A/N: A content warning for racism applies to this chapter. For context (this will includes spoilers), scroll down to the bottom of the chapter.
Also, this chapter touches upon the Irish Troubles. If you're unfamiliar with the conflict, some terminology is defined at the bottom of the chapter for a more comprehensible read. It could be noted that Draco does not have this information, so a blind read would be more aligned with his experience.
Chapter 7: Skull in the Sky
By the time Draco and Father found the Romanyuk campsite, Crabbe and Goyle had headed off for bed. Nott looked knackered as he sat beside his father at a fire. Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle were there too, half-pissed and slurring as they asked why it had taken Draco and Father so long to arrive.
Father was still in a mood, but none of them seemed to notice. Draco was very relieved when Nott, yawning, rose from his seat.
"I'll show you where you're sleeping?" he offered Draco, then eyed him as they headed toward one of the tents. "All right?"
Draco shrugged. "Yeah, fine. Just tired."
That was a lie. Draco felt completely wide awake.
"Yeah, me too." Nott yawned again. "What about your pyjamas and stuff?"
"Oh—right."
Draco called for Sooky. She appeared before Draco with a sack hung over each shoulder. Draco took them, and Sooky departed again.
The tent came into a small sitting room, with a kitchen straight ahead. To one side was a nook with a bunkbed and a door that looked like it led into the toilet. The other side was a mirror image.
"Dad transfigured our beds into bunks," Nott said through yet another yawn. He wiped his eyes afterward. "I already bagsied the top of mine."
"Of course you did," Draco replied, to which Nott laughed.
"Dunno that I'll be awake much longer. What about you? I'd wanted to stay up and listen to our dads talk, but they're getting stupider the more they drink."
"I'm not fussed. We could go to bed."
Nott brushed his teeth then, while Draco changed into his pyjamas. Nott hopped up onto his bunk upon return, and Draco took his turn in the toilet. By the time he emerged a few minutes later, Nott's breath had already evened out.
Draco sighed and crawled into the bottom bed. His mind still toiled, trying to sort out what had happened in the stadium path. He knew Luna Lovegood was weird. She'd quickly garnered that reputation at Hogwarts, but Draco only crossed her path maybe about a handful of times. She hadn't been doing anything weird at the time—just walking past him in the corridor. Goggling, the same way she looked at Father earlier.
What had Mr Lovegood been talking about? Doesn't she look like her mother? Was Father supposed to know who that was? Did he, and was that why he was so upset? So who was Luna Lovegood's mother?
Because Mr Nott, Mr Crabbe, and Mr Goyle were drinking, they weren't minding their volume. Their voices wafted freely into the tent, punctuated by laughter and the like. Draco listened for Father specifically, to hear him laugh and to know he was all right.
There was a small uproar at the fire. It ended with Mr Crabbe saying, "All right, Yaxley? Y'look like you're in a spot."
"Oh, it's been bollocks all night," came a new voice to the mix—Corban Yaxley, and he sounded stiff and cross. "We all expected the Irish to go a bit mad—them and their team's supporters—but it's already getting to be a bit much."
"Take a seat, then," Mr Goyle said. "Have a drink."
Mr Yaxley grunted. "A short break is good enough, if I can just hide here long enough without being spotted."
Chuckles followed, and then Mr Nott spoke again. "So what's the Irish camp doing, exactly? Picking fights with each other?"
"Nah," Mr Yaxley said. "I'm not sure who started it—although all considered, I'd put my wager on the English side. I've already heard God Save the Queen enough times to last a lifetime, and now I've just left site of the third burning Margaret Thatcher effigy. So you could say the English and Irish are a bit tense. Quick to snap, as soon as some hint of it all starts up again. That they're utterly pissed isn't helping."
There was a pause, during which Draco furrowed his brow. Thatcher. . .he knew that name.
"So what do you do, then?" Mr Crabbe asked. "Why doesn't the Auror office just shut it all down?"
"Can't," Mr Yaxley grunted, and he sounded annoyed. "It's manageable, so that's what we're doing. We're to stay out of it. It's nothing to do with us—just make sure bystanders don't get hurt, are Scrimgeour's official orders."
Mr Nott laughed in a mirthless way. "That doesn't sound like Rufus at all."
"That's because it's not his decision," Mr Yaxley said. "It's come down from Fudge, and—well. I suppose this deep into all that Muggle Ireland business, it's rather impressive the Ministry has managed to remain neutral. You remember all the calls once You-Know-Who was gone to finally do something about it. But we needed to lick our wounds and we have rebuilding to do. . .mind, I wasn't exactly excited at the prospect of Apparating into Derry and Cunfunding Muggles until they forgot the entire business. It's better that our world be a place of respite for those with magical blood."
A dull boom sounded off in the distance.
"So much for respite," Mr Crabbe said. "They've brought it to us, instead."
"It's only one night." Mr Yaxley sighed. "I don't know what Fudge was thinking, setting up to host the Quidditch World Cup on English soil when Ireland was one of the teams playing. Though perhaps it was in the works longer than he knew it would be Ireland and Bulgaria squaring off."
"To back out, at that point. . ." Mr Goyle finished Mr Yaxley's thought.
"Precisely," Mr Yaxley said. "Then, all of a sudden, it's some sort of statement."
A stint of silence followed, and then Mr Yaxley spoke again. "You're rather quiet, Lucius. All right?"
More silence.
"What does—" In the pause, Draco imagined Mr Yaxley impersonating a shrug. "—mean?"
"He's in a mood," Mr Nott said in a way reminiscent of Grandfather Malfoy. "Just leave him be."
"Fuck off, Monty," Father said, and the other men all laughed.
"I don't think I've seen you sulk like this since you were a teenager, is all," Mr Nott replied.
"I said fuck off."
Mr Yaxley grunted. "I suppose I ought to fuck off. I think I recognize that head over there. You see that, with the big hair made of straw? Yeah, that'll be another Thatcher. Wonder if I could cut it off at the pass. Someone's tent is going to burn down, and then that'll be that for playing neutral."
After a pause, in which Draco wagered Mr Yaxley had left, Mr Crabbe spoke. "Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for us to stop playing neutral."
"Fat load of help that's done, eh?" Mr Goyle agreed. "As soon as there's a place for anyone sore about the business to gather, here it is on our doorstep."
"It's embarrassing," Mr Crabbe replied. "Imagine visiting from abroad, and this is the impression you walk away with."
"Imagine these Muggles even trying, were the Dark Lord still around," Mr Goyle said. "He would have put the entire business down just because it was annoying. There wouldn't be any Troubles today."
"Was the Dark Lord much concerned about Muggle on Muggle violence?" Mr Crabbe asked. "I suppose it would have made for a peaceful night, tonight."
"A boring night, don't you reckon?" Mr Nott posed. "I don't mind watching them squabble among themselves. Prime entertainment, innit?"
Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle laughed, then harder yet when another boom sounded from somewhere. Draco furrowed his brow. Muggles? Why would they be here, at the Quidditch World Cup? Or did the dads just mean Muggle-borns that lived primarily in the Muggle world? Maybe the dads didn't see a difference between Muggles and Muggle-borns in that context.
"Firewhisky, Lucius?" Mr Nott said with an audible grin. "Anything?"
There was a silence, after which Father spoke. "Fine, I'll take a 'whisky."
"Are you ready yet to tell us what crawled up your arse and died?"
Another silence followed. Just when Draco started to expect the other dads to give it up as a bad job, Father replied. "I'm tired of it."
"Tired of what?" Mr Goyle asked.
"Them," Father said, and Draco could hear his sneer. "It's like they've all forgotten what real fear is. They come back into our world like this and make a mockery of us. They bring their rubbish and leave it behind once they've drawn away with our best."
Draco grew confused again. In the silence that followed Father's statement, he read that everyone else felt no different from him.
"You mean the Muggles, or. . .?" Mr Crabbe replied.
Father grunted.
"All right," Mr Nott said in that stern tone like he took with Theo when he misbehaved. "What's happened? You were just fine when we saw you before the match, and then you show up here in a strop. Even Draco looked spooked."
There was a groan of a chair, a clink of ice against glass, and then a harsh exhale followed by the smack of lips.
"You're wrong, you know," Father said in a clever tone, "about what the Dark Lord would have done with Muggle on Muggle violence. He would have let them go at it—encouraged it, rather. Spurred it on, where he could."
Someone hummed.
"So long as they were too busy with their own problems, they wouldn't be bothered with what they perceived as our business," Father continued. "And then later on, once the Dark Lord had secured Magical Britain, he would have had a starting place when his attention turned to the Muggle world. Who among the Muggles would care if the ones driving conflict in their society disappeared, so long as things remained otherwise peaceful?"
"And those ones fighting each other would be the ones most likely—or most equipped—to have mounted a resistance," Mr Crabbe replied.
"Divide and conquer," Mr Goyle said.
"You're probably right." Mr Nott's chuckle came to an abrupt halt. "Or is that something the Dark Lord told you?"
"I thought it was rather plain to see," Father said, then added more softly, "in hindsight, anyway."
Another boom sounded, followed this time by screams. They were too short-lived for Draco to be able to tell if they were of glee or terror.
"You know," Father said.
"What?" Mr Goyle asked.
"Yaxley said Magical Enforcement's hands are tied," Father replied. "They don't plan to do anything about this nonsense."
"And?" Mr Crabbe sounded keen.
"If they won't. . ." Father trailed off. "It wouldn't hurt to remind the ones making all the racket that this behaviour will not be tolerated. And it wouldn't hurt to remind everyone currently tolerating it that they don't have to be so polite."
"What's that got to do with everything you just said about the Dark Lord?" Mr Goyle replied. "Wouldn't someone getting themselves hurt tonight just be proof that Muggles are a menace?"
"It's only a matter of time," Mr Crabbe agreed. "And then you have to wonder how much longer these bootlickers are going to keep on making excuses for them. 'It's not their fault, it's just their culture—'"
"The Dark Lord doesn't matter." Father sounded irritated. "He's not here anymore."
"But we are," Mr Nott said.
"That's right," Father replied. "Let's go."
There were more creaks of chairs, clinking ice as the other dads knocked their drinks back, and then silence. Draco listened hard, uncertain whether Father actually left the campsite. He jumped when another boom sounded, then rolled onto his back.
"Nott," he whispered. "Theo!"
"Mm," came the half-asleep response.
"Our fathers left."
Rather than reply, Nott took a deep breath and exhale. He'd fallen back asleep.
"Unbelievable," Draco muttered before throwing his blanket off.
He shoved his shoes on and poked his head out of the tent. Worry nagged at Draco. Father wasn't in a good mood, and he wasn't with sober people who could ground him. Draco felt bad for asking to stay here tonight. If he'd just gone home as planned, he and Father wouldn't have run into the Lovegoods. Father wouldn't be upset.
Draco couldn't see where Father had gone. He took a seat by the fire. Maybe when Father returned, Draco could talk to him—make sure he was all right, and maybe Draco would fake not feeling well or something so they could go home. Whatever mood Father was in, perhaps it was better he experience it there. Mum could bring him out of it.
The singing off in the distance grew more harmonious, striking up a tune that Draco had heard several times already since leaving the stadium. Several booms followed, then cheering, then streaks of fire heading for the sky. From a distance, it was all kind of beautiful in a strange way. Maybe that's what Mr Crabbe had meant about entertainment. There was something alluring about destruction, whether it be natural or human. Draco wondered why people were singing that song, and why they hated that Thatcher woman enough to burn a likeness of her.
The singing grew more boisterous. Those doing so were close enough that Draco could pick out words. Among them, God save the Queen. A pack of people passed by singing it while waving Union Jack flags. Some of the Romanyuks shook their heads and scoffed. Someone from somewhere (inside or outside the camp, Draco couldn't tell) threw something at the group. The Romanyuks laughed and started booing their singing. The people waving the Union Jacks looked really annoyed.
Then, they started getting angry. One of them spat on the ground. "Dirty fucking Russians. Russkiy, da?" he yelled.
Before anyone could reply, the English-speaking ones started moving away and chanting, "GU-LAG, GO HOME, GU-LAG, GO HOME!"
Stunned silence fell among the Romanyuks before laughter boiled up again. Draco supposed it was kind of funny that that group tried to insult a bunch of Ukrainians by being rude about Russians.
"What the bloody hell is all that yelling?"
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. "God, Nott, some warning would be nice!"
Nott dropped into the chair beside Draco while rubbing his eyes. "Where are our dads?"
"Not a clue," Draco replied. "They left."
"Oh."
Nott didn't seem bothered by that, so Draco decided he was probably overreacting about everything. They were with Crabbe and Goyles' family, after all, and the Notts had been invited to set their tent up here. Presumably Nott had met some of the family members.
Another tent nearby opened, and Crabbe and Goyle were soon taking their fathers' chairs. Both looked rather in shock to be awake. Their eyes were puffy and half-closed.
"What was all that noise?" Crabbe asked, annoyed.
"Dunno, really," Draco said. "A bunch of Muggles called your family dirty Russians."
Goyle laughed, but stopped quickly. "Muggles?"
"Muggle-borns, or whatever." Draco waved a hand. "Mr Yaxley came by when our dads were still here. He said a bunch of them were being idiots about the whole Ireland business. Burning effigies, and the ones that came by were singing a song that one side apparently doesn't like."
Crabbe looked around. "Where are our dads?"
"Dunno."
"Maybe we should try to sleep?" Nott asked with another yawn. "It seems like things maybe calmed down."
Draco had just stood up when a low 'ooooh' sounded through the Romanyuk camp. It was as though someone at school had gotten in trouble. No wonder—the Muggles flying the Union Jack were passing again the way they'd come, escorted by a handful of security agents.
One registered the Romanyuks laughing and took a step toward them. "Fuck off, the lot of you!"
"You fuck off!" an accented, female voice emerged from within the camp. "You look like a thumb!"
Draco and the other boys burst out laughing at that. It was very true, which the thumb bloke didn't much seem to appreciate being pointed out. One of the security agents nudged him onward with a roll of the eyes.
"What's going on here?" someone approaching asked. Draco recognized him from when the manor house had been searched for Sirius: Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Is everything under control?"
"There've been multiple complaints about this lot," a security agent replied, "and we finally tracked them down—"
"Oh, everything's under control, all right!" Thumb Bloke loudly lamented. "We can't even fly our own flag anymore, or sing our own national anthem! On our land!"
His fellows hollered in agreement.
"You've been disrupting the peace," Mr Shacklebolt told him in that low, calm voice. "And you are flying your flag."
"And what're you gonna do about it?" Thumb Bloke got up in Mr Shacklebolt's face.
"I could detain you," Mr Shacklebolt calmly said, "rather than have you escorted to the Portkey site."
"Detain me?" Thumb Bloke scoffed while sizing Mr Shacklebolt up in an exaggerated manner. "The wizard Gestapo must have scraped the bottom of the monkey barrel if they're sending a ni—"
"OI!"
One of Thumb Bloke's companions started waving his flag more frantically. It was on fire. Behind him, someone went running off and laughing. One of the security agents broke rank to call after the person. Thumb Bloke yelled, "RUN!"
The whole group scattered, dodging Stunning Spells and whatever else. With a wrench of Draco's gut, he realized he was no longer a bystander. Some of them were cutting through the Romanyuk camp and coming straight at him, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Draco was grabbed by the back of his shirt and yanked toward the trees. He yelped, and so did Nott beside him. A voice followed in accented English, "Come, we'll take cover!"
Crabbe and Goyle ran with them. They all bolted for the trees, not looking back as hollering followed. So too did Stunning Spells. The blokes in Draco's wake remained on their tail into the woods. A wand lit up close by, and then another further away. The further one was held by Thumb Bloke.
Thankfully, he paid them no mind before carrying on with a couple of his companions. He was too excited about what had just happened.
"Guess that all but confirms it, eh?" Draco heard him say as they tramped through the brush. "Bunch of fuckin' paddy lovers."
Draco exhaled as the sounds of them faded away, along with their wandlight. Now he could, he turned his focus toward the person who had pulled them away from everything. That she vaguely resembled a younger Mrs Goyle calmed him. She was one of Crabbe and Goyle's older cousins.
She looked them all over, jaw hard but gaze soft. "Do any of you have wands?"
Draco shook his head, for his was at home. Nott didn't have his either, but Crabbe and Goyle each extracted theirs.
Footsteps came from direction of the camp. Two more of Crabbe and Goyle's cousins—boys—arrived. They talked in serious tones in Russian with the girl. Draco tried to follow, but all he managed to glean was that the girl was Galina. That he'd heard of her before further calmed him.
"Right," Galina said in English after thinking through whatever the other cousins told her. "We ought to stick around here for a while, then. At least until the Aurors are done."
"Aurors?" Nott quietly repeated. "What're they doing?"
"Rounding up those men." She sighed. "Some ran into our tents. Some set a few on fire. Where are your fathers?"
Draco shrugged, wishing again that he was at home. He was seriously considering summoning Sooky when a loud bang sounded. It was close enough that Draco almost dropped to the ground in reflex. Nott grabbed his elbow.
"Shto eta?" one of the other cousins asked.
"Ni znayu," Galina replied, then, "Come, boys. Let's get out of here."
Nott still held onto Draco. He was shaking. A weight sat in Draco's stomach as he peered at the lights beyond the woods' edge. It wasn't just their area of camp that had devolved into chaos. It was everywhere. Yelling clogged the air, and tents were on fire. A lot of people were running into the woods. Draco saw burning effigies and heard more belted choruses of God Save the Queen, but the unrest seemed to have spread to other camps. There were people shouting at each other in languages other than English. Some were duelling or straight up just shooting fire at each other.
"I want my dad," Nott whispered.
"Me too," Draco said, not caring that he sounded half his age.
Their group came to a quiet and isolated clearing. Galina told the younger ones to sit at the centre on a big rock, and then instructed the other cousins in Russian toward helping her put protective enchantments up around them (judging by the body language). Draco thought as the wafts of magic passed him by that he might recognize the feeling from approaching Hogwarts—just in miniature.
"Okay," Galina said once she and the other cousins were done. "We ought to be safe here. There are repelling charms. Anyone that comes close will go around instead. They won't be able to notice us without magical means."
There was relief in that, but also restlessness to be still. Walking had felt like they were moving toward something.
"So what do we do?" Crabbe was the one to ask.
"Wait until morning or when everything blows over." Galina folded her arms. "Whichever comes first."
Draco nodded along with the other boys, averting his gaze briefly when Galina looked at him.
"You must be Draco Malfoy?" she asked.
Draco nodded again.
"I've heard of you from Vincent and Gregory." Galina dipped her chin at the two older boys that accompanied them. "These are my brothers, Maksym and Andriy."
"Hello," they both said.
"Hi," Draco replied, and then his stomach flipped hard enough to the point of nausea. He turned to Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Do you reckon Blaise is all right?"
"His whole family is here," Nott said. "He'll be fine with them."
Draco shifted back on the rock and pulled his legs up. He hoped Blaise wasn't worried about him, but he probably thought he was with Father right now. Either way, Draco wished Blaise was here.
Shouting sounded, and then nearby crunching. That whoever it was cursed in a Slavic-sounding language drew Maksym and Andriy's attention. They gravitated toward the edge of the clearing, then pounced forward. Someone yelled out in surprise before being pulled inside their bubble. The person resisted, but only briefly.
"Oh," he said once calm. "Privyet."
Draco knew that to mean 'hello' in Russian, so he supposed someone they knew had just happened upon them. Draco gasped when, as the man came closer, he recognized him.
It was Viktor Krum.
At the same time Draco recognized him, Krum noticed the four of them sitting there. He blinked, asked Galina a question in Russian, and another explosion loud enough in the distance to echo through the woods went off.
"You're alone?" Galina asked Krum in English.
"I was separated from my parents." He cleared his throat. "They are somewhere in these woods."
"We haven't seen them." Galina grimaced. "We haven't seen anyone but you."
"I need to go find them." Krum lifted his wand. "Excuse me."
He left the clearing. Before Draco could even touch base with the other boys to make sure that had actually just happened, more voices sounded from nearby.
"I saw him, Jer, I swear!" someone was saying. "I saw him. It was Krum!"
"Probably hiding," came a familiar voice. "Hominem revelio."
Silence followed, and then deep, dark chuckles. The man laughing came into view, and Draco's heart stopped. It was Thumb Bloke.
"What is it, Jer?" his companion asked. "You found him?"
Thumb Bloke turned to face the clearing. "Seven of 'em, actually."
"Boys," Galina addressed them all. "Run in the opposite direction. Stay together."
Shaking, Draco slid off the rock. There really was nowhere safe tonight.
"With me, now," Thumb Bloke told his companion, their wands pointed at the clearing. "Finite incantatem!"
The protective enchantments fell. Thumb Bloke yelled out in triumph. Galina, Maksym, and Andriy all shouted incantations. Pops sounded, and then Draco saw a lone streak of red like a falling star in his peripheral vision. The stray, deflected spell faded into the darkness.
Crabbe and Goyle led Draco and Nott behind a fallen tree. They sat down, panting, and Crabbe and Goyle extinguished their wands. They were plunged into darkness, doubly so when Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
"Are they gonna be all right, you reckon?" Nott asked, sounding worried.
"Oh yeah," Goyle half-gasped while still catching his breath. "They're all ace at duelling."
Silent woods once again surrounded them. Draco wished he could say he was getting used to it. Silence was good because it meant they were safe. But anything could happen at any time to disrupt that, and then they would have to make their next move.
"Maybe we should head back toward the edge of the woods," Nott suggested. "We could at least see what's going on."
They headed off in that direction, keeping to the bushes. It slowed their movement, since it was all too easy to trip. As they neared the tree line, Draco thought that the sounds had changed. Maybe people had finally calmed down. Or, maybe the people creating most of the madness had moved elsewhere. Fire was visible through the gaps, although not an alarming amount. Draco figured they were tents. He could see something off in the distance, like a mass of people, but the smoke obscured it. Other people were running away from it, toward another part of the woods.
"Down!" Nott hissed.
The four of them shrunk behind some bushes. Draco craned his ears and, sure enough, someone approached from the direction they'd just left. His stomach dropped to realize it was Thumb Bloke and his companion.
". . .just kids," he was saying. "Damn. Where d'you reckon they went?"
"Dunno," Thumb Bloke replied, sounding irritated. "But I'd sure like to show that girl—"
A sound rang out, not dull like all the previous ones had been thus far tonight, but sharp and cracking. Thumb Bloke and his companion went silent briefly.
"Gunshots?" the companion asked.
"No," Thumb Bloke said. "Not quite."
"Where did everyone go?" They moved closer to the tree line, passing maybe about ten feet away from where Draco and the other boys hid. "Where's everyone going?"
They went silent again.
"What is that?" the companion asked, sounding awed.
"Can't tell through all the smoke—"
"Hold on, is that—?"
"Jer?" Another voice added to the mix. "Gord? That you?"
"Vic," Thumb Bloke said. "All right?"
"No," the Vic bloke replied in a breathy, panicked sort of way. "I think it's time to call it a night, mates."
"That so?" Thumb Bloke tried to sound confident, but Draco caught a mild tremble toward the end. "Ministry?"
"They're a bit preoccupied. Look."
Draco couldn't see what they were looking at, but jeering could be heard in the distance. Green light occasionally flashed, although not bright enough to penetrate this deep into the woods.
"What're they doing?" The awe was back in the companion's—Gord's—voice.
"Picking us off, is what," Vic replied. "I saw them get Rob. Literally picked him up with a spell and threw him like rubbish in the wind. I dunno where he went. I thought—but they're doing it to paddies too."
"Death Eaters?" Thumb Bloke asked.
"Must be," Vic said. "See the Muggles in the air? It's that shielding technique they taught us."
"Reckon they remember us?"
"Don't much care to risk it," Gord said. "Let's get out of here."
They left. Once they were out of earshot, Goyle whispered, "Death Eaters? But the Dark Lord's been gone for ages."
Draco was beginning to formulate a theory as to who it might actually be. He peered out from behind the bushes. Whatever all the green, flashing light was, it was close enough now to illuminate the area whenever it went off again.
"Wait here," he told the other boys.
"Draco!" Nott protested, but Draco had already left their hiding place. He crept toward the woods' edge. The mass of people moving had come close enough that the smoke no longer obscured them. They mowed through the campsite, clearing everything in their path. Some at the periphery were yelling in a chant, either "NOT OUR WAR!" or "NO MORE WAR!" Draco couldn't tell which, or if they just alternated between.
Ministry officials—Draco thought anyway, since some wore official robes—were trying to permeate the mass. Although there were people up in the air and people frantically trying to bring the hoard to a halt, Draco felt at ease for the first time in all this nonsense. All the riots had stopped. Thumb Bloke and his ilk were gone.
There was a yelp nearby, followed by a thump.
"What happened?" one of two silhouettes frantically asked, and Draco could swear he knew that voice. "Ron? Where are you?"
No—could it be? Grinning, Draco slunk around the tree.
"Oh, this is stupid!" came Granger's voice again. "Lumos!"
Light appeared close enough to touch Draco. It illuminated Granger and Potter. Both of them were searching their immediate area.
"Tripped over a tree root," came Weasley's voice from somewhere close to the ground before his head appeared.
"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," Draco said.
The three of them jumped, swivelled, then scowled when they spotted Draco.
"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Weasley shot at him.
"Language, Weasley." Draco grinned again. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"
Another blast sounded, accompanied by green light. Granger took a few steps toward Draco. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"They're after Muggles." Malfoy tilted his head toward the crowd. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around. They're moving this way, and it would give us a much-needed laugh."
"Hermione's a witch," Potter shot at him.
"Have it your way, Potter," Draco teased, half-singing. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."
"You watch your mouth!" Weasley yelled.
Granger grabbed the back of his jacket. "Never mind, Ron—"
Another bang sounded, and several people screamed.
"Scare easily, don't they?" Draco asked conversationally. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to? Trying to rescue the Muggles—?"
"Where are your parents?" Potter cut across him. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"
Real fear, Draco remembered Father saying earlier. His cheeks hurt from his grin. "Even if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"
"Oh, come on," Granger told Potter and Weasley. "Let's go find the others."
"Keep that bushy head down, Granger!" Draco called after them.
They took off in the same direction Thumb Bloke had gone. Draco half-hoped they all ran into each other, but reasoned they were more likely to band together than be of any mutual harm—to Granger, anyway. While Draco puzzled what those other Mudbloods would think of Potter (probably worshipful) and Weasley (gets a pass for being a blood traitor), the other boys emerged from their hiding spot.
"Was that Potter's voice we heard?" Nott asked, then peered out into the moor. His eyes went wide and horror bled into his expression. "What's going on there?"
"I found our fathers." Draco jerked his head toward the mass. "Come."
They followed at a distance. Now they moved behind everyone clearing all the Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Mudbloods out of the area, there was nobody around. The chanting continued. The Ministry and others kept trying to break into the ranks, but people on the periphery would either resist or shove them away. Even more kept adding to the numbers.
Something huge and emerald green like a firework emerged from the woods. It stopped about fifty feet in the air before silently expanding in a circular motion. Two gaps were left to form eyes, and one for a mouth. It was a skull. A line like a waterfall emerged between the two rows of teeth. As it slowed, the tip formed the head of a serpent.
As soon as it did, madness erupted all over again. The woods lit up with screams, and so did the crowd surrounding Father and the other dads. The pops of Apparation followed, and then people were running. Draco watched them go like a herd of deer. The Muggles up in the air came down, then ran with everyone else as soon as their feet touched the ground. Only four figures remained, cloaked and masked.
Draco balked on approaching, but then one of the figures swished their wand and the cloak and mask vanished. It was Father. His gaze was fixed on the skull and snake, as were the other dads' when they'd disappeared their disguises.
"Who do you reckon cast that?" Mr Goyle asked.
"Dunno," Mr Nott said.
"You need to go find the boys," Father spoke next, his voice trembling. "Get Draco out of here for me."
"Why? What're you going to—?"
"Father!" Draco called, breaking into a run.
The other boys did the same. Their dads started toward them. Draco made to jump into a hug, but Father stopped him with two firm hands on his shoulders. He was pale, sweaty, and he looked terrified. Draco opened his mouth, but Father spoke first. "Sooky."
A pop sounded beside them. Sooky made it as far as "Good mo—" before she stopped and looked around at the surrounding carnage.
"Take Draco home, please," Father told her.
"But Father!" Draco protested.
It was no use. Sooky grabbed his wrist, and Draco was soon being pulled through a dark and tight tube.
A/N: The racism context: A group of Ukrainians are mistaken for Russians, and targeted on the basis of being Russian. Also, Kingsley Shacklebolt experiences some anti-black rhetoric at hands of the same people. Half of the n-word appears on page before the person attempting to speak the slur is cut off. The person in question is not cast in likeable or sympathetic light.
The Troubles terminology:
Margaret Thatcher: the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1979-1990
Derry: a city in Ireland significant to the Troubles
Union Jack: the official flag of the United Kingdom
God Save the Queen: the national anthem of the United Kingdom
Paddy: a derogatory term for an Irish person