her back. "But he and Ducky are so secretive about the fact that they're friends and-"

Molly tilted her head, flicked her eyes towards Margo as she drawled, "Bev's. Not. Gay."

Margo stared at her friend for a moment before the weight settled in and a snort escaped her. "Riiiight." They were almost upon the campsite now. "Maybe I'll find out if Ducky Baker's gay tonight." She wiggled her hips and shoulders, tongue jutting out between her teeth.

"Oh, god," Molly muttered, flicking her now dead cigarette into the grass. She had spotted Nora and peeled away from her blonde counterpart as she pulled out another cigarette, her continuous cycle of chain smoking not interrupted even by the excitement of the end of the World Cup, looking for someone with something a decidely stronger.

Margo was only offended at Molly's departure for about half a second, because she had just spotted a pixie rooted by the fire. "CLEMMY!" She bounded towards her friend, her loose shirt lifting off her stomach as she practically clicked her heels in excitement. She dropped down into a seat at a log next to the fire, smushing up against some random dude who seemed to be flying high. "Hello," she said, flicking him a smile, before turning back to Clem. "I dragged your coz, 'long. 'Course, she's off being aloof. Hand me a mallow, will you?"