Mr Weasley came in to wake them up after only a few hours, though Ginny and Hermione hadn't been able to fall asleep. Every time they got close, a noise would pierce the silence, and both girls would jump in fright. To Hermione's relief, he and his older sons used magic to pack up the tents. She didn't think she had the mental capacity or strength to take them down the Muggle way.
They all filed out of the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague, "Merry Christmas."
"He'll be all right," said Mr Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes them a bit disorientated for a while ... and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."
They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay. When they reached it, they found a significant number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamouring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible, just like they did. Hermione felt terrible for poor Basil - he looked absolutely frazzled.
Mr Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue and took an old rubber tyre back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun rose. They walked back through Ottery St Catchpole towards The Burrow in the dawn light. No one spoke - they were all too tired or lost in their own thoughts. As they rounded the corner in the lane and The Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the damp road.
"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Mrs Weasley, who had been waiting for them in the front yard, came running towards them, still wearing her bedroom slippers. Her face was pale and strained, a screwed-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. "Arthur – I've been so worried – so worried!"
She flung her arms around Mr Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. The headline caught Hermione's eye: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. It was complete with a sparkling, black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. Hermione couldn't help but notice the Dark Mark didn't look nearly as scary as it did at the time.
"You're all right," Mrs Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes. "You're alive... oh, boys…"
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.
"Ouch! Mum – you're strangling us!"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O. ? Oh, Fred! George!"
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly OK," said Mr Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back towards the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone. "Pick up that paper. I want to see what it says."
As soon as they were inside, Hermione set off to make Mrs Weasley a cup of very strong tea. Not only did she think the poor woman needed it, but Hermione also needed something to do with her hands. She was much too anxious to sit idly by. Once the tea was ready, Mr Weasley insisted on pouring in a shot of Ogdens' Old Firewhisky. Mrs Weasley didn't put up any fuss and took a long, hot drag of the liquid.
"I knew it," said Mr Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended... lax security... Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace... Who wrote this? Ah ... of course ... Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week, she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans!"
"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."
"I'm mentioned," said Mr Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.
"Where?" spluttered Mrs Weasley, choking on her tea and whisky. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"
"Not by name," said Mr Weasley. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later remains to be seen.' Oh, really," said Mr Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? 'Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods…' well, there certainly will be rumours now she's printed that."
He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office. This is going to take some smoothing over."
"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."
He bustled out of the kitchen.
Mrs Weasley looked most upset. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office. Surely they can handle this without you?"
"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr Weasley, "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off."
"Mrs Weasley,' said Harry suddenly. "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"
"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs Weasley distractedly. "No ... no, there hasn't been any post at all."
Hermione was so taken aback at the random outburst that she stared at Harry curiously. Where did that come from? However, Harry looked back at her intently. He definitely wanted to tell them something he didn't want to say in front of Ron's mother and everyone else.
"All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"
"Yeah, I think I will, too," said Ron at once. "Hermione?"
"Yes!" she said quickly and ran up the stairs after the boys.
"What's up, Harry?" said Ron when they had closed the attic room door behind them.
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
Hermione gasped. That was not good news. Her mind flew alive, trying to come up with any suggestion she could think of. "Harry, I wish you had told us this earlier," she started. "I could have taken some books with us to the Quidditch Match to look up some of the reasons why it was hurting. But, perhaps because of what happened last night, you should just go straight to Professor Dumbledore. And, of course, Madam Pomfrey." Hermione knew she was rambling, but she was much too tired to control her nervous habit.
Ron looked dazed. "But, he wasn't there, was he? You Know Who? I mean, last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"
Ron had a point but, again, based on what happened last night…
"I'm sure he wasn't in Privet Drive," Harry said, interrupting Hermione's rambling thoughts. "But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter. You know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill someone."
Hermione was horrified. It just kept getting worse.
"It was only a dream," Ron said, probably attempting to make Hermione relax a bit. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but was it, though? Harry said. "It's weird, isn't it? My scar hurts, and three days later, the Death Eaters are on the march and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."
"Don't say his name!" Ron hissed. But Harry was right - it was too much of a coincidence.
"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry said. "At the end of last year?"
The mention of their Hogwarts Divination teacher broke Hermione from her anxiety. "Oh, Harry," she said dismissively. "You aren't going to pay any attention to anything that old fraud says?"
"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again 'greater and more terrible than ever before' and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and, that night, Wormtail escaped."
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absent-mindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread. Hermione wasn't going to fight Harry on whether or not Professor Trelawney was a fraud or not. That woman wasn't worth her breath. Instead, Hermione slightly changed the subject.
"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"
"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer." Hermione couldn't help but be surprised that Harry reached out to an authority figure for once in his meddling life.
"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"
"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.
"But we don't know where Sirius is ... he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably. She didn't want to dissuade Harry from reaching out for help ever again. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."
"Yeah, I know," said Harry, but he didn't seem very convinced he had done the right thing.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on – three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play. You can try out the Wronski Feint!"
"Ron," said Hermione, in what she hoped was an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now. He's worried, and he's tired. We all need to go to bed."
"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," blurted Harry. "Hang on. I'll get my Firebolt."
Hermione left the room, rolling her eyes and muttering, "'Boys." She was too tired and impatient to deal with their immaturity.
She made a beeline for Ginny's room and threw open the door. Ginny was already in her bed, fast asleep. Hermione quietly put her bag down on the floor and changed out of her travel clothes as silently as humanly possible, though she sincerely doubted wild horses could wake up Ginny.
Hermione snuggled into the sleeping bag on the floor of Ginny's room, but she couldn't turn off her head enough to doze. She was so tired that she was awake. Every time she shut her eyes, Hermione could see the poor Muggle family up in the air. Hermione forced herself to lay there for an hour before finally giving up trying to nap. She didn't, however, want to go downstairs and have to make small talk with anyone or answer questions from Mrs Weasley. There was too much on her mind.
As she thought about all of the events of the last 24 hours, Hermione found herself absentmindedly playing with the bracelet on her wrist. She shot up from the floor and grabbed her bag. From it, she pulled some parchment and a quill and set to writing Finnegan a letter.
Dear Finnegan,
Thank you for giving me this bracelet. I think it saved my life. How are your cousin and his family? I felt helpless seeing them being treated like that. Please let me know if they are ok and if there is anything else I can do to help.
As you've probably heard, some of You Know Who's followers conjured the Dark Mark. Unfortunately, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and I were caught in the middle. Thankfully, I was able to summon your sister to the scene and some other Ministry members.
I didn't get a chance to speak with her, but I hope you will pass my thanks to her.
Please keep me updated on how your cousin is and if Keelin can share any additional information.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
She slipped the parchment and bracelet into an envelope and snuck out the door, up the stairs, and into Ron's room to find Pig. She knocked, but there was no answer, thankfully. The boys must have still been practising Quidditch in the yard. Pig flew in excited circles around Hermione's hand once he caught sight of the letter. Finally, she was able to get him to stay still long enough to hand him the letter. "Can you take this to Finnegan McKiernan in Lavenham?" she said, and the tiny owl bolted out the window in reply.
Hermione snuck back down to Ginny's room and decided to give napping one more chance. Luckily for her, Crookshanks had crept into the cracked door and was waiting for her in the sleeping bag. Hermione snuggled in, spooning the furry orange cat and focusing on the rhythmic purring. When Hermione closed her eyes this time, she only saw darkness and entered a dreamless sleep.
Neither Mr Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up and returned well after dinner every night.
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly, the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. 'I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk, and my best quill reduced to cinders."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?' asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.
"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."
Hermione was only half listening. She was trying to get a head start on their fourth-year studies. Even though she wasn't going to use the Time-Turner this year, Hermione was still taking more classes than the other fourth years. Thanks to Mrs Weasley, Hermione had all of her necessary books and had already started to read. Since that first dreamless sleep when they returned from the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione had had trouble sleeping. She spent most nights just reading her school books, trying to push thoughts of the Roberts family and poor Winky from her head. This evening, she was completing her second reread of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first –"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs Weasley, flaring up at once.
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. Ron was an incredible chess player - Hermione knew better than to try to beat him anymore. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts curse breakers once and called me 'a longhaired pillock?'"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me –"
"No, Mum."
"What are you two up to?" said Mrs Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins. Hermione looked up to see the twins in the far corner, writing on parchments secretively. She also saw Harry was using the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had gotten him for his birthday the previous year. It made her smile, knowing that he still used her present.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely. Hermione sincerely doubted that was the case, but she was too tired to worry about the twins anymore.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs Weasley.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel knowing that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Mrs Weasley.
Hermione caught Mrs Weasley staring at the unique clock on the mantel - the one that told her where every one of her family members was at any given time. Mr Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from 'work' to 'travelling.' A second later, it had shuddered to a halt on 'home' with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs Weasley, hurrying out of the room.
A few moments later, Mr Weasley entered the warm living room, carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked utterly exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the fire and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."
"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.
"If you ask me, Mr Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.
"Now, look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants –"
"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising shrilly. "Because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on, now, all of you…"
Hermione slammed her book closed and marched upstairs. She just couldn't understand how none of the Weasleys nor Harry seemed to care about poor Winky. They didn't seem to care about the Robertses, either. Did they even care about her? She knew it was a stretch, but it was a logical progression. As a 'Mudblood,' Hermione was treated differently and singled out, just like the Roberts family and just like Winky.
There wasn't much she could do for the Robertses, especially because she hadn't yet heard back from Finnegan about whether they were okay. However, maybe there was something she could do for Winky and the thousands of other House Elves in the Wizarding World. Hermione wasn't sure what yet, but she knew for a fact the answer was in a book somewhere. She just had to find it.