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Aurora Areli
"DON'T TELL YOUR MOTHER you've been gambling," Mr Weasley implored Fred and George, as we all made our way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.
"Don't worry, Dad," Fred said gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money, we don't want it confiscated."
Mr Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but after another moment of reflection, he seemed to decide that he didn't want to know.
Soon, we were caught up in the crowds that were now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne towards 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 us, Mr Weasley agreed that we could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. We were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr Weasley 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 Mr Weasley insisted that everyone went to bed.
After bidding the boys goodnight, Hermione, Ginny and I made our way to the second, smaller tent. Ginny quickly claimed the highest bunk, while I got the middle and Hermione the lowest. Once we had changed into pyjamas and had climbed into bed, the three of us continued talking for a short while before Ginny fell asleep once more, putting a stop to our conversation.
I had always had trouble falling asleep in new places, and the added noise outside didn't help the fact that it took me what seemed like hours to fall asleep. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) I wasn't really asleep long enough for any nightmares to happen, because before I knew it, Mr Weasley was entering the tent, shouting.
"Get up! Ginny — Rory — Hermione — come on now, get up, this is urgent!"
I was the first to sit up, slightly confused, but awake nonetheless. "What is it, Mr Weasley?"
I could immediately tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. I could hear screams, and the sound of people running.
I hopped down from my bunk and reached for my clothes, but Mr Weasley stopped me.
"No time, Rory — just grab a jacket and get outside — quickly!"
I did as I was told, and grabbed the one coat I had brought and pulled on my shoes before hurrying out of the tent behind Mr Weasley with Hermione and Ginny. Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Bill and Charlie were already outside, looking slightly sleepy yet alert. When I looked at the scene around us, I had to resist the urge to gasp.
By the light of a few fires that were still burning, I could see some people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field towards them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light, and noises like firecrackers. Loud jeering, roars of laughter and drunken yells were drifting towards us; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the area.
A tightly packed crowd of wizards was moving together, their wands pointed straight upwards as they marched slowly across the field. When I squinted in the dark to get a better look, I realised that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart began to beat wildly in my chest — Death Eaters.
Breathing fast, I looked up towards the flurry of movement over the group of people. High above, floating along in mid-air, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. 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. Once or twice I saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of their way with their wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.
The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent, and I recognised one of them — Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked like 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; she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. I felt sick to my stomach at the violation of that poor woman, and those kids . . .
Hot tears sprang to my eyes as the smallest Muggle child began to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.
"That's sick," Ron muttered, horrified. "That is really sick . . ."
When I felt something brush against my hand, I jumped, startled, and raised my wand defensively.
"It's okay, Rory, it's me," Harry said softly, and I lowered my wand as he laced our fingers tightly together.
"We're going to help the Ministry," Mr Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his sleeves. "You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"
Bill, Charlie and Percy were already sprinting away towards the oncoming marchers; Mr Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction towards the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming closer.
"C'mon," Fred said, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her towards the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, George and I followed. We all looked back as we reached the trees.
The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; I could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the centre, but they were having difficulty, as they seemed to be scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.
The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying, anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around us in the cold night air. I could feel myself being pushed this way and that by people whose faces I couldn't see, but Harry's grip on my hand didn't waver. Then I heard Ron yell with pain.
"Ron?" I said, panic clear in my voice. "Ron, are you all right?"
"What happened?" Hermione said anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry and I walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid — Lumos!"
She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.
"Tripped over a tree-root," he said angrily, getting to his feet.
"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a familiar, drawling voice behind us.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and I turned sharply to see Draco Malfoy standing alone nearby us, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene on the campsite through a gap in the trees.
Ron told Malfoy to do something that I knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs Weasley.
"Language, Weasley," Malfoy said, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"
He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a large blast sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around us.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione said defiantly.
"Granger, they're after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around . . . they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."
"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled, his grip on my hand tightening.
"Have it your own way, Potter," Malfoy said, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."
"You'd better watch your mouth, Malfoy," I said, glaring at the blond-haired git.
"Never mind, Rory," Hermione said quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step towards Malfoy.
There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything we had heard. Several people nearby screamed, and I jumped once again.
Malfoy chuckled softly. "Scare easily, don't you Areli?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide, Weasley? What's he up to — trying to rescue the Muggles?"
"Where are your parents?" Harry said, his temper clearly rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"
Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling. "Well . . . if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"
"Oh, come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."
"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," Malfoy sneered.
"Come on," Hermione repeated, and she pulled us up the path again.
"I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" Ron said hotly.
"No doubt," I agreed.
"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" Hermione said fervently. "Oh, I can't believe this, where have the others got to?"
Fred, George and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all of them looking nervously over their shoulders towards the commotion back at the campsite.
A huddle of teenagers in pyjamas was arguing loudly a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, Hermione and me, a girl with thick, curly hair turned and said quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue —"
"Er — je ne parle pas Français?" I said uncertainly, hoping she would understand.
"Oh, je vois," she said, before turning back to her friends.
"I didn't know you can speak French," Ron said, turning to me.
"I can't," I said, "but my dad taught me a few sayings in different languages, just in case."
"What did you say?" Harry asked.
"I told her that I couldn't speak French," I shrugged.
"Oh."
As we walked on, I distinctly heard the girl say, "'Ogwarts."
"Beauxbatons," Hermione muttered.
"Sorry?" said Harry.
"They must go to Beauxbatons," Hermione elaborated. "You know . . . Beauxbatons Academy of Magic . . . I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe."
"Oh . . . yeah . . . right," Harry said.
"Fred and George can't have gone that far," said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione, and squinting up the path. I reached into the pocket of my jacket and lit my own wand as well.
"Ah, no, I don't believe it," Harry groaned. "I've lost my wand!"
"You're kidding?"
Ron, Hermione and I raised our wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light further on the ground; Harry looked all around, but to no avail.
"Maybe it's back in the tent," Ron said.
"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested nervously.
"Yeah," Harry said, "maybe . . ."
"I'm sure it'll turn up," I said, though I really wasn't.
A rustling noise made all four of us jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a very strange way, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible was trying to hold her back.
"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly, as she leant forwards and laboured to keep running. "People high — high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"
With that, she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.
"What's up with her?" Ron said, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"
"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," Harry guessed.
"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" Hermione said indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"
"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard old Winky back at the match . . . 'House elves is not supposed to have fun' . . . that's what she likes, being bossed around . . ."
"It's people like you, Ron," Hermione began hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to —"
Another bang echoed from the edge of the wood.
"Let's just keep moving," I said, and I saw Ron glance edgily at Hermione. As much as I hated to admit it, Malfoy was right, the Death Eaters definitely wouldn't be opposed to going after Muggle-borns.
We continued along the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. We passed a group of unbothered goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold they had undoubtedly won betting on the match. Further along the path, we walked into a patch of silvery light, and when we looked through the trees, we saw three tall and beautiful Veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.
"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year," one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon-killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."
"No, you're not," yelled his friend, "you're a dish-washer at the Leaky Cauldron . . . but I'm a Vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far —"
A third young wizard, whose acne was visible even by the dim, silvery light of the Veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister for Magic, I am."
Harry snorted with laughter next to me. Ron, on the other hand, had gone oddly slack-faced, and next second was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"
"Honestly!" Hermione said irritably, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around and marched him away.
I couldn't help but smile at the silly thought of Ron inventing a broom that would follow my owl around. My amusement quickly subsided, however, because the sounds of the Veela and their admirers had faded completely, and I knew that we were in the very heart of the woods. We seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.
"I reckon we can just wait here, you know," Harry said, glancing around, "we'll hear anyone coming a mile off."
The words were barely out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of us.
Even by the feeble light of our three wands, I could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He was no longer buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.
"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at us, trying to make out our faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"
The four of us exchanged surprised looks.
"Well — there's sort of a riot going on," Ron said.
Bagman stared at him. "What?"
"On the campsite . . . some people have got hold of a family of Muggles . . ."
Bagman swore loudly. "Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop.
"Not exactly on top of things, Mr Bagman, is he?" Hermione said frowning, and I nodded my head.
"He was a great Beater, though," said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them."
He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground and watched it walk around for a while. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on a broomstick. I listened for any more noise from the campsite. Everything seemed silent, which hopefully meant the riot was over.
"I hope the others are okay," Hermione said after a while.
"Me too," I said quietly.
"Imagine if one of your parents catches Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. "Your dad's always said he'd like to get something on him, Ron."
"That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right," Ron said.
"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione said nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"
"They will," Ron said reassuringly, "they'll find a way."
"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" said Hermione. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just —"
She broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Harry, Ron and I looked quickly around, too. It sounded as though someone was staggering towards our clearing. We waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees, but the footsteps came to a sudden halt.
"Hello?" Harry called.
Silence was the only response. Harry got to his feet and peered around the tree. Hermione scooted closer to me, and we watched, tense and wide-eyed, waiting for something to happen.
"Who's there?" Harry said.
And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any we had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.
"MORSMORDRE!"
And something vast, green and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness before us. It flew up over the treetops and into the sky.
"What the —?" Ron gasped, as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared.
I watched as the green shape morphed into a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. It rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.
I froze, recognising the sign immediately. It felt like my blood had turned to ice, and panicked screams erupted in the wood all around us. We needed to move away from whoever had conjured it.
"Who's there?" Harry called again.
"Harry, come on, move!" I said, stepping forward to seize his arm, tugging him backwards as hard as I could.
"What's the matter, Rory?" Harry asked, upon seeing my terrified expression.
"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" I told him, willing my voice not to shake too hard as I continued pulling him along. "Voldemort's sign!"
"Voldemort's —?"
"Harry, please, come on!"
He finally complied, turning around as Ron hurriedly scooped up his miniature Krum, and the four of us started across the clearing. Before we could take more than a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty or so wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding us.
I whirled around, and in a split second, I realised that each of the wizards had their wand out, and all of them were pointed right at myself, Harry, Ron and Hermione.
"DUCK!" Harry yelled, and he pulled me and Hermione — who grabbed Ron — to the ground.
"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices — there was a series of blinding flashes and I felt my hair being blown as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. I raised my head a fraction of an inch to see jets of fiery red light flying over us from the wizards' wands, crossing each other, bouncing off tree-trunks, rebounding into the darkness —
"Stop!" a familiar voice yelled. "STOP! That's my son!"
The air around us stilled, and the flashing lights had stopped. I raised my head a little more to see that the wizard in front of me had lowered his wand. I sat fully upright and saw Mr Weasley striding towards us, looking terrified.
"Ron — Harry —" his voice sounded shaky, "— Hermione — Rory — are you all right?"
"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.
It was Mr Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I got to our feet to face them. Mr Crouch's face was taut with rage.
"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between us. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"
My jaw dropped in shock. They couldn't possibly believe it was us?
"We didn't do that!" Harry said, gesturing up at the skull.
"We didn't do anything!" Ron said, rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"
"Do not lie, sir!" Mr Crouch shouted. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping — he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"
"Barty," a witch in a long woollen dressing gown whispered, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to —"
"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" Mr Weasley asked quickly.
"Over there," I said shakily, pointing at the place where we heard the voice.
"There was someone behind the trees," Hermione continued nervously, "they shouted words — an incantation —"
"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Mr Crouch said, turning his popping eyes on the two of us now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You two seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned —"
But none of the other Ministry wizards seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, Hermione, or myself had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at mine and Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again, and were pointing in the direction I had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.
"We're too late," said the witch in the woollen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."
"I don't think so," a wizard I recognised as Mr Diggory said. "Our Stunners went right through those trees . . . there's a good chance we got them . . ."
"Amos, be careful," a few wizards warned, as Mr Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing and disappeared into the darkness.
"What's going on here?" another familiar, male voice asked.
I whirled around to see my parents striding towards us, wearing worried expressions. Dad was holding his left hand, which was bleeding, but luckily, Mum seemed unharmed.
"Rory?" Mum said, confused. "What are you doing here?"
"Mum," I breathed, relieved that they were okay. "We were trying to get away from the Death Eaters, and —"
"These children have been caught red-handed!" Mr Crouch exclaimed, interrupting my explanation.
Mum glanced up at the Dark Mark. "You mean to tell me that you think a couple of kids know how to —?"
She was cut off by the sound of Mr Diggory's shout.
"Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey . . ."
"You've got someone?" Mr Crouch called back, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"
There was the brittle snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. My eyes widened in disbelief when I caught sight of the familiar tea-towel.
It was Winky.
Mr Crouch neither moved nor spoke as Mr Diggory deposited Mr Crouch's elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr Crouch. For a few seconds, he remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.
"This — cannot — be," he said jerkily. "No —"
He quickly moved around Mr Diggory and strode off towards the place where Winky had been found.
"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."
But Mr Crouch didn't take his word for it. I could hear him moving around, the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.
"Bit embarrassing," Mr Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf . . . I mean to say . . ."
"Come off it, Amos," Mr Weasley said quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign."
"And it requires a wand," Dad nodded.
"Yeah," Mr Diggory said, "and she had a wand."
"What?" Mr Weasley said, shocked.
"Here, look." Mr Diggory held up a wand and showed it to my father and Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."
Just then, there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upwards at the emerald green skull.
"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned enquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"
Mr Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and moustache were both twitching.
"Where have you been, Barty?" Bagman said. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too — Gulping gargoyles!" Bagman just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"
"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr Crouch said, in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been Stunned."
"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why —?"
Comprehension suddenly dawned on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky and then at Mr Crouch.
"No!" he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand for a start!"
"And she had one," said Mr Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."
It didn't seem like Mr Crouch heard Mr Diggory, but the latter seemed to take the silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky and said, "Rennervate!"
Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. She raised herself shakily into a sitting position as everyone around her watched. She caught sight of Mr Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face. Then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky, where the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing and burst into terrified sobs.
"Elf!" Mr Diggory said sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"
Winky began to rock backwards and forwards on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. I frowned; the wizards around us didn't seem to care at all that she was so terrified.
"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," Mr Diggory said. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"
"I — I — I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"
"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr Diggory barked, brandishing it in front of her.
"Hey — that's mine!" Harry suddenly spoke up.
Everyone in the clearing looked at him.
"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory said incredulously.
"That's my wand!" Harry said. "I dropped it!"
"You dropped it?" Mr Diggory repeated in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"
"Amos, think who you're talking to!" Mr Weasley said angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"
"Er — of course not," Mr Diggory mumbled. "Sorry . . . carried away . . ."
"I didn't drop it there, anyway," Harry said, jerking his thumb towards the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."
"So," Mr Diggory said, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky, who was cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"
"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" Winky squealed, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed bulbous nose. "I is . . . I is . . . I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"
"It wasn't her!" Hermione said. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She turned to Harry, Ron and I for support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."
"Yeah, it was a human voice," said Ron.
"A human man's voice," I elaborated.
"Well, we'll soon see," Mr Diggory growled, seeming nothing like the friendly man I had met earlier. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"
Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raised his own wand again, and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.
"Prior Incantato!" Mr Diggory roared.
I sucked in a sharp, horrified breath as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull above us, it looked as though it were made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell.
"Deletrius!" Mr Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke.
"So," Mr Diggory said, with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.
"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"
"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"
"Amos," Mr Weasley said loudly, "think about it . . . precious few wizards know how to do that spell . . . where would she have learnt it?"
"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Mr Crouch, with cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"
There was a deeply unpleasant silence.
Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Mr Crouch . . . not . . . not at all . . ."
"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" Mr Crouch barked. "Harry Potter — and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"
"Of course — everyone knows —" Mr Diggory muttered, looking highly uncomfortable.
"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practise them?" Mr Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.
"Mr Crouch, I — I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered, reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.
"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr Crouch. "Where else would she have learnt to conjure it?"
"Precisely, Amos," said Mr Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere . . . Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, who flinched as though he, too, was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"
Winky was twisting the hem of her tea-towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.
"I — I is finding it . . . finding it there, sir . . ." she whispered, "there in the trees, sir . . ."
"You see, Amos?" Mum said, turning to face the frowning man. "Whoever conjured the mark most likely Disapparated after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind."
"A clever thing to do," Mr Weasley said, "not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."
"But then, she'd have been feet away from the real culprit!" Mr Diggory said impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"
Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr Diggory to Ludo Bagman, and then on to Mr Crouch.
Then she gulped, and said, "I is seeing no one, sir . . . no one . . ."
"Amos," Mr Crouch said curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."
I could tell that Mr Diggory didn't like this suggestion at all, but since Mr Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry, he didn't dare refuse him.
"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr Crouch added coldly.
"M-m-master . . ." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr Crouch with tears brimming in her eyes. "M-m-master, p-p-please . . ."
Mr Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened. There was no pity in his gaze. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."
"No!" Winky shrieked, prostrating herself at Mr Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"
I felt terrible for the little elf. If Mr Crouch gave her clothes, she would be set free, and would no longer be able to work for him. Most house-elves loved working for their families — this much was clear by the way Winky clutched at her tea-towel as she sobbed over Mr Crouch's feet.
"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"
"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, freeing himself from contact with Winky and surveying her as though she was something rotten contaminating his over-shined shoes, before looking up at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."
Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.
There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can — if Harry could have it back, please —"
Mr Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.
"And we'd better get back and make sure everything's back in order," Mum said, before turning to me. "Will you be all right, Rory?"
"I'll be okay," I assured her.
"I won't let anything happen to them," said Mr Weasley. "Right, come on, you four." But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione!" Mr Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry, Ron and I out of the clearing and off through the trees.
"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione asked, the moment we had left the clearing.
"I don't know," said Mr Weasley.
"The way they were treating her!" Hermione said furiously. "Mr Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time . . . and Mr Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was — it was like she wasn't even human!"
"Well, she's not," Ron said.
Hermione rounded on him. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron, it's disgusting the way —"
"Hermione, I agree with you," Mr Weasley said quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"
"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"
"I'll explain everything back at the tent," Mr Weasley said tensely.
But when we reached the end of the wood, our progress was impeded.
A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr Weasley coming towards them, many of them surged forwards. "What's going on in there?" "Who conjured it?" "Arthur — it's not — him?"
"Of course it's not him," Mr Weasley said impatiently. "We don't know who it was, it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."
He led Harry, Ron, Hermione and I through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now, and there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.
Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.
"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George and Ginny got back okay, but the others —?"
"I've got them here," Mr Weasley said, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I entered after him.
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.
"Did you get them, Dad?" Bill asked sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"
"No," said Mr Weasley, sighing. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."
"What?" Bill, Charlie and Percy said together.
"Harry's wand?" said Fred.
"Mr Crouch's elf?" Percy said, sounding thunderstruck.
With some assistance from myself, Harry, Ron and Hermione, Mr Weasley explained what happened in the woods. When we finished our story, Percy swelled indignantly.
"Well, Mr Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to . . . embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry . . . how would that have looked, if she'd been had up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control —"
"She didn't do anything — she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always gotten on fairly well with Percy — maybe even better than anyone else.
"Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" Percy said pompously, recovering himself.
"She didn't run amok!" Hermione shouted. "She just picked it up off the ground!"
"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" Ron said impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone . . . why's it such a big deal?"
"Rory told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," Hermione said, before anyone else could answer.
"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr Weasley said quietly. "Of course people panicked . . . it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."
"I don't get it," Ron said, frowning. "I mean . . . it's still only a shape in the sky . . ."
"It's not about the Mark itself, Ron," I spoke up, shifting uncomfortably when all eyes turned to me. "It's about what it represents."
"She's right," said Mr Weasley. "You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed. The terror it inspired . . . you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home, and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside . . ." Mr Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear . . . the very worst . . ."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."
"Death Eaters?" Harry said. "What are Death Eaters?"
"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," Bill explained. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight — the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."
I shivered. One of those people out there might have had something to do with my uncle's death. They never found out who killed him.
"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.
"Yeah, I bet it was!" Ron said suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"
"But what were Voldemort's supporters —" Harry began. Everybody except for the two of us flinched — like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," Harry said quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"
"The point?" Mr Weasley said, with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly.
"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" Ron asked. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"
"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. 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 . . ." Hermione said slowly, "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. "But I'll tell you this . . . it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now . . . 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."
Even though I was physically exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall unconscious until I forgot all about the events of that night, sleep wouldn't come. My head was buzzing with worried thoughts about the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark reappearing after thirteen years. What did it all mean?
It was a long time after Ginny's heavy breathing slowed and evened out, and the glow of Hermione's wand dimmed that I finally dozed off into an uncomfortable, restless sleep.
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i used google translate for this chapter, which isn't known for being the most accurate, so sorry to any french speakers that might be reading this.