Dad woke us after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we 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 us off with a vague "Merry Christmas."

"He'll be all right," said Dad quietly as we 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."

"I often wonder" I said to him "why people don't use memory charms more often. When performed correctly, they'd make such an effective weapon wouldn't they? You could win duels easily just by making your opponent forget how to fight."

"That's the point Ginny, actually performing them correctly. The spell is very difficult and precise, and can have absolutely disastrous consequences if you don't get it exactly right, such as removing a person's entire memory rather than just specific ones. It takes a lot of concentration, time and practice, and isn't taught in school. You only learn the theory and history of it. Only specially trained Ministry officials are allowed to learn them. I work with Muggles, so I obviously had to. Very few people your age would be able to get it right, and many teenagers would try to use them maliciously against people they don't like and for other immature purposes. In a duel, you'd probably come under attack far too quickly to concentrate hard enough on making your opponent lose their entire ability to fight. Other complex and vivid memories take a lot of power and concentration to remove. The wizard who apparated right in front of Mr Roberts yesterday removed his memory so quickly and easily because it was a very simple event that only lasted a second" Dad replied.

We heard urgent voices as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Dad had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of our breakfast. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"

Mum, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward us, 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 Dad's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, we 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," Mum muttered distractedly, releasing Dad 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!" Mum 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 Dad 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. . . .

"Yeah Mum, no one died, let alone us" I said "as far as we're aware anyway"

"Well, I better be off back to Wimbourne" said Amy "Can I use your fireplace?"

"Of course" said Mum

Ludo had sent us a patronus message that morning, saying that he had been called urgently into the Ministry and therefore couldn't take Amy home from the World Cup like they'd planned. He thanked us for keeping her and suggested that she floo home from our fireplace.

"Alright, we'll see you on the Hogwarts Express then yeah?" Demelza said to Amy once we were in the living room

"Yeah, see you guys later" she said, and she disappeared.

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mum a cup of very strong tea, into which Dad insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed Dad the newspaper. Dad scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Dad heavily "Ministry blunders . . . culprits not apprehended . . . lax security . . . Dark wizards running unchecked . . . national disgrace . . . Who wrote this? Ah . . . of course . . . Rita Skeeter."

Here was the first mention in my life of the infamous, serial liar who wrote too many slanderous articles to count, and my future journalist rival.

"Rita Skeeter?" I said "She was the one who made up that bullshit about Gwenog Jones tampering with opponents brooms before every game! Everyone who watches Quidditch knows how sporting of a player she is, she'd be the last person who'd do something like that!"

"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 favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."

"I'm mentioned," said Dad, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

"Where?" spluttered Dad, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

"Not by name," said Dad. "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 rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'

Oh really," said Dad in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods . . . well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."

"Can't stand her" Demelza said darkly. "How on earth is she even still in a job?"

"She sells papers" said Dad, sighing. "Unfortunately, to the Prophet, that's more important than the truth"