They only slept for a few hours before they were woken up and getting dressed. The tents were collapsed and folded with magic before the Rosenwalds turned to Arthur.
"We do thank you for this." They said and turned to their three children. "Be good, we'll see you at supper." Dominique hugged Skylar tightly before the two parents Disapparated.
"And there they go." Skylar mumbled.
"Something tells me it's going to be a busy year." Nick nodded.
They left 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 him 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, and when they reached it, they found a great 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. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. They walked through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward The Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of their breakfast. As they rounded the corner and The Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.
"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-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. Looking down, Skylar saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"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…"
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 —"
The Rosenwald children all shared a look as the Weasley's and Harry looked shocked. They'd clearly missed something just before the cup had started.
"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.W.L.s? Oh Fred… George…"
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…"
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"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."
"Isn't she the one who over exaggerates everything?" Leon said thinking.
"Or writes complete rubbish." Skylar grumbled.
"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 whiskey. "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. Several Ministry officials emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, one 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… Nathaniel and Dominique are there already, they asked if we could look after Skylar, Leon and Nick for the day."
"If they keep getting busier, they're going to have to trust us alone." Skylar sighed. Mrs. Weasley smiled at the three.
"Well of course I can."
"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, unable to contain himself, "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."
Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry who glanced at Skylar. She nodded her head, and with a meaningful look at both of them Harry said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"
"Yeah… think I will too," said Ron at once. "Hermione? Sky?"
"Yes," Hermione said quickly as Skylar said, "Alright", and the four of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"What's up, Harry?" said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Skylar thought, and likely as Harry had imagined them too. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.
"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?"
"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "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."
Skylar looked at him at his hesitation and her eyes widened slightly before she calmed herself. You-Know-Who and Wormtail didn't want to kill someone, they wanted to kill Harry! He glanced at her and she bit her lip, glancing at the other two. He didn't want to worry her, or them.
"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "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 through gritted teeth.
"It does make it seem, with you dreaming of You-Know-Who plotting and his followers rising suddenly, that there's something going on." Skylar said, frowning.
"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on. "At the end of last year?"
Professor Trelawney was their Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.
"Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay 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."
"Which means, all this could mean You-Know-Who isn't just plotting murder… he's plotting his return. But how can someone in his state regain a body? I thought that's what he needed the Philosopher's stone for?" Skylar remembered, confusion on her expression.
"Dumbledore said there were other ways he might be able to do it." Harry confessed.
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.
"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."
"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. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."
"Yeah, I know," said Harry.
"Something tells me he wouldn't go much further than Europe." Skylar thought.
"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…"
"And Leon." Skylar rolled her eyes.
"You can try out the Wronski Feint…"
"Ron," said Hermione, in 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," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."
Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys."
"It'll distract him." Skylar smiled as she followed her. She was looking forward to nothing more than a nap.
Dominique and Nathaniel were not home much over the next week, and neither were Mr. Weasley or Percy. All left the houses early in the morning and returned late in the evening, so much so that the Rosenwalds joined the Weasleys for dinner. It was lonely just the three of them in that big house, even with Hermione staying with them.
The four were finally seen on the Sunday night before the lot were due to leave for Hogwarts and Nathaniel invited everyone over to the Rosenwald estate as thanks to Mr. And Mrs. Weasley for watching his children. Mr. Weasley however was still at the office.
They were all in the large lounge room after they'd eaten, Midori bringing around hot cups of drink for them all with some scones.
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly. "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. Leon was helping her by holding everything still while she stuck the tape down.
"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."
"You're not the only one Percy, the Auror office is being jammed with complaints as well." Nathaniel sighed.
"Several people have also come in to complain in person. All scared, bless them." Dominique frowned.
"If it wasn't for Kingsley we might not be able to come home at all." Nathaniel nodded.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of his best workers, as the Rosenwald children knew, they'd all met him and liked him very much.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," Mrs. Weasley 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. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me —"
"No, Mum."
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Skylar was sitting cross legged on the floor beside her father with Meridem, her glowing-like, white cat in her lap. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner with Nick, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.
"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"That doesn't sound like Nick." Skylar smirked and her brother shot her a warning look.
"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 to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley. Dominique however turned around and asked what Weasleys Wizard Wheezes were.
Everyone looked up as there was a pop and then Midori hurried to the front door. Mr. Weasley walked into the living room a moment later and plopped himself down into one of the arm chairs. Midori hurried off and returned not a moment later with a tray of food for the man.
"Thank you Midori." Arthur said, while Hermione watched the elf with narrowed eyes.
Mr. Weasley looked completely exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told the adults as he 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.
"Unfortunately that's not how Rita would write it." Dominique rolled her eyes.
"She'd make sure that Crouch was humiliated, or haven't you noticed that's quite her style." Nathaniel agreed.
"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 passionately, "because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"Does that mean you're going to make us fire Midori?" Skylar asked. "What, because we let her do things around the house to make her happy, even though she's a part of our family, you'd have us make her unhappy. What if she wants to stay here?"
Hermione was flushed pink as she looked at Skylar. "House-elves deserve rights, you'd never catch any of us working without pay."
"But they don't classify it as work Hermione, not in the way we do, they function differently, they're not humans." Skylar continued.
"I think it's time we returned home. You'd all better go and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you…"
Skylar and Hermione shared a scowl as they stood up. The Rosenwalds and Hermione accompanied Harry and the Weasleys to the kitchen where they used the floo network to get back to The Burrow. Waving goodbye they looked forward to seeing one another on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning.
"And don't be late." Skylar grinned, earning a grin from Harry and Ron, reminding them of the last time they'd missed the train.
The two girls, Nick and Leon then dropped up to their rooms to double check their trunks and make sure everything was packed. Skylar's was already done but as usual, Leon had left it till the last minute and Nick went to help him.
With that done, Dominique ordered them all to bed. "You'll need lots of sleep for the year you have ahead."
"I can't wait!" Skylar beamed.