𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍 | 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺

Chapter 60 - Morsmordre

Betelgeuse raised to her feet with the twins but did not follow them inside the tent. Instead, she paused, peering at the night sky. The stars were vailed, withdrawing from the Black their shimmering arcane wisdom.

She felt a presence beside her; turning to her right, Betelgeuse noticed Sirius with his handsome face staring up at the sky; his long pale neck arched in an elegant bow, and his grey eyes investigated the mysteries hidden by the quasars.

"Something is stirring in the crawling shadows," Betelgeuse spoke, breaking the heavy silence. "I can sense a threat. A sleepless malice."

Sirius hummed low, shoving his hands in his coat, and twisting his head to the side to peer at her. "I know what you're talking about, Betelgeuse." He gazed once again at the twirling blackness above, "Stay alert."

Betelgeuse nodded even though Sirius could not see it and walked inside the tent, leaving her uncle at a most likely night of sleepless watch.

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Hermione and Ginny had already clambered into their bunks and were fast asleep when Betelgeuse entered their tent. From the other side of the campsite, she could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bangs. She did not bother changing her clothes; instead, she sat on the worn carpet in the middle of the tent.

The feeling of uneasiness that had touched her mind outside was growing each passing minute until she caught shouts from the other tent and the campsite. She could tell that something was wrong. The noises at the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. She could detect screams and the sound of people running.

Betelgeuse turned to the slowly awakening girls urging them to get ready before she slipped out of the tent.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, she could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and crashing noises. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of intense green light that illuminated the scene.

A mob of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Betelgeuse glared at them — They did not seem to have faces — Then she realised that their heads were hooded, and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes manipulated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards joined the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Betelgeuse observed one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand.

Several caught fire.

The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were abruptly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent, and Betelgeuse recognised one of them — Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell to reveal voluminous drawers, and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

Betelgeuse took a determined step towards the unsettling scene, but a small hand slipped in her larger one, stopping her. She sharply turned her head to the person that had interfered with fiery vehement grey eyes. She met the teary and frightened gaze of Ginny as the younger girl gripped her hand tighter. She had not even heard her approach. Betelgeuse paused; the once bright brown eyes of the girl quietened the raging inferno in the Black's soul. Betelgeuse squeezed Ginny's hand.