Cowabunga, dudes.

Five

The Possum Queen

"What to do," said Professor Snape. "What to do?" He was stalking up and down the length of the darkened potions classroom, violet dressing gown aflutter, pausing every so often to throw Harry and Daisy a nasty look. "First, twenty points from Gryffindor—"

"What! That'll set us negative!" said Daisy, slumped in a wooden chair next to her brother. "It's only the first day of term."

"The second," said Snape, his eyes glinting wickedly in the low light of the classroom. "Past midnight now, isn't it, Miss Potter? I don't recall that any House has been in such terms so early in the year. Your... fondness for making history hasn't worn off, I see." He turned crisply on his heel and stalked up the classroom once more.

Daisy sat up, mouth open for a retort, but Harry kicked her under the table. She glared at Snape's back in silence.

Harry pressed a finger to his temple.

Now that they were caught, his sister's churlish manner and general distaste for Snape would only get them deeper into trouble. And they had been so close. Apollonius had finally been ready to have a normal conversation with them. They'd been so close to figuring out what the Goblet of Fire was, and how this stupid tournament worked.

"Double detention," said Snape, reaching his desk at the front of the room. He struck the blackboard with his wand, eyes scanning a list of potions written in flaky chalk. "Yes. Good. This Saturday evening and the next." Looking back at them, he tapped his chin with a finger. "Neither one of you, I assume, is allergic to the secretions of the horned slug?"

When they didn't answer, he raised one thin eyebrow at them. The wrinkles of his forehead disappeared under his purple nightcap. "Are you?"

"No," said Harry through clenched teeth.

"More's the pity," said Professor Snape. He waved a hand. "Dismissed. And Mr. Potter–you will leave that cloak here."

"What!" cried Daisy, shooting up from her seat. "You can't take that. That was our dad's!"

"It could be Merlin's own for all I care," said Snape. "You, Miss Potter, are in no position to be instructing professors on which items they can and cannot confiscate." His nostrils flared wide on his jagged hook of a nose. "When you have demonstrated the capability to behave, it will be returned to you. Perhaps some time during your Seventh Year."

Daisy hissed with the fury of a venomous snake. "Fat chance of that!" She spun and galloped for the exit.

Harry felt a similar fury, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek and crossed to where the potions master was waiting at his desk, hand outstretched. He passed over the invisibility cloak wordlessly.

"No repartee from you?" said Snape. He opened one of the drawers and dropped the bundled cloak inside without even glancing at it; he locked the drawer with a flick of his wand. "Not one acid comment? Surprising." He sneered down at Harry. "Perhaps you are learning after all."

"Yes, professor," said Harry.

He kept the man's gaze for a moment, then followed after his sister.

Daisy was waiting for him in the hall, studiously kicking one of the wide gray bricks, her forehead pressed against the stone. "How much extra detention did I get us?" she said, not looking at him. "A month's?"

"No," said Harry, stopping her foot with his. "Nothing extra. Two are bad enough, I suppose."

"Yeah."

They stood in the quiet for a moment.

Harry figured Daisy was contemplating the loss of the greatest sneaking tool they'd ever had. They'd never had to carry out their adventures without it, really. It would be uncomfortably difficult to make their way throughout the castle and the grounds, and into places they ought not be, now that they were cursed with the mundanity of being visible. Perhaps if they spoke to Professor McGonagall in the morning she could get Snape to return it in a reasonable timeframe. Then again, she might take it herself and hold onto it in some magnanimous attempt to keep them out of trouble.

"Sorry," Daisy broke in at length. She was still examining her shoes. "You probably had to be respectful there at the end, didn't you?"

"I did," said Harry. He kicked her toes gently. The white rubber of his trainers scratched against her black ones. "No sweat, though." He reached over and prodded her shoulder, turning her to face the stairwell that led to the entrance hall. "Come on, let's get to bed. Class tomorrow and all."

"All right, then."

They trudged, in silence, back to the grand staircase and up to Gryffindor Tower unmolested. The Fat Lady was dozing in her portrait when they arrived.

Harry called out to her, "Balderdash."

"Yes, quite," the portrait murmured. "He did have the finest calabash pipe. Such a sweet aroma." Her eyes inched open; she squinted sleepily at them. "Potter... and Potter…" Then she was wide awake. "Oh dear, not already–why it's only the first day of–"

"The second!" snarled Daisy, and at the Fat Lady's blank stare she continued, "Oh, just let us in, will you? Balderdash!"

"As you will, then." The portrait swung forward, its inhabitant giving a sharp disgruntled sniff. "I'd imagine we'll have you here over the summer next, flouting authority, causing no end of troub–" her voice faded behind them as they crept through the hole and into the Tower.

The common room was lit only by the waning light of the fireplace embers. Despite the deep shadows, it was altogether more cozy than the dungeons or Snape's classroom had been. Just the scent, old fabric and wood polish, made Harry feel at ease. He debated dropping himself into one of the lumpy wingback armchairs to spare himself the explanation of his adventure to Ron and the others, but the sudden thought of Hermione finding him asleep here in the morning made him reconsider.

"'Night, then," said Harry; he stifled a yawn with his arm, and ruffled Daisy's hair, then made for the staircase that led to the Fourth Year Boys' dormitory. Maybe if Ron was snoring hard enough he could slip in without waking everyone.

"Wait," said Daisy quietly, grabbing his hand.

"Hmm?" said Harry.

She stared at him, chewing her lip.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his brow knitting.

She stopped chewing and thrust her bottom lip out to grab the top one.

Harry sighed. "Daisy, don't worry about the cloak, we'll get it back. And we were bound to get detention at some point, there's no reason to fret."

"It's not that," Daisy began nervously, unsticking her lips and squeezing his hand. "I–I had a dream."

She moved to one of the armchairs, pulling him alongside her. "You wanted to know about it, didn't you? I, erm, about what I wasn't telling you." She dropped onto the cushions. "But you can't be angry. You have to promise."

"A dream about what?" said Harry, still standing. Whatever urges he had to get to bed and get to sleep were gone. He stared at her hard. "I'm not promising anything."

"Harry, I–oh, all right!" She threw herself against the backrest, loosing his hand. Then she buried her chin in her robes, so that Harry couldn't make out what she mumbled next.

"A dream about what?" he repeated.

Daisy let out a long breath and tilted her head back. "I didn't want to keep it a secret. I just didn't want you to worry, you know." She puffed out another fretful sigh. "If you were worrying you wouldn't have let me go with the Weasleys to the World Cup." She tensed for a moment, as though remembering something grim. Then quietly she added, "Maybe you would have been right."

"All this suspense isn't working in your favor, Daisy," said Harry, realizing he'd started to pace in a similar fashion to Professor Snape. He forced himself to stand still and face her. "Just tell me."

"I dreamed about Voldemort," blurted Daisy. "And my scar hurt." She raised a fist and rubbed at it. "It hurt so badly I thought he was in my bedroom, but he wasn't. He was in this broken old house, and it smelled rotten, like things had died there. There was a big snake on the ground and it was saying things to him, but I couldn't understand it as well as normal, because–" She bit her lip again before continuing. "He was talking to… someone. And he was saying that it had to be me and no one else, and he wouldn't settle for less, and I had to be brought to him–he needed me–and he was going to kill me."

"Who?" whispered Harry. It was all he could manage. A howling pit had opened in his gut when Daisy had paused to omit the name of Voldemort's companion.

Of course.

All this time hoping as though he hadn't screwed up, as though Trelawney's prophecy was bunk, that nothing had gone amiss because Sirius was safe, and Buckbeak was safe, though Professor Lupin had died. And there he was, in an old run down house with his master, plotting. Harry's voice was dead, and soft, when he said, "Who was he talking to, Daisy?"

She flinched at his tone.

Harry crouched in front of the armchair to look her in the eyes and put his hand on her calf; his fingers pressed into the bare flesh beneath her robes. "Who was it?"

"Wormtail," whispered Daisy, her mouth trembling.

"That's that, then isn't it?" murmured Harry, deflated. He sat back on his heels. "I expect you didn't tell the headmaster?"

"No," mumbled Daisy. "I didn't even tell Hermione the whole thing." Then she sat up. "But it was only a dream. It couldn't have been real. Not exactly real. That sow Trelawney is always on about signs and symbols and interpretations. It can't have been real. It must have been a warning... a warning, right?" She sounded uncertain of herself by the end.

Harry stood, and spotting an ottoman, sat down heavily. He ran his hands through his hair and pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he began, "Let's presume it wasn't exact, then. Let's take Trelawney's tack. What do you think she'd make of a dream where the Dark Lord Voldemort is plotting your murder with the help of Peter Pettigrew, Daisy?"

"I don't know," said Daisy, tucking her legs beneath her. "That he's plotting my death?"

"Well, look at you," said Harry harshly. He held up an open hand. "Five points to Gryffindor, then."

"You're being a twat," said Daisy. "Stop it."

"How can you sit there and tell me to stop, and ask me not to be angry at you, or worried about you," said Harry, jamming his glasses back onto his nose, "when I've been telling you that this was going to happen? This precise thing. That that filthy, snivelling rat is going to help him. He didn't waste a minute, I bet, searching him out. And you knew it. And you wanted to watch a Quidditch match."

"What's telling me that a bad thing is going to happen going to do for me, exactly?" snarled Daisy. "Is worrying about it, like some dirty raincloud about to burst on my head going to stop it from happening?" She crossed her arms. "Ever since you heard that old bat say that thing about Wormtail you've been acting frightened. You didn't used to be like that."

"I'm supposed to be thrilled, then?" said Harry, meeting her glare with his own. "Happy that I let him escape to save Sirius, and I might have just killed you by doing it? That it's my fault? That I made the wrong decision?"

"You haven't killed me, silly," said Daisy. Her face softened. "And you saved two lives, Harry. It's not your fault that Peter got away. If it had been me, or Ron, we would have picked the same thing. And we're at Hogwarts, now. Voldemort can't possibly get us here."

"The only place he can't get you is at the Dursleys," said Harry. He stared at his knees. "Every year here has been a disaster."

"Harry, you can't be thinking—" Harry could hear the hurt in her voice at the mere suggestion that she would be better off in Surrey with her relatives than here with him at Hogwarts. Angry as he was, he couldn't bring himself to say that to her. And she was right, of course, what use was worrying about it? For the tiny hope that it wouldn't end up like this? No—they'd been set on this path against Wormtail and the Dark Lord Voldemort from the start.

"I'm not," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, come up here," said Daisy.

Harry looked up. She'd moved to one side of the armchair, and was patting an empty section of cushion. Frowning, he moved to take it, edging her knees aside to fit.

Daisy looked at him for a second, then flung her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, too," she mumbled into his robes. "But you can't go all lumpy on me. We're all we've got."

Harry shifted, prying an arm loose to return the hug. His weariness was returning, and suddenly his eyes had started to burn. He put his forehead against the top of Daisy's head.

They sat like that for a time, silent in the dark warmth of the common room, until Harry thought that his sister might have fallen asleep. Her breathing had grown regular, and he didn't feel her moving around against his side. If she had fallen asleep, he wouldn't be able to get her up to her dormitory.

"Daisy?" he said, not expecting an answer.

"Hmm?" she answered, the sound vibrating up through his arm.

He snorted, quietly. "Come on, we've got to get some sleep." He started to extricate himself from her grip, but she quickly pulled him back down.

"Wait," said Daisy, raising her head. "You haven't told me your secret."

"Tonight's not the night for it," he said gently.

"That's not fair," said Daisy. "I said mine, even though I didn't want to. We said we'd do it together."

"Yes, but—" Harry met her gaze; her eyes were ringed red, and her face was smudged with dust and dirt.

It had been a long night. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair.

"After yours," he said, "it's nothing spectacular."

"Try me," said Daisy.

"There's a wizard lives behind the boy's home."

"A wizard?" said Daisy. "Who?"

"Some old codger named Doge," muttered Harry. "I caught him watching me with a telescope one morning as I was hanging the laundry."

"What's he doing watching you?" said Daisy.

"I suspect that it's terribly fascinating to find that Harry Potter, brother to the Girl-Who-Lived, lives just over your garden wall."

"All right," said Daisy slowly, "but that doesn't seem like the type of thing you would avoid telling me." She pulled her robes from under him with a grunt, and rubbed at her legs. "What does he have to do with your missing the Cup? Or even coming to visit with the Weasleys?"

Harry pinched his nose, then turned to face his sister, opeing his eyes. "You absolutely cannot mention this to anyone, and especially not to Hermione."

"All right," said Daisy eagerly.

"I've been sneaking into his garden to practice magic."

"Erm... that's it?" asked Daisy, when he didn't continue.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"And you didn't get any letters?" said Daisy, itching her cheek. "Nothing about not being allowed to perform magic while underage?"

"Not a one," said Harry. He dug in his robes for his wand. Scanning the common room, he spied a stub of a candle sitting on a dark mahogany sideboard. Wordlessly, he summoned it and snatched it out of the air.

Daisy didn't blink. "Tremendous."

Frowning at her, Harry scrunched his face up and transfigured the candle into a bat. It squeaked and chittered wildly in his hand, all wings and elbows. He tossed it at Daisy.

"Ack!" she said, catching the small creature around the middle. "Harry!" The bat flapped and struggled in her grip. "Change it back!"

"Why don't you? If it's so easy," said Harry, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"We haven't learned that yet," growled Daisy, squeezing the bat and shoving it at him.

Harry turned the bat back into the candle. "There."

Daisy regarded him stonily. "So you've spent your holiday crouched in a garden summoning candles and turning things into bats, when you could have been spending time with me and Ron?"

"Imagine if I hadn't," said Harry. He waved his wand, and the stub of candle vanished completely. "Now that we've got Wormtail and Death Eaters and this tournament to contend with."

Daisy started. "What does the Tournament have to do with Wormtail?"

"What does a mousetrap have to do with a mouse?" said Harry.

"There isn't any cheese, you prat," said Daisy. "I couldn't enter it if I wanted to."

"That didn't stop that Gaunt fellow from entering Apollonius's name, did it?" said Harry. "Into the Goblet of Fire?"

Daisy squirmed, but covered her discomfort with a nod and said, "I'm sure the headmaster's thought of that, or Mr. Crouch at least. Percy says he's quite brilliant."

"Certainly," Harry scoffed. "That's why they need Mad-Eye Moody here, then. Because they've thought of everything?"

"He's just here to teach Defense," said Daisy. Her brow crinkled. "Isn't he? Is that what you were talking about with him? About the tournament? About me?"

"More or less," said Harry. "He is as mad as a March hare, but he said there are signs everywhere, signs that Voldemort is trying something— just, come on, let's get to bed." He started to rise, but Daisy's legs shot out and tangled with his.

"Wait," she said.

"What now?" asked Harry.

"I've got something else to tell you," said Daisy quietly. "About the World Cup."

"Can't it wait?"

Daisy shook her head, and began.

Sometimes magic was unbelievably wonderful.

Daisy sat on the edge of the bottom bunk in their room inside the tent, and fidgeted with her necklace of sparkly green shamrocks. Though the walls of the tent looked no different than the inside of any two bedroom flat, they were as thin as canvas, and the sounds of the Irish victory celebration filtered through without resistance. She could hear the drums pounding and the fiddles squealing as the rosette that was pinned to her pajamas squeaked, "Connolly! Quigley! Lynch!"

Above her, Hermione had set her chin against the bed rail and was chattering excitedly, wondering whether or not Harry would fancy the Bulgaria scarf she'd picked out earlier in the day. It was red, and white, and green—all colors that she thought suited him.

"It's got a lion on it," said Ginny Weasley. "He'll like that." She was tucked into her own bed against the opposite wall. "I wish I'd gotten him something, too. I've..." She yawned and rolled onto her back. "...still got most of my pocket money."

"You do?" said Hermione, her voice a few notes sharper than normal. She leaned so far over the side of her bunk that Daisy thought she might topple over it and onto her. "You wanted to get him something?"

"No, I'm just teasing, Hermione." Ginny giggled and pulled her covers up to her nose.

"Oh," said Hermione. She pulled herself back and sat up, swaddled in her blankets. "But he will like it, though, you think?"

"Yes, already," said Daisy, throwing herself flat and staring up at the slats in the bed frame. "He'll be delighted, Hermione. Stop worrying."

Daisy didn't know why Hermione had gone suddenly mad with affection for her brother. It seemed to be all she wanted to talk about this summer. Well, that and homework. Could it really have been something as innocuous as Daisy explaining that Harry had helped her with the Patronus Charm? Or had something happened between the two of them when they'd used the Time-Turner to save Sirius Black? But Harry certainly would have mentioned anything like that to her, wouldn't he? He'd been so quiet on the train ride back to King's Cross station at the end of term.

Daisy stuck her legs up in the air and pushed at the mattress above her with her toes. "Hermione, did Harry say that he fancied you?"

There was a sharp squeak, and again Hermione's face was floating over the edge of the top bunk.

"Of course not," she said. "Why? Has he been talking about me?"

"Er," began Daisy, unsure of how to proceed. Harry had never been interested in girls, as far as she knew. She, herself, had never really been interested in boys, either. But Hermione's bright eyes were so intent, and her cheeks were already pink.

"Daisy?" said Hermione. "I mean, you'd want to know if Cedric had said something about you to one of us, right?"

All of a sudden, Daisy felt a thrashing in her belly, as though someone had tied a noose around her stomach. She rolled over, pressing her face into her pillow, and mumbled, "As if he'd be interested in me."

"Oh, come now," said Hermione.

Daisy heard her drop down to the floor with a muted pat, and felt her slip into the bed beside her.

"I'm sure he'd be interested if you, if you told him that you liked him," said Hermione. "My mum says if you don't try, you won't know."

Daisy mashed her face deeper into her pillow. "Can we stop talking about boys?"

"All right, then," said Ginny. "Did you see Moran? What. A. Witch. It was like she was a bird, swooping and diving and swerving all about."

Daisy raised her head, thankful for the change in subject. And Moran had been fantastic. All of the Irish team had. They'd worked seamlessly together. It'd made all the matches Daisy had played at Hogwarts look like primary school children playing football with a tin can.

"I'd like to be on the national team one day," continued Ginny. "With my name on my back and everything."

"Yeah," agreed Daisy. And then the thought of Cedric Diggory sitting high in the stands clapping with abandon while Mr. Bagman called, 'And Potter gets the snitch! Victory for England!' sprang unbidden from the depths of her soul. Her ears grew hot.

"You two are quite good," said Hermione, still beside her. "I'm sure, if you put the proper time in, you'd be able to play professionally. And there's still opportunity for when you retire. Look at Mr. Bagman, he's head of—"

And then the drums stopped. And the fiddles. And a scream rent the air and came shuddering through the tent flaps like a falcon.

Ginny shot straight out of her bed, her long red hair atangle. "What was that?"

More screams.

There was crash somewhere outside, in the distance. Then a loud BANG!

Hermione and Daisy scrambled out of bed just as Arthur Weasley came barreling through the open door to their bedroom.

"Girls!" he gasped. "Jackets, quickly! Come, there's no time. Come on!"

"Dad what's happening?" said Ginny, rushing to grab her clothes.

"There's no time for getting dressed, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said firmly. "Just a coat, the boys are already outside." There was another crash, mingled with howls of terror, from outside. "Now."

Daisy had never seen Mr. Weasley look more serious; even when they'd stolen his old Ford Anglia to get to Hogwarts, the man had looked more thrilled and amused than upset. Daisy pulled on her windbreaker and grabbed Hermione by the hand. "Will you stop fussing with that scarf?" she growled. "Let's go."

Ron and the twins were out by the campfire. They faced the rest of the tents set up across the field, stunned. Daisy and Hermione hurried to join them.

The sky above the campsite was red and purple. Small campfires were still burning at the edge of the area, but at the center of the mass, where the Irish had been concentrated the most, great fires had been set to their shamrock covered tents. Their occupants were running for the forest, shouting, as more tents exploded in flame. Then, after a particularly bright flash of orange, Daisy saw them, a crowd of wizards with their wands aloft, marching slowly through the destruction. In the air above them floated four limp figures. People. A separate congregation of jeering onlookers was beginning to surround them as they marched.

"Are those the Bulgarians?" asked Ron. "What are they doing? That's no way to behave after a loss!"

"They've got masks on," said Hermione. "I don't think they're—"

"Death Eaters," snarled Bill Weasley, appearing beside them in the murk. He was dressed properly, trousers and shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. His little fang earring caught the firelight and glinted. He ran his eyes over each of them in turn, counting. "Ginny, come here."

Bill grasped his sister by the arm and pushed her between Fred and George. "You two keep her with you, all right? We're going to help the Ministry wizards."

Charlie, Percy, and Mr. Weasley hurried out of the boys tent and came to stand behind him.

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley. "You lot head for the woods. We'll come get you when this has been sorted out. Boy's let's go. I can see Amos down the way there." But Bill and Charlie had already broken off in a sprint for the crowd of Death Eaters. Mr. Weasley nodded at Percy, who for the first time that Daisy could remember, looked determined and positively courageous with his wand out and his sleeves cuffed neatly.

"Spoil our Cup, will they?" said Percy, striding off behind his father. "I'll show them!"

"I knew he had some guts stashed away somewhere," muttered Ron. "Anything to defend the honor of his dear Mr. Crouch."

"Come off it," said Ginny, squeezed between the Weasley twins. "At least he wants to help."

"We could help," said Daisy suddenly. "We could try to put out the fires, at least." She watched the panicked crowd surge from the center of the campsite, pushing and screaming in their haste to get to the safety of the woods. The fires were spreading, and now that the Ministry had engaged the band of masked wizards, the surrounding onlookers we caught between howling their support and running for the trees. They were coming very close to Weasley campsite now.

"Mr. Weasley said to get to the woods," said Hermione. "We should listen. Daisy, come on! Those are Death Eaters!"

"Oi, move it," said George. He had one of Ginny's arms tucked under his, with Fred mirroring him on the other side. "Quickly."

It grew dark and crowded as they reached the rim of the wood; the press of bodies, and shouts of family members trying to stay all together in the scuffle made it difficult to hear what was going on behind them. Daisy only knew where she was because of Hermione's iron grip on her hand. Ron was beside her as well, clinging to her sleeve.

The trees were close, just past the fringe of underbrush, and the ground was hard and knotty with roots. Everything was shadow and noise. People whose faces Daisy couldn't see, or care to make out, shoved and ran past them. Ron's hand wasn't at her sleeve anymore; Hermione's was growing slick with sweat. Daisy stumbled forward. Then there was strangled curse and Ron's heavy breathing was gone entirely from beside her.

"Hermione," gasped Daisy. "We have to stop, Ron's fallen behind."

"Where?" Hermione's hand tightened on hers. "Oh, I can't see anything—eep!"

A short woman in a blazer and tights had barrelled into them carrying a squealing toddler in her arms. "Out of the way, you lot!"

"Yes, wouldn't want to get separated, would you?" said a nasty voice. "Not with that dirty great scar and a mudblood clinging to you."

"Malfoy!" said Daisy, pulling Hermione up, peering around for the hateful girl. "Where are you? What are you doing?"

"Watching," said Malfoy. She was sitting in the cleft of a tree trunk, a few feet off the ground, with one leg thrown over the other as though nothing particularly harassing was taking place around her. Daisy could see that she was dressed, too, in a long, dark muggle skirt and blouse, not in pajamas and nightgowns like them.

Idly, Malfoy itched her temple with her wand. "They aren't after witches, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"They're after muggles, Potter, or didn't you notice?"

"They're Death Eaters, Daisy," said Hermione softly from beside her. "They his followers, You-Know-Who's."

"Voldemort's?" said Daisy, stunned. "His followers?"

"It's incredible how you've managed to stay this ignorant after all this time," called Malfoy from her perch. "Didn't you see the masks, and the hoods?"

"You don't sound so frightened," said Hermione. "But I'd bet your mum and dad wouldn't let them hurt you."

"I'd shut my gob and keep running, if I were you," Malfoy spat. "They can find a mudblood just as easy as a muggle."

"Don't you call her that, you cow!" shouted Daisy reaching in her windbreaker for her wand. "Or I'll hex you."

But there was nothing in her pockets.

Daisy spun, narrowly avoiding another group of wizards who came crashing through the undergrowth. "Where's my wand?"

"What sort of witch misplaces her wand?" said Malfoy. "You really haven't got a handle on this, Potter."

"We have to go back!" Daisy said to Hermione. "I can't lose my wand—maybe it fell out of my pocket when we were shuffling about out there."

"You want to go back?" said Hermione incredulously. "Daisy have you gone mad? Mr. Weasley said he'd come get us. We can look for it later. We'll be trampled if we turn around."

"No!" said Daisy, as Malfoy cackled from up in the tree. "I can't lose it!" And without waiting to see if Hermione followed, Daisy threw herself forward, her eyes glued to the forest floor.

How could she have lost it? A surge of cold came shooting up her throat. Without a wand, she was defenseless. And the Death Eaters were Voldemort's men. What would happen if they found her unarmed and with only Hermione for support?

All the way back to the clearing and the field, there was nothing. She'd retraced their path as best she could remember, but the little stick of holly was nowhere to be found. Frantic, she fell to her knees just inside the rim of the wood and felt about in the brush. Ahead, at the campsite, she heard the screaming and hooting of the crowd. She paused in her search to peer through the bushes.

The swarm had reached the Weasley's camp. The wizards of the Ministry of Magic had ringed them in, but seemed to be having a hard time getting to the center where the Death Eaters were, so thick was the crowd of onlookers. Above them, even more people were floating. Instead of hanging limply, however, they were spinning and jerking and bouncing in the air. Daisy fell onto her elbows and made herself small as she felt around for her wand. Hermione hadn't followed after her. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad one. And suddenly she wished that Harry had been here with them. He wouldn't have left her alone. He'd have helped her search for her wand. And he wouldn't have been frightened of Death Eaters.

"Imagine the pluck!" said a low, hoarse voice from somwhere behind her. "Torturing muggles without a care, as though they hadn't betrayed our master."

Daisy froze.

"Let's... let's give them something to think about then," said the voice—a man's. "Let's see which ones don't run howling when a true servant of the Dark Lord makes himself known!"

The cold in Daisy's throat turned to solid ice. Lying in the dirt under the hedge, she didn't even breathe. A servant of the Dark Lord? She fought the stab of curiousity that lanced through her fear. Who could it be?

And then the voice, like gravel, like it hadn't been used in centuries, said, "Morsmordre."

A blast of green lit the dirt around her and shot up into the sky. Daisy raised her head, just a little, just to see, and had to stifle her gasp.

A skull had appeared in the sky. It was made of green smoke and stars, and out of it's open mouth came a snake, fat and evil, like the one in her dream.

The forest and the clearing both erupted in screams.

The man behind her started to laugh, low and grating. "Run, run, run," he said. "Back to your homes and gardens. Run while you can, for he will be coming back for you."

Then with a crackle and a whisper, the man was gone, into the wood.

In the field ahead, there was a sound like dozens of fireworks being let off. Crackcrackcrackcrackcracksnap. Daisy forced herself, trembling, onto her elbows and looked again through the fringe.

The Death Eaters had gone. Apparated away. In the space where they had been, the muggles levitated for a moment longer, then started to crash to the ground. The Ministry wizards were rushing now, breaking through the throng, wands high, trying to catch the people as they fell.

Daisy heard them miss one. The sound of the body was soft and sick when it hit the ground. She dropped her gaze and turned away, crawling from beneath her hiding place.

Sometimes... magic was awful.