Found You (A Fred Weasley Story)

Chapter 83

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Arthur implored Fred and George as we all made our way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Arthur looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. We were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward us on the night air as we retraced our steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over our heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.

When we finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Arthur agreed that we could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. We all were soon arguing once again enjoyably about the match, Arthur got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Arthur called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny, Belle and I went into the next tent and changed into our night clothes and clambered into our bunks. From the other side of the campsite I could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. And then I slowly fell asleep to the Irish's victory song as my lullaby.

"Get up! Ginny - Hermione - Belle! Grace! Get up girls!" I was suddenly awakened by Arthur's panicked voice.

"What's happening, dad?" Ginny asked in a sleepy voice.

"No time to explain! Belle, wake up! Girls, just grab a jacket and get outside!" Arthur said hurriedly. I got down from my top bunk and grabbed a jacket and put over my tank top. Put on my shoes and slipped my wand into my jacket. Belle and I then quickly ran outside the tent. I was still half-asleep so I wasn't able to comprehend anything that was happening around me. But a gasp escaped from my lips as soon as I saw the scene outside. Harry, Ron, Fred and George were already present there and we stood beside them.

The singing had stopped. I heard screams, and the sound of people running. People were running into woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward us, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward us and then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field.

The wizards had a mask on their faces. 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 operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Few wizards were blasting tents out of their way with their wands. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder. The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and I recognized 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 down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

I felt Belle clutch my right arm and heard her mutter, "Fucking bastards!" Disgust clear in her voice. I felt my hand reaching for my wand and clutching it. How can someone be so disgusting? I felt sick. I felt like bile rising my throat when I saw the smallest muggle child spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side