It had, by any standards, been a fun day. Being out of the house was a cheerful bonus to begin with, but the hustle and bustle with the World Cup in town made it far more entertaining than the ordinary outing to Hogsmeade or Irvingly. Even if Britain was out of the running for the cup - Theodore had been suitably morose after Britain's loss for a time, as expected - the atmosphere was still exhilarating. With a sudden fascination for all the foreign cultures, it was easy to remember why he had been sorted into Ravenclaw.
It hadn't taken too long, nor much difficulty, to fall in step with some friends and forget about his father for a good part of the day. They had roamed the place and conversed with some of the vendors and spectators, drank large helpings of Butterbeer - despite the fortunate warm weather - and tasted other snacks, some unfamiliar, and watched a performance or two of snake-charming and the like. And then spent a few hours drooling over the broomsticks and quidditch supplies on show. Theodore was as of yet undecided as to which team to support in the final - his friends were divided on the matter - but he thought Egypt's play fairer, though he was still bitter that they had beaten Britain.
Theodore was almost surprised to hear his father's voice out the blue. Time had run away with him, and though he'd scanned the place once or twice during the day he had not been especially worried by the parental absence. (Luckily, his father did not quite sound angry, though Theo was sure he heard some measure of put-outness.)
"Now?" Theodore groaned, jerking his arm away half-hopefully."Can't we just go 'round once more? I haven't seen -" he trailed off, looking longingly into the crowds and the corners of the market he hadn't fully explored during the day. Granted, he and his schoolmates had traversed most of it, but with evening came a shift in the market's aura, and he couldn't quite trample the curiosity. He supposed there would be far more drinking and perhaps less savoury pursuits, but Merlin, he was fifteen already, he wasn't a child. And if his father was still labouring under the delusion that Theodore was still young and immature enough for some sort of curfew as soon as the sun went down, then he was very wrong indeed.
It hadn't taken too long, nor much difficulty, to fall in step with some friends and forget about his father for a good part of the day. They had roamed the place and conversed with some of the vendors and spectators, drank large helpings of Butterbeer - despite the fortunate warm weather - and tasted other snacks, some unfamiliar, and watched a performance or two of snake-charming and the like. And then spent a few hours drooling over the broomsticks and quidditch supplies on show. Theodore was as of yet undecided as to which team to support in the final - his friends were divided on the matter - but he thought Egypt's play fairer, though he was still bitter that they had beaten Britain.
Theodore was almost surprised to hear his father's voice out the blue. Time had run away with him, and though he'd scanned the place once or twice during the day he had not been especially worried by the parental absence. (Luckily, his father did not quite sound angry, though Theo was sure he heard some measure of put-outness.)
"Now?" Theodore groaned, jerking his arm away half-hopefully."Can't we just go 'round once more? I haven't seen -" he trailed off, looking longingly into the crowds and the corners of the market he hadn't fully explored during the day. Granted, he and his schoolmates had traversed most of it, but with evening came a shift in the market's aura, and he couldn't quite trample the curiosity. He supposed there would be far more drinking and perhaps less savoury pursuits, but Merlin, he was fifteen already, he wasn't a child. And if his father was still labouring under the delusion that Theodore was still young and immature enough for some sort of curfew as soon as the sun went down, then he was very wrong indeed.
