When the morning began with Mrs Weasley finding the twins' stash of Ton-Tongue Toffees, Winona wasn't sure it was going to be such a great day. Still, she held onto hope.
As the Weasleys, Winona, Harry and Hermione all wandered away from the Burrow, the twins remained quiet and sullen. Winona could barely handle seeing them so down. She sped up, walking faster so she met up with them, slipping one arm through Fred's and the other through George's, gripping them tightly.
"Cheer up, Buttercup," she told them, the same thing Fred said to her on her bad days, but it wasn't enough to make either of them smile. Winona wilted like a rose. "What would help?" she asked, but again, neither responded. She wracked her brain, trying to come up with something that would bring them from their sullen attitudes.
"Actually, you know what would help?" Fred spoke up, and she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.
"What?"
"If you told us who wins the match," George said, excitement in his voice.
Winona frowned. "Guys, I already told you, it'll just ruin it for you," she tried to argue.
"It won't, we swear," Fred promised. "Come on, Win. Please?"
"Guys, I just don't feel right about–"
"Please, Winnie?" George pressed hopefully. "It'd really cheer us up."
Winona sighed, knowing now that she was only fighting a losing battle. "Fine!" she exclaimed, huffing as she walked. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure nobody else was paying them any attention. "Ireland wins but Krum catches the Snitch," she finally said, looking back at them with crinkled nose and narrowed eyes. "There, are you happy now?"
As if by magic, they both cheered up, leaning down simultaneously to smack obnoxious kisses against each of her cheeks.
"Ugh," she exclaimed dramatically, wiping furiously at her face and scowling at them in playful annoyance. "Why would you even want to know, anyway? The match won't be nearly as exciting now."
But the twins only shared a look but didn't comment. Again Winona got that swooping feeling in her stomach, like something was wrong but she didn't know what. She rolled her eyes again, but didn't question it. The twins would do as the twins would do – she just hoped nobody was going to get hurt in the process.
All of them panting for breath in the frigid air as they finally reached their destination. It was still so early that the sky remained dark, but the stars were slowly beginning to disappear, replaced by the muted, peachy glow of the oncoming sunrise.
The hill they had to climb was steep and uneven, and more often than not Winona had to grasp hold of the twins in an effort to keep from slipping on the dewey grass and tumbling back down to the bottom.
Finally their feet met level ground, and she let go of her vicelike grip on George's arm, pressing a hand against her throat, which hurt from all the panting.
"Whew," breathed Mr Weasley as they stood atop the tall hill, just as worn out as the rest of them. "Well, we've made good time – we've got ten minutes."
Winona paused, turning to look over the valley from their new vantage point. The soft, peachy haze of the sunrise bathed them all in an almost ethereal glow. She inhaled again, the crisp morning air clearing out her fuzzy head.
"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr Weasley was saying from behind her. "It won't be big. Come on…"
Everyone began to search, and Winona reluctantly pulled away from the view to join them. She'd never used a Portkey before, but she'd learnt about them in class. She knew it would be an unassuming object, something that probably looked like litter. But, scanning the hill they were sat upon, she couldn't see anything resembling junk.
"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!" cried a new voice. Winona turned in surprise, just barely catching sight of two figures stood on the other side of the hilltop.
"Amos!" said Mr Weasley, heading towards the newcomers cheerfully. Confused, the group of kids could do no more than follow. Mr Weasley was enthusiastically shaking hands with shorter of the two, who held a mouldy old boot in his free hand, gripping it tightly. "This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr Weasley introduced him to them all. Winona lifted a hand in a small wave. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"
Behind him was Cedric, the Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team – Winona knew this because he'd beaten Harry in their first match the year before, but when he'd found out Harry had fallen, declared it wasn't fair and tried to get a rematch. Nobody else had agreed, but she'd appreciated his conviction.
He was handsome, something her dorm mates rarely let her forget. Katie even had a thing for him at one point – but she was sure everyone in the school had, at one point or another.
"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all. He was smiling, but the expression was a little meek. Not what Winona expected from a star Quidditch player. But then again, most of the ones she knew were also Gryffindors.
"Hey, Cedric," she greeted him politely, then elbowed the twins, who hadn't spoken. They gave insincere little grumbles of acknowledgement, but only because she'd told them to. Exasperated, Winona rolled her eyes. They were still holding the Quidditch match from last year against him. If there was one thing the twins never let go of, it was a grudge.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Amos asked brightly.
"Not too bad," Mr Weasley told him with a smile. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"
"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still … not complaining … Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Winona, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?" he asked jovially.
"Oh no, only the redheads," Mr Weasley replied with a nervous laugh, the idea of having so many children probably terrifying. He pointed out his offspring, then listed the extras. "This is Winona, Fred and George's friend; Hermione, friend of Ron's — and Harry, another friend —"
"Merlin's beard," breathed Amos Diggory, his eyes widening like dinner plates. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
Winona saw Harry freeze up under the attention. "Er — yeah," he said, a little awkward. Winona watched as Amos' eyes flickered up to the lightning-bolt scar that sat, clear as day, on her cousin's forehead.
"Ced's talked about you, of course," Amos was saying loudly. "Told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said — Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will … You beat Harry Potter!"
Winona's patience for the man thinned, and by now she was scowling at him right along with Fred and George.
"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," Cedric muttered, cheeks flushing a soft pink. "I told you … it was an accident."
"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" cried Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. Winona's scowl deepened. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman … but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"
"Excuse me?" Winona couldn't possibly keep silent. His blithe words were hurtful, not just to her but surely to Harry himself, whose cheeks looked a little flushed with irritation. She took a step forwards – either to slap the guy or just give him an earful, she hadn't yet decided – but Fred and George had the good sense to grasp her arms and hold her back. Amos looked rather frightened for a moment, like Winona were a rabid animal snarling from its place on a chain.
Cedric looked like he'd be perfectly happy for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, reaching up to run a hand over his thinning hair. His eyes shifted nervously between Amos and a seething Winona. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?" he asked, dragging the attention from the small verbal mishap.
"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Amos, eyes flickered back to Winona, only to find her scowl set in place like concrete. He quickly looked away again. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"
"Not that I know of," said Mr Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off. We'd better get ready…" He turned towards Winona, Harry and Hermione, the former of whom had reluctantly stopped glaring at Amos like she wanted to scalp him where he stood. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do," he told them with a small smile.
It was difficult with their big, bulky backpacks, but they all managed to crowd around the gross old boot, touching it with a finger each.
They stood there for a full minute in a slightly uncomfortable silence. The breeze was chilly, and Winona instinctively leant into Fred's side, only to frown, disappointed she couldn't feel the warmth of his skin through their thick jackets.
"Three…" muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two…one…"
Travelling by Portkey was rough and uncomfortable. The only upside was that it didn't last long. One minute she was being hurled through the air at a thousand miles an hour, the next she was landing hard on the ground, like some invisible force had body-slammed her into the earth.
Groaning, she rolled onto her black, blinking dazedly up at the sky above her, trying to bring down her racing pulse. She wiggled her fingers and toes, just to be sure nothing was broken. Her shoulder ached like a bitch, but she didn't think it was dislocated.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice she didn't recognise, and a hand appeared in her vision. She gratefully too hold of Fred's hand, letting him pull her gently to her feet.
"Morning, Basil," Mr Weasley greeted the wizard who'd spoken. He was dressed in a tweed suit and gumboots, eyes practically drooping with exhaustion. The two seemed to be colleagues, talking between themselves for a moment.
"All right?" Fred asked Winona, noticing the way she was slowly rolling her shoulder.
"Yeah," she nodded, still rotating her aching joint. "Just hit the ground too hard."
"Okay you lot – this way!" called Mr Weasley, setting off walking again. The group of teens tried not to groan as they turned to follow. The grass beneath them was still wet and dewey, and Winona could feel the cold of it seeping up through her ratty old sneakers.
They made it to a small cottage, where they awkwardly tried to get past the Muggle groundskeeper. In the end a wizard had to show up, casting a quick memory charm to keep him happy.
"That doesn't seem ethical," Winona murmured to the girls beside her.
Hermione hummed in agreement. "I mean, it doesn't hurt him, I suppose," she reasoned, but her brow was furrowed in clear concern.
They wandered through the campsite, and Winona didn't bother to close her gaping mouth, staring at the magnificence of the tents they passed. Some of them might as well have been castles, with water fountains and turrets and spires. It was ridiculous, and at the same time a little impressive.
"Ah, here we are!" Mr Weasley finally announced, coming to a stop beside a small area of land that held a sign reading WEEZLY. "We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult. Muggles do it all the time. Here, Harry, where d'you reckon we should start?" Mr Weasley asked eagerly as he pulled two folded up tents from his backpack. Suddenly Harry looked incredibly out of his depth. She couldn't imagine the Dursleys had ever taken him camping before.
"Do you have instructions, Mr Weasley?" Winona stepped forwards, and Harry just about slumped to the dirt in relief.
"Uh, no," Mr Weasley frowned anxiously. "Should I?"
Winona laughed. "It's alright," she assured him, turning to Harry and then Hermione, who had just joined them, sensing she could be of some use. "We can do this, right, gang?" she asked hopefully.
Hermione was already taking charge, pulling the compacted poles and pegs out of the supplied bags. Between the three of them, they managed to figure out where everything went. It took them a little longer than they'd hoped, but eventually both tents were erect and gleaming in the fresh, early daylight.
"Girls, that one's yours – boys, you're in here," Mr Weasley said, getting to his hands and knees and crawling inside one of the tents. The boys all began to follow him, but Hermione and Winona stood outside their designated tent, just staring.
"Gin?" Winona called into the tent, which looked barely big enough for one of them to fit inside, let alone all three.
"Just come in!" Ginny yelled back at them through the fabric. "You'll see!" she added with a laugh.
Hesitant, Winona glanced at Hermione, who nodded back, and one by one the two of them crawled inside the tent…only to find it was bigger on the inside.
Like a small flat in London owned by an old lady with a passion for crochet, the tent had three rooms, including a bathroom and a kitchen, and it was full of furniture covered in knitted blankets. The whole place smelled like some kind of stale perfume, but it looked warm and comfy, so they couldn't complain.
They were barely there for a full two minutes before Harry and Ron came to find Hermione, the three of them wandering off to collect some water for the group.
"Why do we have to have a separate tent?" Winona complained once she and Ginny had been alone for a total of five minutes, tossing Ginny's miniature Quaffle between them for a lack of anything better to do. "It's not like we're gonna shag any of them, are we?"
Ginny snorted loudly, breaking out into unrestrained laughter. "Come on," she said once she'd calmed, rolling her eyes at Winona's usual crassness. "I'm sure we're allowed to visit the other tent."
Fred and George were lazing on the grass outside of their tent, while Mr Weasley was hovering over a small pile of firewood, eagerly attempting to light a match, but having little success.
Winona dropped to the ground between the twins, curling her arms around her knees and eyeing Mr Weasley with amusement. "D'you think I should help him?" she asked them quietly, watching as he splintered another match, its remains dropping to the dirt beneath him.
"Don't you dare," George said, plucking a small handful of grass and tearing it up just for something to do with his hands. "Look at him, he's having the time of his life."
And it was true, despite his lack of a fire, Mr Weasley was grinning broadly, letting out excited little giggles every time he made sparks appear the Muggle way. Winona smiled, enjoying his delight as she leant back against the cool grass, blinking up into the sky where the sun was shining, big and bright, warming her skin pleasantly.
Ginny sat down with them, beginning to talk excitedly about the upcoming match. Fred and George quickly joined in, analysing the different players and the strategies they thought would get used. Fred in particular was hoping to see a good Wronski feint.
Winona loved Quidditch, and during the matches could really get into the game – but the nuances between the players and the plays they pulled were lost on her. But she was happy to see the Weasleys looking so happy. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her sketchbook and a whittled down pencil, leaning against the side of the tent and absentmindedly beginning a sketch of the campgrounds and the eclectic wizards' tents filling it.
It was at least an hour until Harry, Hermione and Ron finally wandered back, bucket of water in tow.
"You've been ages," complained George, breaking away from his discussion with Ginny about Krum – Seeker of the Bulgarians' team and the one she knew would be ending the match tonight. She wished she didn't know that, but sometimes foresight could be awfully inconvenient.
"Met a few people," Ron replied, setting the water down and eyeing the pile of unlit firewood. "You not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.
"You couldn't start it for him, Winona?" Ron complained.
"Look at him, Ronald," she replied, throwing a hand out in his dad's direction. "He's having the time of his life. Far be it for me to put a stop to his fun."
Ron frowned, turning expectantly to Hermione, who rolled her eyes and wandered over to Mr Weasley with a kind smile. At last they got the fire lit, but it took awhile to heat up enough to cook with it. The group lounged around, with Mr Weasley offering commentary on the passing Ministry officials. Winona only half listened, more interested with the getting the shading in her sketch just right.
She didn't even realise anyone had put on the food until she could smell the sausages as they cooked.
Percy, Charlie and Bill all arrived as they were handing out lunch, and Fred made a lewd joke about Percy that had Winona and Ginny choking on their eggs.
"Aha!" Mr Weasley exclaimed suddenly, when they were about halfway through their lunch. "The man of the moment! Ludo!" he said, pushing his plate aside and climbing to his feet.
"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was bounced as he walked, quite like an excitable child, making Winona briefly doubt his age. "Arthur, old man," he said as he reached them, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming … and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements. Not much for me to do!"
Percy jerked forwards with his hand outstretched, like if he didn't shake the man's hand right then and there, he might just explode. Bagman took it, only a little bit hesitant.
"Ah — yes," said Mr Weasley, smiling wide and proud, "this is my son, Percy. He's just started at the Ministry — and this is Fred — no, George, sorry — that's Fred — Bill, Charlie, Ron — my daughter, Ginny — the twins' friend, Winona Andrews –– and then those there are Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."
Bagman's eyes immediately flickered up to Harry's infamous scar, and Winona turned to roll her eyes along with Ginny.
"Everyone," Mr Weasley continued, oblivious to the exchange, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets —"
Bagman puffed his chest out, reminding Winona suddenly of Percy. She already hated him.
"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" Bagman asked eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first — I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years — and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match," he said with a greasy smile.
"Oh … go on then," said Mr Weasley, rooting around in his pockets nervously before pulling out a single Galleon. "Let's see … a Galleon on Ireland to win?" he offered with a smile.
"A Galleon?" the man looked disappointed with the small bet, but thankfully didn't say anything. Which was just as well, because Winona would have hit him if he had. "Very well, very well … any other takers?" he asked hopefully.
"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr Weasley told him immediately. "Molly wouldn't like it —"
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins — but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."
Winona gaped at them in pure shock, eyes wide and insides frozen as she tried to figure out what was happening.
"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that —" Percy hissed as they handed over the wand, but when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.
"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!" he grinned, and the beamed proudly.
"Boys," said Mr Weasley in a hiss, "I don't want you betting. That's all your savings … Your mother —"
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance. I'll give you excellent odds on that one. We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…"
Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.
"Cheers," said George brightly, taking the slip of parchment and tucking it away carefully. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.
"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."
"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll …"
"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred with a dismissive wave of his hand. "All you have to do is point and grunt."
But Winona wasn't listening, her mind was a swirl of noisy activity.
She wasn't sure why she was so hurt. Why couldn't the twins profit off her gift? Somebody might as well, and she'd have wanted it to be them, if anyone. But the thing was, they knew that something about it wasn't right, otherwise they would have told her about their plans. Instead they'd manipulated the results out of her, then used it for their own benefit. And she didn't begrudge them the money – really, she didn't – but the way they'd gone behind her back to get it made her feel cheap and used. She wasn't a money machine – she was their friend, and they should have told her what they were planning to do.
Hurt curdling in her gut like expired milk, she stood silently to her feet. Holding her sketchbook tightly to her chest, she slipped away into her tent, unnoticed by any of the Weasleys.
It was an hour before anyone came to look for her, and when they did it was only Harry, the twins nowhere to be seen. Her cousin found her laying on the couch in the main room of the girls' tent, idly sketching a hippogriff that looked a lot like Buckbeak.
"Are you sulking?" is what he opened with, and Winona glanced up from her halfhearted sketching to send him her flattest look.
"Is it still sulking if it's justified?" she asked; a fair enough question, in her opinion.
Harry smiled, coming over and gingerly taking a seat on the couch by her feet. His hair was longer now, like he'd been growing it. She reached out and tugged at a lock of the inky black hair. He batted her hand away with a crinkle of his nose. "Go on," he prompted her. "What's wrong? We're at the Quidditch World Cup," he said, as though it might have somehow escaped her notice.
"It's nothing," she said, lifting her shoulders in a dismissive shrug.
"Is it really nothing or do you just not want to talk about it?" he asked, surprising her with how well he knew her.
She hoped she wasn't pouting. "I just don't want to talk about it," she admitted. Harry just laughed.
"I got you something," he told her, reaching behind him and producing a small set of binoculars. "They're Omnioculars to watch the game with," he explained. "The guy selling them said you can replay action, slow everything down, and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown."
She took the small, brass Omnioculars, smiling at him happily. "Thanks, Harry," she said warmly, grinning as she sat back against the back of the couch and peered at him through them. His big green eyes looked like proper emeralds through the lenses, and at the sight of them she felt better than she had before.
She was still angry at the twins – what they'd done was a dick move – but she was now sure that she wasn't going to let it ruin her time at the World Cup.
She let Harry drag her back out into the fading daylight, where the others were singing some kind of song in support of Ireland. Fred saw her reappear and instinctively moved to make room for her to sit beside him, but in a petty move that she didn't actually think was all that petty, Winona sat down between Harry and Hermione instead, listening to Ron talk about Krum like he was considering starting his own religion.
Winona was too mad to look over at the twins, frustrated and still hurt by their actions. So she stuck with the younger kids while the twins messed around with Bill and Charlie. Percy sat alone, scribbling something onto a small notepad and peering through the hectic campgrounds like he were looking for something to report to Crouch.
Finally, just when Winona was beginning to grow bored of sucking on the Sugar Quill she'd brought and listening to Ron wax poetic about Viktor Krum, the sound of a loud gong rang throughout the campgrounds and lanterns were lit by magic, guiding a path up to the field.
"It's time!" Mr Weasley looked like he was trying not to squeal like an overexcited pre-teen. "Come on, let's go!"
The stadium itself was huge, bigger and more grand than anything Winona had imagined. Harry looked equally as stunned, gaping up at it in shock. Their party were sat in the Top Box, and they had to climb hundreds and hundreds of stairs to get there. Winona began to feel winded about halfway up, gripping onto the railing and pressing a hand against the stitch in her side.
"All right there, Winnie?" Fred appeared beside her, concern on his face.
"Fine," she snapped back, ducking around him and pushing forwards even though it felt like a hole was being burnt through her ribcage. Finally, just when she was contemplating throwing herself over the railing to the ground below, they arrived at their seats.
Fred and George automatically moved to her side, and despite being upset, she decided not to move away. She was their friend, and they were the reason she was even there at all, so she grit her teeth and sank down into a seat with Harry on her right and Fred on her left, with George on his left.
The two of them were talking animatedly with Charlie, who sat on their other side, and from her right Harry, Hermione and Ron were all talking to a House Elf sat behind them. Feeling a little out of place, Winona did what she always did when she was uncomfortable – she pulled her sketchbook out from the bag she'd stubbornly carried up the stairs with her (it never left her side, lest she get thrown into a vision and be left without anything to draw with), yanking free a pencil and beginning to sketch in the warm lighting the Box offered.
"Always with your head in a sketchbook," George's voice tutted from beside her, and she looked away from her sketch of a pair of goblins enjoying high tea.
"I felt like sketching," she replied, voice cold. "That a crime, now?"
"We're at the World Cup, Win," Fred reminded her, the second person to do so today, which set her teeth on edge. "Best seats in the whole stadium. Enjoy it."
"Sketching calms me down when I'm angry."
"Angry?" the twins parroted as one.
"Oh, don't play dumb," she snapped back, feeling the thin grip on her patience slip away into nothing. "You know exactly what you did."
"Winnie-" Fred tried to say, but she didn't let him finish. She wasn't in the mood for apologies – if she was even going to get any.
"I'm mad at you both. And I'm going to continue to be mad at you both until I've calmed down. And do you know what calms me down?"
"Sketching?" George ventured warily, like he were afraid she might bite him if he answered wrong.
She scowled at him, turning with a huff and attempting to submerge herself in her art once again. The pressure she applied to her pencil was so strong it broke the graphite end. "Look Win – we didn't mean to-" Fred tried to explain, but anything he was about to say was interrupted as a plump bloke in expensive robes shuffled past them. At the sight of him Percy shot up from his chair like he'd been shot, dropping into a bow so low that his glasses fell off and shattered.
Winona realised quickly that this guy was important, but she didn't get how important until Harry stood to his feet, shaking the shorter man's hand. "Minister, nice to see you again," he was saying politely. Suddenly feeling underdressed, Winona climbed awkwardly to her feet. "Have you met my cousin, Winona?"
Harry realised his error in the same instant that Winona did, and they turned to meet one another's eyes. Were they telling people she knew who she was now? It wasn't something they'd discussed. The people close to them knew she knew, but beyond that, the area was grey…
Fudge was stunned by the casual proclamation of her lineage, and his expression twisted as he turned his eyes onto her. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see Sirius Black in her eyes?
"Yes, Miss…" the Minister trailed off unsurely, reaching out to grasp her hand.
She took it, however reluctant, shaking cordially. "I still go by Andrews, sir," she assured him, and he was relieved.
"Yes, well, lovely to meet you officially, Miss Andrews," he said, giving a final, polite smile before turning just as two men shuffled to his side. Immediately the attention was gone from her, and she sank back into her seat with relief, however kept one ear trained on their conversation.
"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian beside him, loud so as to be heard over the noise of the stadium. The other man stared back without recognition, giving Winona the impression that he didn't know much English. "Harry Potter … oh come on now, you know who he is … the boy who survived You-Know-Who … you do know who he is —"
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly in his native language, pointing at it and beaming as if he'd won the lottery. Winona didn't like the way they stared at Harry like he were something in a zoo, but knew better than to comment, merely sinking deeper into her seat and returning her eyes to the Pitch.
"Knew we'd get there in the end," Fudge was saying to Harry in a tired, overworked sort of voice. "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 – and Ezra!"
Winona turned to see two families walking towards them. One was the Malfoys, all pointed faces and shiny blonde hair almost the same shade as Winona's (which irked her to no end; the last thing she wanted was anything tying her to the Malfoys). The other family was tall and handsome, and one of them was painfully familiar. Her heart stuttered in her chest, then restarted again at double-time.
Jeremiah Nott noticed her in the same moment, dark brown eyes finding hers, a sexy, wicked smirk appearing on his stupidly attractive face.
Spinning back around in her chair to stare at the Pitch, she reconsidered hurling herself over the railing. The fall was significant, and with any luck would kill her. She'd lived long enough already, why not just end it all right here and now?
But she remained glued in her seat, frozen as she listened to the conversation happening behind her.
"Ah, Fudge," Malfoy Sr. was saying, voice as slimy as his personality. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"
"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge replied, perfectly cordial. "And Ezra, lovely to see you and your boys out and about. Theodore and Jeremiah, wasn't it?"
"Fudge," Mr Nott said in a dark, smoky kind of a voice that made chills appear across Winona's skin – and not the good kind.
"Allow me to introduce you both 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?"
"Good lord, Arthur," Malfoy 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, "Ezra here is a good pal of mine from school – between you and I, he and his boys always get the best seats at these events. Oh – and Lucius there 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," said Mr Weasley in response, sounding very much like he'd forced the words out through gritted teeth.
The Notts all settled into their seats – which unfortunately happened to be directly behind Winona, Fred and George. She could feel the weight of Jeremiah's stare on the back of her head. Much like Mr Weasley, Winona grit her teeth, sinking down further into her seat like it might help her disappear altogether. If she could Apparate, she'd have been out of there before someone could say 'Slytherin-shagger'.
She was so distracted by Jeremiah's presence and the way it made her heart race and her skin prickle, that she flinched in surprise when Ludo Bagman's voice washed over them, magically enhanced and booming into every nook and cranny of the entire, overflowing stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen … welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup! And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce … the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
"I wonder what they've brought," Mr Weasley mused, from the end of the row. "Aaah – veela!"
Winona had learnt about veela the year before, in Defence Against the Dark Arts while Lupin was their teacher. She'd never seen one in person before, and so when about a hundred veela floated out onto the field, she was understandably surprised.
They glowed ethereally in the lights of the stadium, and once they started dancing it was hard to look away. They were stunning, yes, but she didn't feel the pull described in the textbooks – probably because she wasn't male.
The twins, on the other hand, were practically drooling over the veela, leaning forwards in their seats like they were about to leap into empty air, absentmindedly batting one another out of the way in an attempt to get a better look.
Irritated, Winona rolled her eyes and reached out to grasp the back of Fred's shirt. She may have been angry with him, but she didn't want the guy to fall to his death on account of a couple dozen supernaturally beautiful con-artists.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked from a few seta down, and Winona's hand shot out to grasp Harry as all, who'd also been making to launch himself off the railing and into the crowd below.
"Unbelievable," Winona muttered sourly.
All of a sudden, the low, seductive music playing came to a stop, the stadium falling silent for one blissful second before it was filled with the furious cries of outrage from the disappointed men, all of whom wanted to watch the veela dance just a little bit more.
"Honestly," Hermione muffed from Harry's other side, and Winona shared a lovely eye roll with the younger student.
"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air … for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
Desperately hoping it wasn't going to be any more veela, Winona was pleased when something of a glittering comet shot across the field. It broke in two, each moving to a different end of the field, and then a shimmering rainbow appeared, connecting them both. It wasn't until the gold coins began falling that Winona realised what it was.
Grinning widely, she reached out, grasping ahold of the coins falling from the cloud of the little, green-clad Leprechauns, stuffing them deep into her pocket for safe keeping.
The teams were announced, the wizards shooting out from below the stadium on their brooms, moving almost too fast for Winona's eyes to follow. Then the game began and everything began to bleed into one massive, thrilling blur.
The match was incredible and even despite knowing what the outcome would be, Winona still found herself on the edge of her seat, screaming profanities at the referee that made Percy flush from a few seats down, turning to eye Fudge, shooting him apologetic glances that went unnoticed.
Just as she'd Seen, Ireland won by a total of ten points, with Krum catching the Snitch and ending the match.
They all flooded from the Top Box, but before Winona could move onto the first step a hand caught her arm. With a flash of awareness, she knew who it was; the same hand had yanked her inside empty classrooms and broom closets the year before.
She whirled around to meet Jeremiah's eyes.
Everybody around them was distracted, chattering amongst themselves excitedly, too high from the thrill of the game to notice the pair of teens in the corner, caught up in one another's dangerous stare.
"Jeremiah," she said, but her voice was quiet, lost in the loud jubilation of the crowd.
"I'll see you at school?" he asked, leaning closer to her so she could hear, fingers still wrapped firmly around her bicep.
"Yeah," she replied, breathless from the proximity. Flashes appeared in her head, much like a vision, but hardly one at all. She saw endless skin, sticky from sweat and rosy with exertion.
Before she could come up with anything clever or cute to add, a shadow fell over them and they turned to see Fred and George hovering nearby, both taller that them, dangerous glares directed at a dispassionate Jeremiah. "Can we help you?" George asked, voice like ice.
"I doubt it," Jeremiah sneered back, peering at them like their very existence disgusted him.
"Then kindly take your hands off our friend and bugger off back to whatever hole you slithered out of," Fred snarled, reaching down and grasping ahold of Winona, pulling her back out of the Slytherin's reach. She immediately felt the loss of contact, but she couldn't decide whether it was a bad sensation or a good one. Was she sad or relieved? The feelings had blurred together – just like all the lines she was crossing.
Jeremiah held his hands up in a mocking sort of surrender. Somebody called his name, the word shouted over the roar of the crowd, and he took the time to shoot Winona a final wink before turning and blending into the thick throng of people leaving the Top Box.
"What'd he want?" asked Fred her, ducking lower so they could talk without having to shout. "Did he hurt you?"
Winona's irritation returned. The gall he had to suggest such a thing. So far, the only one who'd hurt her was him. "No, Fred," she snapped back, angry and not in the mood to dance around the issue, "you did."
With that, Winona turned and linked arms with Ginny so they didn't get lost in the sea of celebrating wizards, starting a conversation with the younger witch about Krum and that impressive Wronski Feint he'd pulled. Ginny didn't seem to realise anything was amiss, chatting back happily, and the two trailed after the group, voices raised to be heard over the crowd.
They made it back to the tents and all crowded into the boys' one. The kids all begged Mr Weasley to let them stay up a while longer – still wired from the excitement of the match – and finally he caved and agreed to let them stay up for just one more cup of cocoa.
Fred and George began twirling in circles around a flushing Ron, singing loudly and obnoxiously about their brother's feelings for the Bulgarian Seeker. Ginny joined in for a few versus, and ordinarily Winona would too, but she wasn't in the mood, keeping curled up on one of the couches between Harry and Charlie, chuckling good-naturedly at Ron's bright red cheeks.
Finally, when Ginny spilt her hot chocolate by falling asleep at the table, Mr Weasley sent them all the bed. Hermione helped Ginny to her feet, then beckoned Winona after her, heading for the girls' tent.
Winona threw an arm around Harry, squeezing him affectionately in a wordless goodnight, before standing to her feet and wandering over to the flap of the entrance. Outside the air was cool against her face, and she trailed after Hermione and Ginny, watching as they disappeared inside their own tent. She was just about to follow when a hand grasped her arm, spinning her around to face the owner.
It was Fred, with George hovering directly behind him. Her carefree expression melted into a scowl, and she quickly tore her arm from his grasp, uncomfortable – for maybe the first time ever – with him touching her. Hurt flitted across his face, but she was beyond caring.
"What's going on, Win?" he demanded, George nodding in his agreement of the question. "We thought you'd be happy – we got the gold we need for the shop!"
"I'm not mad you got the gold – you both know I'm thrilled," she said earnestly, because surely they did. How could she ever be anything other than supportive? But this wasn't about that. This was about the way they'd gone about it. "I'm mad that you went behind my back to get it," she said, knowing in her heart that she couldn't let this one go. She was too upset, too slighted to let it fade away like nothing.
"We didn't go behind your back–" George tried to argue, but she wasn't having a bar of it.
"Yes, you did," she said coldly. "Don't deny it. It'll only make me more angry."
The twins exchanged a wordless glance, which served to fan the flames of her frustration.
"If you'd told me you wanted to know the results so you could bet your life savings on them, I would have helped," she hissed, keeping her voice low so the passing throngs of elated, celebrating wizards wouldn't overhear. The last thing she needed was to be found out as a Seer because of this whole mess. "But instead you lied–"
"We didn't lie!" Fred tried to argue.
"An omission of the truth is still a lie, Fred," she growled, hurt still seeping into her veins, like somebody had left a tap of anger on inside of her body. "You used me," she spat, barely able to believe the words.
"We didn't!" Fred said again, voice raised, coated with a thin layer of desperation.
"Will you stop denying it, already? It's only making you seem like even more of a jerk," she hissed at him, frustrated and tired. "You manipulated the results out of me, then used them for your own gain. Which is exactly the reason I don't want anyone else to know. You broke my trust."
Finally the twins looked guilty, but before they could speak the flap to their tent rustled and Harry stepped out, eyebrows raised as he looked between the three of them warily. "Everything okay, Winnie?" he asked quietly, taking in her tense posture and the twins' remorseful looks.
"I'm fine, Harry," she said, unsure whether it was even true. She met his eyes in the soft glow of the Leprechauns' lanterns floating in the sky above them. "I'll see you tomorrow." She cast him a final smile, then without so much as glancing at the twins she turned and slipped into the girls' tent.
Ginny was already passed out in her bed, and Hermione was leaning over the sink in the bathroom, diligently brushing her teeth. "Everything okay?" the soon-to-be fourth year asked curiously around a mouthful of toothpaste.
Winona wished people would stop asking her that, but despite her frustration she just smiled and nodded, quickly changing into the old, paint-stained shirt she usually wore to bed and climbing onto her bunk.
Hermione was tired, saying a quick goodnight before falling asleep on top of her own covers. Winona wasn't tired. She moved one of the still-lit lanterns over to her bedside, pulling out her sketchbook and beginning to draw.
She lost herself in the scrape of graphite against paper, sketching a detailed image of a Quidditch trunk, the four game balls strapped down inside. It was calming, helping her to forget her hurt. But the silence dragged on, and she couldn't help the way her thoughts eventually drifted back onto the topic.
Was she overreacting? Being too harsh? She knew they hadn't meant to hurt her – knew they would never mean to hurt her – but they still had. Her insides twisted and she scowled down at her work, pressing the tip of the pencil harder into the paper, until it broke again with a soft snap.
Huffing, Winona reached into her bag for a sharpener, but before she could find it there was a loud crash from somewhere nearby, followed by a terrified scream. A feeling like ice water trickled down her spine, making her shiver, and without a second thought she was shoving her supplies back inside her bag, leaping from her bed and hurriedly yanking a pair of pants on over her bare legs before bolting out of the tent.
Spinning in a circle, Winona couldn't see the source of the commotion, but she could hear it. The atmosphere of the entire campsite was beginning to shift, becoming charged with a sort of frenzied panic. Winona slipped inside the boys' tent, making a beeline for Mr Weasley's cot. Without a moment of hesitation she gripped his shoulder and shook him hard.
He awoke with a loud snort, blinking up at her in bewilderment. "Winona?" he asked, voice thick with sleep.
"Something's wrong," she blurted. A sudden shriek echoed throughout the campsite, shrill and blood-curdling, punctuating her words.
Mr Weasley was up and out of bed without any further convincing, hurriedly pulling a pair of jeans on over his sleep pants and producing his wand, heading for the tent flaps.
"What's happening, Mr Weasley?" she called after him, strained with anxiety.
"Just wake everyone up," Mr Weasley ordered her quickly. Winona nodded obediently, one hand anxiously twisting at the strap of her ever-present bag. He stepped out into the night, and Winona didn't waste time in heading directly for the first beds she saw. It was the twins, and she breathed a sigh of relief, every trace of her previous anger evaporating in an instant.
"Fred, George," she called, rushing to Fred's side and grasping ahold of his shoulder, giving him a rough shove.
"Winnie?" he grumbled, peering up at her through hooded eyes. "What? You've come to yell at us some more?"
"Shut it," she snapped, keeping by his side but snapping out a foot to kick George where he lay on her left. "Get up, both of you. Now."
"Wha's gon' on?" muttered George sleepily, pulling up his head from where he'd been nuzzling into his pillow.
"I think the campsite's under attack," she told them in a hurry.
"What?" asked Fred, suddenly more awake. "From who?"
"I don't know," she hissed back. "I didn't see it coming," she added with a frustrated scowl at herself. "Wake the others, I've gotta go get the girls." The twins were sitting up now, eyes wide as they listened to the panicked commotion coming from outside. "Go!" she ordered them, turning and bolting back out into the fray. It was a mess, people shrieking with terror as they ran for their lives.
Winona turned in the direction they were running from, heart dropping into her gut as she spied the source of all the terror.
A large group of masked wizards were storming their way through the campsite. Four figures were hovering along above them, their bodies contorted grotesquely. Winona felt bile climb her throat but she swallowed it down, speeding up as she ducked into her own tent.
Much to her relief, Hermione was already awake, simultaneously rousing Ginny from her slumber and shoving her feet back into her trainers.
Ginny looked scared and Winona moved over to them, hurrying them up. "Winnie – what's going on?" asked Ginny, eyes wide with fear.
"We need to go," she said – because she didn't have the answers they needed. "Now," she prompted them, grasping them both and yanking them towards the tent flaps.
If it were possible, the commotion outside seemed to have grown in the thirty seconds she'd been inside the tent. Ginny and Hermione stared at the scene in shock, but there was no time to take it in. Winona was relieved to see Mr Weasley had returned, and all of the boys were standing outside their tent – those of age with wands held in tight grips.
"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr Weasley shouted to them over the chaos. "You lot – get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"
Then Charlie, Bill, Percy and Mr Weasley himself were all bolting in the direction of the attackers.
Fred didn't hesitate to grasp his sister's hand, yanking her in the direction of the woods. George moved in the same instant, grabbing Winona's hand tightly and pulling her after them. She clutched him back, struggling to hold on and dodge the frantic witches and wizards running around them like terrified, headless chickens.
They made it into the woods, but the twins didn't stop running, pulling the girls after them, deeper and deeper into the trees.
Winona realised with a sinking gut that, in the mayhem of it all, she and Harry had been separated. "Harry?!" she shouted into the forest, ripping her hand from George's and spinning in a circle, eyes wild with panic. Her pulse was beating in her ears, the thought that Harry might be hurt or lost, it was too much for her. She felt vaguely faint. "Harry!"
"Win!" called George, wrapping his arms around her middle, keeping her from storming heedlessly back into the fray. "It isn't safe!"
"That's why I need to find him, George!" she shouted back, trying to rip from his hold, desperate to double back and search for her cousin. "You know how much trouble he gets into – what if one of those lunatics finds him?"
A new set of hands grasped Winona by the shoulders, pressing down hard, acting as an anchor to reality. "Winnie," said Fred, forcefully calm. She stopped trying to pull away, turning to look up at him with wide eyes.
It was dark, she could barely see his face, bathed in shadow as it was. The clouds were thick, the moonlight blocked from reaching them, but before the darkness could begin to overwhelm her, George muttered a low, "Lumos," and the tip of his wand lit up with silvery light.
Fred was staring down at her, concern on his face, and George had taken Ginny's hand, the youngest of them was staring up at them all in wide-eyed fear. "The best thing you can do for Harry is to stay calm, and stay safe," Fred told her slowly, and even in her panicked state she had to recognise the truth to his words.
"Yeah," she murmured in dazed agreement. It didn't feel real – like this were all some terrible dream and before she knew it she'd wake up to find everything perfectly safe. But she wasn't going to hold her breath. "Okay." She swallowed. "He's got Hermione with him, anyhow," she added, giving herself a reassuring nod.
"And Ron," Ginny reminded her.
Unable to help herself, Winona let out a skeptical snort, and it set the four of them off into quiet chuckles of cautious amusement. The laughter petered off into nothing, leaving them in a near-crushing silence that made her heartbeat sound even louder to her own ears.
"Come on," said Fred after a few, suffocating moments, one hand trailing down over Winona's shoulder, his fingers ghosting down her arm until they met hers. She didn't hesitate to grip it, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. "Let's sit down," he said, voice quiet and gentle in a way he rarely was. Maybe he could sense it was what she needed. "We might be waiting here awhile."
He tightened his grip on her hand, his skin warm and calloused against hers, and took a seat on the thick trunk of a fallen tree. George and Ginny sat down beside them, all of them lit in the glow of George's wand.
Strictly speaking, he wasn't meant to do magic outside of school, but she was sure that, in light of the night's events, the Ministry would let this one slide.
They'd barely been sitting a full minute before there was a great explosion of colour above them, and through the trees they could spy the haunting image of the Dark Mark. It stood, green and eerie against the night sky, a giant skull with a snake weaving in and out of its toothy mouth.
Winona had to swallowed back another mouthful of bile, especially when she considered what this meant – or rather, who this meant.
"What is it?" Ginny asked in a low voice that not even she could deny sounded scared. None of them answered, nobody knowing how. "Who were they?" she asked instead. "Why did they do this?"
"I dunno, Ginny," said Fred softly. That wasn't totally true – they didn't know exactly, but they could certainly hazard a guess. "Dad'll explain it all when we see him – I'm sure."
They sat in silence, Ginny still trembling from the adrenaline. Winona couldn't handle the quiet, couldn't handle not knowing where Harry was, couldn't handle just sitting there doing nothing but hoping he was okay. With a huff she pushed herself off the log they were using as a bench, padding a few feet away and sinking down onto the dirt.
"What're you doing?" Ginny asked in sheer bewilderment.
"Using my inner eye for something more than just a way to make a quick buck," she muttered, the words scathing, and neither of the twins replied. It was probably for the best, she didn't want to fight with them – she was just so shaken from the attack that it was difficult to hold her tongue.
She adjusted the sketchbook in her lap, straightened her spine and closed her eyes.
"I don't get it – what's she–?"
"Shh, Ginny," whispered George. "Let her work."
Winona breathed deeply, rolling her neck and trying her very hardest to force herself into a vision. She tried everything – meditation, chanting – but it was hard to focus with the screams coming from the campsite, and nothing worked. The aether didn't seem to be in a particularly generous mood.
She didn't know how long they sat there in silence, but she knew that by the time she'd given up her toes were completely numb.
Exhaling, she reluctantly opened her eyes. The cries of despair had finally stopped, replaced with a haunting sort of silence that chilled Winona to the core. Like the battlefield after a war, silent by way of death.
"Nothing?" Fred ventured gently.
"Nothing," she confirmed grimly.
"Come on," said George, climbing to his feet and bringing a frightened Ginny with him. "Whatever it was, it seems to have passed. It should be safe to head back to the tents."
"But dad said to wait here until he came get us," Ginny argued nervously. She wasn't usually a stickler for the rules, but the attack had scared her more than she was willing to admit.
"We'll just meet him at the tent," Fred shook his head. "I don't wanna stay out here a minute longer than we have to. Besides, Win's not wearing any shoes," he said with a nod down at Winona's bare feet.
Ginny relented, and slowly they made their way back the way they'd come. The night was cold despite it still being summer, and Winona was beyond glad when the tents came into view. The campsite was nearly a ghost town, people few and far between, everybody having either apparated away or still off hiding from the danger.
"Ginny! Fred! George!" exclaimed Charlie, voice thick with relief as they came into sight. He swooped his sister up into a hug the moment she was inside the tent. "Thank Merlin you're okay!" he said, bringing the twins into a firm hug too before gently wrapping an arm around Winona's shoulders and pulling her in to a hug, squeezing her in a movement she found soothing and then letting go, giving her space.
Smiling up at Charlie gratefully, she shuffled further into the room, taking a seat on the couch beside Percy who was holding a rag to his bleeding nose. Bill sat at the small table, pressing a bed-sheet against a large gash in his arm, blood turning the white fabric a dark crimson.
"Where did you go?" asked Bill from where he sat, Ginny moving over and perching on the chair beside him. He wrapped his uninjured arm around her, giving her a comforting hug.
"Into the forest," replied George simply, pouring out three glasses of water and handing one out each to Fred and Winona, then keeping one for himself. "What was the fight like?"
"I've been in worse," Charlie told them with a great grin on his face, like he were remembering said fight fondly.
"What about the Mark?" asked Fred tightly.
"We don't know anything more than you," said Bill, still hugging Ginny, who seemed relieved to have him there. It made Winona wonder how much she missed Bill when he was gone. She'd barely known Harry was family for a few months, and already being away from him was difficult. Particularly on a night like this.
The tent flap was suddenly pushed aside. Winona didn't miss the way Charlie and Bill both reached for their wands, just to be safe.
Fortunately it was only Mr Weasley, and when Winona saw who followed him inside, she flew up from the couch, very nearly tripping over Fred's outstretched legs in her haste to reach her cousin.
"Did you get them, Dad? The person who conjured the Mark?" Bill was asking his dad intently, but Winona was barely listening.
"You okay?" she asked Harry, bringing him into a tight embrace. He squeezed her in return, and she rubbed her hand up and down his back soothingly, the feeling of relief in her veins not unlike what she thought heroin probably felt like. Harry was here. He was okay.
"I'm fine, Winnie," Harry told her, pulling gently out of her hug and offering her a smile that she didn't for a moment believe. "You?"
She didn't bother answering, waving away the question and guiding him back down to the couch. He took a seat beside her, Ron and Hermione propping up on his other side, and she pushed her glass of water into his hands, ordering him to drink. He complied with a distant nod, too distracted to argue.
"No," Mr Weasley had answered Bill tiredly. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."
"What?" asked virtually everybody in the room, but none louder than Winona. She turned to stare at Harry with wide eyes.
"Harry's wand?" Fred echoed, as though to be certain.
"Mr Crouch's elf?" added Percy, thunderstruck.
With some assistance from the Golden Trio, Mr Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. As they told the tale, Winona balled the material of her shirt in her fist, her anxiety swelling. The knowledge of the precarious situation Harry had been in was enough to make her stomach swoop and her heart race.
He was fine, she reminded herself over and over again. Harry was fine.
When they had all finally finished telling their story, Percy kind of puffed up, like he were about to say something particularly prat-like. And he certainly didn't disappoint.
"Well, Mr Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said proudly. "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 brought 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 blinked in pure shock. Winona copied the sentiment. Hermione and Percy had always gotten along, better than she did with maybe all of the other Weasley's combined (excluding, perhaps, Ron). It was certainly a shock to see her snap at Percy like that, and Winona looked over at Fred and George, both of whom looked just as blindsided.
"Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" said Percy, voice layered with condescension. Winona grit her teeth and told herself not to call him a particularly bad word in front of his own father.
"She didn't run amok!" exclaimed Hermione defiantly. "She just picked it up off the ground!"
"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" interjected Ron impatiently, probably sensing the fight was going nowhere fast. "It wasn't hurting anyone. Why's it such a big deal?"
"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."
"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," added Mr Weasley, voice pensive and quiet. Winona could tell the sight of it had spooked him. "Of course people panicked. It was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again," he murmured, the words and his eyes haunted.
"I don't get it," Ron frowned. "I mean, it's still only a shape in the sky."
"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," Mr Weasley explained, patient but full of an old horror. The story wasn't a pleasant one to tell. "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, and Winona copied the action. She couldn't empathise, but the thought of that happening to her… She wondered whether they'd cast the Dark Mark over her house, the night her mother had been killed. "Everyone's worst fear, the very worst…" he trailed off weakly, briefly lost in memories of old.
There was a silence that stretched on. Winona swallowed, taking her half-empty cup back from Harry and downing a mouthful of water, sighing in relief as it wet her sore, dry throat.
Then Bill spoke up, quiet and soft. "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?" echoed Harry cluelessly. "What are Death Eaters?"
"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," explained Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."
"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley in a dull attempt at reproach. "Though it probably was," he added, unable to deny it.
"Yeah, I bet it was!" exclaimed Ron 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 flinched, even Winona. She wasn't used to hearing the name said aloud. She didn't particularly mind it – the whole name thing was ridiculous, anyway – but there was still a part of her the could sense the evil that bled from the name, like it was transcribed into the syllables themselves. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?" he asked, a good question that unfortunately had a very simple answer.
"The point?" Mr. Weasley gave a haunted, 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, tone dripping with the kind of hatred that Winona hadn't known somebody as kind as Mr Weasley could produce.
"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" asked Ron, a very good question indeed. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"
"Use your brains, Ron," countered Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very 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?" he asked, a little bit dark.
"So … whoever conjured the Dark Mark …" began Hermione 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 briskly. "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."
The tent fell silent once again, but it wasn't comfortable. Winona felt like at any moment there would be another great bombardment; like the peace was nothing but the calm before a torrential storm.
"Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick," Mr. Weasley finally said, hoarse with exhaustion. "We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try to get an early Portkey out of here."
Everybody stood back to their feet, slowly and reluctantly heading for their beds. Ginny, Hermione and Winona hesitated. None of them particularly wanted to go back to their tent by themselves, but none wanted to be the first to say it. In the end it was Ginny who spoke up, stepping closer to her dad and looking up at him with tired, shiny eyes.
"Dad, I don't want to go back to the other tent..." was all she had to say. Mr Weasley was already nodding.
"Yes, of course, Ginny," he said, sounding like he very much agreed. He spun on his heel, counting the beds filling the tent. "Uh, we only have an extra two beds," he said apologetically.
Before Winona could so much as open her mouth to offer to take the lounge, Fred was there, looking at his dad seriously. "Winnie can have my bed. I'll sleep on the lounge."
"Are you sure, Fred?" asked Mr Weasley.
"Absolutely," he nodded, and Mr Weasley relented with a yawn.
"Okay," he agreed. "Sleep well, girls," he said, turning and wandering to a small bedroom off the back of the room where his bed lay.
Ginny and Hermione moved over to the beds on the opposite side of the room, while Winona hung back with Fred. "Thanks, Freddie," she said sincerely, and he only gave a small, equally sincere smile in return.
"Any time," he swore, and she turned, taking off her bag and slipping onto the mediocre camping mattress beside George, who had already passed out where he lay on top of all his covers.
Winnie crawled under her own covers, her feet thanking her for the insulation, and stared listlessly up at the ceiling.
She could still feel the adrenaline of the evening running through her veins. The same people that had been there tonight were the exact ones who had taken her mother from her as a child – whom had stolen her life away from her – her very name. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
And hour passed, the time dragging by at a snail's pace, but Winona still couldn't sleep. She didn't toss and turn; she just laid, staring up at the sloped ceiling and trying not to fall into a pit of all-consuming, uncontrollable despair.
It was just that everyone felt so far away, asleep and not present, not really there with her. She felt isolated; felt completely alone.
That was her motivation behind climbing to her feet. She brought her thick blanket with her, wrapping it around her shoulders and wearing it like a cape. It dragged along the floor behind her as she wandered back through to the main room where Fred lay dozing fitfully on the lounge.
She felt a stab of guilt as she noted he had no blanket over him. He was curled in a ball, trying to preserve his own heat. Rolling her eyes at him fondly, she took a gentle seat on the edge of the couch, just beside his hip. Bringing her cold feet up and laying her back down, she lay at Fred's side.
Feeling the weight of somebody beside him, Fred flinched awake, blinking at her in surprise.
"I don't wanna be alone," she whispered to him, pulling the blanket so it lay over them both. She pressed her cold feet against his legs and burrowed into his side. He was firm and warm, and so familiar. She curled against him, that gaping hole in her chest finally disappearing, replaced by a fuzzy, affectionate warmth that made her sigh in content.
"Win?" Fred whispered, voice nearly silent through the dark as his arm came up to wrap around her. He held her close, careful and firm all at once, and she pressed a hand against his sternum, feeling his heart beating from within, a little faster than usual.
She didn't look up, kept her face pressed into the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing in his familiar scent of fresh soil and fireworks. "Hm?" she hummed, vague and distracted, so focused on his warmth and the feeling of safety that had draped around her like a blanket.
He let out a breath she hadn't realised he'd been holding, bringing her in tight so his face was pressed to her hair. "Nothin'," he murmured, relaxing against her.
She smiled, nuzzling into him some more and finally allowing sleep overtake her.
A/N: Hey everyone – Happy New Years! I hope you all had a wonderful night. I spent it with friends, then spent all of today sleeping it off. It's late at night on the 1st here, but I'm wide awake, so I thought I'd get this chapter up while I had the time. I hope you enjoyed!