"I just saw Rose off," I broke the silence permeating the boy's tent. "I'm not going to be punished, and her memory isn't going to be wiped."
At Mr. Weasley's questioning look, I began to explain everything from the beginning. Afterward, remembering what Crouch had said, I looked to Bill hopefully.
"Did you catch the two wizards in the woods?" I asked. My heart sunk as Bill shook his head.
"No, sadly," he frowned. "They Disapparated before we could find them, but we did see the branch you severed — very clean cut, by the way — and the rest of the Death Eaters Disapparated as well not long after. We caught the Roberts' before they hit the ground. They're having their memories modified right now, aside from Rose."
"Death Eaters?" asked Harry.
"That's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight — the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."
"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. He seemed to reconsider. "Though it probably was."
"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" asked Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"
"Use your brains, Ron," Bill replied. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives. . . I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"
"So. . . whoever conjured the Dark Mark . . ." said Hermione, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"
"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."
I couldn't help but wonder how Draco was doing that night. I hoped he was safe..
As promised, we awoke very early the next morning and packed our things quickly. I decided my investigation of the deflated tent could wait — Mrs. Weasley was sure to be very worried about our whereabouts. As we neared Basil and the Portkeys, a voice cried out.
"Hey! Hey wait up a second!"
I turned around to see a small girl running toward us, panting but smiling.
"Rose!" I exclaimed, grinning down at her. I saw she was holding something in her hands, and raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"It's for you," she said proudly. "I stayed up all night making it!" She opened her hands to reveal a small, wooden lion carved out of wood. It was amazingly intricate, especially considering her age.
"You made this? It's lovely," Looking down at her sweet, lovely face filled me with a new sort of drive. A grin stretched across my face. "You really shouldn't have."
"You saved me, so I had to," Rose shrugged. "There's lots of trees by our house so I make these all the time."
"You're very talented, Rose," I told her, patting her on the shoulder. "I love it. Why a lion, though?"
Rose beamed with pride. "Arnold told me you were probably a — er— a Griffledoor? And he said your mascot was a lion, and I figured he was right, you know, because lions are very brave."
I chuckled. "Thank you so much. He was correct. But also, you were very brave last night too — maybe when you come to Hogwarts next year you'll be in Gryffindor with me and my friends."
I gestured to the Weasley's, Harry, and Hermione, who waved.
Rose's eyes shone with excitement. "Ooooooh! I can't wait!" She grinned. I checked my watch and realized we'd be late for the Portkey if we didn't hurry on.
"I'll be looking forward to it," I told her. "Sorry, but we have to leave now — I don't want to make my friends late to get home. Their mum is really worried."
"That's okay," Rose was still looking proudly at me and the lion. "I'll see you next year, then!"
I waved. "See you next year, Rose. Stay strong for me."
After one last quick smile I hurried off to catch up with the others. Hermione put her arm around me and pulled me in aggressively.
"It was really stupid of you to run off like that last night, scaring us all," she told me sternly. She looked back over her shoulder, and her grip loosened on my arm. "But I'm glad you're both okay. You just gave Rose so much hope. You're like her hero now."
"Anybody would have done what I did," I flushed, looking at the small lion in my hands and smiling. "But I'm glad I was there. I'm going to cherish this for the rest of my life."
"You know, you're lucky Mr. Crouch didn't punish you," said Percy. "Think of the trouble you could have been in if—"
"Oh, can it, Weatherby," I cut him off. The twins laughed. Percy turned a bright shade of pink and didn't say anything about it again.
We caught an early Portkey thanks to some maneuvering by Basil, and we reached the Burrow at around six thirty in the morning; Mrs. Weasley was waiting for us outside in her slippers.
"Oh, thank goodness!" She cried, rushing toward us. "I've been so worried — so worried!" She had a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hand, which she dropped to the yard upon hugging her husband. The front page screamed "SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP" and a picture of the Dark Mark twinkling morbidly in the sky.
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking her head in relief, "you're alive. . . Oh boys . . ."
She squeezed the twins so tightly together that they struggled for breath. "Ouch! Mum — you're strangling us —"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred . . . George . . ."
"Come on now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley said gently and leading her back to the house. "Bill," he added, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says . . ."
After Hermione and I had fixed a cup of tea for Mrs. Weasley, we all sat around the kitchen table. The more of the paper Mr. Weasley read, the more his grimace grew on his face. Percy was looking over his right shoulder, while Hermione and I looked over his left.
"I knew it," Mr. Weasley sighed. "Ministry blunders . . . lax security . . . Dark wizards running unchecked . . . national disgrace . . . Who wrote this? Ah, of course . . . Rita Skeeter."
"Oh! And I'm mentioned," Mr. Weasley remarked. Mrs. Weasley choked on her tea.
"Where?" She exclaimed. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"
"Not by name," Mr. Weasley said. "Listen to this: 'A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Now, really," Mr. Weasley rolled his eyes. "Nobody was hurt, but there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."
"May I?" I asked. Mr. Weasley nodded and handed me the paper. I read over the article and frowned — the press always had a habit of making things seem worse than they were. No wonder Mrs. Weasley was nearly in hysterics when we got back. I squinted a little closer at the next paragraph and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm mentioned too," I said, surprised, "also not by name — and just as another insult to the Ministry."
/It isn't surprising that only two dark wizards were put out of commission — not by the Ministry, but by a teenage girl, in a successful rescue of a young Muggle girl on the scene. Unfortunately, these wizards Disapparated before the Ministry could locate them. Whether this act of bravery is punished or rewarded remains to be seen, though the Ministry should consider their incapabilities before making a decision./
I raised an eyebrow after reading it in my head. "I can't believe she's comparing taking on dozens of marchers to two men. If anything I was lucky — even luckier that I'm not going to be punished."
"I wonder where she got that information?" Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully.
"Ludo, certainly," I scoffed amusedly. "He seems to have taken a liking to me."
"Your father wouldn't like that you went out alone," Mr. Weasley said sternly. "But I know he'll be proud when he finds out it was you. Goodness, something tells me he probably already knows . . ." His lightened tone sunk again as he sighed deeply, frowning at the paper in my hand. "Still . . . 'Ministry incapabilities' . . . I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."
"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?" Mrs. Weasley frowned.
"I've got to go, Molly," Mr. Weasley said grimly. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off. . ."
"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry suddenly burst. "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"
Ron, Hermione and I looked at Harry curiously. He surely couldn't be expecting Sirius' letter already?
"Hedwig, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. "No . . . no, there hasn't been any post at all."
"All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?" Harry asked, looking at the three of us meaningfully.
"Yeah, I think I will too," Ron nodded. "Hermione? Lila?"
We nodded and proceeded up the stairs from the kitchen.
"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked as soon as we closed the door behind us.
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said nervously. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
While Ron and Hermione proceeded to panic, I sat in silence and stared in Harry's direction, though not at him. I remembered the nightmare I'd been putting off mentioning — either this was some incredible coincidence, or it was something to worry about after all. Was it a nightmare, or a vision?
"But — he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean — last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?" Hermione asked nervously.
"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry reassuringly. "But I was dreaming about him and Pettigrew . . . I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill. . . someone."
Harry's last statement rung a bell — I must have forgotten it when I woke up that night.
"I had the same one," I spoke up, mind whirring. The other three looked to me, startled. I turned to Harry sharply. "They killed a man, and there was a giant snake, remember? I haven't slept well since. I've actually been having a lot of similar nightmares, actually, about him."
"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Hermione looked appalled.
"I didn't want to worry anybody," I replied guiltily. "But now that we're talking about it—"
"Do you remember much from your other dreams?" Harry asked me. I shook my head.
"No — I only remember when I see or hear them again when I'm awake, like when Ludo brought up Bertha Jorkins," I gulped. "I heard her name in a dream too. I- I think Voldemort might have gotten to her."
There was a long, heavy silence.
"Do you think it might have been a coincidence?" Hermione asked, still looking worried. "I mean — both of you are connected to- to You-Know-Who."
"But having the same dream, on the same night?" Harry shook his head. "I doubt it."
"D'you reckon we should tell Dad?" Ron asked. I shook my head again.
"I wouldn't want to send anybody into danger," I said. "Voldemort knows I exist now. Maybe he's trying to trap us."
"We should talk to Dumbledore," Harry suggested, though he knew how I felt about Dumbledore. The more I learned about myself, the less I started to trust him. I began to say as much, until Harry interrupted me.
"Professor Trelawney!" Harry exclaimed. "Remember what she said? At the end of last year?"
Hermione scoffed derisively. "Oh, Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"
"You weren't there," Harry protested. "This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance — a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again. . . greater and more terrible than ever before. . . and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him. . . and that night Peter Pettigrew escaped."
There was another long, tense silence.
"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"
"I told Sirius about my scar," Harry shrugged his shoulders, though I could tell he was anxious by the way they never fully went back down. "I'm waiting for his answer."
"Good thinking!" Ron said brightly, "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"
"But we don't know where Sirius is," said Hermione. "He could be somewhere far away. Hedwig won't be able to manage that journey in a few days."
"I know," Harry said, frowning slightly and looking out of the window.
"I'm sure he's alright, Harry," I said reasonably. "Sirius is a smart man — he's evaded the Ministry for this long and I'm sure he'll be able to for a while. He'll write back as soon as Hedwig finds him."
Harry nodded, though he didn't seem to be very convinced.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," Ron piped up. "Come on — three on three. Bill and Charlie and the twins will play . . . You can try out that Wronski Feint!"
"Ron," said Hermione reprimandingly, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now. He's worried, and tired . . . We all need to go to bed . . ."
"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," Harry perked up. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."
Hermione and I shared a befuddled look. She rolled her eyes and muttered, "boys," before standing and helping me up. Leaving the boys in Ron's room, we walked back to Ginny's where she was unpacking her things, looking rather grumpy.
"I don't get why I can't be in all the important meetings," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, it was nothing important Ginny," I said lightly. "We were just talking about the decorations for you and Harry's wedding— oomph!" Ginny threw a pillow at me, which hit me square in the face. I peeled it off, grinning apologetically. "Sorry, couldn't miss the opportunity."
"Right, like you didn't have to put your eyes back in after seeing Viktor Krum," she groveled.
"Is that such a crime?" I flushed. "He's— he's roguish! And talented!"
"Roguish?" Hermione repeated with a giggle. "I didn't expect that to be your type."
"Right?" Ginny agreed. "Very different from mean blondes with too much money."
"You both are insufferable," I glared.
The next week at the Burrow passed rather quickly. Neither Percy nor Mr. Weasley were home much due to work at the Ministry. We mostly kept to our own devices, though Fred and George were often scheming together in a corner.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" Mrs. Weasley inquired. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," Fred said, feigning sorrow. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
All of us laughed, including Mrs. Weasley. Suddenly, she started, looking up at the clock. "Oh your father's coming!" I watched the longest hand go from "work" to "traveling" to "home" in about two seconds.
"Coming, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley called. She returned with him in tow a few moments later. Mr. Weasley looked downright exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he said tiredly. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow." I exchanged a glance with Harry, but Mr. Weasley didn't seem to notice. "I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy quickly.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley.
"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" Piped up Hermione from beside me.
"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unwavering obedience from his servants —"
"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, raising her voice, "because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "Come on now, all of you . . ."
Once we were in Ginny's room, Hermione was already vigorously stuffing her books into her trunk.
"Come off it, Hermione," I said gently. "I feel just as terrible for Winky as you do but I'm sure she'll be able to find work again somewhere."
"Elves get a raw deal, you know?" She said furiously. "All that's expected of them is service! It's almost like people think that they don't have feelings!"
"Well, Hermione," Ginny said carefully, "that's sort of what they do. They like to serve people and help out whenever they can."
"Well they should at least get paid! Or — or sick leave!" Hermione protested, flustered. "Crouch should have understood how scared Winky must have been."
"They don't want pay, or sick leave," Ginny replied. "I agree that Winky shouldn't have been fired. But Lila's right — she'll find work."
"You understand, don't you Lila?" Hermione asked. "Remember when Harry freed Dobby?"
"Well, I didn't know Dobby that well, but I know he didn't like serving the Malfoy's," I replied. "But it seemed like Winky cared an awful lot about Crouch. . ."
"If only Winky could understand she was better off without him," Hermione sighed.
"I know," I shook my head. "But the best thing you can do for Winky is hope that she's found someone that will treat her with the kindness she deserves. Complaining about it isn't going to do much."
Hermione mulled over this for a moment, and I had a feeling that I'd sparked something much bigger than intended.