In many ways, the "Magic Without Borders" Fair and Farm Expo seemed more like a city than anything else. Nothing, of course, was the same as Paris, but there was something about the sheer amount of tents and activities pilled into the London Quidditch Stadium that felt very urban. In fact, more than once had Akerrah found herself turned around trying to navigate her way back to the strange dragon tent that she would call home these few weeks. At least there, the other girls had seemed just as confused—in the beginning.

But the state of perpetual confusion, that was an honor that seemed to be unilaterally hers and hers alone. So, she meandered her way through the little summer camp city to the best of her ability, silently dreading the Quidditch match she was due to participate in. Surely, there would be others from Beauxbatons but she still knew they mostly only by name—if that.

Speaking of which, she'd pass the area where they had arranged all the brooms for the game and a chest, no doubt containing the tiny little golden ball she would seek. There was probably other equipment here for other games too. Something to decorate the stage in duelling or—

—a flash of hot white fire emerged out ahead of her as she stopped suddenly.

Clutching her chest, she felt her breathing accelerate and labor audibly as eyes flit again and again. She'd seen it—the fire—for a second before. Or maybe it was two or three seconds earlier, she didn't know. But she pulled back, and braced for the dizziness she so often felt after a flash of what might be.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw it: a strange bird, un poulet. What on earth was a chicken doing at camp? And breathing fire? The idea that it might be a very real obstacle in broomracing did not occur to her at all.

Instead, she moved off to the side and leaned against one of the tents as she reached up to clasp her temples. Sometimes, she wished she really would go and see a physician about this, but she was certain they'd tell her it was chance—a brief interlude of good luck. But it didn't feel like luck. It felt the opposite: annoying, painful and uncertain.

Give it a few moments, and keep walking. That's all she would do as the bird seemed to stare back knowingly.

@Opeila Winters

Made by Winnie Athanatos

@Akerrah Koné

Opeila's last summer camp. The very last. It replayed in her mind over and over but never really sank in. She should be cherishing these last weeks, enjoy every moment she could, but instead... instead she felt like she had spent the last days wading through water. Noises muffled, images blurred. What had she eaten for breakfast again?

Opeila's mind was elsewhere, an all-over-the-place kind of elsewhere. Dwelling on Matt's and Winnie's nightmare of a wedding. Going back to Howard's Sherlock Holmes office. Had he made any progress yet? What if he couldn't find him? What if there was nothing to find anymore?
Yes, instead of making use of every day at the camp, she was moving in never changing circles with her own thoughts, like a cat chasing her own tail.

After a couple of days, she had enough. She avoided being alone in her tent, having become her own least favorite company. Once again, she was grateful for her cat. It seemed unbelievable that a couple of years ago, she'd despised Loras as much as he did her, when nowadays he seemed to sense her distress immediately. He hadn't slept in his cat bed in days, but curled up next to her, guarding her sleep.
He also tended to stay nearby when Opeila went on walks across camp, although she got the impression that he wasn't the biggest fan of this theme. Much noise, music, smells... Especially the petting zoo didn't seem to agree with him much.

The Slytherin hadn't intended to talk to anyone now. Unless Cassius maybe, around whom she still felt slightly awkward and guilty since his declaration at the wedding. Of course, she could have reacted worse, but she was sure he noticed that she hadn't said it back. At least she hadn't said it to Aaron either back then. Maybe that would have been lessening her guilt, were there not the fact that she hadn't stopped comparing relationships since that day, constantly trying to justify actions and thoughts no one but herself was making her feel bad about.
Everything about this was wrong.
Maybe when they went back to Hogwarts-

Opeila's once again less than productive train of thoughts was abruptly disrupted. A young girl, probably from a different school, as Opeila didn't recognize her at all, was leaning against a tent, hands pressed against her temples, as though she had a headache.
The seventh year wasn't a hospital wing intern anymore, nor did she have aspirations to go into healing after school, but years of helping out in the hospital wing had created habits that weren't that easy to shake.

There didn't seem to be any injuries at first glance. Of course, to determine if she had been hit by a spell or drank the wrong potion Opeila would need to talk to her.
Slowly she approached the girl, who looked about 11 or 12. Was she going to start school this year? "Hey... are you alright? Do you need help, a professor or someone?"
... Something was odd. Opeila looked at her again, trying not to stare too blatantly. Was it a spell? She couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen this before.

Sorry for the late reply!

As she held her position against the tent, she wasn't sure exactly which one was pounding: her heart or her heart. In reality, it was probably both. Gods, how she hated this feeling—even if it had saved her from being burned by a fire-breathing chicken. The sentence didn't even sound right in her head, but so few things in this magical world did.

After a breath, she was about to step away when she heard a voice in English: "Hey... are you alright? Do you need help, a professor or someone?" Turning in the direction of the voice, she saw a young woman, maybe a much older student, staring back at her. She had bright green eyes and hair so white it was almost unnatural and yet seemed to suit her all the same. "Non, non. I do not need a professor," she said as she tried to recompose her stance to something more normal and convince herself that she did not need a professor—a physician perhaps, but not a professor. Although even the physician would likely think this was insane.

Yet as she took a step in the girl's direction, she still felt the dizziness and nearly misstepped on a rock. Looking up, she realized the older girl was likely not going anyway; she seemed kind. "I just—" she stammered slightly, unsure both if it was ok to divulge anything about this and if so, how to even do that. "I saw the chicken," she said, pointing in the direction of where she had last this year's fanciest broomracing obstacle. Was this cryptic and cowardly? Probably, but a flaming chicken was marginally more believable than 'I saw the flaming chicken breath fire before it actually did it.' Besides, it had been seconds—was that even that odd?

And yet hand raised again, her head still pounded from the flash of time, just as it usually did. These little seconds seemed so silly, but they hurt and they felt real—just inside her head. "Could I sit down?" she asked timidly, hoping the older girl wouldn't think she was too strange. And to be clear, Akerrah knew she was not cool. Popularity was well out of her frame of aspiration. But normal was something she yearned for.

@Opeila Winters