𓏲 . THE BOY WHO LIVED . .៹♡
                                                   CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
                 ─── THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP & THE DARK MARK

Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Charlus couldn't stop grinning as Hermione tugged at his wrist.

They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Charlus could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley said, spotting the awestruck look on the boy's face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again...bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" the Ministry witch said at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts.

 About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Charlus , filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position.

At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Charlus' eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Charlus saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer ...Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: NoPain, No Stain!....Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade ...

Charlus tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them.

The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, bat-like ears were oddly familiar. . . .

"Dobby?" Charlus, Harry and Alistair said incredulously. Charlus looked over at Harry and Alistair, who were looking at him. They must have thought the same thing.

The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby — it was, however, unmistakably a house- elf, as Charlus' friend Dobby had been. The three boys had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.

"Did sirs just call me Dobby?" the elf squeaked curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Charlus suspected — though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf — that this one might just be female.

Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Charlus, Harry and Alistair, though they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "We just thought you were someone we knew.""But I knows Dobby too, sirs!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir — and you, sirs —"

Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon the boy's big brown eyes and the twins' scars. "You are surely Alistair Black and Charlus and Harry Potter!"

Alistair smiled softly, "Yeah, we are." "Why, Dobby talks about you three all the time, sirs," she said, lowering her hands a little and looking astonished.

"How is he?" Charlus asked, genuinely interested. "How's freedom suiting him?" "Ah, sir," Winky said, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" Harry said, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?" "Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," Winky said sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" Charlus said. Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir." "Paying?" Alistair said blankly. "Well — why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

Harry was slightly confused, "Isn't it about time that he had a little bit of fun?"

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," Winky said firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" — she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped — "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Alistair  asked, frowning.

"Master — master wants me to save him a seat, Alistair Black. He is very busy," Winky said, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Alistair Black, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look  before she hid her eyes completely again. The three boys turned back to their best friends. "So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?" "Dobby was weirder," Charlus said fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. "Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again...and again...and again..."

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet covered, tasseled program. "'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " she read aloud. "Oh that's always worth watching," Mr. Weasley said. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog.

When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Charlus and Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like old friends.

They had met before, and Fudge shook Charlus' and Harry's hands in a fatherly fashion, asked how  they were, and introduced them to the wizards on either side of him.

"Charlus and Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Charlus and Harry Potter . . . oh come on now, you know who they are ...the boys who survived You-Know-Who . . . you do know who he is —"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted the twins' scars and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it."Knew we'd get there in the end," Fudge said wearily to Charlus and Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat....Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here's Lucius!"

Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to four still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his sons, Draco and Adrian; and a woman they supposed must be the mother.

The Potter twins and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first year at Hogwarts. Pale boys with pointed faces and white-blond hair, Draco and Adrian greatly resembled their father. Their mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

"Ah, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our sons, Draco and Adrian?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge said, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr. — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Charlus vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How — how nice," Mr. Weasley said, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Charlus knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats.

 Draco shot Charlus, Harry,  Ron, Alistair and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father. Adrian, on the other hand, gave the golden five a gentle smile before he sat down.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Charlus, Harry, Alistair and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box. "Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister — ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said comfortably. Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message, and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are veel — ?"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women . . .beautiful women with golden hair and glowing skin,  but Charlus knew Hermione was much more beautiful than all them.

Almost every male – and even a few females – in the box was mesmerized as the Veela started to dance along with the music; except for Charlus who seemed more relaxed. The boy's gaze darted sideways and he glanced at Hermione, who exchanged a small smile.

"Do you think they're beautiful?" she asked him. "They're alright I guess," Charlus replied. "But I've seen a girl at Hogwarts that's more beautiful than all them."

This made the girl sighed in disappointment. However she didn't realize Charlus was talking about her. "Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked as she spotted the boy.

 The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to Harry, Alistair and Ron were frozen in an attitude that looked as though they were about to dive from a springboard.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. Ron, meanwhile, was absent mindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat.

 Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands. "You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say." "Huh?" Ron said, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. "Honestly!" she said. "And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display.

Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering sham- rock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it —

"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Charlus realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley said over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Charlus' hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. "Ivanova!" A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out. "Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" Ron yelled, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Charlus quickly focused his own. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an over- grown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yelled. "Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Charlus spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs."And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

Charlus  spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open —four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Charlus  saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" Bagman screamed. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as Charlus had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible — the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

 Charlus  spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION , he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians.

PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it -

"TROY SCORES!" Bagman roared, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!" "What?" Charlus yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Charlus, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouted, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. Charlus looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

"Here—" Alistair stopped watching the game for a moment and went over to spin the speed dial on the Omnioculars back to normal. He chuckled at the boy's dumbfounded expression. "Thanks," Charlus said, gratefully smiling at him before they both turned back to the game.

Charlus knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one
another's minds as they positioned themselves.

And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr Weasley bellowed, as the Veela started to dance in celebration. After a few seconds, the Veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria were again in possession of the Quaffle. "Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" Bagman roared.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Charlus followed their descent through her Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was —

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed next to Charlus, gripping onto his arm. She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" Mr. Weasley moaned. "Krum was feinting!" "It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yelled, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

Charlus hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes.

He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT - DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him.

Charlus had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Charlus turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Charlus, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Charlus had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Charlus didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing —excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And — yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys, Harry and Alistair stuffed their fingers in their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't been bothered, was soon tugging on Charlus' arm. "Look at the referee!" she said, giggling as the boy turned his attention to her.

Charlus looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman said, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Charlus, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" Bagman's voice said. "Now there's something we haven't seen before... oh, this could turn nasty..."

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" Bagman shouted, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms... yes... there they go... and Troy takes the Quaffle..."

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" the Irish supporters roared as one, all standing up in a great wave of green. "Foul!" Ludo Bagman's echoed magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran — deliberately flying to collide there — and it's got to be another penalty — yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Charlus saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —

"I hope you can't throw fire at me and turn into a bird," Charlus said, fearing for his life. Hermione laughed at her best friend but didn't answer. "And that, boys," Mr. Weasley yelled over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Charlus turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski — Dimitrov — Moran — Troy — Mullet — Ivanova — Moran again — Moran — MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov —

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Charlus couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

"Time out!" Ron roared, watching Krum. "Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —" "Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled. For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Charlus was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing....

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!" "GO IRELAND!" Charlus and Alistair roared together. They turned to look at each other before bursting out laughing and returning to the game.

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on... but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Charlus had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked. "They're not!" Ron roared. "Definitely looks like it!" Charlus screamed. "Lynch is!" Harry yelled.

Alistair said nothing as he watched this scene intensely. And Harry was right — for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie bellowed, along the row. "He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" Alistair shouted.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good... He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."

Charlus frowned and turned to Hermione. "What are you—"  "Who cares?" Alistair muttered next to him, "Ireland wins! Krum catches the Snitch, but Ireland wins!"

"Vell, ve fought bravely," a gloomy voice said behind the ligh brown-haired boy. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. "You can speak English!" Fudge said, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," the Bulgarian minister said, shrugging. "And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roared.

Charlus' eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively;Charlus could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Charlus noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Charlus' hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that.... shame it couldn't have lasted longer... Ah yes....yes, I owe you...how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

                            ────────⊹⊱🐍⊰⊹────────

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their 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 seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.

When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all and, given the level of noise around them, Mr Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match.

"Brilliant Krum, wasn't he?" Ron bellowed, standing up on the tiny table, "He's like a bird the way he rides the wind! He's more than an athlete! He's an artist!"

Fred and George has pranced around wildly, waving the Irish flag about, and mimicking their younger brother, "Krum?! Krum?! DUMB KRUM?!"

Charlus laughed from his spot leaning up against the post between Harry and Alistair, "I think you're in love, Ron." "Oh, quiet, you!"

Fred joked in a sing-song, "VIKTOR, I LOVE YOU!" "VIKTOR, I DOOOOO!" George laughed after chiming in.

Charlus, Harry and Alistair shared a glance before joining Fred and George in their awkward dance. Ginny and Hermione laughed as they watched from their section of the tent.

"WHEN WE'RE APART, MY HEART BEATS ONLY FOR YOUUUUUU!"

Just then, a chant of voices rose like a lion's roar beyond the tent, causing Arthur to look up curiously to which Alistair stopped dancing and furrowed his brows. Fred grinned, "Looks like the Irish have got their pride on!"

Arthur gulped, " Stop! Stop it. It's not the irish."

Charlus vaguely realized that something wasn't right. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams in the distance, along with the sound of people running. Mr. Weasley took out his wand, "Grab your jackets and get outside, now! Quickly!"

Everyone did as they were told and hurried out of the tent as quickly as possible.By the light of the few fires that were still burning, Charlus 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 noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; 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. Charlus squinted at them... They didn't seem to have faces... Then he realized 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 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. Once or twice Charlus saw 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 suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Charlus 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.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick...."

At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own 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 toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," Fred said, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Charlus ,Harry, Ron, Alistair, Hermione, and George followed.

 They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the centre, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored 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 them in the cold night air.

Charlus felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see as he desperately tried to stay with Hermione. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

Alistair immediately whipped out his wand, "Ron? Are you okay?" "What happened?" Hermione said anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Charlus 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 again. Charlus would've laughed if he had not been in a state of panic.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from behind them.

Charlus, Harry, Alistair , Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing with his brother nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Charlus knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley. "Language, Weasley," Draco 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 blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. "What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked defiantly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," Draco said. "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."

"Watch it, Malfoy," Charlus said, gritting his teeth and stepping forward to the boy. "Oh I'm quivering with fear," Draco said sarcastically, also taking a step forward.

"Okay, daddy issues," Charlus jeered. "Hermione is a witch, people would think you were a Muggle compared to her." "Have it your own way, Potter," Draco said, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"Draco, that's enough!" Adrian said with a disapproving look at his twin brother. But before anyone could stop Charlus, he lunged forward swinging his fist at Draco, his knuckles connecting with the boy's jaw. Charlus watched as the boy hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, the eldest Potter twin towering over him.

"You should watch your dirty mouth, Malfoy!" Charlus said in a low tone, glaring down at the blonde boy. Everybody present knew that 'Mudblood' was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

"Charlus -" Hermione said breathlessly, pulling the boy back by his arm.

The blonde boy scrambled back up to his feet as there came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed.

 Draco chuckled softly. "Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily, brushing himself down. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to — trying to rescue the Muggles?" "Where're your parents?" Harry said, his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks, aren't 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," Hermione said, with a disgusted look at Draco, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," Draco sneered before Adrian slapped him on the back of the neck, telling him to be quiet. "Keep that bruise from your father, Malfoy," Charlus said, tapping his jaw as he looked back at Draco with a grin.

"Come on," Hermione repeated, and she pulled Charlus, Harry, Alistair and Ron up the path again. "I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" Ron said hotly.

"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 looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path.

When they saw Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue —""Er — what?" Charlus said.

"Oh..." the girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, "Ogwarts." "Beauxbatons," Hermione muttered. "Sorry?" Harry said. "A magical school in France." Alistair replied shortly.

"Oh... yeah... right," Harry said. "Fred and George can't have gone that far," Ron said, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Alistair's and Hermione's, and squinting up the path. Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand — but it wasn't there.

 "Ah, no, I don't believe it... I've lost my wand!" Harry murmured angrily. "You're kidding?" Charlus said in disbelief, taking out his own.

The four of them raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," Ron said. "Maybe you left it in the Top Box?" Alistair asked unsurely. "Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously. "Yeah," Harry said, "maybe..."

Only Charlus knew that his brother usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and seeing him without it in that situation made him feel scared. Harry was very vulnerable and right  in the midst of a scene like this.

A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.

"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly as she b leaned forward and labored to keep running. "People high — high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"

And 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 asked and looked curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," Charlus said. He was thinking of Dobby: Every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the house-elf had been forced to start beating himself up.

"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 loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" Ron said, and Charlus saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Draco had said; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were. They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there.

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite.

Farther still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they 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!" his friend yelled. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron...but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far —"

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am."

Charlus snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"

"Honestly!" Hermione said, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away. By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood.

They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter. Alistair looked around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them.

Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Charlus could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked 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 them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"

 The looked at one another, surprised. "Well — there's a sort of riot going on,"  Ron said. Bagman stared at him. "What?" "At 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.

"He was a great Beater, though," Ron said, 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."

Charlus was listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over. "I hope the others are okay," Hermione said after a while.  "They'll be fine," Ron said.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy,"  Harry said, sitting down next to Ron  "He's always said he'd like to get something on him. " "That'd wipe the smirk off the imbecile's face," Alistair said.

"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione said nervously. "What if they can't get them down?" "They will," Charlus said reassuringly and sent a soft smile in the girl's direction. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" Hermione said, slightly aghast. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Charlus, Harry, Alistair  and Ron looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" Harry called.

There was silence. Charlus got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but he could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision.

"Who's there?" he said.

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they 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 all of their eyes had been struggling to penetrate; 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.

For a split second, Charlus thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Charlus didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign.  He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" he called again. Alistair shook his head, "We've got to move. Right now."

"Charlus,Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had seized the collar of their jackets and was tugging them backward.

"What's the matter?" Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified. "It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Alistair exclaimed as he helped Hermione pull them up. "You-Know-Who's Mark!"

"Voldemort's — ?" "Charlus, Harry, come on!"

Harry turned and ran alongside Alistair and Ron, while Charlus had reached out for Hermione's hand and pulled her forward. The five of them started across the clearing - but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Charlus whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact; each of these wizards had their wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione. Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!"

He rapidly wrapped an arm around Hermione's back and pulled her down, tucking her into his chest protectively just as Alistair grabbed Harry and Ron as well.

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices - there was a blinding series of flashes and Charlus felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch he saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness -

"Stop!" yelled a voice he recognized. "STOP! That's my son!"

The four of them raised their heads a little higher. The wizard in front of them had lowered his wand. Charlus rolled over in relief and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified. "Ron - Harry-Alistair" - his voice sounded shaky - "Charlus - Hermione - are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," a cold, curt voice said. It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Charlus got to his feet to face them, the other four following his lead.

Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage. "Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Harry said, gesturing up at the skull. "We didn't do anything!" Ron said, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. Alistair was still stunned, "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Are you mad?" Charlus said, slightly aghast. "You can't seriously believe -" "Do not lie, Potter!" Mr. Crouch shouted. His wand was still pointing directly at Charlus, and his eyes were popping - he looked mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," a witch whispered in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to —" "Where did the Mark come from, you five?" Mr. Weasley said quickly.

"Over there," Hermione said shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words — an incantation —"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Mr. Crouch said, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy —""Hey!" Alistair said loudly, "We didn't conjure it."

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Charlus, Harry, Ron, Alistair or Hermione had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," the witch in the woolen dressing gown said, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated." "I don't think so," a wizard with a scrubby brown beard said. It was Amos Diggory, Anna and Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees... There's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" a few of the wizards said warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth, standing close beside Charlus.

A few seconds later, they heard Mr Diggory shout. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's - but - blimey..." "You've got someone?" Mr Crouch shouted, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

They heard snapping 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. Charlus recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.

Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch.

For a few seconds Crouch 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 moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky. "No point, Mr Crouch," Mr. Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching. "Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at the creature's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf... I mean to say..."

Charlus furrowed his brows, "Winky? Seriously?" "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. It requires a wand." "Yeah," Mr. Diggory said, "and she had a wand."

"What?" Mr. Weasley said. "Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to 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 upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly 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 his toothbrush mustache 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 had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr. Crouch said, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been stunned." "Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why — ?"

Comprehension dawned suddenly 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," Mr. Diggory said. "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."

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his 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. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position.

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. Charlus could see 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 backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Charlus was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.

"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. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Charlus recognized it instantly.

"Hey - that's mine!" Harry said. Everyone in the clearing looked at the boy. "Excuse me?" Mr. Diggory said, incredulously. "That's my wand!" Harry repeated, looking at the wand curiously. "I must've dropped it."

━━ AUTHORS NOTE

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

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Thank you for reading this far.

Until next time, much love to you all!