A/N: Hi, my name is Jade and I am happy that you have chosen my story to read. I would like to say that I have only a general idea where this is going to so if any of you have ideas feel free to share them with me by PM or a review.
This is a Time Travel Story. This story is AU. It has SLASH. It has underage sex later on. A lot of characters will be OOC.
If you cannot handle this then don't read this.
I still don't have a beta so if anyone wants to jump in for further chapters…
This will probably have infrequent posts so maybe you should follow it? School started and it is full of different happenings so…
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The Quidditch Cup And The Death Eaters
Clutching their purchases, Mr Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. 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 Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.
"Seats a hundred thousand," 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. He was excited and not because of the match but because he'd see Malfoys. An instinct told him that whatever happened, even if it had to be like the last time that he would enjoy it for the simple fact that it was his mate.
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 but they were of no real interest to him, but he did see a house-elf.
"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.
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 had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.
"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. Harry wanted to slap himself. How could he forget something like this.
"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by the 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 surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" 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 favour, sir, when you 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. "
"Ah, I see. Well, I'd be happy to take any house-elf with no family. Be sure to tell him that and any other elf," said Harry. Harry did not know why he said that but he thought that in this way he could stop many bad things and maybe impress…
'I really need to focus,' Harry thought.
"Any house elf Mr Harry Potter, sir," Winky asked.
"Any," Harry stated.
"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.
"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again… "
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.
"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is... the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he-"
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.
"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat… Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… ah, and here's Lucius!"
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 knew to be Draco's mother. He immediately felt jealous and the only thing he could think was how he dreaded coming into his inheritance if he was already like this.
Narcissa was blonde; 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?"
"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 know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"
It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other and Harry hoped nothing would be broken. Mr Malfoy's cold grey 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?"
Harry bristled at this but did not say anything else. He really did not want to fight him.
Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest. "
"How - how nice," said Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile.
Mr Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy's lip curl like that and Harry again bristled, annoyed with his mate. Lucius nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, and then after he sat down he shot an inquisitive look at Harry but Harry ignored him.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, 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 like a great, excited Edam. "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.
"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.
"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!"
About a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field. Veela were women… the most beautiful women according to some.
The veela had started to dance, and Harry was suddenly annoyed with them and so he shot a look at Lucius Malfoy who looked like always except for the glazed look in his eyes. That made Harry almost lose his mind so he did the only thing he could do. He clenched his fists and endured it.
Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was not with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, but that did not make him happy about the Veela. 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.
"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 ooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"
Unlike the first time around Harry tuned out. Not really paying attention because he knew everything that would happen. Harry was like that until he heard, "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. 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 Harry. He looked around; 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.
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, ear-splitting 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 honour on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus. "
"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that... shame it couldn't have lasted longer… Ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?"
For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.
He handed them gold but upon seeing it Harry was enraged and went towards him.
"Bagman, if you bet and lose-lose with honour. Give them the real gold and not that shite that the Mascots threw over everyone."
That caused a ripple and everyone looked towards them. In the end Ludo was forced to give them gold.
-o-O-o-
"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 or he'd be tempted to tell his wife and he did think that Harry was right so he just said, "As long as no one is killed and you keep close to Harry do what you want."
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 cobbling with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilt 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 Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pyjamas 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 never fell asleep. He knew that he'd soon be woken up.
"Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!"
Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit the canvas.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked
Harry 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 pyjamas, 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…. High above them, floating along in mid-air, 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 centre, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.
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 said angrily, 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 but Harry's eyes caught his and he saw that it was the opposite. 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," Malfoy started but whatever it was that he wanted to say was cut off by Harry.
"Malfoy enough," Harry said. "I am willing to make a truce with you…"
"Accepted," Malfoy said quickly.
Weasleys looked at them as did Hermione but when they saw Harry's look Ginny said for all of them, "We'll be part of the truce. We know that look in Harry's eyes and we don't want to lose our brother." There were nods from the rest of them and Malfoy nodded back at them.
"I suppose you'll use our names Draco. There are too many Weasleys around," Harry stated lifting an eyebrow. At the moment he was certain that this was the unexpected alley Vanmoriel talked about.
"I will," Draco said calmly.
There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy stayed still with a stony face.
"We better hurry and hide. You are coming, too, Draco," Harry said. As much as Harry was prepared to hate the little peacock he couldn't. After all he was Lucius' son.
They all hurried down the path and Ron pulled 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 - but it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. All he could think was that this was supposed to happen.
"Ah, no, I don't believe it. . . I've lost my wand!"
"You're kidding!" Malfoy said lighting his own wind
"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 had to play along. 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 laboured 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?"
"She must be disobeying orders," Draco said.
"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 -"
"Enough!" Harry said. "Yes, they have to be bound so that they can better use their magic but that does not mean that they have to be mistreated. Leave it 'Mione."
"OK," she said not at all surprised. Harry had known about elves longer than she did.
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.
They followed the dark path deeper into the wood. 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 herded everyone firmly by the arms marching them 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 Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them.
Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.
"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"
They looked at one another, surprised.
"Well - there's a sort of riot going on," said Ron.
Bagman stared at him.
"What?"
"At the campsite. . . some people have got hold of a family of Muggles. . . . "
Bagman swore loudly.
"Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop!
"Not exactly on top of things, Mr Bagman, is he?" said Hermione, frowning.
"He was a great Beater, though," said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them."
He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry was listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over.
"I hope the others are okay," said Hermione after a while.
"They'll be fine," said Ron.
"Have you heard what is happening at Hogwarts?" Draco asked. At their negative response he explained everything.
"I suppose we should pretend we don't know," said Ginny.
"That would be the best," Draco said.
Hermione wanted to say something but she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. The others looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.
"Hello?" called Harry even though he knew who it was.
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?" he said.
And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell. Harry knew the voice like he had heard it yesterday.
"MORSMORDRE!"
And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Harry's eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky.
"What the -?" gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared.
"The Dark Mark," Draco said looking ashamed. The realisation came upon their faces and they stayed silent. The only one who moved was Harry. He gripped Draco by his arm hoping to give him some comfort.
Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams.
"Harry, come on!" Hermione said and like one all of them moved. A series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, 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 them.
Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!"
His magic reacted immediately. It pulled the rest of the group to the land.
"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.
"Kids are you alright?" - His voice sounded shaky.
"Out of the way, Arthur," said 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.
"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"
"We didn't do it," Harry said calmly while the rest stayed silent and Draco surprisingly hid slightly behind him. Harry felt a wave of satisfaction at that. HIS son felt safe with him.
"Do not lie, Mr Potter!" 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 woollen 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.
"Over there," said Hermione.
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 woollen 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. Harry almost sneered. I seemed he could get something right after all. "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 M. Diggory re-emerged 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 M. 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 Mr Weasley quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand. "
"Yeah," said Mr Diggory, "and she had a wand."
"What?" said M. 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.
Mr Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush moustache 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 Mr Diggory 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 and was ready to step in at any moment.
"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 Mr Weasley, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"
"Er - of course not," mumbled Mr Diggory. "Sorry. . . carried away. . . "
"Excuse me, I'd like it back and anyways I dropped it while we were running away from the camp. She must have found it that way," Harry said.
"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 Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at the rest, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"
"No," Draco said with a bout of courage. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf. It sounded like a Ministry Official if you ask me."
"Yeah, it was a human voice," said Ron, backing him.
"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 grey 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 deeply 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?"
"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.
Mr Crouch took a step backwards, 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 to her master's reputation."
Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.
The Weasley and Hermione went to say something but Harry stopped them saying something that will stay with the Ministry Workers for a long time.
"Winky, stop immediately! It is disgraceful," Harry snapped at the elf and she looked at him with her big eyes. "Crouch may not believe you but I do and therefore I ask if you'd come and serve me?"
The elf immediately calmed and shuffled towards Harry. He touched her head and said in a soft voice, "I accept you as mine."
Winky was immediately surrounded in white light and came out wearing black robes with a large letter P etched in silver.
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
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. "
He led the kids through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose.
"Did you get them, Dad?" said Bill sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"
"No," said Mr Weasley. "We found Barry Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."
"What?" said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together.
"Mr Crouch's elf?" said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.
"What happened to the elf?" Charlie asked. He had a soft spot for all creatures.
With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly. None except the group that made the truce noticed Draco leaving with a nod towards Harry. They haven't said what Harry did with Winky when Percy interrupted.
"Well, Mr Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to… embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry…how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control -"
"She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy - better, indeed, than any of the others.
"Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" said Percy pompously, recovering himself.
"She didn't run amok!" shouted Hermione. "She just picked it up off the ground!"
"Percy, you will be silent about my house elf. If you don't shut your Crouch-ass-kissing-mouth I swear that nothing will stop the twins from pranking you. Just so you know I will allow them use of Winky for that purpose," Harry said pissed.
He didn't understand that snobbish bastard. If he turns on his family again, he won't be the one helping him.
For a while it was silent until Ron said, "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods. I hope you won't be mad that we made a truce with him."
"He is a supporter of You-know-who no doubt," Percy said stiffly.
Again, they let Harry say what he had to say. It seemed that the Truce Group choose him as a leader and he won't get away from it.
"Percival Arthur Weasley, shut the hell up! Insult Malfoy again and I will wring your neck. Let the past be in the past and concentrate on present or you will lose it."
Harry's voice was dark and full of anger. Charlie, Bill and Arthur all winced while all the others except Percy just accepted it. They have realised that Harry was one to follow because he stayed calm the entire time they needed him to stay. On spot they decided that no matter who he chooses as his lover in the end that they would not abandon him.
"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," Arthur said.
Harry got back into his bunk with his head buzzing. He knew he ought to feel exhausted: It was nearly three in the morning, but he felt wide-awake - wide-awake, and worried. He hoped nothing would happen to Draco. He resolved to write him when they get to the Burrow.
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.