They set off again, Lyla still searching her pockets, even though she knew her 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 they had undoubtedly won betting on the match and seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther 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, 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."
Arabella snorted with laughter. She could easily recognize the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was, in fact, a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. She turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and the next second he was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"
"Honestly!" said Hermione, and she and Lyla 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.
"I reckon we can just wait here," said Lyla, looking around, "you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them. Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Arabella could see that a significant 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 here, all alone?"
They looked at one another, surprised.
"Well— there's a sort of riot going on," said Ron.
Bagman stared at him.
"A what?"
"At the campsite. . . some people have got hold of a family of Muggles. . ."
Bagman swore loudly.
"Damn them!" he said, looking entirely distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop.
"Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?" said Lyla, 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. Arabella was listening for noise from the campsite, and everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over.
"I hope the others are okay," said Lyla after a while.
"They'll be fine," said Ron.
"Imagine if your dad catches Aldrich Parkinson," said Arabella, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."
"Think Draco's parents were… well, one of those masked people…?" asked Lyla carefully. "I mean, if what he says about his father is true…."
"Those poor Muggles, though," said Hermione nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"
"They will," said Ron reassuringly. "They'll find a way."
"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" said Lyla. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -"
But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Arabella and Ron 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 Lyla.
There was silence. She got to her feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but she could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of her 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.
"MORSMORDRE!"
And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Lyla'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.
For a split second, Arabella thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then she realized that it was a colossal skull composed 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. Not understanding why, she jumped at the sudden commotion. She scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but she couldn't see anyone.
"Who's there?" Arabella called.
"Come on, move!"
Hermione had seized the collar of her jacket and was tugging her backward.
"What's the matter?" asked Arabella, startled to see her face so white and terrified.
"It's the Dark Mark, Arabella!" Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"
"Voldemort's—"
"Come on!"
Arabella turned— Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum— the four of them started across the clearing— but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them. Lyla whirled around, and in an instant, Arabella registered one fact: Each of these wizards had his or her wand out, and every wand was pointing right at herself, Lyla, Ron, and Hermione.
Without pausing to think, she yelled, "DUCK!"
She seized Lyla and Hermione by the arms and yanked them down onto the ground.
"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices— there was a blinding series of flashes, and She felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising her head a fraction of an inch, she 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 she recognized. "STOP! That's my son you're firing at!"
Lyla's hair stopped blowing about. She raised her head a little higher. The wizard in front of her had lowered his wand. She rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified.
"Ron—" his voice sounded shaky— "you— are you all alright?"
"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. Shakily, the four teenagers got to their feet. 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 that!" said Arabella, 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 four?" said Mr. Weasley quickly.
"O-over there," said Hermione 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 they had conjured the skull; 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, 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. Lyla 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 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 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? Barty! 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 alright 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. Lyla saw 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. Lyla 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, Lyla recognized it.
"Hey— that's mine!" she said.
Everyone in the clearing looked at him.
"Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory incredulously.
"That's my sister's wand!" said Arabella. "She 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 Arabella Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"
"Er— of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry. . . got carried away..."
"I didn't drop it there," said Lyla, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the woods."
"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 her friends, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"
"No," said Arabella, shaking his head. "It didn't sound like an elf."
"Yeah, it was a human voice," said Lyla.
"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 Lyla's.
"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.
Gasps of terror sounded 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.
"So," said Mr. Diggory with a 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. "Arabella Potter— and myself. I suppose you are familiar with her 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!" Mr. 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 this 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 the 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!"
Arabella knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see how Winky clutched her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.
"But she was frightened!" Lyla 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 Lyla. "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. 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 Lyla could have it back, please -"
Mr. Diggory handed Lyla her wand, and she pocketed it.
"Come on, you four," Mr. Weasley said quietly. 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.
Lyla rounded on him.
"That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron!"
"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 Arabella.
"Dad," said Ron seriously, "why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"
"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr. Weasley tensely.
But their progress was impeded when they reached the edge of the wood. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was assembled 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 his group into 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.
Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.
"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others—"
"I've got them here," said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. The others entered after him.
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. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though thoroughly shaken.
"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 Lyla's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."
"What?" said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together.
"Lyla's wand?" said George.
Mr. Crouch's elf?" said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.
Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods with assistance from Arabella, Ron, and Lyla. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly.
"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 reasonably 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!"
"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone. . . . Why's it such a big deal?"
"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."
"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "Of course, people panicked. . . it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."
"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean. . . it's still only a shape in the sky. . ."
"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired. . . you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside. . . ." Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear. . . the very worst.."
There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robert children before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."
"Death Eaters?" said Arabella. "What are Death Eaters?"
"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."
"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.
"Yeah, I bet it was!" exclaimed Ron. "Dad, we met Pansy Parkinson in the woods, and she as good as told us her dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"
"Ron!" scolded Lyla, but it was no use.
"But what were Voldemort's supporters—" Arabella began. Everybody flinched— like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," she added 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. "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 Charlie. "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 to see him return than the rest of us. 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 Lyla slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters or to scare them away?"
"Your guess is as good as ours," 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 of sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."
After saying hushed goodnights once more, the girls quickly made their way back into their tent.
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