Mute By Choice: The Goblet of Fire

by AvyJC15

(Book IV of the Mute By Choice Series) There is an upcoming tournament between four of the five major schools of magic, with three participants, only one selected from each school by the Goblet of Fire. But what happens when another ancient tournament is brought into the equation, as well? Or when a man keeps appearing in Delilah's dreams? ... or when a woman falls from the sky?

7. Omens from the past

Omens from the past

A day before the Quidditch Cup ~ Waverly Place, New York

Alex Russo sat at the three-seated desk beside her younger brother Max, who sat between her and the eldest Russo, Justin, in their family magic lair. They were all still tired from the events from the previous day; they'd gotten into trouble, mainly because of Alex, as per usual.

"Okay, before I start class." Their father, Jerry, began to hand out the day's assignment. "I wanna remind you all that your grandmother is coming for a visit next week. And since she's your mother's mother and not my mother, she doesn't know anything about all of this," he finished.

"You mean, how you won't turn on the A.C. in here?" Max asked.

Jerry gave his youngest child a weird look. "No. I'm talking about magic," he corrected. "And when Grandma's here, no one uses magic or talks about magic."

The Russo siblings rolled their eyes but gave out a muttered agreement.

"Fine."

"Done."

"Got it."

Jerry smiled, nodding. "Good. Now let's talk about magic." Justin chuckled at the irony in what his father had said. "The spell for today." He pointed at the chalkboard with his metal teaching stick and looked back at the children. "Body Switching."

"Awesome!" Max exclaimed, looking over at his sister as he quickly got up from beside her. "Alex, you and me switch seats."

Alex gave him a weird look.

"Max, that's not magic," said Jerry.

"Dad, she never lets me sit there," the boy complained. "It would be kind of magical," he added.

Alex sighed exasperatedly. "Fine. Switch spots; anything to stop this discussion," she said as she took Max's seat.

"Okay, body switching is a spell where two people can switch bodies with each other," Jerry resumed. "For instance, Alex, you and Justin could switch bodies."

"Why would I wanna do that?" Alex interjected. "I can already do more pull-ups than him."

Justin tried to hide how offended he was, but failed as he ended up glaring at her. "Yeah, well, I'd switch bodies with Chuck Norris, do more pull-ups and give you a roundhouse kick," he said defensively, his glare slowly phasing into a grin at the thought of that.

Alex snorted. "Dude, you just admitted I can do more pull-ups than you."

"Okay," Jerry intercepted. "Now, this is a tricky spell because if you don't switch back before sundown, you'll be trapped in the other person's body forever with no way out."

"And then you'll be a vampire, and you'll have to drink blood," Max said, while slowly rising from his seat to give out a spookier effect.

This time, Justin gave his brother a weird look. "You really have to start reading the handouts," he said as his sister pushed their brother back into his seat.

"Alright, Alex, let's give it a try with me and you," said Jerry.

"Okay," the latter said, standing up and walking over to her father.

"Now, just say the two people's names, and then this: Cambia Corporum Meum Corpora Sua Nominavi."

"Alright." She took a deep breath, then began, holding one hand out. "Alex, Jerry, Cambia Corporum," she held out her other hand. "Meum Corpora Sua Nominavi," she finished, bringing both of her hands together as she finished the incantation.

Following the incantation, there was a flash blinding light and the next thing she knew, she was staring back at herself.

"Excellent, Alex," she found 'herself' saying. "You executed the spell perfectly." 'She' looked closer to Jerry and grimaced. "Maybe Theresa's right. I could drop a couple of pounds." 'She' walked over to the chalkboard and grimaced again. "Why is it so hot in here? Man, you have a lot of hair."

Jerry looked back at his daughter who was currently inhabiting his body and found her looking at his face in a mirror at the other side of the lair. "Smooth. Scratchy. Smooth. Scratchy," said Alex, running a hand up and down her new face, grinning.

"Alex, leave my face alone. You guys get the idea. Now switch us back."

Alex straightened her pose and placed a hand on 'her' hip, girlishly, which was weird to watch as she was doing that while still in her father's body. "Later. I've got a little shopping to do first."

"You don't have any money with you."

"No." Alex brought out her father's wallet from his back pocket and grinned. "But you do." And with that, she skipped her way out of the lair.

Jerry stared, dumbfounded, at his daughter, who ran out in his body. "Would you just? I just put you— Alex!"

And he ran after her.

A while later, the two came walking into the Waverly Sub Station, Alex slightly sulking. "Nice try, little girl."

"What? I changed us back as soon as you caught me," she defended herself.

"I caught you at the register at the mall," Jerry deadpanned.

Alex's mouth opened, ready to retort a smart-mouth reply. "Yeah, well... I got nothing," she ended up saying, her shoulders slouching in defeat.

Suddenly, a flash-blinding light came from the kitchen, catching the attention of all the Russos, and Harper Finkle, Alex's best friend who had been in on the family Russo secret for a little over a year now. Soon, the flash blinding light faded and a big burly man walked out of the kitchen, stuffing his face in a large twelve-inch sandwich.

"Uncle Kelbo!" the Russo kids exclaimed happily at the sight of their uncle.

Kelbo Russo was a fun-loving guy who used his magic to enjoy himself and do practically everything Jerry usually told his kids not to do. However, when it came to using his powers in a serious situation, Kelbo was somewhat lacking due to his inexperience and lack of ability to focus.

"Kids! Jerry! Rice!"

Theresa Russo rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law. "It's Theresa."

Kelbo shrugged. "Close enough," he replied, mouth full of munched ham, cheese, salad, and bread.

Harper smiled a somewhat hopeful smile when her best friend's uncle looked at her, hoping he wouldn't mess up her name like the Russos' grandmother usually did.

"Oh, hey Harple," said Kelbo, nodding his head at the redheaded girl as he took another bite of his sandwich.

Harper frowned and huffed a sigh. "It's Harper," she corrected, but the youngest Russo from the previous generation simply waved it off. "Hi, Uncle Kelbo."

"Yeah, hi," was his muffled reply.

"Kelbo, not that I'm not glad that you're here because... secretly yet not so secretly I'm not, but... why are you here?"

"The game! Ireland versus Bulgaria, brother! It goes down tonight! Just thought I'd come by and swipe you all from your aprons and take you there. So thoughtful of me, I know."

Jerry gave his brother a puzzled look. "What game?"

Kelbo looked back at him in disbelief before throwing his arms into the air, a bit of salad flying out of his sandwich and onto Max, who instantly put it in his mouth, earning himself some disgusted looks from his siblings.

"Quiddily-diddly-doodly-ditch!" Kelbo exclaimed himself. "How could you forget?"

Alex gasped. "Can we go? Can we go? Can we go?" She paused. "Wait, what's Squimmi-mimmly-moodly-mitch?"

"It's Quidditch," Justin corrected his sister. "It's a game played mostly by European wizards. It's like soccer for mortals, but, instead, it's played up in the air on broomsticks, and there're four balls— sorta hard to explain the rules, so I won't say any further than that since, knowing you, you'd probably fall asleep before I even reached the middle of my explanation."

Alex giggled. "True." She then turned to her father. "Anyway, Dad, can we go? Please? We've never seen anyone flying brooms and stuff like that."

But Jerry was already way ahead. "Family, pack your bags— we're going to see a Quidditch match!"

"Not so fast, pizza man, we've still got costumers," said Theresa, handing him another order to bring to a waiting table.

Harper smiled sadly. "Aww, that's nice. All of you going on a family vacation."

"I actually have an extra spot, so you can come to, Harple."

Ignoring the second mishap of her name, Harper jumped onto her feet and happily exclaimed "Yay!" while throwing her arms around Alex.

---

Present ~ Dartmoor, England

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salespeople were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes— green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria— which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this." The excitement rolled off Ron's every word as he and his best friends strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs.

Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain— ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

Delilah blinked, surprised, but not downright shocked; this was Harry, of course he'd go out of his way to buy things for his best friends.

"No— don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, Delilah's and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione while Delilah simply gave him a gratifying smile. "And I'll get us some programs, look—"

Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, all soon joined by the other three Dawns and Will, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Delilah couldn't help but grin along with her friends and family. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Delilah could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, she could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

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

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

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last, they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar...

"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.

After catching on to Harry's puzzlement, Delilah face-palmed herself before she tugged on her friend's arm. "That's not Dobby, you dimwit!"

At that moment, the tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby— it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry and Delilah had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family, two years prior date.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers.

Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf— that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Delilah told the elf, "He just thought you were someone we knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, miss!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by a light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir— and you, sir—" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is Harry Potter!"

"Yes, I am."

Eyes still wide as saucers, the small she-elf glanced at the beautiful girl beside Harry. "And you is surely Delilah Dawn."

Delilah blinked in surprise, not expecting to be addressed by the surname she'd chosen to use for about a year now. "Aye," she replied softly.

"But Dobby talks of you two all the time!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you two is setting him free."

"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"

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

"Why not?" said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

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

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

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

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

"House-elves are not supposed to have fun, Harry," Delilah spoke softly in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "They do what they're told, no matter what."

Winky nodded her head vigorously. "I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter—" She glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped. "— but my master sends me to the Top Box, and I comes, sir."

"Why'd he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.

"Master— master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space 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."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.

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

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.

"He used to hit himself a lot," Delilah mumbled her agreement.

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

Delilah looked at her friend and grimaced. "Ew, you're disgusting, Ron."

He shrugged. "I'm not the one picking my nose."

"But you're the one watching... and re-watching him do it."

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet covered, tasseled program. "'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

Delilah had a feeling the box would fill up soon, so she quickly looked around while she still could, a small, appreciative grin curving its way onto her smooth, mature yet childish features. For a moment, she glanced toward a neighboring box, where she noticed there to be only one man. He was a tall and rather lanky man dressed in a gray jumpsuit that made the young hybrid think of an American engineer.

His eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open, starstruck, as he pointed at her disbelievingly from where he stood in the other box. "You're Delilah Dawn!" He gasped. Delilah blinked once again in surprised before she smiled slightly at him and waved at him. He chuckled for a moment before a nervous look crossed his features. "Oh, I almost passed out."

Delilah gave him a confused look, then her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened in surprise when he froze and fell to the ground sideways. She looked at him for a moment, eyebrows raised, then shared a look with Hermione, who had watched the whole thing as well. Before they could turn away and back to their friends, two girls and two boys rushed over to their box and stared at her with wide eyes.

The tall boy who wore a blue, long-sleeved shirt looked at her with a dreamy look in his eyes. "You're Delilah Dawn!"

She gave him a small smile and a nod.

Suddenly, the smallest boy, who would undoubtedly even a year younger than her own brother, stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. "I have a question for you."

Again, she blinked in surprise, but then chuckled, deciding she was amused rather than offended of any sort. "Ask away."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out as a thoughtful look suddenly crossed his childish features. He looked at her and gave her a cheeky yet sheepish smile. "Didn't I see you on the cover of Vogue?"

Shaking out of his daze, the older boy replied, "Actually, we did. Just yester—"

"You're ruining the moment," the small boy sang through his clenched teeth.

"Well, you can't consider something a pickup line if it's actually a fact, Max."

Delilah raised her eyebrows as she watched the presumable brothers argue.

"Justin, when I say you're ruining the moment, it means 'go away'!" 'Max' whisper-yelled at his brother.

"Max, what are you doing?!" a girl with brown hair hissed at him.

Delilah couldn't help but giggle, causing said boy to look back at her and smile. "This guy," he said, laughing, pretending he was just joking around with his brother, before turning and quickly sending the latter a meaningful glare. He then turned back to the young hybrid and tried again. "Did you invent the airplane?" Delilah bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. "Cause you seem Wright for me."

Chuckling again, she stepped out of his grip and patted the boy's heads. "You're adorable, and, for the record, I've actually already heard those lines before."

Before anyone could add anything, both boys were yanked back by their shirts by the brunette who was clearly their sister. She glared at them, then turned to look at Delilah and smiled at her.

"Sorry about my... brothers." She leaned forward closer to Delilah and whispered, "They are mentally ill."

Delilah chuckled, though before she could reply, the orange-headed girl standing beside the brunette blurted out, "Oh, my God, you're Delilah Dawn." The three siblings turned to look at her, dumbfounded. Looking back at them, the girl shrugged. "What? I may not own a magic stick, but it doesn't mean I don't know how to read those magic newspapers that fly into your lair."

Delilah chuckled again. "Well, you seem to know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Care for introductions?" she said politely.

Just then, the oldest boy stepped forward, trying to look smooth. "I'm Russo. Justin Russo."

His sister, however, decided she didn't want her either of her brothers to try and get close to her possible celebrity bestie. "And I'm Alex," she cut in, pushing Justin aside. "And this is our little brother Max, and my best friend, Harper."

"Alex! Max! Justin! I told you guys not to run— you're Delilah Dawn!"

"Do you think it was coincidental, or does it to run in their family?" Hermione mumbled, emitting another chuckled from the hybrid.

"And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Russo," said Delilah, still as polite as ever.

Then another big burly man stumbled into the Top Box, joining them all. "You're Delilah Dawn!"

Delilah sighed. "Okay, I don't remember being this famous... at least not with that name..."

"You're kidding, right?" said Alex. "You're on every newspaper, magazine and history book in our world."

Justin nodded. "And that means something, considering Alex doesn't read anything unless there are images, and even then she only looks at the pictures."

"What?! That's not—" Alex paused for a moment, then snorted. "Actually that is true."

"You're a hero!" said Max.

By the time the newcomers, who were clearly American, stopped rambling, Delilah's face was almost as red as the Weasleys' hair. She'd been embarrassed times aplenty, but she'd never really felt suddenly shy over so many praises.

"Deli?" Ron said, his attention long gone from the man picking his nose boxes away. He pushed a finger against her shoulder, then snorted when she didn't budge and looked up at the Russos. "I think you broke her."

Seth rolled his eyes. "She's not broken. She's just not used to so much praise."

Ron blinked, confused. "What? She gets praised plenty in school."

"No, everyone looks at her like some art exhibition or a historical artifact. No one has ever really praised her for her achievements except for us," said Seth. He then smiled fondly at his sister. "You should've seen her when I taught her how to play the piano, then when Aunt Lara taught her how to dance."

"She's become shy," Hermione realized, surprised at her best friend.

"Well, since you've introduced yourselves, and Del's in a conscious, shock-stuck comatose, I guess I can do the rest of the introductions. I'm Seth, Deli's brother." Ignoring the shocked looks on the Russos' faces, Seth continued. "This is my Aunt Lara Darell, my Uncle Daren Dawn, my best friend Will Eberhardt, and my sister's best friends— Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Fred and George Weasley. And these are the rest of the Weasleys— Charlie, Percy, Bill, and Mr. Weasley. There's a lot more, but I don't know 'em, so the introductions stop there," Seth finished with a bright smile.

"Vos nunquam clauditis, do tibi, frater?" (You never shut up, do you, brother?) Delilah grumbled, finally snapping out of her state of shyful shock.

"Amor quoque, soror," (Love you too, sister) said Seth with a cheeky smile on his face.

Before further words could be exchanged between the Dawns, the Weasleys and the Russos, the box began to fill quickly around them, over the next half hour being almost completely full. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards, no one mentioning the two Muggles in their company, or rather three since Jerry Russo was no longer a wizard.

Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry and Delilah, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like old friends. They had met before, and Fudge shook both Harry's and Delilah's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how they were, and introduced them to the wizards on either side of him.

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

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar, then glanced towards the one slightly hidden beneath Delilah's thick curls, and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at the marks.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to the famous duo. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat... good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"

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

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

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

Alex snorted from where she stood, near Delilah. "His name is Fudge?" But she quickly quieted down, glaring at Justin, who had elbowed her in the ribs.

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk— Obalonsk— Mr— well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else— you've met Mr. Russo before," the man went on, gesturing toward the burly man beside Alex's father.

"Kelbo," the burly man corrected, nodding— surprisingly curtly— at the blond haired man. "Yes, we've been acquainted."

Noticing the tinge of discomfort in the air, Fudge swayed the attention away from Kelbo before it could reach the rest of the Russos, unknowingly only making things worse.

"And you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Much more tense than when the attention was placed upon Kelbo. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other, and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: it had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" Mr. Weasley turned red to his roots, but said nothing. "Well, I guess you're... lucky; if it rains... you'll be the first to know."

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

"Father and I are in the minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself," Draco cut in, boasting loudly.

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

"Don't boast Draco," said Lucius. "There's no need with these people. Do enjoy yourself won't you. While you can."

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Delilah glared at the man as she knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then one toward Delilah, which she found surprisingly unreadable, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Delilah, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming. "Minister— ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

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

Soon after, seven green and white figures flew through the air on their brooms leaving a colored trail behind them. A glittering leprechaun appeared in the sky and started dancing, rendering almost everyone excited.

"Here come the Bulgarians!" said George.

"Was that Fred or George?" Alex shouted over the loud noise.

"Fred," the twins replied, while the rest of the family and friends replied, "George," at the same time.

Suddenly, seven red figures flew in, one of them performing a stunt on his broom, another appeared on the large screen, causing the crowd to go wild and begin to chant 'Krum, Krum, Krum'.

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

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

BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

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

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

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

Delilah's eyes widened in panic. "What?!"

"What are veel—"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women... some of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen... except that they weren't— they couldn't be— human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind... but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human— in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all when his attention snapped toward Delilah, who gave him quite the shock. Had he not been in love with her for the past three years, he would've fallen right then and there.

She had removed her black cashmere coat, and he could now see what she had changed into; she wore a navy blue blouse, which fanned over her waist like curtain over her black leather, rubberized trousers, which clung to her lower body, showing the curves he hadn't noticed she'd developed throughout the summer they spent away from each other. What else he noticed was that the tips of her usually brown curls had begun to morph into a golden blond color, and that got him confused; he knew her eyes and hair often changed color when certain emotions were very strong, but the only emotion she seemed to be displaying at this moment was irritation.

"What the bloody hell happened to your hair, Dels?!" Ron exclaimed, taking the words right out of Harry's mouth.

Once again, Delilah turned red. "Part Veela, remember?" she mumbled, turning her attention back to the game, while self-consciously tugging at the tips of her coloring locks.

Harry pulled her hand away from her hair and held it in his hand. "Don't have to be embarrassed about it, Lilly." Delilah smiled slightly before looking back at the arena, not noticing the glare fixated upon her hand intertwined with Harry's by a certain bleach-blond boy.

The veela had started to dance, and most male's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that they kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through their dazed minds. They all wanted to do something very impressive, right now, and many thought along the lines of jumping from their boxes into the stadium.

The music suddenly came to a stop. Harry blinked, and glanced to his right, where he found Ron frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Ron, staring open-mouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Ron back into his seat. "Honestly!" she said.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

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

"I thought they already finished introductions," said Alex as she watched the show with her family and best friend in awe.

"That was nothing but an entrance," said Mr. Weasley. "They usually go all out when Mr. Bagman, over there, does the introductions. You saw the Veela, now just wait and see what the Irish folk have brought."

"It's more than just fireworks," Kelbo agreed.

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

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.

Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

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

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

Delilah looked at her best friends and laughed loudly, even more when she noticed Seth and Will trying to grab as much gold as they could.

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

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

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand— Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars.

Harry quickly focused his own. Not needing her own much to see from such distance, Delilah simply narrowed her eyes slightly as she stared down at the familiar young man. He hadn't changed much since their first and last encounter. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

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

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open— four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch.

With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

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

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible— the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses, and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it—

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field.

Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed.

Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest kept squeaking their names: "Troy— Mullet— Moran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

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

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova— oh, I say!" roared Bagman.

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

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Ron.

She was half right— at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

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

Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes. He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion.

WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT— DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses.

He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood— Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

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

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

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

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

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

As once, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Harry's arm. He turned to look at her, and she pulled his fingers impatiently out of his ears. He glanced over at the Dawns and the Russos, only to find them rather immune to the beauty of the Veela, but averted his attention from them when he noticed that that wasn't what Hermione was trying to show them.

"Look at the referee!" she said, giggling.

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

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

"I'll do it," said Justin with a roll of his eyes. Alex, who less than often got along with her brother, laughed loudly at his reply, along with their brother Max and Harper.

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

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

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

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

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

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran— deliberately flying to collide there— and it's got to be another penalty— yes, there's the whistle!"

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

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

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

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

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

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

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

Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him—"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...

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

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

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

"You guys are horrible for thinking that!" Delilah hollered at the boys.

And he was right— for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"Told you!" said Harry.

Delilah rolled her eyes at him. "I don't care, you idiot," she muttered.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

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

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

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

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH— BUT IRELAND WINS— good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

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

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

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

Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium; the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Delilah. She looked around and felt her eyes widen in surprise; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging, emitting a few silent chuckles from Delilah and her friends.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

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

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

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

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

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

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

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

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

---

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite, they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

"Oh, I am glad I'm not on duty," muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating."

Harry, who remained at the small table, sat still, staring at Delilah, whom absentmindedly stared up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead. He had not noticed how grandly her demeanor had changed; she was much more distracted, distant again, quiet, and though she smiled quite often, her smiles were not as genuine as they had become over the years they'd known each other. There were times she'd be like this. Most had been the previous year, but, then, she had pretty valuable excuses; she hadn't phased in a long while, so she had to catch up on that, and she kept having premonitious visions. But even then she wasn't so distracted. In their third year at Hogwarts, Delilah had become one of the most outgoing people he'd ever known. Granted, she'd lost her memory, had rejuvenated, and had grown all over again, in a period of six months, in a completely different environment from the first that had rendered her mute for ten years.

"You've changed," blurted out the boy who lived.

Delilah blinked herself out of her trance and looked down at her friend, eyes puzzled. "Huh?"

Harry frowned; she was definitely more distracted. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "You've changed."

It seemed as though it were the first time Delilah didn't know what he was talking about; she glanced down at her attire and felt her cheeks heat up slightly. "I thought it'd be a good idea to change clothes for the game. Not exactly the clothes I would choose, but it's become pretty hard to win an argument against Lara."

"That's not what I meant... why do you call Lara by her name? Isn't she your aunt?" Harry asked, recalling how often he'd heard Seth call the woman so.

Delilah smiled slightly and shook her head. "She's my second cousin, but she practically raised Seth, with Daren, that's why he calls her so."

"But Daren's your uncle."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you call him so?"

Delilah was silent for a moment. "You and I, Harry, we're similar. Survived a killing curse as babes, and orphaned as such. Only difference is that you at least had people to take you in, never mind them being horrible people who are against magic. You had a home, while I was stuck alone... lost. The orphanage I was in before I came to Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "I wasn't there my whole life. I'd only been there since I was nine, and only stayed there for two years."

She frowned and looked down at her hands. "Though I tried not to, I started to care about people a lot more than I should. And that frightened me quite a bit, because when I'd lived with my pack..." She paused slightly, feeling the foreign word slip from her lips.

"I was taught to never care for anyone that wasn't family. And my pack was my family. After we were ambushed when I was two, I was lost and grew up in fear of the world, as all I kept thinking was how no one was ever going to find me. How I would be alone forever. And that was the case. No one found me until I took the initiative to take a step back into the real world, something my people had spent years going against. When I got to the orphanage, I realized I wasn't the only kid who was alone. But it wasn't the same. We weren't the same. Most of those kids lost their parents or parent in a more... natural way— a car crash, any accident really, even out of sickness.

Others were just left there because their parents either didn't feel like they were ready to have kids, or they were abandoned, or had run away from home. Even in an orphanage where no one knew of my abilities, which had just begun to surface... I was an outcast. I was the one who really stayed alone; many came to adopt, whether the kid was very young, a baby, or even a teenager— I was never even given a second glance. I gave up long before that on hope; no one was coming, that had to mean I was alone. Us soul shifters have a really strong mind link, whether it be with a pack member or a family member who isn't part of the pack. Even as a babe, I could hear my grandparents through my mind when we were a thousand miles apart. But after the ambush?"

Harry blinked. The ambush? He knew of the ambush that occurred the previous year on her aunt's pack, as Delilah had shown it to him, but she'd never mentioned an ambush on her mother's pack. Actually, from all the years he'd known her, she never spoke of her family at all; he didn't even know how they died. Granted, the first year she was mute for most of it, the second they barely spent time together, and the third she'd just began to recover the memories she'd lost in that summer, but they'd had times together where they spoke of nothing. How many times had she told him he was her best friend? How many times had she told him she trusted him more than anyone in the world? Surely she would have told him of her past. After all, she knew everything about his.

"My mind had never been so silent. For a year and a half, I tried to reach out to everyone, in hopes that at least a few had survived." She smiled bitterly. "I never got an answer. So I grew up with the belief that I was the last hybrid of my kind in the world. That my whole family was dead, only to find out— a whole freakin' decade later— that I wasn't just some shifting hybrid, but also a witch, and not only so, but also a Wiccan. That my father wasn't really my father, and that my mother had survived the ambush and had given me a baby brother, and that I had an uncle whom I'd never heard of or met in my entire life, and a second cousin— I didn't even know my mother had a twin sister! I... I... !"

Delilah hadn't realized it, but a few tears had begun to slip from her eyes. "And they knew! They knew I was alive, and that pisses me off, because they never looked for me! They—" Delilah's eyes widened when she finally grasped the words that were leaving her lips. Like a doe caught in daylight, she looked up at Harry, and silently cursed herself a million times when she realized she was telling him everything.

No, he couldn't know. No one could know. It was her curse, her burden— no one was allowed to carry it for her.

Bringing her wand out, she swallowed hard, eyes never leaving Harry's. The boy quickly glanced down at her hand and felt his own eyes widen as the realization hit him; she was going to make him forget.

No. She was not allowed to do that. All these things she told him— he should know. Especially after everything they'd been through. Why couldn't she see that? Why couldn't she accept that someone wanted to help her carry the heavy trunk?

Before Harry could object, the girl apologized, then blinded him with the small light emitting from the tip of her wand. When the flash-blinding light subsided, Harry found himself staring at Delilah, puzzled.

Noticing a tear slipping from her eye, he leaned forward, worried. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him for a moment, then laughed softly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Yeah," she murmured. "I just... something got in my eye and wouldn't get out. Rubbed it too much, now it's red and crying."

Harry gave out a look that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "That kind of stuff is always a bugger to get rid of," he agreed as he stood. "Let me help."

She watched him curiously as he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto her feet. He gently placed both of his thumbs on the skin around her slightly reddened eye, pulling at the lids to keep them apart. Moving his face closer, he brought his lips upward until they hovered over her eye, then let out a quick, strong blow. She blinked, once, twice, then looked at him puzzled.

He then let go and stepped away, giving her a sheepish look. "My Aunt Petunia did that to Dudley often, when he got things in his eyes. She'd say it was to get it out. I guess it worked since your eye isn't crying anymore. And the red's going away, so that's good."

She stared at him, blinking owlishly, for a moment before laughing softly again, and pulling the boy into a hug. "Thank you, Harry," she said, then whispered, "And I'm sorry."

The boy frowned, pulling slightly away from the embrace. "For what?"

She smiled sadly at him. "For a lot of things." And then she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, causing the confused boy to blush slightly. "Goodnight, Harold."

And his worries were all forgotten as a boyish grin crawled onto his lips. "Goodnight, Dels."

Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep after he'd bunked in, all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting.

"Get up! Ron— Harry— come on now, get up, this is urgent!"

Harry sat up quickly, and the top of his head hit canvas. "S' matter?" he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, "No time, Harry— just grab a jacket and get outside— quickly!"

Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them... they didn't seem to have faces... Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers, and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

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

Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot— get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid— Lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he barked, getting to his feet again.

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

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

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around... they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled.

"Have it your own way, Potter," said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that "Mudblood" was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

"Never mind, Ron," said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed.

Malfoy chuckled softly. "Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to— trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" said Harry, his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling. "Well... if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh, come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," sneered Malfoy.

"Come on," Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron up the path again.

"I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" said Ron hotly.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" said Hermione fervently. "Oh, I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue—"

"Er— what?" said Ron.

"Oh..." The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, "Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," muttered Hermione.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"They must go to Beauxbatons," said Hermione. "You know... Beauxbatons Academy of Magic... I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe."

"Oh... yeah... right," said Harry.

Hermione gave him a flat look. "You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Harry gave her a sheepish nod. "Haven't got a clue."

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path.

Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand, only to find it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. "Ah, no, I don't believe it... I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding!"

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

"Maybe it's back in the tent," said Ron.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, "maybe..." He usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and finding himself without it in the midst of a scene like this made him feel very vulnerable.

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

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

And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

"What's up with her?" said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

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

"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" said Hermione indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard old Winky back at the match... 'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'... that's what she likes, being bossed around..."

"It's people like you, Ron," Hermione began hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to—"

Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

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

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Further still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"No, you're not!" yelled his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron... but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far—"

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

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

"Honestly!" said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away.

By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

Harry looked around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Seth emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them, Will flanking his side. Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over the youngest Dawn. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.

"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. Finally, his eyes settling upon the bushy-haired girl, his eyes became panicked. "Hermione?"

The girl looked back at him with equally wide eyes. "Seth?!"

"Where's Delilah?!" they both exclaimed in unison. Harry and Ron blinked simultaneously as the realization came to them that Delilah was nowhere to be seen, and began to panic.

Hermione gave the Wiccan boy an accusatory look. "I thought she was with you!"

Seth paled at those words. "She was," he whispered.

"She flashed us away from the riot," Will chimed in. "I don't think she meant to bring us here specifically, but she said she would find you."

Seth ran a hand through his hair, at that moment looking very much like his sister when she seemed distressed about something. "I gotta go find her," said blurted out, turning his back to them.

"You will do no such thing!" Hermione hollered at him.

Ignoring her, he reached into his pocket and froze, his face paling even more as his nose scrunched in pain.

"Seth?" Will stepped towards his best friend, concern written all over his face. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta find... Dels! She's hurt!"

Hermione looked at Ron and Harry, then turned back to the boy, narrowing her eyes at him. "How do you know that?"

Seth gave a slightly pained and bitter smile, a shocking difference to his usual happy and cheerful ones. "Has she ever told you about a pack mind link?"

"She may have mentioned it once," Ron spoke.

"Well, it's stronger between blood-related siblings. She's let me in a little more in the past few weeks; I can feel a little more of what she feels now."

Harry blinked, eyes wide. "That means—"

"He can feel her pain," Hermione finished.

---

"Protego Maxima!"

A white wisp shot out from the tip of her wand and flew towards the Russos and Harper, creating a large, glowing blue, protective dome around them. A mere second later, the young hybrid who had cast the protection charm was thrown back, her back hitting hard against the magical shield, causing her to drop her wand. Before she could even react, she was picked up from the ground and thrown against the shield again, in front of which she fell in a crouch.

The alpha within her rendered furious, her head snapped up, her eyes glowing mildly red with anger while her canine teeth enlarged into fangs as she bared them angrily, with a deep-throated growl, at her attacker. Her fury faltered slightly when she was met with a pair of bright green eyes, glowing in the dark of the night. There was nothing else she could distinguish from her assailant, other than the fact that he was a man, as his gender was given away by his large build. His identity remained unknown, yet familiar due to those eyes Delilah could not help but think she had seen before.

Her gaze moved towards his, and the more humane part of her became angry as she felt the alpha within her begin to calm as her gaze remained locked on his bright green eyes, and his on hers. She didn't like that her wolf was calming at the sight of this stranger who, mind you, attacked her, so, drawing out her fangs, her violet eyes shaded into a glowing red color as she growled angrily at her assailant.

Sprinting forward, she leaped into the air, then, landing in front of him, she pounced forward, punching him square in the face. The hit was strong, which caused her opponent to stumble backward and drop his own wand. Soon, the pair engaged into a hand and foot battle, throwing kicks and punches everywhere and anywhere. Suddenly, something pierced through her chest, causing her to freeze where she stood, glowing multi-colored eyes wide, fangs gone as she stared deep into the familiar eyes, fear glazing over her own as the hold on the organ in her chest tightened.

A sound between a gag and a whimper emitted from her throat as a tear went stray from her eye. The tear seemed to shift something within the man who, quite literally, held her heart.

"Joelyon, now you must promise me you will take good care of my little flower," said Ella-Grace.

The toddler was confused as her mother handed her over to the boy; Ella-Grace had made it rather clear, since the birth of her only daughter, that she hated having anyone else touch her. Even the baby's father. Little Delilah did not mind being handed over to this specific person though; she liked the boy. He was nice and always gave her his full attention when they were around each other.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hawkins." Said woman's eye twitched slightly at the name. "Lilah's in good hands."

Ella-Grace smiled slightly at the boy. "We won't be gone for long, but I trust you."

The boy giggled slightly. "Is it really that you trust me, or that this little monster won't shut up when she's with others?"

Delilah's lower lip jutted out lightly as her little doe eyes narrowed at him in disapproval at the name calling. She might've been a toddler, but she, like every other shifter, grew rather quickly in maturity; she understood every word they spoke, even if she couldn't speak it yet due to her lack of teeth and practice of word articulation. She lifted her tiny arm, and flicked him in the forehead.

"Ow," he grumbled, then winced slightly at the glare sent his way. "Goddess... it's scary just how much she understands."

Ella-Grace chuckled. "We were all once like that." Glancing down at her wristwatch, she sighed and said, "Well, I've got to go. Take care you two."

And then she disappeared a thin air. The pair that remained there looked at the spot the female Alpha had once been occupying, awestruck.

"I'll never get used to that," the boy muttered, the awestruck look on his face turning into one of fondness as he found the little girl in his arms giggling giddily at her mother's 'magic trick.' She made small gurgling noises, pointing at the spot her mother once stood at, clapping her hands together.

Joelyon smiled. "We'll be able to do that one day," he reassured her, earning himself a bright smile.

The man's grip on the pumping organ loosened and slid out of her flesh, his bloody hand remaining on the open wound. Suddenly, both their heads snapped to the side at the sound of a loud, animalistic growl. Before either of them could register where the noise came from, or who had emitted it, both bodies were sent crashing to the ground, a smaller figure attacking the hybrid's assailant.

Delilah's vision was blurry, and her open chest was burning with pain, though she could distinctly see a boy beating her assailant to the pulp.

"..." Delilah was barely able to emit a sound now.

Momentarily distracted, the attacker suddenly disappeared from under Seth, leaving him to throw a punch against the burnt soil. His nose picking up the smell of blood, his head instantly snapped to the right, his eyes widening at the sight of his wounded sister whom, shockingly, had tears in her eyes as she chocked, gasping for air.

Now out of the protective dome, the Russo kids fussed over the fallen hybrid, crying out to their father to do something. The man could only panic at the sight of blood, unable to think clearly.

"I don't know any spells! I haven't been a wizard in sixteen years!"

"Then what the heck have you been teaching us at home in the past four years?!" Justin exclaimed himself.

Alex turned to her uncle who was trying not to look at the gory sight. "Uncle Kelbo, you're an advanced trained wizard. Do something!"

The man began to panic as much as his brother. "I just pull harmless pranks on people!"

"Deli! Dels!" Seth stressed, scrambling over to his sister. His thoughts ran wild as he tried to think up a spell, or at least make one up, but he quickly remembered he had lost his wand. "No, no, no, no!"

"Seth! Delilah!"

A couple of yards away, Hermione was running as fast as she could, heading their way. Right behind her were Will and the rest of the golden quartet. The four of them ran through the rubble, Hermione and Harry immediately dropping beside the Dawn siblings. At the sight of her friends, Delilah's mouth cracked open in attempt to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling sound. Harry quickly propped the girl's head on his lap.

"Where is she hurt?" Hermione asked hurriedly while Harry simultaneously demanded, "What happened?"

Seth, caught in the midst of his panic in not knowing what to do, could not find himself to answer. The pair turned their attention to the wounded girl who was practically choking in her own blood.

"Where are you hurt?" Hermione directed her question to the hybrid, while Harry, once again, simultaneously asked, "Why aren't you healing?"

Despite the pain she was visibly in, it was clear Delilah did not know the answer to Harry's question, which only pushed her irritation with the lack of knowledge almost as far as her pain was.

"Her chest," Ron pointed out. "It's soaked."

"Harry, your jumper!" Hermione ordered, balling it up as soon as the boy gave it to her, and pressing it against Delilah's wound to stop the bleeding as best as she could.

"The... man..." Delilah finally managed to articulate through her unusually salivated mouth. "Know... him... somewhere..."

"I think she's going demented," Justin said worriedly, only earning himself a half focused glare from the hybrid.

"Not... demented... man... hand... in my chest."

"The man who shoved his hand in your chest... you know him from somewhere?" Max asked, which earned him a barely audible 'yes,' followed by surprised looks. He shrugged. "Alex talks like that when she's not completely awake."

"That's true," Harper mumbled as the rest of the Russos nodded in agreement.

"Hello?! Sister dying down here!" Seth exclaimed himself.

"Why isn't she healing?!" the bushy-haired girl repeated Harry's question.

"I-I don't know!" Seth stammered, tears building up in his own eyes as he held on to his clearly pained sister.

"I thought you lot had a powerful regenerative healing factor!" Hermione cried out accusingly. "Seth—"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. The others glanced around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, the only audible noise being Delilah's staggered breathing and the sound of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" called Harry.

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

"Who's there?" Seth demanded, voice thick with anger. "I swear— if you're the one who did this, I will kill you."

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

"MORSMORDRE!"

And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness, flying up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the—" gasped Ron, staring up at the thing that had appeared.

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

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

"Who's there?" Harry called out.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had risen to her feet, and seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward.

"What's the matter?" Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

"Oh, were we supposed to cast our own customized fireworks?" Max wondered dumbly.

"What?" Justin gave his brother a strange look. "No, Max, that's the—"

"Dark Mark!" Hermione moaned, pulling Harry as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"I don't know Who's sign?" Alex asked.

Justin glanced momentarily at his sister. "Voldemort's sign."

"Who's Voldem—" Alex cut herself as she remembered. "Oh..."

"Come on!" Hermione told everyone hurriedly, leaning down to help Seth with Delilah. "We've got to get out of here."

Harry turned— Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum— the group started across the clearing, Delilah in Seth's arms— but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards or so, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Ron, Hermione, the Russos and the family friend, and the Dawn siblings.

Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!" He seized Seth and the rapidly fading Delilah, and pulled them down onto the ground.

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

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

Harry's hair stopped blowing about. He raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of him had lowered his wand. He rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified.

"Ron—Harry—" His voice sounded shaky. "— Hermione— are you all right?"

"Seth! Delilah!"

Within the next second, both, Daren and Lara pushed their way through the wizards all the way to the young Dawns, both sharing a look of horror when they caught sight of the bloody girl in the thirteen-year-old boy's arms.

"Oh, my Goddess..." Lara gasped.

Daren quickly leaned down and whipped his wand out of his pocket. Pulling Harry's soaked jumper off, he aimed his wand at the hole in Delilah's chest and mumbled, "Cura," under his breath, followed by, "Refectio." It was enough to stop the bleeding and close the wound for the healing to kick in more quickly, and although it relieved her from a bit of the pain, it didn't make it vanish completely, causing the young hybrid to lose consciousness and fall limp in her brother's arms.

Arthur, who had been standing not far behind Lara and Daren, watching the scene before them with worry clouding his eyes, was suddenly all but shoved aside to leave the place a man of higher status and authority.

"Out of the way, Arthur," he spoke in a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage, though nothing matched the anger Harry felt himself falling in for the big waves of disregard sent towards his previously deadly injured best friend whom, now that he thought of it— could have really died this time from almost have her heart literally ripped out.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

Harry got to his feet and glared at the man. "We didn't do that!" he said, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping— he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to—"

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" said Mr. Weasley quickly.

"You must be joking." The look on Lara's face was unbelievably murderous as she turned to face the man. "Half of these people are afraid of merely hearing You-Know-Who's name, and the other only just found out who he was. And in case you haven't noticed, Crouch, my niece had just been mortally wounded, so I'm pretty sure they had other things going on in their heads rather than a stupid green skull throwing up a snake while floating in freakin' sky!" she growled.

Trying to swerve the tension away from their group, Hermione stood and stepped forward, remaining behind Harry as though to shadow herself with his taller build. "Over there," she said shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees... they shouted words— an incantation—"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, Missy—"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Will, or Seth had conjured the skull, seeing as the other young girl lay fainted on the ground, and the other young witches and wizards present were still panicking on the side with a few Muggles that had come with them to the Cup; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees... There's a good chance we got them...

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

A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's— but— blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.

Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds, Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.

"This— cannot— be," he said jerkily. "No—"

He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.

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

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf... I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," said Daren in an oddly quiet tone, "you don't seriously think it was the elf?"

"He's got a point there, Amos," Mr. Weasley piped in. "The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

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

"What?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

Just then there was another pop and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barry! What's going on?"

Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching.

"Where have you been, Barty?" said Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too— gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why—"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch.

"No!" he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," 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." Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but the latter seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, "Ennervate!"

Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened, and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" 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 began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.

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

"I-I-I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it.

"Hey— that's mine!" he said

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.

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

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

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Lara, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er— of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry... carried away.."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "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, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is... I is... I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, i is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" said Will. The usually incredibly shy boy looked as nervous as any youngling would in such a situation, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet his determination did not bring him down. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and Ron, appealing for their support, as his best friend was still drained with the fear he had previously felt for his sister's life. "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.

"A man," Hermione added.

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

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.

Harry heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke. "So," said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

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

"Amos," said Mr. Weasley loudly, "think about it... precious few wizards know how to do that spell... where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a profoundly unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Mr. Crouch... not... not at all."

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

"I—"

"And the girl's history, Amos? The girl who his right now unconscious right over there—" Mr. Crouch pointed at Delilah's unconscious form in her brother's arms. "— after having previously been mortally injured?"

"Of course— everyone knows—" muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.

"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 practice them?" Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr. Crouch, I-I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr. Crouch. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She— she might've picked it up anywhere—"

"Precisely, Amos," said Mr. Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere... Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. "I— I is finding it... finding it there, sir..." she whispered, "there... in the trees, sir."

"You see, Amos?" 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 only a few feet away from the real culprit!" said Mr. Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and 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 looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr. Crouch added coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please..."

Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

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

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can— if Harry could have it back, please—"

Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.

"Come on, you lot," Mr. Weasley said quietly, motioning for Harry, Hermione, Will, the Wiccans, and the Russos and their guest to follow him. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione!" Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing.

"I don't know," said Mr. Weasley.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione furiously. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time... and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was— it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron.

Hermione rounded on him. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way—"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr. Weasley tensely.

But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur— it's not— Him?"

"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

As the group returned to their tents and the Russos flashed their way back home, not wanting to remain there any longer after the traumatizing events, Mr. Weasley reassured the masses that everything was okay. Lara and Daren Disapparated, leaving Will, Seth, and Delilah in the Weasley's care after the youngest Dawn managed to convince them that Delilah would be greatly upset if she woke up and was not able to confirm for herself that everyone was alright.

Afterward, Mr. Weasley explained to his kids, Harry, Will and Seth that Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, always made the Dark Mark after killing someone.

"But what were Voldemort's supporters—" Harry began. Everybody flinched— like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said 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 very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives... I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

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

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

Harry got into his new bunk with his head buzzing. He knew he ought to feel exhausted: it was nearly three in the morning, but he felt wide awake, and worried. Three days ago— it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days— he had awoken with his scar burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean?

He thought of the letter he had written to Sirius before leaving Privet Drive. Would Sirius have gotten it yet? When would he reply? Harry lay looking up at the canvas, but no flying fantasies came to him now to ease him to sleep, and it was a long time after Charlie's snores filled the tent that Harry finally dozed off.