Diary of an Orphan (re-written)

by StrangeLittleWeirdo

Jenna grew up alone in an orphanage with no knowledge of who she was or where she came from. It wasn't until an owl arrived with a letter for her, and a man named Remus Lupin walked into her life, that she learnt she was so much more than she originally thought and her life would never be the same again.

22. Skull and Snake

Chapter 21

Skull and Snake

'Jenna, dear, it's time to go.'

I blearily opened an eye. Mrs Weasley gently shook my shoulder again.

'What time is it?' I asked, blinking a couple of times as my eyes adjusted to the light coming from her wand tip. I sat up and flattened my fringe knowing it was stuck up at all angles from sleep.

'Four o'clock,' replied Mrs Weasley quietly.

She squeezed herself between the beds to wake up Hermione. Opposite me, Ginny was sat up with her head forward on her knees. A quiet groan came out through her curtain of red hair. I raised my arms and stretched. Why did we have to get up so early? Mrs Weasley made her way back through the beds and towards the bedroom door.

'Get dressed, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,' said Mrs Weasley and she left the room.

Hermione, Ginny and I dressed in silence as we were all still too full of sleep to talk to each other. From my trunk I dug out some clean underwear and t-shirt. I shrugged off my pyjamas and put them on. Grabbing my school bag that I had packed for the World Cup, I shoved my pyjamas inside it then started hunting for my jeans and some socks. They had been kicked off the foot of my bed during the night and were tucked away under Ginny's desk. I groaned inwardly and bent down to retrieve them. I pulled them on, did the same with a pair of socks then headed to the bathroom across the hall to brush my hair and teeth. Five minutes later and still no more awake but at least looking a bit more presentable, I went downstairs with Hermione and Ginny.

Harry, Ron, Fred and George were already downstairs when we joined them. All were sat around the table looking as sleepy as us. Mr Weasley had a pile of parchment in front of him that he was rifling through. They had to be the tickets. I did a double blink when I saw what he was wearing. Being a wizard, I had always seen Mr Weasley in his robes. His attempt at Muggle clothing was interesting to say the least. A combination of green and blue golfing jumper and a pair of very old jeans that looked a couple sizes too big for him as he was using a thick leather belt to hold them up, and instead of his usual smart shoes, he was wearing a pair of trainers on his feet. I mean, it clashed but it did the job.

'Why do we have to be up so early?' asked Ginny. She took a seat at the table next to Fred, rubbing her eyes.

I sat down and pulled one of the remaining bowls of porridge towards me. I added some honey and gave it a stir then tucked in, not interested in joining in the conversation. I was not a morning person.

'We've got a bit of a walk,' said Mr Weasley.

'Walk?' said Harry. 'What, are we walking to the World Cup?'

'No, no, that's miles away,' said Mr Weasley. He smiled. 'We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup –'

'George!'

I jumped, dropping my spoon with a clatter. I looked up to see Mrs Weasley glaring at the twins.

'What?' asked George. Even in my sleepy state, I knew that tone was anything but innocent.

'What is that in your pocket?'

'Nothing!'

'Don't you lie to me!'

Mr Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, 'Accio!'

A small brightly colour shape flew from George's pocket. Then another. Then several more. George tried to grab them but missed. Each one zoomed straight into Mrs Weasley's outstretched hand. It was more of Fred and George's sweets they'd made for their joke shop. They must have planned to take some to the World Cup.

'We told you to destroy them!' said Mrs Weasley furiously. I held in another groan. Now was not the time to listen to a Weasley argument. Subtly I pulled my hood up over my head and went back to my porridge. 'We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!' When Fred and George refused to budge, Mrs Weasley shouted, 'Accio! Accio! Accio!' several more times. More and more sweets flew out of every part of Fred and George's clothing you could see under the power of her Summoning Charm until every single one of them had been found. She immediately threw them all in the bin.

'We spent six months developing those!' shouted Fred.

'Oh, a fine way to spend six months!' shrieked Mrs Weasley. 'No wonder you didn't get more O. !'

The purging of Fred and George's hard work left the atmosphere very tense and awkward as we got ready to leave. Mrs Weasley still had a glare on her face as she bade us all goodbye and kissed her husband on the cheek. Fred and George too were still looking mutinous as they grabbed their rucksacks and left without a word to her. I pulled on my jacket over my hoody and slipped on my trainers. I hoped this atmosphere wasn't going to last all morning.

'Well, have a lovely time,' said Mrs Weasley, 'and behave yourselves,' she called after the twins. 'I'll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday,' she added to her husband.

The group walked out into the still dark yard. I zipped up my jacket. It was still quite fresh outside as the morning sun hadn't even risen yet. The moon was still clearly visible in the sky and what few clouds there were skidded across deep blue sky. Just over a hill in the distance a greenish light was coming over the horizon indicating that sunrise was on its way. We walked in silence across the yard and on to the lane that would lead us to the village. The only person who seemed even remotely awake enough to ask questions was Harry.

'So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?' he asked Mr Weasley.

'It's been a massive organisational problem,' sighed Mr Weasley. 'The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up to the World Cup, and of course we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. Firstly, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains – remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys.'

Portkeys. I had experienced Portkeys before. It was one of my first experiences of the wizarding world in fact. It had been a Portkey that which had taken me from Surry to Moonlake Cottage for the first time when Lupin had adopted me. It wasn't a very pleasant way to travel. Anything could be made into a Portkey as they were made out of everyday objects that weren't likely to be picked up by Muggles. When touched, the Portkey would spontaneously transport the person or people holding it to a preassigned destination at a prearranged time. The sensation you felt when you travelled by one was like you were being dragged along by your hand by something immensely fast and strong and you weren't able to let go until you reached you destination as the magic made it feel like your hand was glued to the object.

The sky was beginning to lighten when we reached the village. We passed through it without a sound as the inhabitants slept on in their beds. By now my hands and feet had gone numb from the cold air. At the other end of the village was our destination: Stoatshead Hill. We started to climb the thick grass up the hill. Every so often one of us would stumble as we stepped in a rabbit's hole or hit an uneven patch of earth. I had always liked to think I was in quite good shape from the exercise I would get during the full moons or simply getting around Hogwarts with its numerous staircases and its sheer size, but even I started to struggle by the time we were halfway up the hill. At least this part of the walk warmed me up and I was soon unzipping my jacket and removing my gloves. After what felt like forever the summit was in sight. A few more steps and I joined the others at the top of the hill, the sun now visible on the horizon.

'Whew,' panted Mr Weasley. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his sweater. 'Well, we've made good time – we've got ten minutes ...'

I dropped my bag and stood straight as I tried to catch my breath. I was glad I'd asked Lupin to change my bag from a single strap to a rucksack before I'd left home. Harry and Ron, who had walked most of the way with Mr Weasley, were both red in the face; Fred and George were both bent over double; while Hermione had just reached the top with Ginny and was clutching a stitch in her side.

'Now we just need the Portkey,' said Mr Weasley. He squinted at the ground. 'It won't be big … come on …'

We started to look around. My eyes scoured the grass for anything that looked like a piece of rubbish that could be a Portkey. We had barely been looking for a couple of minutes when a shout broke the silence.

'Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!'

Two figures silhouetted by the sunrise on the other side of the hill began to approach us.

'Amos!' said Mr Weasley cheerfully.

Mr Weasley strode over to the new arrivals and held out his hand. A ruddy-faced wizard I recognised came into view as my eyes adjusted to the brighter light. It was Amos Diggory. I'd met him before when I was twelve. He'd been one of the three wizards who'd investigated Lupin's suitability as a guardian for me as a member of the Beast Division. A tall man but with the visible signs of middle age, Mr Diggory was dressed in Muggle clothes just like Mr Weasley except he'd done it a lot better. Looking at him, he wouldn't look out of place as a Muggle farmer, flat cap, gilet, cane and all. In his other hand was a mouldy-looking old boot.

'This is Amos Diggory, everyone,' said Mr Weasley. 'Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?'

Cedric was in Fred and George's year at Hogwarts in Hufflepuff. A tall and lean sixteen-year-old, Cedric was a popular student at Hogwarts with dirty blonde wavy hair and greyish eyes. He was the Seeker and Quidditch Captain for Hufflepuff and, from what I learnt of him last year after the Quidditch match when Dementors caused Harry to fall off his broom, was a rather modest person. He had wanted to replay the match when he'd learnt what had happened to Harry. I was also aware that he seemed very popular amongst the girls in the years above me. To be honest I wasn't entirely sure why. He stood rather awkwardly next to his father and said hello to us, his eyes taking each of us in in turn. His eyes seemed to linger when they reached me before moving on. I looked away, awkward from his unwanted attention.

'Long walk, Arthur?' Mr Diggory asked.

'Not too bad,' said Mr Weasley. 'We live just on the other side of the village there. You?'

'Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced?' replied Mr Diggory. '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 …' He looked at all of us stood with Mr Weasley. 'All these yours, Arthur?'

'Oh, no,' laughed Mr Weasley, 'only the redheads.' gesturing to his children. 'This is Hermione and Jenna, friends of Ron's – and Harry, another friend –'

'Merlin's beard,' said Mr Diggory, his eyes widening. 'Harry? Harry Potter?'

'Er – yeah,' said Harry.

'Ced's talked about you, of course,' said Mr Diggory. '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!'

Beside me I heard a huff come from the twins' direction. Cedric looked embarrassed.

'Harry fell off his broom, Dad,' he muttered. 'I told you … it was an accident …'

'Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?' laughed Mr Diggory. He slapped Cedric on the back. '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.'

I frowned. Mr Diggory wasn't as kind this time round as he had been the first time I'd met him. Cedric at least did try to stop his Dad's boasting and seemed genuinely put off by his father's behaviour. That was good of him, I guess.

'Must be nearly time,' said Mr Weasley quickly, looking at his watch. 'Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?'

'No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets,' said Mr Diggory. '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 …'

Mr Weasley looked towards Harry and Hermione.

'You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do –'

Time for the bit I wasn't looking forward to. I took my place in the tight circle we formed around the old boot which wasn't easy with the number of backpacks we had. I squeezed myself in between Hermione and Cedric and reached out my right hand and touched the boot. It would certainly have been a sight to see for any Muggle passer-by on an early morning walk. Eyes on his watch, Mr Weasley counted down the remaining seconds until –

With a sudden unpleasant jerk around my midriff, I felt myself being pulled forward, my hand forcibly stuck to the boot. I held my breath as we travelled and scrunched my eyes shut. My shoulders knocked against the bodies of Hermione and Cedric. Wind blew my hair into my face making my eyes sting. As suddenly as it had started, it ended. My feet slammed into the ground with such force my knees buckled, and I fell backwards. A pair of arms caught me from hitting the ground. I looked up.

'Are you OK?'

I stared up at Cedric. His arms were supporting me under my own. I had even instinctively grabbed his.

'Er, yeah, thanks,' I said. Cedric helped me stand. 'Thanks for catching me.'

'No problem.'

Cedric smiled. A voice called out our Portkey's arrival time. We had arrived in a vast deserted stretch of moor. The sunlight was no longer visible in the grey sky and there was a low mist hanging over the grass. You could barely see a few feet in front of you. A pair of tired and grumpy wizards with a thick roll of parchment had marked off our arrival. I saw they were yet another example of a wizard's inept ability as dressing as a Muggle; one was in a tweed two-piece suit with thigh-length galoshes; the other, a kilt and poncho. Mr Weasley spoke to the two wizards before signalling us to follow him. Cedric glanced over at his father, flashed another smile at me, then walked off to join him as he walked off in the opposite direction to Mr Weasley and the others.

'Merlin, Jenna, did you see the way Cedric looked at you?' came Ginny's voice. I squinted through the mist to see her and Hermione walk over to me.

'What d'you mean "the way he looked at me"?' I asked. The three of us started through the mist after the others. 'What are you talking about, Ginny? Cedric didn't look at me in any way.'

'Are you kidding?' said Ginny. 'He flashed you two smiles. Most girls at Hogwarts older than you would hex for that sort of attention from him.'

I looked to Hermione for some clarification to what Ginny meant.

'Ginny's right,' confirmed Hermione. 'Cedric is known for being quite aloof at school, not in a rude way, but more in a he keeps to himself way. The girls in the years above fight for his attention all the time.'

'So?' I asked. 'So what? He's sixteen. Why would he be interested in me?'

Hermione and Ginny shared a look.

'What?' I asked. What was I missing? 'What was that look about?'

'Nothing, Jenna,' Hermione replied, shaking her head. 'Come on, or we'll lose the others in the mist.'

A short walk later we came to a stop by a small stone cottage. There was a gate beside it which led into a large field. In the distance vague shadows could be seen in various shapes and sizes. I assumed they had to be tents of the inhabitants who had travelled here for the World Cup. On the horizon a tall wood overlooked the field. By now daylight had fully set in but the numerous clouds and mist made it grey and dull. Not the sort of weather I would have thought would be good for Quidditch. A man stood in the doorway to the cottage staring at the state of his field. Judging by how he was dressed, he was actually a Muggle. He turned around when he heard our footsteps on the muddy ground.

'Morning!' said Mr Weasley brightly to him.

'Morning,' grunted the Muggle.

'Would you be Mr Roberts?'

'Aye, I would,' said Mr Roberts. 'And who're you?'

'Weasleys – two tents, booked a couple of days ago?'

'Aye.' Mr Roberts consulted the list tacked to his front door. 'You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?'

'That's it.'

'You'll be paying now, then?'

Mr Weasley hesitated, then said, 'Ah – right – certainly –' Mr Weasley retreated back a short distance and pulled Harry to one side. Mr Roberts raised an eyebrow at Mr Weasley's behaviour. A few moments later he came back, a small handful of Muggle notes in his hand.

'You foreign?' asked Mr Roberts.

'Foreign?' repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

'You're not the first one who's had trouble with money,' said Mr Roberts gruffly. 'I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.'

'Did you really?' said Mr Weasley. A nervous edge had creeped into his voice.

'Never been this crowded,' continued Mr Roberts as he handed Mr Weasley his change. He glanced at the misty field. 'Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up …'

'Is that right?' said Mr Weasley. He held out his hand to receive his change, but Mr Roberts was lost in his own thoughts.

'Aye,' he said. 'People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking round in a kilt and a poncho.'

'Shouldn't he?' said Mr Weasley sounding even more anxious.

'It's like some sort of … I dunno … like some sort of rally,' mused Mr Roberts. 'They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.'

Crack.

'Obliviate!'

The wizard who had suddenly appeared from nowhere pointed his wand at Mr Roberts. His eyes slid out of focus and a dreamy look came over his face. I recognised the effects of the spell; I had been the subject of a Memory Charm a few years ago when I was made to forget witnessing Hermione being Petrified by a Basilisk. The wizard had performed some sort of Memory Charm on him. Quickly the wizard pocketed his wand again as Mr Roberts' eyes refocused on Mr Weasley.

'A map of the campsite for you,' he said. He handed Mr Weasley a folded map and his change. 'And your change.'

'Thanks very much,' said Mr Weasley.

Mr Weasley nodded us on and we followed him through the gate, the wizard, who I saw was dressed in a set of plus-fours, accompanying us. He looked as tired as Mr Weasley as if he'd been up for the last few hours, the evidence of the previous night's stubble still on his chin. He engaged Mr Weasley in a short, muttered conversation before Disapparating with another sharp crack. We continued on.

Gradually the mist began to thin and the tents became visible to us. At first, they looked almost ordinary, only the odd chimney or weathervane giving away that they weren't normal Muggle tents. But the further up the field we got, the more I understood why Mr Rogers had been suspicious of what was going on in his field. Halfway up the field we passed what could only be described as an extravagant palatial structure made out of striped silk. There were even several live peacocks tethered outside the entrance. Further up there was another tent that had three floors and several turrets. Another had a front garden with birdbath and sundial, while a fourth had a balcony and entrance porch. Wizards weren't subtle, were we? At the very edge of the wood at the top of the field was an empty space with a small sign that had been hammered into the ground. On it said the word: Weezly.

'Couldn't have a better spot!' said Mr Weasley, clapping his hands together. 'The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be.' He took his backpack off and placed it on the ground. 'Right, no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult … Muggles do it all the time … here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?'

Putting up the two tents was no easy task when done by a group of wizards, only three of which having any experience of Muggle customs. It was times like this I was actually glad I had some sort of Muggle upbringing meaning I had a bit more of a grasp on Muggle things than some wizards my age. The Weasleys were all but useless and neither Harry nor myself had ever been camping before. Luckily Hermione had gone once with her family so had a vague idea of what to do with the various poles and pegs. Between the three of us, even with Mr Weasley's enthusiastic attempts at "helping", we managed to pitch the two tents with some amounts of success. They were rather shabby looking and small but at least they looked very Muggle-like. No one would think eleven wizards would be inside them. Saying that. I looked sceptically at the tents. How were they going to fit us all in?

'We'll be a bit cramped,' said Mr Weasley, getting to his knees, 'but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.'

Harry, Hermione and I shared a look. Might as well take his word for it. I bent down and followed Hermione into the tent. My eyes widened at what I saw. Despite having lived in the wizarding world for three years now there were still times when I would get caught completely off guard at what magic could do and this was one of those times. The tent had been barely a few feet wide and long when looked at from the outside; from the inside it was like I was standing in someone's living room, albeit one that smelt of cats. A seating area made up of a couple of fabric armchairs and a small sofa was at the entrance, a stovepipe fire to one side to provide a source of heat. At the back of the tent were three raised areas up a couple of wooden steps. Two were sleeping areas each containing a couple of bunk beds while the third had a long wooden table and two benches to eat at in what appeared to be a kitchenette. The floor of the tent was lined with an assortment of patterned carpets and walls looked like they were made of various different fabrics that had been sewn together.

'Well, it's not for long,' said Mr Weasley. 'I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago.' By the stove there was a dusty kettle. Mr Weasley picked it up and looked inside. We'll need some water …'

'There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us,' said Ron. 'It's on the other side of the field.'

'Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione and Jenna go and get us some water then and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire.'

'But we've got an oven,' said Ron, 'why can't we just –?'

''Ron, anti-Muggle security!' said Mr Weasley. 'When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it!'

Mr Weasley seemed determined to follow the rules, something that Ron clearly didn't like the idea of. With a brief stop in the second tent so Hermione and I could leave our bags, the four of us set off with the kettle and some saucepans to collect some water.

The sun had fully risen by now and the mist was finally clearing. We found ourselves in the middle of a city of tents that stretched out in every direction around us. The signs of life were beginning to show as the families of wizards began to wake up. The ones with the young children were amongst the first to rise as they played outside, unaware that their antics of enlarging slugs or riding toy broomsticks were actually breeches of the International Statute of Secrecy. Every so often a harassed-looking Ministry wizard would run by in desperation to stop them before they could be seen. Other older wizards were a lot more cautious. They would furtively conjure fires or futilely attempt to light matches they had been provided with in an attempt to blend in albeit with looks of scepticism on their faces.

It appeared to be the foreign wizards who weren't as bothered about blending in or attracting attention. Three African wizards still dressed in their long white robes were sat in deep conversation while they roasted what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire; another group, this time middle-aged American witches, sat gossiping outside their tents which had a large banner reading The Salem Witches' Institute hung between them; a few tents over from that a small group of individuals were crowded together talking in a language I didn't recognise but all seemed excited about something.

'Er – is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?' said Ron.

It wasn't Ron's eyes. Ahead of us we had walked into what looked like a sea of shamrocks. The tents were covered in them from top to bottom making them look like little hills rising out of the ground to form little burrow-like homes for their inhabitants. We had wandered into an area that was clearly made up of the Irish Quidditch teams' supporters. It was here we saw the first people we recognised. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, two Gryffindors in our year, were together outside one of the numerous green tents grinning broadly together as they waved at us. There were there with a sandy-haired witch who must have been Seamus's mother, gathering on how she questioned us to if we would be supporting Ireland. We played it safe and assured her we were before continuing on.

Having seen the Irish decorations, we decided to take a detour and go have a look at the Bulgarians' tents. They too had been decorated but this time instead of being bedecked in plant-life they all bore the same picture of a surly-looking wizard with thick dark eyebrows and scowling face. Ron recognised him immediately as Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. He had gone on nonstop about him since I'd got to The Burrow. Hermione and I shared the opinion that he seemed really grumpy based on his picture.

'"Really grumpy"?' repeated Ron. He rolled his eyes. 'Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see.'

There was a queue at the tap when we finally got there and, unsurprisingly, another heated argument about clothing was happening. A Ministry wizard was trying to convince an elderly wizard named Archie wearing a flowery nightdress to put on some trousers but Archie wasn't having any of it and insisting he liked the "breeze round my privates". I cringed while Hermione burst into a fit of giggles and stepped out the queue to regain her composure. We took our turn at the tap and filled our pans and kettle, then made our way back to the tents. We saw more familiar faces on our way back that we recognised from Hogwarts including Gryffindor's old Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, and a girl Harry seemed to recognise who waved at him as we passed.

What I found most interesting were how many people we passed who seemed to be around our age. I'd never really thought about before, but it would have been naive of me to think Hogwarts was the only wizarding school in the world. There surely had to be others for wizards from different countries to attend. It made me wonder what sort of things they were taught and what their uniforms would be like or if they were modelled the same way Hogwarts was with Houses and co-educational.

We got back to the tent to find Mr Weasley thoroughly enjoying himself as he tried to light a fire on a pile of kindling Fred, George and Ginny had collected using some matches. Hermione took pity on him after watching him light a match but drop it immediately afterwards from surprise. It was late morning by the time the fire was ready to cook on. I passed the time lying out on the grass with my head resting on a pillow as I watched the various people go by our tent. Mr Weasley provided a running who's who commentary but I was only half interested to listen as I was starting to get hungry. The smell of eggs and sausages soon reached my nose which was a great relief to know lunch was on its way. Good timing too as Bill, Charlie and Percy had just shown up. Plates of food handed out we tucked in.

'Aha!' cried Mr Weasley. He jumped to his feet, leaving his plate on the ground. 'The man of the moment! Ludo!'

I looked up, mouth full of sausage, at the new arrival. This must be Ludo Bagman, the man Mr Weasley had said he'd got the tickets from. If Archie had been noticeable for his nightdress, it was nothing compared to what Lude Bagman was wearing. He was dressed in a set of bright yellow Quidditch robes with thick black stripes making him look like an oversized insect. A large wasp was even emblazoned on his chest. His robes looked uncomfortably tight on his large frame showing signs he'd lost his once athletic shape in his days of playing Quidditch. His face was beaming with a boyish grin and what was clearly a broken nose as he looked at us all gathered there.

'Ahoy there!' called Bagman. He walked over to us, a spring in his step from his enthusiasm. 'Arthur, old man,' said Bagman, shaking Mr Weasley's hand, '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!'

The group of Ministry wizards who rushed past behind him would argue otherwise I thought.

While the rest of us remained eating our lunches, Percy had sprung to his feet at the arrival of Bagman despite his earlier voiced disapproval of how he ran his department.

'Ah – yes,' said Mr Weasley, '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 – and Ron's friends, Jenna Black, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.'

As with Mr Diggory, Bagman did a double-take at Harry's name.

'Everyone,' continued Mr Weasley, 'this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets –'

Bagman laughed and waved his hand dismissively.

'Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?' said Bagman. He put his hand in the pocket of his robes. The gentle clink of coins rang out. '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.'

'Oh … go on, then,' said Mr Weasley. 'Let's see … a Galleon on Ireland to win?'

'A Galleon?' boomed Bagman. He looked rather disappointed at Mr Weasley's offer. 'Very well, very well … any other takers?'

'They're a bit young to be gambling,' said Mr Weasley. 'Molly wouldn't like –'

'We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,' said Fred. He and George were emptying their pockets of all their gold. 'That Ireland win – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand.'

'You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that –' hissed Percy.

Bagman took the fake wand Fred handed him. He gave it a quick wave then roared with laughter when it gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken.

'Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!'

Percy's jaw dropped. I snorted, biting my lip to hide my amusement.

'Boys,' said Mr Weasley quietly, 'I don't want you betting … that's all your savings … your mother –'

'Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!' roared Bagman jovially. 'They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch?' he asked, turning back to Fred and George. '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 …'

Bagman took out a small notebook and quill and jotted down the twins' bet. He ripped off the parchment and handed it to George who tucked it into the front pocket of his jacket. Bagman turned 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?' Percy instantly perked up again at the mention of his boss' name. 'He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll …'

'Anyone can speak Troll,' muttered Fred dismissively, 'all you have to do is point and grunt.'

Percy threw Fred a nasty look then turned to stoke the fire to boil the kettle for Bagman who had settled himself down on the grass.

'Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?' asked Mr Weasley.

'Not a dicky bird,' said Bagman. 'But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha … memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office some time in October, thinking it's still July.'

Percy hadn't been lying when he had told us about Bagman's lax approach to Bertha's disappearance. I was quite surprised to be honest that someone's boss would be so casual about his employee disappearing without a trace.

'You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?' suggested Mr Weasley.

'Barty Crouch keeps saying that,' said Bagman. He took the tea Percy had handed him and took a sip. 'But we can't really spare anyone at the moment. Oh – talk of the devil! Barty!'

A wizard had just Apparated beside our tents. He looked very different compared to Bagman. Dressed in a smart navy suit and following the Muggle dress-code almost to the letter, Barty Crouch was another older wizard who stood stiffly in front of us. His short grey hair was parted severely on one side and swept back so it looked unnaturally straight while his toothbrush moustache was impeccably trimmed. Even his shoes were polished until they reflected the grass they stood in. I saw at once why Percy seemed to idolise him so much.

'Pull up a bit of grass, Barty,' said Bagman cheerfully.

'No, thank you, Ludo,' replied Crouch curtly. 'I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.'

'Oh, is that what they're after?' said Bagman. 'I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.'

'Mr Crouch!' said Percy, beaming at his arrival. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'Oh,' Crouch looked over at Percy in mild surprise. 'Yes – thank you, Weatherby.'

I bit back another snort.

'Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur,' continued Crouch. 'Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.'

'I sent him an owl about that just last week,' signed Mr Weasley. 'If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artefact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?'

'I doubt it,' muttered Crouch. Percy handed him his tea. 'He's desperate to export here.'

'Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?' said Bagman.

'Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle,' said Crouch. 'I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve – but that was before carpets were banned, of course.'

'So, been keeping busy, Barty?' asked Bagman.

'Fairly. Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.'

'I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?' asked Mr Weasley.

'Glad!' repeated Bagman sounding shocked. 'Don't know when I've had more fun … still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, eh?'

I had been bored to the point of almost shutting off from listening to the conversation when Bagman's words restored my curiosity to continue. Was this the same thing Percy had been hinting at the last few weeks? What else could they be organising after the World Cup?

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details –'

'Oh, details!' dismissed Bagman. 'They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts –'

'Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,' said Crouch sharply. 'Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.'

Mr Crouch pushed his undrunk tea back into Percy's hands and got to his feet. Bagman drained the last of his cup and did the same, albeit with more of a struggle.

'See you all later! You'll be in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!'

Bagman waved. Crouch nodded curtly. Then they both Disapparated.

'What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?' asked Fred at once. 'What were they talking about?'

'You'll find out soon enough,' said Mr Weasley with an odd smile.

'It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,' said Percy stiffly. 'Mr Crouch was quite right not to disclose it.'

'Oh, shut up, Weatherby,' said Fred.

The atmosphere became charged with excitement as the day continued and the match drew closer. By the time night had begun to fall, silent anticipation could be felt everywhere from the thousands of wizards who were now gathered together. Everywhere glimpses of magic could be seen erupting that even the Ministry wizards had given up on delaying the inevitable. Salesmen were Apparating from tent to tent selling various merchandise from traps and carts to willing fans. Luminous rosettes in the different team colours that squealed the team names; pointed green hats with dancing shamrocks; Bulgarian scarves with roaring lions; flags that played the national anthem when they were waved; tiny models of Firebolts and the players that moved on their own

Digging into our pockets, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I treated ourselves to some souvenirs. Ron bought the most having saved his gold over the summer for the occasion, buying a dancing shamrock hat, a large green rosette, and a model of Viktor Krum who walked about when Ron held him in his hand. It would scowl up at the Irish merchandise. Harry was more interested in a pair of Omnioculars at another stand and purchased a set for each of us while Hermione bought us all some programmes. Not wanting to waste too much gold, I settled on an Irish scarf and getting a couple of shamrocks painted on my cheeks. We returned to the tent to see the rest of the Weasleys all similarly kitted out in rosettes and hats and facepaint to show their support for Ireland except Fred and George who'd bet all their gold to Bagman.

A deep booming gong sounded somewhere in the distance beyond the woods. Red and green lanterns burst into life in the trees to light the path to the pitch.

'It's time!' said Mr Weasley. 'Come on, let's go!'

We grabbed our various souvenirs and set off with Mr Weasley in the lead. Shouts of laughter and excitement echoed through the air as thousands of wizards followed the lantern-lit trail that would lead them to the stadium. It was hard not to get swept up in the excitement and I felt the rush the closer we got. In the distance loomed an enormous structure that reached several hundred feet into the sky with magnificent golden walls. It would be an eye-sore for any Muggle who came across it and as Mr Weasley explained, the structure required Muggle-Repelling Spells on every inch of it. We followed Mr Weasley around the edges of the stadium towards the nearest entrance. A Ministry official checked our tickets and directed us where to go.

A purple carpet led us into the stadium where we began our ascent. We made our way slowly up the stairs following the crowd. It was packed. Doors on each level led people to their seats in the stands. We kept climbing. Higher and higher we went. The crowd dispersed the further we went. After what must have been hundreds of stairs we reached the top of the staircase. We'd arrived in the small box that had been lavishly decorated with fabric and contained rows of cushioned chairs. Looking out into the stadium as I took my seat I saw we were the highest up we could possibly be and were exactly halfway between each set of goalposts. We had what must've been the best view in the entire stadium.

Below us more and more witches and wizards were taking their seats that rose in levels around the oval pitch. They looked so small all the way up here. A golden light illuminated the stadium. The goalposts stood like proud sentinels at either end of the pitch. The grass looked like it had been glossed as waves of light rushed across it. On the opposite side to our box a gigantic blackboard had words written upon it in golden writing, messages and advertisements flashing up then disappearing again.

'Dobby?'

I looked round at Harry's gasp. Dobby was a house-elf who had tried to "save" Harry's life in our second year. Was he here? My eyes followed where Harry was staring. Sure enough a small creature was sat on one of the chairs. It parted its long fingers to look at us revealing large brown eyes and a stubby nose. Its bat-like ears twitched. I saw that the creature had some sort of material wrapped round it, a tea towel by the looks of it that it was wearing like a toga. So this was what a house-elf looked like.

'Did sir just call me Dobby?' squeaked the elf. It was female judging by its high voice.

'Sorry,' Harry said. 'I just thought you were someone I knew.'

'But I knows Dobby too, sir!' squeaked the elf. The way it peered through its fingers, it was like it was hiding from something. 'My name is Winky, sir – and you, sir –' her eyes widened when she saw Harry's scar, 'you is surely Harry Potter!'

'Yeah, I am,' said Harry.

'But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!' said Winky, looking awestruck up at him.

'How is he?' asked Harry. 'How's freedom suiting him?'

'Ah, sir,' sighed Winky. She shook her head, her bat ears flapping. 'Ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free.'

'Why? What's wrong with him?'

'Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir,' explained Winky. 'Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir.'

'Why not?'

Winky lowered her voice and whispered, 'He is wanting paying for his work, sir.' like it was some disrespectful thing to say.

'Paying?' said Harry blankly. 'Well – why shouldn't he be paid?'

Winky's face took on a horrified look at the thought. She buried her face into her hands again.

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

'Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun,' said Harry.

'House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,' said Winky firmly. 'House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter –' her eyes darted to the edge of the box making her squeak, '– but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.'

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

'Master – master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, he is very busy.' She nodded at the vacant seat beside her. 'Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told, Winky is a good house-elf.'

With another glance at the edge, she flinched and hid behind her hands again.

'So that's a house-elf?' muttered Ron. 'Weird things, aren't they?'

I had to admit, Ron was kind of right. Winky did come across very strange in the way she spoke about house-elves.

'Dobby was weirder,' Harry muttered back.

The box began to fill up. Important wizards from the Ministry and the visiting countries started to join us making Percy act like a Muggle jack-in-the-box each time he jumped up to shake hands with them. Even Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic was to watch the match from here. He greeted Harry with a fatherly handshake; Percy looked on jealously at that. After introducing Harry to the Bulgarian Minister, who exclaimed loudly when he finally realised who Harry was by his scar, he welcomed a somewhat more unpleasant guest into the box.

'… and here's Lucius!'

I jerked in my seat when I heard that name. I looked over my shoulder to the entrance to the box. Lucius Malfoy stood there and he wasn't alone. Beside him was Malfoy who was the spitting image of his father but with shorter hair and less pointed face, and a woman who I assumed to be his mother. They were waved over by the Minister when they walked into the box then made their way along the row behind us to the three empty seats behind Mr Weasley. He too had tensed at the Malfoy's arrival.

I had never met Malfoy's mother before and I only knew one thing about her. She was my cousin by blood through my father, making Malfoy officially my second cousin. I swallowed and looked up at my relative. She was tall and slim and dressed in some of the finest robes I had ever seen. Her hair, like her husband and son's, was straight, blonde and reached past her shoulders, a pin holding it back off her pale face. It was then I noticed something, a resemblance between her and my Dad; there was an arrogance about the way she looked, as if she knew she was good-looking and so superior because of that. Dad had said his cocky attitude at school was partly because he'd known he was good-looking. Was this a trait of my family? Being arrogant about their looks? Well I couldn't deny Mrs Malfoy did look rather beautiful if you ignored her sneer, and Malfoy had already displayed the Black family arrogance. I shuddered.

'Ah, Fudge,' said Mr Malfoy. 'How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?'

I watched silently as he and Fudge shook hands. I was more than aware of their friendly relationship. Further up I saw Mr Weasley was keeping his attention fixed ahead of himself. With all his friendly demeanour, Mr Weasley intensely disliked Mr Malfoy. The last time they had been in the same room a fight had broken out and they had to be forcefully separated by Hagrid. Unfortunately, Mr Weasley did not stay unnoticed for long as Mr Malfoy's eyes swept the row in front of him where we sat.

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

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

'How – how nice,' said Mr Weasley, with a smile that must have taken him a lot of effort.

Mr Malfoy's eyes continued along down the line. His eyes seemed to flash angrily when he spotted Hermione, who turned slightly pink but stared back. The idea of having to share the box with someone like Hermione must have thoroughly repulsed him. Luckily with Fudge being there we were spared one of his usual sneers. Malfoy too shot us all a contemptuous look at us being there then took his seat between his parents. With a final look I turned away but not before I heard Ron mutter "slimy git" under his breath.

'Everyone ready?' Bagman had entered the box. He beamed at everyone gathered there. 'Minister – ready to go?'

'Ready when you are, Ludo,' said Fudge.

Bagman turned and faced out into the stadium. He took out his wand and pointed it at his own throat.

'Sonorus!

'Ladies and gentlemen … welcome!' Bagman's voice had become magically magnified. It echoed throughout the stadium for all the spectators to hear. 'Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!'

A loud cheer greeted Bagman's words. Thunders of applause rang round the stadium. Flags of all colours waved as the national anthems played in turn. The blackboard across from us wiped itself clean and was replaced by large bold letters: BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

'And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce … the Bulgarian Team Mascots!'

The side of the stadium to our right, which was made of a sea of red from the Bulgarian supporters, roared its approval. I wonder what they had brought. I leaned forward in my seat to get a better view. A group of women were gliding out on to the pitch. A few seats up from me I heard Mr Weasley say the word Veela. What was a Veela? I stared at the women on the pitch. Each looked almost identical to the next with the same white-gold hair and almost luminescent pale skin. They all wore the same silvery dress and lined themselves up in rows. They appeared to be getting ready to dance. Music started and the women began to sway in perfect synchronisation. I frowned. What was so great about the Veela? I glanced at the others only to start at what I saw.

Fred and George had both started flattening their hair and were feverishly tucking in their shirts. Next to Hermione, Ron had stood up and was stretching out his arms like he was limbering up for some sort of exercise. As for Harry, he too had gotten to his feet and was resting one of them on the edge of box. What on earth?

'Harry, what are you doing?' said Hermione, staring at them both as well.

The music had stopped and the Veela were no longer dancing. Angry yells suddenly filled the stadium with the majority of them clearly being male. I looked around stunned. What had the Veela done? It was like they had entranced every male in the stadium. Harry looked at the shamrock on his chest while Ron began tearing off the ones on his hat; Mr Weasley leant over and tugged the hat out of his hands to stop him, saying he would still need it. Ron stared dazedly at his father. Harry was staring down at the pitch still on his feet. With a sharp tug Hermione pulled Harry back into his seat.

'Honestly!' she muttered.

'And now,' roared Bagman, 'kindly put your wands in the air … for the Irish National Team Mascots!'

A bright flash appeared in the sky. A silver and green light like a comet flew across the dark night sky towards the stadium. It flew around the edge then split in two, one heading to each set of goalposts. Like a firework more lights in all the colours of the rainbow burst out and arced between them and joined the two comets together. The crowd "oohed" and "ahhed" appreciatively. The lights re-joined together and a large shimmering green shamrock shone in the air. Golden rain began to fall from the shamrock except it wasn't rain. It was golden coins. I got out my Omnioculars and focused them on the shamrock. It wasn't light that was forming it; it was hundreds of tiny little bearded men wearing waistcoats and carrying green and gold lanterns. Leprechauns.

'Excellent!' shouted Ron. I watched as he his hat to catch some of the coins before shoving them into Harry's hands to pay him back for the Omnioculars. That gold had come from leprechauns which meant that probably wasn't real gold. Surely Ron knew that, right?

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

A scarlet figure shot out on to the pitch from an entrance at the base of the stadium. The Bulgarians roared. One by one the rest of the team flew on to the pitch as Bagman called out their names.

'Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand – Krum!'

'That's him, that's him!' yelled Ron.

I watched through my Omnioculars as the last player to enter the field from the Bulgarian team flew a lap round the pitch. Krum was certainly a good flyer. He performed a handstand on his broom in mid-air without stopping then continued to join the rest of his team. It was then I got a good look at him. Tall and thin, he had all the looks of a Seeker, but he didn't half look grumpy like he had in his picture. His thick eyebrows were pulled together in a scowl, probably in concentration to be fair, their dark colour a contrast to his sallow skin. Despite the scowl, it was obvious Krum was no older than Fred and George.

'And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand – Lynch!'

Seven more green blurs flew on to the pitch. They shot towards where the Bulgarian team were gathered causing them to scatter. The Irish side whooped and cheered. The leprechauns rolled around on the ground in laughter. Their speed was incredible; this was down to the team all flying on Firebolts according to the program. If they had the skills to match like Charlie had said, they were going to be unstoppable. This match was going to be something to watch.

The referee to the match, Hassan Mostafa, was introduced as he came out on to the pitch. The seven players from each team formed a circle above him. The referee had brought with him a crate that contained the four balls used in Quidditch: the Quaffle, two Bludgers and the Golden Snitch. He mounted his broom then kicked the crate open to release the balls. In a blur of motion and colour the game began.

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

In a matter of seconds Ireland's Troy had scored the first goal of the match and Harry had completely missed it. He was watching the game through his Omnioculars. There was no way he was going to be able to watch the game at normal speed through them without missing things. Raucous cheers came from the Irish side as Troy did a lap of honour. I joined in, cheering along at the spectacular score. I had never been so enthralled by a game of Quidditch before. It was nothing like how it was played at Hogwarts. The Quaffle went back into play. Seamlessly the teams passed and tackled one another and Ireland scored another two goals, making it thirty-zero.

Along with the faster speed of the game came more brutality. The Bulgarian Beaters mercilessly whacked the Bludgers at the Irish Chasers with increasing accuracy causing them to scatter whenever a Bludger came their way and stopping them from playing their best moves. One of these distractions gave the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova the chance she needed; she broke through the Chasers' ranks with the Quaffle under her arm, ducked under a Bludger sent at her by Connolly, and headed for the goalposts. In one smooth move Ivanova threw the Quaffle up in the air and leapt off her broom to use it to smack the Quaffle into the far-right goal. Zograf made a wild leap but came nowhere close to stopping it.

'Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh, I say!'

A gasp rang round the stadium. Krum and Lynch pelted through the centre of the Chasers causing them to scatter in all directions. Was it the Snitch? Had they seen it? Faster and faster they flew in a vertical line. The ground was getting closer and closer. I held my breath as in a matter of seconds they could crash. Suddenly Krum pulled out of the dive. With a sickening thud Lynch hit the ground. I flinched at the sight. A groan came from the Irish. Krum had been feinting and Lynch had fallen for it. It was a credit to Krum's skills as a Quidditch player to have been able to pull that move off without injuring himself as well.

'What was that?' I asked.

'The Wronski Feint!' cheered George next to me. 'Can't believe Lynch fell for that! That was brutal!'

'Glad Hogwarts matches aren't as bad as that,' I muttered. Though they had been pretty violent before (the Slytherin team) never on that level.

Lynch got to his feet, gave a wave as the Irish cheered, and the match resumed. Minute by minute of play passed and Ireland managed to pull ahead by another ten goals. The longer the match went on the dirtier it got. The referee had his work cut out for him as he fouled players and attempted to keep order and penalties were given. The mascots too were baiting each other more and more; the leprechauns forming rude words and gestures in the air while the Veela danced on. It was quite amusing when Mostafa was caught by their charm and started flexing his muscles for them.

'Now, we can't have that!' shouted Bagman. 'Somebody slap the referee!'

A sharp kick in the shins by a mediwizard and Mostafa snapped out of it.

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

It wasn't too long before the Bulgarian players got involved. When they refused to return to their brooms on the referee's orders, two sharp blows from his whistle sounded and Ireland was awarded two penalties with Troy lining up to take them. Play got fiercer. Chasers tackled each other without hesitation to get the Quaffle; Beaters mercilessly swung their bats against Bludger or player; meanwhile Krum and Lynch were nowhere to be seen. Fouls and penalties were awarded as if they were points. The mascots echoed their players aggression with the leprechauns taunting the Veela until they finally retaliated. As they threw themselves across the pitch at the leprechauns, their appearance dramatically changed; no longer beautiful with golden hair, the Veela's faces became sharp and beak-like, their hair turning grey and matted, and large scaly wings grew from their shoulders. The harpy-like women raised their hands and balls of fire were flung at the leprechauns who scattered and jeered.

'And that, boys,' yelled Mr Weasley over the noise of the crowd, 'is why you should never go for looks alone!'

While Ministry wizards flooded the pitch to control the chaos below, the game above continued at impossible speeds. The Quaffle shot from player to player in a burgundy blur. Bagman could only just keep up with their names in his commentary. I felt like I could barely breathe as I watched. When another goal was scored the cheers of the crowd were drowned out by the continuing screams of the Veela below. The Quaffle went back into play. Bulgaria in possession. A Bludger flew at Quigley, the Irish team's Beater. He swung. The Bludger was diverted. It pelted towards Krum. With a horrible crack it hit his face. Blood splattered his robes. His nose had been broken. It looked like a time out had to be called so that Krum could be seen to but –

'Look at Lynch!'

My eyes snapped away from Krum to look for Lynch. I found him. He had gone into a dive.

'He's seen the Snitch!' shouted Harry. 'He's seen it! Look at him go!'

A ripple of suspense seemed to travel across the crowd as they began to realise what was going on. Krum too had realised and was on Lynch's tail, rapidly catching up. Flecks of blood trailed behind him. Before I knew it I was on my feet screaming on Lynch with the rest of the crowd, Harry, Ron and Hermione doing the same. For a second time Lynch smacked hard into the ground with such force I would find it hard to believe if he didn't break his back. The Veela broke the restraints of the Ministry wizards and swarmed over him.

'The Snitch, where's the Snitch?' bellowed Charlie.

'He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!' shouted Harry.

Sure enough, red robes and pale face covered in blood, Krum flew back up into the air with his fist held high. The tiny little golden ball was firmly in his grasp. The final score BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY; IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY.

'IRELAND WINS!' roared Bagman. He seemed unable to believe it as did the crowd. 'KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WIN – good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!'

I exhaled, releasing the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding and fell back into my chair. You could say that again.

The celebrations from the match continued for hours after it had finished. The noise was insane as the crowd filed out of the stadium and back into the fields via the lantern lit paths. The Irish laughed and cheered and sung in exaltation at their surprising win while the Bulgarians had only Krum's catch of the Snitch to console them. The leprechauns flew overhead like little green and gold fireworks exploding above us. Fred and George were especially jubilant at the fact the bet they had made with Bagman had paid off and they were now clutching a large bag of Galleons. Mr Weasley made sure to warn them not to let their mother find out but even that couldn't dampen their spirits. I walked alongside the others happily listening to Ron recount the highlights of the match. I was so glad I hadn't missed this experience. We reached our tent where Mr Weasley tapped his wand on the stove to make us some hot chocolate before we were to go to bed as we had another early Portkey in the morning.

It was another hour before the chatter between us began to die down having discussed every minute detail of the match. With three Quidditch players in the family there was a lot to be seen. I don't think I'd met anyone as passionate about Quidditch as the Weasley boys. I lay back on my bunk ready to get some sleep. I was exhausted and all I'd done is watch a match. Outside I could hear sounds of drunken singing still echoing round the campsite. Every so often bangs would sound out as an overly enthusiastic wizard used their wands carelessly in celebration. I let the noises drift over me as I allowed my thoughts to wander sleepily. The shouts continued.

'Ginny! Hermione! Jenna! Grab your shoes and coats and get outside now!

I jerked awake when I heard Mr Weasley's shout. I sat bolt upright and looked around. What was going on? Hermione, Ginny and I shared a look of alarm. Unsure of what to do, I followed Mr Weasley's instructions and grabbed my jacket and pulled it on over the hoody I'd been sleeping in for warmth. I shoved my feet sockless into my trainers and ran after the other two out of the tent. The boys were all gathered outside their tent staring up into the sky. There were shouts coming from all directions but it wasn't the same shouting as earlier. I skidded to a stop, Hermione colliding into me. The sight that met my eyes shook me to my very core.

The campsite was ablaze with light and what sounded like gunfire could be heard through the screams of the hundreds of wizards running in our direction towards the forest. The city of tents had been set alight. Canvases were on fire and being stripped back to their wooden bones. Smoke and ash rose in swirls into the night sky that had an orange hue from the flames. The sound of jeers and laughter could be heard beneath the screams gradually getting louder. Then, all of a sudden, the scene before me was illuminated by a powerful burst of green light. It flashed over my eyes and my heart seemed to stop. I barely heard Mr Weasley's yells for us to run as my eyes followed the source of the light.

A crowd of wizards were moving together with their wands raised above them. They were marching across the field. All of them were dressed in dark robes with their hoods up and their faces covered by garish masks. High above them, floating along in mid-air, were four figures. They flailed and thrashed about like some sort of grotesque puppet being controlled by the invisible strings of the wizards' spells. To my horror two of the figures looked like children much younger than me. One of the group sent a spell into some nearby tents and the people above them were illuminated. It was Mr Roberts and his family.

'We're going to help the Ministry,' shouted Mr Weasley over the commotion. He had his wand out as did Bill, Charlie and Percy, who were all fully dressed. 'You lot – get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!'

Bill, Charlie and Percy were already sprinting away towards the masked figures. I started to back away, my eyes taking one last look at the scene before me, then turned and ran after the others. With so many other people running towards the woods in the chaos it would be very easy for us to get separated. People pushed roughly past me as I followed the others. I fought my way through keeping my eyes focused on Fred and George as they were the tallest of our group and the Weasley red hair was so distinctive. There was a sudden bang from behind me and I felt myself get shoved forcefully by the people fighting to get out of the way. I fell to the ground and my head caught the edge of some debris. I shook myself and sat up. I looked wildly around but the others had vanished.

I scrambled to my feet as another bright flash of light and bang went off. I stumbled though as I felt pain in my foot. I'd twisted my ankle in the fall. Knowing I had to get into the forest I tried again but I couldn't put any weight on my foot.

'Jenna!'

I looked round when I heard my name. It was Cedric. He was running towards me. He must have run over here from the field he was staying in to get into the woods for safety. I shouted his name to gain his attention and he pushed his way through to me. He crouched beside me when he reached me. He had his wand drawn and his eyes were scanning the scene around us.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

'My ankle,' I said, 'I think I've twisted it.'

'Come on, we need to get into the forest.'

Cedric offered me his hand. I took it and carefully he pulled me to my feet. Cedric bent down so I could put my arm around his shoulders to lean on him. With his help I hobbled the last few feet into the cover of the wood. Flashes and bangs could still be seen and heard as we moved into the thicker trees. Screams could be heard in the darkness. Cedric lit his wand to light our path as the lanterns from the match had been extinguished. Once we were sure we were a good distance away from the forest edge Cedric helped me sit down on a patch of grass beneath a tree so I could rest my ankle.

'Where are the others?' he asked. He crouched beside me, his wand tip illuminating his face. His eyebrows were narrowed in concern.

'I don't know, we got separated,' I replied. I shifted myself to straighten my leg. A sharp twinge went through my ankle. 'Something or someone hit into me and I was pushed to the ground.'

'They'll be in here somewhere,' said Cedric. He raised his wand to let the light travel around us. 'We'll find them. Just get some weight off that ankle. It's only a sprain so it'll be all right in a couple of minutes.'

I nodded. I touched my temple to brush back my hair only to wince. I had a cut on my forehead. I must have cut it when I fell and hit my head. Cedric noticed.

'Here.' From his pocket Cedric pulled out a handkerchief. Gently he touched it to my forehead to clean the cut. I was taken aback slightly by how careful Cedric was being. With the cut clean he touched his wand to it and said, 'Episkey.' I felt the skin knit itself back together, the cut healed. Cedric gave me a small smile. 'There, all better.'

I stared at Cedric, unsure of what to think of how he was treating me. It was strange. I'd never had a guy be so attentive of me before. We fell silent. Only the distant sounds of the riot remained. Cedric kept watch with his wand. Shadows of figures in the darkness past us as people attempted to find friends and family members. I got out my own wand and lit it. I think this qualified as an emergency under the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to light my wand in case of danger. I pointed it at my ankle. The pain had receded a bit. I flexed it. It still twinged but I might be able to put weight on it now.

'I think I can stand now,' I told Cedric.

Cedric got up. With his help I got to my feet and carefully put weight on my ankle. It wasn't pleasant but I could probably manage a walk to look for the others. Using Cedric again to help we set off into the woods to look for Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys. Time felt like it had stopped as we searched. Thoughts were racing through my head as we shouted for the others. Where were the others? Were they all right? Had the Ministry managed to rescue the Roberts family from those wizards in the masks? More importantly, who were those people and why did they decide to attack the campsite?

'Who were those people in the masks?' I eventually asked Cedric, not sure if he would know the answer.

'I don't know,' muttered Cedric. 'My Dad said something about dark wizards but he rushed off to help the Ministry rescue those Muggles.'

'Dark wizards?' I repeated. 'Here? At the Quidditch World Cup? Why?'

'It's a big crowd,' replied Cedric. 'The possibility of lots of attention from their stunt and for people to get hurt maybe?' Cedric paused. I glanced at him. 'Jenna, do you know what Death Eaters are?'

'They're Voldemort's followers.'

Cedric stopped. He stared at me.

'You're not afraid to say his name?' he asked.

I shook my head, 'No. His followers killed my Mum. She wouldn't want me to fear the people who killed her.'

'That's a pretty brave thing for a fourteen-year-old to say,' said Cedric. 'Then again, from what I've heard you and your friends have done at school, not hard to believe.'

I grimaced, knowing what Cedric was talking about.

'We don't go looking for trouble,' I told him. 'Trouble usually finds us.'

'Still,' reasoned Cedric. 'It's impressive.'

'Er, thanks?' I said, unsure about his admiration for my past rule-breaking.

We were wandering around in the dark forest for at least half an hour before we decided to just wait it out where we were. Conversation became somewhat stunted as Cedric kept asking questions and I was put off by Cedric's apparent interest in my antics at Hogwarts. I didn't know why he was so interested in what I'd done. It halted though when we heard a rustling of branches nearby. Cedric stopped, his eyes wide and alert as they searched for the source of the noise. He directed his wand light over the trees. It sounded like footsteps. Someone was close by. I added my wand light to his. I couldn't see anything in the shadows but there was definitely something or someone there.

'MORSMORDRE!'

A blinding green light burst out of the trees ahead of us and shot into the sky. I shielded my eyes from the blast. Braving it I followed the direction it had flown and looked upwards. I gasped. An enormous skull had appeared in the sky formed of tiny glittering sparks; it gave a great yawn and its jaw opened, a large snake protruding from its mouth like a tongue. A haze of greenish smoke floated around the image. The snake writhed and twisted as it lingered, a horrible constellation-like addition to the dark sky.

'We have to go,' said Cedric immediately. 'Come on.'

Unsure of what to do, I thought it best to follow Cedric's instruction. We made to leave the area when all of a sudden Cedric forced me to the ground as a red jet of light came shooting towards us. The spark shot over us and hit a tree a few feet away. Cedric told me to stay down while he checked that no more spells were being fired. In the distance I could hear voices. Whoever fired that spell must be nearby, but I didn't know if they were on our side or the other. Cautiously I got to my feet beside Cedric, my wand ready just in case. One of the voices was getting nearer.

'Whoever you are, come out!'

'That's my Dad,' said Cedric. 'Dad! Over here!'

'Cedric?'

Amos Diggory appeared through the trees and into Cedric's wand light. He stared at the two of us standing there.

'What are you doing here? Didn't you see the Mark?'

'Yeah,' said Cedric. 'Whoever cast it was over there.' Cedric pointed into the trees just to the left of where Mr Diggory had come from. 'I don't know if they're still there though.'

Mr Diggory gestured for us to follow him. We walked through the trees with our wand lights on the ground. Mr Diggory scoured the area for anything suspicious until his wand hit upon a dark figure laying in the grass. He bent down and turned it over. It was that house-elf, Winky, from earlier! The one who had been saving a seat for her master who never showed. Mr Diggory bent down and picked up the unconscious elf and shouted to whoever he had been with before he'd found us. We followed him back through the trees and to my relief I saw Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered with Mr Weasley and about twenty other wizards.

'Jenna!' shouted Hermione when she saw me.

'Was it them?' shouted Barty Crouch the moment he saw us. He pointed his wand accusingly at me and Cedric. 'Which one of them cast it?'

'It wasn't them,' snapped Mr Diggory immediately in our defence. 'Stop jumping to conclusions, Barty. I found them lost in the trees moments before I found this.' and he held up the house-elf for those gathered to see.

Mr Crouch seemed to freeze at the sight of the house-elf whom Mr Diggory proceeded to lay on the ground at his feet. I didn't understand. Did Crouch know Winky? Was he the master she had been waiting for earlier? He stared down at the creature, his eyes wide and face white with shock, before suddenly snapping out of it.

'This – cannot – be,' he said jerkily. 'No –'

Crouch brushed past where I was stood with the Diggorys and into the trees we had come from.

'No point, Mr Crouch,' called Mr Diggory after him. 'There's no one else there.'

Crouch didn't seem to want to listen. It was a few minutes before he returned from searching the area himself. We could hear him rustling as he searched every bush and behind every branch.

'Bit embarrassing,' muttered Mr Diggory. He glanced at the elf. 'Barty Crouch's house-elf … I mean to say …'

'Come off it, Amos,' said Mr Weasley quietly, 'you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand.'

'Yeah,' said Mr Diggory, 'and she had a wand.'

'What?' gasped Mr Weasley.

'Here, look.' Mr Diggory held up a wand I hadn't noticed he'd picked up. 'Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand.'

Pop. Ludo Bagman had just Apparated next to Mr Weasley. His boyish face looked panicked and sweaty. He wildly looked around the group of us then saw the mark in the sky above us.

'The Dark Mark!' he panted. 'Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?'

Crouch had returned but he was empty handed. His face still looked white with shock from Winky's discovery. His hands were shaking as he pointed his wand in front of him.

'Where have you been, Barty?' asked Bagman. 'Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too – Gulping gargoyles!' Bagman had just noticed Winky on the ground. ''What happened to her?'

'I have been busy, Ludo,' replied Crouch stiffly. 'And my elf has been Stunned.'

'Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why –?' Suddenly two and two seemed to come together in his head. 'No! Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark. She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand for a start!'

'And she had one,' said Mr Diggory. 'I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself.' Taking his silence for consent, Mr Diggory pointed his wand at Winky. 'Rennervate!'

After a few seconds Winky began to stir. Her eyes slowly opened and she sat up, blinking dazedly at her surroundings. She took in the sight of Mr Diggory standing over her, her eyes widening, then shakily she looked into the sky. The Dark Mark reflected in her huge glassy eyes. She let out a terrified squeak and burst into sobs, burying her face into her tea towel dress.

'Elf!' said Mr Diggory sternly. 'Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!'

Winky gasped and gulped as she sobbed, rocking back and forth where she sat.

'As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago,' continued Mr Diggory. 'And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!'

'I – I – I is not doing it, sir!' cried Winky. 'I is not knowing how, sir!'

'You were found with a wand in your hand!' snapped Mr Diggory, raising the wand for Winky to see.

'Hey – that's mine!' shouted Harry.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

'Excuse me?' said Mr Diggory.

'That's my wand!' said Harry. 'I dropped it!'

'You dropped it?' repeated Mr Diggory. 'Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?'

For someone who was so quick to defend me and Cedric, Mr Diggory was also very quick to accuse Harry like Crouch had accused his son.

'Amos, think who you're talking to!' said Mr Weasley. 'Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark.

'Er – of course not,' mumbed Mr Diggory. 'Sorry … carried away …'

'I didn't drop it there, anyway,' said Harry. 'I missed it right after we got into the wood.'

'So,' said Mr Diggory, hardening once more, 'you found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?'

'I is not doing magic with it, sir!' squealed Winky. 'I is … I is … I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!'

'It wasn't her!' said Hermione. She looked determinedly at the Ministry wizards around us but her nervous voice gave her away. 'Winky's got a squeaky little voice and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!' She looked at Harry and Ron for support. 'It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?'

'No,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'It definitely didn't sound like an elf.'

'Yeah, it was a human voice,' said Ron.

'We heard it too,' I said. 'Didn't we, Cedric?'

'Yeah, Dad, it wasn't the elf,' confirmed Cedric.

'Well, we'll soon see,' growled Mr Diggory. 'There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?'

Winky trembled but shook her head. Mr Diggory raised his own wand and touched the tip of it against the tip of Harry's.

'Prior Incantato!'

I gasped as a ghostly shadow emerged from Harry's wand, the exact same shape and colour of the skull and snake still looming above us but surrounded by grey smoke.

'Deletrius!' said Mr Diggory and the smoky skull vanished. 'So,' he continued, a note of triumph in his voice.

'I is not doing it!' squealed Winky desperately. 'I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!'

'You've been caught red-handed, elf!' shouted Mr Diggory. 'Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!'

'Amos,' said Mr Weasley over him, 'think about it … precious few wizards know how to do that spell … where would she have learnt it?'

'Perhaps Amos is suggesting,' said Crouch in quiet anger, 'that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?'

An unpleasant silence followed Crouch's accusation. Mr Diggory looked horrified.

'Mr Crouch … not … not at all …'

'You have now come very close to accusing two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!' barked Crouch. 'Harry Potter – and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?'

'Of course – everyone knows –'

'And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practise them?' shouted Crouch.

'Mr Crouch, I – I never suggested you had anything to do with it!' muttered Mr Diggory. His face had been come red in humiliation from his earlier accusations.

'If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!' snapped Crouch. 'Where else would she have learnt to conjure it?'

'She – she might've picked it up anywhere –'

'Precisely, Amos,' said Mr Weasley. 'She might have picked it up anywhere … Winky?' Mr Weasley turned to the elf but she flinched again as if he was shouting at her as well. 'Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?'

'I – I is finding it … finding it there, sir …' she whispered, 'there … in the trees, sir …'

'You see, Amos,' said Mr Weasley. 'Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.'

'But then, she'd have been feet away from the real culprit!' said Mr Diggory impatiently. 'Elf? Did you see anyone?'

Winky trembled worse than ever now. Her large eyes looked between Mr Diggory to Bagman to Crouch. Tears were still streaming from them. She gulped then said, 'I is seeing no one, sir … no one …'

'Amos,' said Mr Crouch curtly, 'I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.'

Mr Diggory seemed reluctant to agree to Crouch's request but Crouch's influence at the Ministry seemed togive him no choice.

'You may rest assured that she will be punished,' Crouch then added, his tone cold.

'M-m-master …' Winky gulped, staring at Crouch. 'M-m-master, p-p-please …'

Crouch stared back but his face was unreadable.

'Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible,' he said slowly. 'I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes.'

'No!' shrieked Winky. She flung herself at Crouch's feet in a kneeling bow, her face buried into the ground. 'No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!'

'But she was frightened!' shouted Hermione in Winky's defence. 'Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!'

'I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,' said Crouch dismissively. 'I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation.'

Winky's sobs had doubled, the only sound in the horrible silence we stood in. I felt a rush of pity for the creature, a backtrack on my earlier opinion of her. The thought of clothes and being freed was causing her such distress. It was horrible to watch. The silence was only broken when Mr Weasley made a move to get us back to our tents if they hadn't been destroyed. Mr Diggory returned Harry's wand to him and we walked away from the clearing and followed Mr Weasley out of the forest. Hermione was still fuming over Crouch's treatment of Winky but Mr Weasley told her and Ron, who was questioning him about the Mark, to wait until we were back at the tent. A group of frightened wizards and witches accosted him when we reached the edge of the woods but Mr Weasley quickly dealt with them and we reached our tent.

Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George and Ginny were all gathered in the boys' tent when we got back. Bill was holding a bedsheet to his arm as he sat at the kitchen table. Charlie's shirt had been torn and Percy had blood on his face from a cut across his nose. It looked like they'd been right in the throngs of the chaos. Mr Weasley recounted to the events in the forest to the others then finally addressed Ron's questions about the Dark Mark, confirming it was the mark of Voldemort and that Death Eaters had been the ones who'd cursed the Robertses.

'I think we saw what's left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway,' said Bill resignedly.

'We can't prove it was them, Bill,' said Mr Weasley. 'Though it probably was.'

'Yeah, I bet it was!' said Ron. 'Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in the masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!'

'But what were Voldemort's supporters –' Harry started. Everyone flinched. 'Sorry. What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?'

'The point?' repeated Mr Weasley. He laughed hollowly. '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 with disgust.

'But if they were Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?' asked Ron. 'They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?'

'Use your brains, Ron,' said Bill. 'If they really were Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives … I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?'

'So … whoever conjured the Dark Mark …' said Hermione, 'were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?'

'Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione,' said Mr Weasley. 'But I'll tell you this … it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very suprirsed if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now … Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours' sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here.'

Sleep didn't come easily to me that night. I lay in my bunk unable to drift off. My mind kept replaying the events of the evening and the things I'd witnessed. Was this what it had been like in the First Wizarding War for our parents? I'd felt so scared at what was happening around me. And those poor Muggles. Mr Weasley had said doubt word would get out soon about what had happened tonight. I had better write to Lupin as soon as we get back to The Burrow to let him know I was OK. It had been a shock to the system but the Ministry wizards had made sure no one got hurt and the Dark Mark, for some reason, had scared off the Death Easters. Hopefully what had happened tonight was going to be a one-off occurrence.