XXXII. Fierce

Having or displaying an intense or ferocious aggressiveness.

Mr Weasley leads the herd of children, clutching their recent purchases, hurrying into the woods, following the lantern-lit trail. Further in, they can hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouting, laughing and singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement is highly infectious; Harry can't stop grinning.

The large group walks through the woods for up to twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until they emerge on the other side and find themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry can see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he can tell ten cathedrals will fit comfortably inside it. "Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley informs them, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them," he adds fondly, leading the way towards the nearest entrance, which is already surrounded by a swarm of shouting Witches and Wizards.

"Prime seats!" The Ministry Witch exclaims at the entrance when she checks their tickets. "Top box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium are carpeted in rich purple. Harry can't help but think of Jayla, learning she loves the colour purple over the summer. They clamber upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filters away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr Weasley's party keeps climbing, and at last, they reach the top of the staircase and find themselves in a small box set at the highest point of the stadium, situated precisely halfway between the golden goalposts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stand in two rows here, and Harry, filling the front seats with the Weasleys, looks down upon a scene he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand Witches and Wizards are taking their places in the seats, which rise in levels around the long oval field. Everything is suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seems to come from the stadium. The field looks smooth as velvet from the lofty position. At either end of the field stands three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, is a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing keeps dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand is scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; waiting for it, Harry sees it flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer . . . Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! . . . Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade . . .

Harry tears his eyes away from the sign and looks over his shoulder to see who else is sharing the box with them. So far, it is empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from the last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs are so short they stick out in front of it on the chair, is wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and its face is hidden in its hands. Yet these long, batlike ears are oddly familiar…

"Dobby?" Harry questions why he would be here and looks around for the Darkmores.

The tiny creature looks up and stretches its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It isn't Dobby or Flora - it is, however, unmistakably a House-Elf, as Harry's friends Dobby and Flora are. Harry did set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family, but the Darkmore family took him in with their trusted and loved House-Elf, Flora.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The Elf squeaks curiously from between its fingers. Its voice is higher than Dobby's or even Flora's, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspects - though it is tough to tell with a House-Elf - that this one might be female. Ron and Hermione spin around in their seats to look. They have heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, and both have met Flora, but they haven't yet met him. Even Mr Weasley looks around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry apologises to the Elf, who looks at him in surprise. "I just thought you were someone I know."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" She squeaks. She is shielding her face as though blinded by light, though the Top Box is not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you. Sir -." Her dark brown eyes widen to the size of saucers as they rest upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," Potter replies.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" The House-Elf exclaims, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. "How is he?"

"He's doing good, he lives with the Darkmores now, free," Harry informs her, making her look at him.

"Ah, sir," Winky says, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" He asks her, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?" He wonders what's happened since last seeing him a few weeks ago.

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," She tells him sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. I thinks he was lucky to get the job at the Darkmores."

"Why's that?" Potter questions, not really thinking about it.

"He is wanting paying for his work, sir," The House-Elf whispers, lowering her voice by a half-octave.

"Paying?" Harry repeats blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid? I mean, I think the Darkmores pay Flora and Dobby." Winky looks horrified at the idea and closes her fingers so her face is half-hidden again.

"House-Elves is not paid, sir!" Winky says in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a House-Elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common Goblin."

"Hello, Winky," an angelic voice says, making them turn to see Jayla and her family. Harry can't help but look at her, standing in a white and black dress, the bottom half puffing out. "I thought you didn't like heights?" Jayla asks, kneeling beside the poor House-Elf, who moves closer to the dual-haired Heiress, clinging onto her arm.

"House-Elves does what they is told," she replies, looking at Jayla. "But my masters sends me to the Top Box and I comes, Miss."

"I see, that's okay, Winky. I'll sit next to you if you like," the Heiress suggests, moving around and sitting beside the House-Elf. "Hello, everyone," Jayla greets Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys.

"Daniel, Sophia, good to see you," Mr Weasley greets Mr and Mrs Darkmore, smiling at the man. Yazmin and Mason move towards the others, sitting beside their sister. The Weasley twins look at the young Darkmore boy, who looks back at them, and the three of them share a mischievous grin.

"Don't even think about it Mason," Sophia warns her only son, who looks back at his mother, trying to act innocent.

"So, excited to start Hogwarts, Mason?" Hermione asks, turning in her seat to her best friend.

"Yeah, I can't wait, Jayjay was telling me about all the houses, and the Quidditch matches. I'm so going to try out next year," Mason tells her, smiling.

"Wild!" After pulling out his Omnioculars and testing them, Ron beams, staring into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. He twiddles the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again…and again…and again…"

"Lovely," Jayla cringes, and Hermione skims eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled program.

"A display from the team mascots will precede the match," Hermione announces, looking at the others excitedly.

"Oh that's always worth watching," Daniel remarks, sitting beside Yazmin, who eagerly sits in her father's lap, and he wraps his arm around Sophia. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box gradually fills around them over the next half house. Mr Weasley, Mr Darkmore and even Mrs Darkmore keep shaking hands with people who are obviously very important Wizards and Witches. Percy jumps to his feet so often that he looks like he is trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrives, Percy bows so low that his glasses fall off and shatter. "Oh Merlin," Jayla grumbles, shaking her head at Percy and Fudge. Percy quickly repairs them with his wand and then remains in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge greets the boy like an old friend. Sure, they met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the Wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter, you know," The Minister tells the Bulgarian Minister loudly, who is wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and doesn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter…oh come on now, you know who he is…the boy who survived You-Know-Who…you do know who he is-."

"Г-н министър, това е нашият приятел Хари Потър," Daniel says, speaking fluently, which surprises the others. The Bulgarian Wizard spots Harry's scar and starts talking loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"My, Daniel, thank you," Fudge remarks, and Daniel smiles. "Knew we'd get there in the end." He looks wearily at Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing, or even you Daniel. Ah, I see his House-Elf's saving him a seat… Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places…ah, and here's Mrs Malfoy!"

The Golden Quarter turns quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley are none other than Narcissa Malfoy with her son, Draco.

Sure, Harry and Draco have been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. They're not on such bad terms now, but they're still not friends. Draco's a pale bow with a pointed face and white-blond hair; he greatly resembles his father. His mother, Narcissa Black, formerly Malfoy, after her divorce from Lucious Malfoy, who is in Azkaban after almost killing Harry. She is blond too; tall and slim, she is beautiful, her hair similar to Jayla's but with a wisp of black hair across her forehead.

"Ah, Mr Fudge," Narcissa says, holding her hand as she reaches the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my son, Draco?"

"How do you do?" Fudge replies, smiling and looking at Draco, who beams at the attention. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anything, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

Narcissa looks at Mr Weasley. She doesn't seem happy to see him but plays nice, smiling at them and looking over Harry and the others. Sophia gets up, smiling at her sister-in-law and nephew, and starts to converse with them while the others stay in their seats away from the others. Draco moves towards his cousins, sitting by Mason, not looking at the Weasleys, knowing they'll never get along, even if he's changed a lot in the past year, and to be fair, he doesn't want to be friends with them anyway. That's what he tells himself anyway. "Hey, Dracey," Yazmin smiles at her cousin, who looks down at her, running his fingers through her hair, seeing her nervous behaviour.

"Hey, peanut," Draco mutters, and Yazmin hugs him, burying her face in his side. Hermione and Ron look at Draco in surprise, not seeing this side of him, though Harry is used to it from over the summer living with the Darkmores.

"Mrs Malfoy has given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur," Fudge informs Mr Weasley, who looks at the stern-looking woman. "She's here as my guest."

"How lovely, we haven't met before have we, Mrs Malfoy," Mr Weasley replies, smiling slightly at the woman.

"It's Ms Black now," Narcissa informs him, surprising the Weasleys a little. "And I don't believe we have met before." Narcissa eyes the Weasley family, smiling at them, which surprises them with the former wife of Lucious Malfoy. Hermione and Narcissa lock eyes, and the older woman smirks, seeing her sister Andromeda in the girl a little. Harry watches Narcissa, seeing the woman, who has bloomed since divorcing Lucious; she's changed, and so has Draco, who isn't as proud of his Pureblood stature, much like the Darkmores, who are open-minded about Muggles and Muggle-borns. However, over the summer, Harry learnt more about the Wizarding World, how, since more Muggleborns became known, some Wizarding Culture has changed, not all of it, but it had moved with the times as well. Hallows Eve changed to Halloween, though Harry hates the holiday, but promised Jayla they'd pray like she did every year. Yule was changed to Christmas, Harry's favourite time as he gets to spend time with his friends and family. Harry understands why some Purebloods don't like it, but honestly, since living with the Darkmores, he sees how they stick to some traditions and hate others. Still, Harry knows it's only really practised at Hogwarts, which doesn't prepare Muggle-borns to live in the Wizarding World if they choose after school.

"You okay, Harry?" Jayla asks, snapping Harry from his thoughts, and he looks at her, smiling at the sweet, concerned look on her face.

"Yeah," Harry replies, and they soon turn to face the field again. The next moment, Ludo Bagman charges into the Top Box.

"Everyone ready?" Ludo asks, his round face gleaming with great excitement. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are Ludo," Fudge replies comfortably.

Ludo whips out his wand, directing it at his own throat, and says, "Sonorus!" and then speaks over the roar of sound that fills the packed stadium; his voice echoes over them, booming into every corner of the stands. "Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators scream and clap. Thousands of flags wave, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them wipes clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!). It now shows BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!" The right-hand side of the stands, a solid block of scarlet, roars its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," Mr Weasley says, leaning in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whips off his glasses and polishes them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are Veel -?" Harry tries to ask, but a hundred Veela glide out onto the field, and Harry's question is answered for him. Veela are women… the most beautiful women he's ever seen…except that they aren't - they can't be - human. Though he doesn't know if they hold a candle to Jayla. This puzzles Harry for a moment while he tries to guess what exactly they can be; what makes their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white gold hair fan out behind them without wind…but then the music starts, and Harry stops worrying about them not being human - in fact, he spots worrying about anything at all.

The Veela start dancing, and Harry's mind goes completely and blissfully blank. All that matters in the world is that he keeps watching the Veela because if they stop dancing, terrible things will happen…

And as the Veela dance faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts start chasing through Harry's dazed mind. He wants to do something awe-inspiring right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seems like a good idea…but will it be good enough?

"Harry, stop!" Jayla snaps, her voice seeming far off, and the music abruptly stops. Harry blinks. He stands up, and one of his legs is raised on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron is frozen in an attitude that looks like he is about to dive from a springboard.

Angry yells fill the stadium. The crowd doesn't want the Veela to go. Harry isn't with them, looking at Jayla, not bothered by them leaving, though most of the yelling seems to be supporters of Bulgaria, and he wonders what happened earlier as everything seems blurred. Ron, meanwhile, absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr Weasley, smiling slightly, leans over to Ron and tugs the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," Arthur tells him, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" Ron asks, staring open-mouthed at the Veela, who now line up along one side of the field.

Hermione makes a loud, tutting noise. She reaches up and pulls Harry back into his seat. "Honestly!" She snaps, and Harry looks at her as she tilts her head towards Jayla, who sits behind them.

"And now," Ludo Bagman roars, "kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

The next moment, what seems like a tremendous green-and-gold comet comes zooming into the stadium. It does one circuit of the stadium, then splits into two smaller comets, each hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow suddenly acres across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd 'oooohs' and 'aaaahs' as though at a fireworks display. Now, the rainbow fades, and the balls of light reunite and merge; they form a shimmering shamrock that rises into the sky and begins to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seems to be falling from it.

"Excellent!" Ron yells as the shamrock soars over them, and heavy gold coins rain from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.

"I love Leprechauns," Jayla laughs. "Look, Harry." She points, making Harry squint up at the shamrock; Harry realises that it is composed of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" Mr Weasley exclaims over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom are still fighting and rummaging under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yells happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!" The great shamrock dissolves, and the Leprechauns drift down onto the field opposite the Veela and settle cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it blurs, shoots out onto the field from an entrance far below to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zooms out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" Ron yells, beaming and following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focuses on his own.

Viktor Krum is thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looks like an overgrown bird of prey. It's hard to believe he's only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yells, earning cheers. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Seven green blurs sweep onto the field; Harry spins a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slows the players down enough to read the word 'Firebolt' on each broom and see their names embroidered in silver upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed ChairWizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A petite and skinny Wizard, wholly bald but with a moustache to rival Harry's Uncle Vernon's, striding out onto the field to match the stadium, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium. A silver whistle protrudes from under the moustache, and he carries a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spins the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounts his broomstick and kicks the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and Harry briefly sees it before it speeds out of sight, the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shoots into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" Bagman screams through the stadium. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It's Quidditch, as Harry has never seen it played before. He presses his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they cut into the bridge of his nose. The players' speed is incredible - the Chasers throw the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only has time to say their names. Harry spins the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressing the play-by-play button on the top, and he immediately watches in slow motion while glittering purple lettering flashes across the lenses and the crowd's noise pounds against his eardrums.

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION

Harry reads as he watches the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the centre, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians.

PORSKOFF PLOY

The words flash up next, as Troy makes as though to dark upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swings hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducks to avoid the Bludger and drops the Quaffle, and Levski, soaring beneath, catches it.

"TROY SCORES!" Ludo roars and the stadium shudders with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yells, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouts, dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy does a lap of honour around the field. Harry glances over the top of his Omnioculars and sees the leprechauns watching from the sidelines rise into the air again and form the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the Veela are watching them sulkily.

Furious with himself, Harry spins his speed dial back to normal as play resumes. "Harry, we should try those out in practice," Jayla suggests, making him look at her.

"Yeah," Harry replies, "Angelina will like that." The older student is a big fan of new plays, and Harry knows enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers are superb. They work as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appear to be reading one another's minds as they position themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest keeps squeaking their names. Ireland scored twice within ten minutes, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous roar and applause from the greed-clad supporters.

The match is still faster but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanoc, the Bulgarian Beaters, are whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chaser and are starting to prevent them from using some of their moves; twice they are forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova manages to break through their ranks; dodges the Keeper, Ryan; and scores Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr Weasley bellows as the Veela starts to dance in celebration. Harry screws up his eyes, too, not wanting to be put under their spell again; he wants to keep his mind on the game, though, before Jayla knocks him back to his senses. After a few seconds, he glances a glance at the field. The Veela have stopped dancing, and Bulgaria is again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh, I say!" Ludo roars. One hundred thousand Wizards gasp as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummet through the centre of the Chasers so fast that it looks like they have just jumped from an aeroplane without parachutes. Harry follows their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch is.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screams next to Harry.

"They'll be fine," Jayla assures her best friend. They are both half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulls out of the dive and spirals off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that can be heard throughout the stadium. A considerable groan rises from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" Mr Weasley moans. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yells, "as trained MediWizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie says reassuringly to Ginny, hanging over the box's side, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course. . . ." Harry hastily presses the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddling the speed dial, and puts them back to his eyes. He watches as Krum and Lynch dive again in slow motion.

WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT — DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION

He reads the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He sees Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulls out of the dive just in time while Lynch is flattened, and he understands - Krum didn't see the Snitch at all; he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry has never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looks as though he is using a broomstick; he moves so quickly through the air that he looks unsupported and weightless. Harry turns his Omnioculars back to normal and focuses them on Krum. He is now circling high above Lynch, who is being revived by MediWizards with cups of potions. Harry, focusing more closely on Krum's face, sees his dark eyes darting over the ground a hundred feet below. He uses the time while Lynch is revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch finally gets to his feet to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounts his Firebolt, and kicks back into the air. His revival gives Ireland a new heart. When Mostafa blows his whistle again, the Chasers move into action with a skill unrivalled by anything Harry has seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland pulls ahead by ten more goals. They are now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game is starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shoots toward the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flies out to meet her. Whatever happens is over so quickly that Harry doesn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blasts, telling him it is a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing — excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informs the roaring spectators. "And — yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The Leprechauns rise angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet was fouled, now darting together to form the words' HA, HA, HA!' The Veela on the other side of the field leap to their feet, tossing their hair angrily, and dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys, Harry and even Mason, stuff their fingers into their ears, but Hermione and Jayla aren't bothered. Jayla soon tugs on Harry's arm, and he turns to look at her, and she pulls his fingers out of his ears.

"Look at the referee!" Jayla giggles, pointing out to the field.

Harry looks down at the field. Hassan Mostafa lands right before the dancing Veela and acts very odd. He flexes his muscles and smoothes his moustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman remarks, though he sounds highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A MediWizard comes tearing across the field, fingers stuffed into his ears and kicks Mostafa hard in the shins. The referee seems to come to himself; Harry watches through the Omnioculars again, seeing that he looks exceptionally embarrassed and starts shouting at the Veela, who stop dancing and look mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" Bagman's voice announces. "Now there's something we haven't seen before. . . . Oh this could turn nasty. . . ."

It does: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkow and Vulchanov, land on either side of Mostafa and begin arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the Leprechauns, who now gleefully form the words' HEE, HEE, HEE.' Mostafa is not impressed by the Bulgarians' argument. However, he jabs his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refuse, he gives two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" Ludo shouts, and the Bulgarian crowd howls with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms . . . yes . . . there they go . . . and Troy takes the Quaffle . . ."

"That was interesting," Jayla comments, making Harry look at her as the game reaches a level of ferocity beyond anything they've seen yet. The Beaters on both sides acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov, in particular, seem not to care whether their clubs make contact with a Bludger or a human as they swing them violently through the air. Dimitrov shoots straight at Moran, who has the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" roars the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoes Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran — deliberately flying to collide there — and it's got to be another penalty — yes, there's the whistle!"

The Leprechauns rise into the air again, and this time, they form a giant hand, which makes a vulgar sign indeed at the Veela across the field. At this, the Veela lose control. Instead of dancing, they launch across the field and begin throwing what seems to be a handful of fire at the Leprechauns. Through his Omnioculars, Harry sees they don't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces are elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings are bursting from their shoulders.

"And that, boys," Mr Weasley yells over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

"Couldn't agree more!" Daniel shouts, wrapping his arm around Sophia, who smiles at her husband. Ministry Wizards are flooding onto the field to separate the Veela and the Leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below is nothing to the one taking place above. Harry turns this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffle changes hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski — Dimitrov — Moran — Troy — Mullet — Ivanova — Moran again — Moran — MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters are barely heard over the shrieks of the Veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommences immediately; now Levski has the Quaffle and Dimitrov.

The Irish Beater Quigley swings heavily at a passing Bludger and hits it as hard as possible toward Krum, who does not duck quickly enough. It hits him full in the face.

There is a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looks broken, and there is blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa doesn't blow his whistle. He becomes distracted, and Harry can't blame him; one of the Veela throws a handful of fire and sets his broom tail alight.

Harry wants someone to realise that Krum is injured; even though he supports Ireland, Krum is the most exciting player on the field, but that might be because he plays the same position. Ron obviously feels the same.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yells.

The Irish Seeker suddenly goes into a dive, and Harry is quite sure that this is no Wronski Feint; this is the real thing…

"He's seen the Snitch!" He shouts. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seems to realise what is happening; the Irish supporters rise in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on…but Krum is on his tail. Harry has no idea how he can see where he is going; flecks of blood fly through the air behind him, but he is drawing level with Lynch now as the pair hurtle toward the ground again.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieks.

"They're not!" Ron and Jayal roar over the cheering.

"Lynch is!" Harry yells. And he is right — for the second time, Lynch hits the ground with tremendous force and is immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie bellows along the row.

"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" He shouts as Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, rises gently into the air, his fist high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard flashes BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who doesn't seem to have released what's happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet is revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grows louder and louder and erupts into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts, who, like the Irish, seems to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellows, even as he jumps up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouts back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good. . . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all. . . ."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione says, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of MediWizards blast a path through the battling leprechauns and Veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess. . . ."

Harry puts his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It is hard to see what is happening below because Leprechauns are zooming delightedly all over the field, but he can just make out Krum surrounded by MediWizards. He looks surlier than ever and refuses to let them mop him up. His teammates are around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players are dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags are waving all over the stadium, the Irish National anthem blaring from all sides; the Veela are shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," says a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looks around; it is the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" Fudge exclaims, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," the Bulgarian Minister replies, shrugging.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roars, his eyes tailing the field.

Harry's eyes are suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light as the Top Box is magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands can see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he sees two panting Wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they hand to Cornelius Fudge, who is still looking so disgruntled that he's been using sign language all day for nothing. "Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!" Bagman shouts.

And up the stairs into the box comes the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below applauds appreciatively; Harry can see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians file between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman calls out the names of each as they shake hands with their own Minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who is last in line, looks a real mess. Two black eyes are blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He is still holding the Snitch. Harry notices that he seems much less coordinated on the ground. He is slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name is announced, the stadium gives him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then comes the Irish team. Aidan Lynch is supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seems to have dazed him, and his eyes look strangely unfocused. But he grins happily as Troy and Quigley lift the Cup into the air, and the crowd below thunders its approval. Harry's hands are numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team has left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman points his wand at his throat and mutters, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he says hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you . . . how much?"

Fred and George just scramble over the backs of their seats and stand in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr Weasley implores Fred and George as they all make their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs with the Darkmore family behind them.

"Don't worry, Dad," Fred assures gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr Weasley looks for a moment as though he's going to ask them what these big plans are but seems to decide, upon reflection, that he doesn't want to know. Jayla moves towards her friends, walking with them as they discuss the match.

They soon catch up in the crowds flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsite. Raucous singing borne towards them on the night air as they retrace their steps along the lantern-lit path, and Leprechauns keep shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.

When they finally reach the tents, nobody feels like sleeping, and given the noise around them, Mr Weasley agrees that they can all have one last cup of hot chocolate with the Darkmores at their tent before turning in. "There's no one like Krum. He's like a bird the way he rides the wind. He's more than an athlete, he's an artist," Ron swoons as the teens sit around the table, enjoying their cups of hot chocolate. The Weasley twins bumble about comically, muttering "KRUMMMM".

"Think you're in love Ron?" Ginny asks, giggling along with the Darkmore siblings and Hermione. Harry sighs, looking at his friend.

"Viktor, I love you! Viktor, I do!" The twins sing, and Harry even joins in on teasing his best friend. "When we're apart, my heart beats only for youuu!" Meanwhile, Mr Weasley gets drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie and Daniel, both former Quidditch players, and it is only when Ginny starts falling asleep right at the tiny table and spills her hot chocolate all over the floor, nearly getting Yazmin, who almost cries at her ruined pink dress. Mr Weasley calls a halt to the verbal replays and insists that everyone go to bed; Mr and Mrs Darkmore agree, taking their children. The teens say their goodnights before Hermione and Ginny go into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys change into their pyjamas and clamber into their bunks. They can still hear much singing from the other side of the campsite and the odd echoing bang. Harry hopes the Darkmores get to their tent safely as he tries drifting off.

"Oh I am glad I'm not on duty," Mr Weasley mutters sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating."

Harry, on a top bunk above Ron, lies staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional Leprechaun lantern flying overhead.

Harry pictures again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He itches to return to his Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint… Somehow, Oliver Wood never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move is supposed to look like… Harry sees himself in robes with his name on the back and imagines hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar as Ludo Bagman's voice echoes throughout the stadium, "I give you…Potter!"

Harry doesn't know whether or not he dropped off to sleep - his fantasies of flying like Krum might have slipped into his actual dreams - all he knows is that, quite suddenly, Mr Weasley is shouting. "Get up! Ron — Harry — come on now, get up, this is urgent!" Harry abruptly sits up, and the top of his head hits the canvas.

"' S' matter?" He asks, mumbling from sleep. He can dimly tell something is wrong. The noise in the campsite has changed.

The singing has stopped. He can hear screams and the sound of people running. He slips down from the bunk and reaches for his clothes, but Mr Weasley, who pulls on his jeans over his own pyjama bottoms, says, "No time, Harry - just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!"

Harry does as told and hurries out of the tent, Ron at his heels.

By the light of the few fires that are still burning, he can see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that is moving across the field towards them, something that emits odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells are drifting toward them; intense green light illuminates the scene.

A crowd of Wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, march slowly across the field. Harry squints at them… They don't seem to have faces… Then he realises that their heads are hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures are being contorted into grotesque shapes. It is as though the masked Wizards on the ground are puppeteers, and the people above them are marionettes operated by invisible strings that rise from the wands into the air. Two of the figures are very small.

More Wizards join the marching group, laughing and pointing at the floating bodies. Tents crimple and fall as the marching crowd swells. Once or twice, Harry sees one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several catch fire. The screaming grows louder.

The floating people are suddenly illuminated as they pass over a burning tent, and Harry recognises one of them: Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three look as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flips Mrs Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress falls down to reveal voluminous drawers, and she struggles to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeches and hoots with glee.

"That's sick," Ron mutters, watching the most minor Muggle child, who begins to spin like a top sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick. . . ."

Hermione and Ginny hurry toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr Weasley behind them. At the exact moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerge from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr Weasley shouts over all the noise at the teens, rolling up his sleeves. "You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy are already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr Weasley tears after them. Ministry Wizards are dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family is coming ever closer.

"C'mon," Fred orders, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George follow. They all look back as they reach the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family is more significant than ever; they can see the Ministry Wizards trying to get through it to the hooded Wizards in the centre, but they are having great difficulty. It looks as though they are scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The coloured lanterns that lit the path to the stadium have been extinguished. Dark figures are blundering through the trees; children are crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices are reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry feels himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he can not see. Then he hears Ron yell with pain.

"What happened?" Hermione asks anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walks into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — Lumos!"

She illuminates her wand and directs its narrow beam across the path. Ron is lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," Ron grumbles angrily, returning to his feet.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," says a drawling voice behind them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turn sharply. Draco Malfoy is standing nearby, leaning against a tree and looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, and he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees. Jayla, Yazmin, and Mason were not far from them; Yazmin was carried in her big sister's arms, and all of them were still dressed from the match.

Ron tells Malfoy to do something that Harry knows he will never dare say in front of Mrs Weasley.

Hermione moves towards Jayla, comforting her friend, and Harry stands between Ron and Malfoy so they don't go for each other's throats. "Language, Weasley," Malfoy warns him, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?" He nods at Hermione, and at the exact moment, a blast like a bomb sounds from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lights the trees around them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione snaps defiantly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," he tells her. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around . . . they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarls, and Jayla slaps Draco's arm, showing a trickle of blood coming from her arm.

"Have it your own way, Potter," Draco sneers. "If you think they can't spot a Muggleborn, stay where you are."

"Enough, both of you!" Jayla shouts, making the boys turn to look at her. "We are in danger, and you lot are arguing with each other!" She pulls Mason closer as he hangs onto his older sister. A bang from the other side of the trees is louder than anything they heard before. Several people nearly scream, and Malfoy moves towards his cousins, wanting to protect them.

"I want Mummy," Yazmin cries, not liking the loud noises as she hides her face in her sister's neck.

"Where're your parents?" Harry asks, looking at his long-time crush.

"They went out to help the others," Jayla mutters, cuddling Yazmin as she holds Mason close. "They were all shouting and screaming as we were walking back to our tent."

"Oh come on," Hermione says, with a concerned look at Jayla, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," Malfoy warns the Muggleborn Witch.

"Come on," Hermione repeats, and she herds Jayla and her siblings, with Harry and Ron following the path again.

"I'll bet you anything his dad's friends are one of that masked lot!" Ron growls hotly.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch them!" She retorts fervently. "Oh I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny are nowhere to be seen, though the path is packed with plenty of other people looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pyjamas are arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they spot Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Jayla, a girl with thick curly hair turns and says quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue —"

"Er — what?" Ron asks, not understanding and frowning at the girl.

"Oh . . ." The girl who spoke turns her back on him, and as they walk on, they distinctly hear her say, "'Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," Jayla mutters, thinking of the school her mother wanted her to attend.

"Sorry?" Harry asks, looking at Jayla.

"They must go to Beauxbatons," Hermione replies. "You know . . . Beauxbatons Academy of Magic . . . I read about it in 'An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe'."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . right," Harry mutters, turning to Jayla.

"I suppose that means we need to add something to your lessons," Jayla jokes, but Harry smiles, not minding any excuse to spend time with

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," Ron argues, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path. Harry digs in his jacket pockets for his wand — but it isn't there. The only thing he can find is his Omnioculars.

"Ah, no, I don't believe it . . . I've lost my wand!" Harry groans, looking around.

"You're kidding!" Ron and Hermione raise their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looks all around him, but his wand is nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," Ron suggests.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione says anxiously.

"Yeah," Harry agrees, "maybe . . ." He usually keeps his wand with him at all times in the Wizarding World, and finding himself without it amid a scene like this makes him feel very vulnerable, mainly because he wants to protect Jayla and her siblings. A rustling noise nearby makes all six of them jump. Winky, the House-Elf is fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She moves most peculiarly, apparently with great difficulty; it is as though someone invisible is trying to hold her back.

"There is bad Wizards about!" Winky squeaks distractedly as she leans forward and labours to keep running. "People high — high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!" She disappears into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fights the restraining force.

"What's up with her?" Ron wonders, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," Jayla tells him. Harry thinks of Dobby: Every time he tries to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the House-Elf has been forced to start beating himself up.

"You know, House-Elves get a very raw deal!" Hermione snaps indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron retorts. "You heard old Winky back at the match . . . 'House-Elves is not supposed to have fun'. . . that's what she likes, being bossed around. . . ."

"It's people like you, Ron," Hermione begins hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to —"

Another loud bang echoes from the edge of the wood.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" Jayla suggests, not wanting to argue now with everything around them. Harry sees Ron glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there is truth in what Malfoy had said; perhaps Hermione is in more danger than they are. They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knows his wand isn't there.

They follow the dark path deeper into the woods, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They pass a group of goblins who are cackling over a sack of gold. They undoubtedly won betting on the match and seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, they walk into a patch of silvery light, and when they look through the trees, they see three tall and beautiful Veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young Wizards, all talking very loudly.

"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouts. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"No, you're not!" yells his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron. . . . but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far —"

A third young Wizard, whose pimples are visible even by the dim, silvery light of the Veela, now cuts in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am."

Harry snorts with laughter. He recognises the pimply Wizard: His name is Stan Shunpike, and he is, in fact, a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turns to tell Ron this, but Ron's face has gone oddly slack, and the next second, Ron is yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"

"Honestly!" Hermione huffs, and she and Harry grab Ron firmly by the arms, wheeling him around and marching him away. By the time the sounds of the Veela and their admirers have faded completely, they are in the very heart of the wood. They seem to be alone now; everything is much quieter.

Harry looks around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off." The words are hardly out of his mouth when Ludo Bagman emerges from behind a tree right ahead of them. Harry can see a significant change in Bagman, even by the feeble light of the two wands. He no longer looks buoyant and rosy-faced; his step has no more spring. He looks very white and strained.

"Who's that?" Ludo asks, blinking at them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?" They look at one another, surprised.

"Well — there's a sort of riot going on," Ron replies, glancing at his friends. Bagman stares at him.

"What?"

"At the campsite . . . some people have got hold of a family of Muggles. . . ." Jayla explains, and Bagman swears loudly, making her cover Yazmin's ears.

"Damn them!" he curses, looking entirely distracted, and without another word, he Disapparates with a small pop!

"Not exactly on top of things, Mr Bagman, is he?" Hermione remarks, frowning.

"He was a great Beater, though," Ron argues, 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 takes his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, sets it down on the ground, and watches it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model is slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry listens for noise from the campsite. He watches Jayla as she hugs her siblings sitting in the dirt. Everything seems much quieter; perhaps the riot is over.

"I hope the others are okay," Hermione says after a while.

"They'll be fine," Ron assures her.

"Yeah, I hope so," Jayla mutters, looking at the others as Yazmin whimpers, crying for her mummy, and Mason is uncharacteristically quiet as he clings to his older sister. "It's going to be okay," she promises her brother and sister.

"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione sighs nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"

"They will," Ron tells her reassuringly. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" Hermione exclaims, making Yazmin jump, and Jayla hisses at her best friend to be quiet. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just —"

But she breaks off abruptly and looks over her shoulder. Harry and Ron glance around, too. It sounds as though someone is staggering toward their clearing. They wait, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps come to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" Harry calls out to the person in the darkness but is met with silence. He gets to his feet and peers around the tree. It is too dark to see very far, but he can sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision. "Who's there?" He asks, standing before Jayla and her siblings. And then, without warning, the silence is rented by a voice unlike any they have heard in the wood, and it utters, not a panicked shout, but what sounds like a spell.

"MORSMORDRE!"

Something vast, green, and glittering erupts from the patch of darkness Harry's eyes have been struggling to penetrate; it flies up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the — ?" Ron gasps as he springs to his feet again, staring up at the thing that has appeared.

For a split second, Harry thinks it is another Leprechaun formation. Then he realises that it is a colossal skull composed of what looks like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watch, it rises 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 erupts with screams. Harry doesn't understand why, but the only possible cause is the sudden appearance of the skull, which has now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scans the darkness for the person who conjures the skull but can't see anyone.

"Who's there?" he calls again.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione snaps, seizing the collar of his jacket and tugging him backwards.

"What's the matter?" Harry asks, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Jayla cries, rushing away as Hermione pulls him as hard as she can. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"Voldemort's — ?"

"Harry, come on!"

Harry turns — Ron hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum — the three of them start across the clearing — but before they take a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announce the arrival of twenty Wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Harry whirls around and instantly registers one fact: Each of these Wizards has their wands out, and every wand is pointing right at himself, Ron, Hermione, Jayla, Yazmin, and Mason.

Without pausing to think, he yells, "DUCK!" He seizes the other two and pulls them down onto the ground.

"STUPEFY!" roars twenty voices — there is a blinding series of flashes, and Harry feels the hair on his head ripple like a mighty wind has swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch, he sees jets of fiery red light flying over them from the Wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness —

"Stop!" yells a voice he recognises. "STOP! That's my son!"

Harry's hair stops blowing about. He raises his head a little higher. The Wizard in front of him lowers his wand. He rolls over and sees Mr Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified. Not far behind are Sophia and Daniel.

"Get away from my children!" Sophia roars with primal mother rage.

"Ron — Harry" — his voice sounds shaky — "Hermione — are you all right?"

"Jayla! Mason! Yazmin!" Daniel shouts, pushing through the crowd of Wizards.

"Out of the way," says a cold, curt voice. It is Mr Crouch. He and the other Ministry Wizards are closing in on them. Harry gets to his feet to face them. Mr Crouch's face is taut with rage. "Which of you did it?" he snaps, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Harry argues, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron argues, who is rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouts Mr Crouch. His wand still points directly at Ron, and his eyes are popping — he looks slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispers a Witch in a long woollen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to —"

"Where did the Mark come from, you six?" Mr Weasley asks the group quickly.

"Over there," Hermione says shakily, pointing at where they heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees . . . they shouted words — an incantation —"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Mr Crouch retorts, 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 seems to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, Hermione, or the Darkmore siblings have conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they have all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," says the Witch in the woollen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," A Wizard with a scrubby brown beard argues. It is Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees. . . . There's a good chance we got them. . . ."

"Amos, be careful!" says a few of the Wizards warningly as Mr Diggory squares his shoulders, raises his wand, marches across the clearing, and disappears into the darkness. Hermione watches him vanish with her hands over her mouth.

A few seconds later, they hear Mr Diggory shout. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey . . ."

"You've got someone?" shouts Mr Crouch, highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

They hear snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr Diggory reemerges from behind the trees. He's carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognises the tea towel at once. It is Winky.

Mr Crouch doesn't move or speak as Mr Diggory deposits his Elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry Wizards are all staring at Mr Crouch. For a few seconds, Crouch remains transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stares down at Winky. Then Crouch appears to come to life again. "This — cannot — be," he says jerkily. "No —" He moves quickly around Mr Diggory and strides toward where he had found Winky.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory calls after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They can hear him moving around and leaves rustling as he pushes the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr Diggory mutters grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's House-Elf . . . I mean to say . . ."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr Weasley says quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the Elf? The Dark Mark's a Wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," Mr Diggory replies, "and she had a wand."

"What?" Daniel asks, turning to the two men.

"Here, look." Mr Diggory replies, holding up a wand and showing it to Mr Weasley and Mr Darkmore. "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."

There is another pop and Ludo Bagman Apparates right next to Mr Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spins on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" Ludo pants, almost trampling Winky as he turns inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?" Mr Crouch returns empty-handed. His face is still ghostly white, and his hands and toothbrush moustache are twitching. "Where have you been, Barty?" He asks. "Why weren't you at the match? Your Elf was saving you a seat too — gulping gargoyles!" Bagman just notices Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr Crouch retorts, 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 dawns suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looks up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr Crouch. "No!" He gasps. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," Mr Diggory states. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch gives no sign that he heard Mr Diggory, but Amos seems to take his silence for assent. He raises his wand, pointing it at Winky, and says, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirs feebly. Her great brown eyes open and blink several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent Wizards, she raises herself shakily into a sitting position. She catches sight of Mr Diggory's feet and slowly, tremulously, raises her eyes to stare into his face; then, more slowly still, she looks up into the sky. Harry can see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gives a gasp, looking wildly around the crowded clearing, and bursts into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" Mr Diggory snaps sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky begins to rock backwards and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry is reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience. "As you see, Elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," He explains. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I — I — I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasps. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Amos barks, brandishing it in front of her. As the wand catches the green light that is filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognises it.

"Hey — that's mine!" Harry blurts, making everyone in the clearing look at him.

"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory asks incredulously.

"That's my wand!" He clarifies. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" Amos repeats in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" Mr Weasley snaps very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er — of course not," Amos mumbles. "Sorry . . . carried away . . ."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," Harry argues, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the woods."

"So," He says, his eyes hardening as he turns 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!" Winky squeals, 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!" Hermione argues. She looks 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 looks around at Harry and Ron, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," Jayla agrees, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron adds, nodding at what the others say.

"Well, we'll soon see," Mr Diggory growls, unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, Elf, did you know that?" Winky trembles and shakes her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raises his wand again and places it tip to tip with Harry's. "Prior Incantato!" He roars.

Harry hears Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupts from the point where the two wands met, but it is a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looks as though it is made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr Diggory shouts, and the smoky skull vanishes in a wisp. "So," he mutters with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who is still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" Winky squeals, 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 roars. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," Mr Weasley says loudly, "think about it . . . precious few wizards know how to do that spell. . . . Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Mr Crouch retorts, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looks 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!" barks Barty Senior. "Harry Potter — and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course — everyone knows —" Amos mutters, 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 practise them?" Mr Crouch shouts, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr Crouch, I — I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Mr Diggory mutters again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my Elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouts Mr Crouch. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She — she might've picked it up anywhere —"

"Precisely, Amos," Sophia agrees, though she hugs her children tightly; even Harry is among them. "She might have picked it up anywhere. . . . Winky?" She says kindly, turning to the Elf, but flinches as though she is shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky twists the hem of her tea towel so violently that it is fraying beneath her fingers. "I — I is finding it . . . finding it there, Miss. . . ." Winky whispers, "there . . . in the trees, Miss. . . ."

"You see, Amos?" Mr Weasley retorts. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's 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!" Mr Diggory argues impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?" Winky begins trembling worse than ever. Her giant eyes flicker from Mr Diggory to Ludo Bagman and onto Mr Crouch.

Then she gulps and says, "I is seeing no one, sir . . . no one . . ."

"Amos," Mr Crouch says 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 looks as though he doesn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it is clear to Harry that Mr Crouch is such an essential member of the Ministry that he does not dare refuse him. "You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr Crouch adds coldly.

"M-M-Master . . ." Winky stammers, looking up at Mr Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-M-Master, p-p-please . . ."

Mr Crouch stares back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There is no pity in his gaze.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he says 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!" Winky shrieks, prostrating herself at Mr Crouch's feet. "No, Master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Harry knows the only way to turn a House-Elf free is to present it with proper garments. Seeing how Winky clutches her tea towel and sobs over Mr Crouch's feet is pitiful.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione bursts 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 takes a step backwards, freeing himself from contact with the Elf, whom he is surveying as though she is something filthy and rotten contaminating his over-shined shoes. "I have no use for a House-Elf who disobeys me," he says coldly, looking over at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master and her master's reputation."

Winky is crying so hard that her sobs echo around the clearing. There is a very nasty silence, which ends with Mr Weasley, who says 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 Harry could have it back, please —" Mr. Diggory hands Harry his wand, and Harry pockets it.

"Come on, you lot," Mr Weasley says quietly. But Hermione doesn't seem to want to move; her eyes are still upon the sobbing Elf. "Hermione!" Mr Weasley says more urgently. She turns and follows Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees. Daniel herbs his family away from the clearing, though Sophia moves away from her family, walking back to the sobbing Winky.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione asks the moment they leave the clearing.

"I don't know," Daniel replies, glancing back at his wife as she talks with the distraught House-Elf.

"The way they were treating her!" She snaps 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," Ron argues, making Hermione round on him angrily.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way —"

"Hermione, I agree with you," Mr Weasley retorts 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," Ron tells him. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," He replies tensely.

When they reach the edge of the wood, their progress is impeded. A large crowd of frightening-looking Witches and Wizards are congregating there, and when they see Mr Weasley and Mr Darkmore coming toward them, many of them surge forward. "What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur — it's not — Him?"

"Of course it's not Him," Mr Weasley assures them impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

Arthur leads Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd as Daniel leads his children back into the campsite. All is quiet now; there is no sign of the masked Wizards, though several ruined tents are still smoking. Charlie's head is poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he calls through the dark. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others —"

"I've got them here," Mr Weasley tells his son, bending down and entering the tent. Daniel and his children join them, not wanting to be too far from the others, knowing his wife will join them soon.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione enter after him. Bill is sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which is bleeding profusely. Charlie has a large rip in his shirt, and Percy is sporting a bloody nose.

Fred, George, and Ginny look unhurt, though shaken. "Did you get them, Dad?" Bill asks sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," Mr Weasley replies. "We found Barty Crouch's Elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"What?" Bill asks, Charlie and Percy together.

"Harry's wand?" Fred questions.

"Mr Crouch's Elf ?" Percy inquires, sounding thunderstruck. With assistance from the Golden Quartet, Mr Weasley explains what happened in the woods. When they have finished their story, Percy swells indignantly. Daniel moves to his oldest daughter, spotting the blood running along her arm from a cut likely from running through the trees earlier, and tends to her wound before his wife gets back and becomes hysterical.

"Well, Mr Crouch is quite right to get rid of an Elf like that!" Percy remarks. "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 snaps at Percy, who looks very taken aback. Hermione has always got on reasonably well with Percy — better 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!" He replies pompously, recovering himself.

"She didn't run amok!" She shouts, growing angry at the snobby Weasley. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" Ron asks impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone. . . . Why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," Granger snaps before anyone else can answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr Weasley comments quietly. "Of course people panicked . . . it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," He replies, 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," Mr Darkmore explains. "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 winces. "Everyone's worst fear . . . the very worst . . ."

There is silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, says, "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 Roberts before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Death Eaters?" Harry asks. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," Bill explains. "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," Mr Weasley argues. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" Ron exclaims suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad used to be one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters —" Harry begins, making everybody flinch — like most of the Wizarding World, the Weasleys always avoid saying Voldemort's name. Though the Darkmores aren't as bad. "Sorry," He says quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" Daniel asks with a hollow laugh. "Harry, 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 finishes disgustedly.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" Ron wonders. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," Bill retorts. "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 than the rest of us to see him come back. 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 . . ." Hermione says slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," Mr Weasley replies. "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 sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

"I believe that's our que to leave," Sophia announces, entering the tent alone as she couldn't get Winky to come with her.

"Mummy! I wanna go home!" Yazmin pleads with her, running to Mrs Darkmore and hugging her leg.

"See you later," Jayla mutters, hugging her friends goodbye and hiding her bandaged arm from her mother as they exit the tent.

Harry gets back into his bunk with his head buzzing. He knows he ought to feel exhausted: It is nearly three in the morning, but he feels wide-awake - wide-awake and worried.

Three days ago — it feels like much longer, but it has only been three days — he had awoken with his scar burning. And tonight, Lord Voldemort's Mark appears in the sky for the first time in thirteen years. "What did these things mean?"

Harry thinks about everything that's happened, the dream, the Mark, and Jayla; she was injured protecting her siblings.

Jayla returns to the Darkmore caravan. It's different, but she loves it with all the small appliances; the front is what sold the family with its fairy lights hanging from the front, a few chairs outside and a carpet that hides the grass. Inside, it's spacious, big enough to fit all of them without magic, though it is a tight squeeze sometimes. The wooden finishings are light all around the caravan; a little kitchenette and dining area with a bed behind it that Mr and Mrs Darkmore sleep with bunk beds for the siblings. Yazmin sleeps in the bigger one in the centre tonight with Jayla, scared to be alone, but Mason loves the top bunk, asking his parents for bunk beds for his new bedroom design, which will be done while he's away at Hogwarts.

Jayla sleeps with Yazmin, holding her close. She looks out the window at the crescent moon in the cloudy sky and thinks about tonight, wishing she had the black candle that helps her have dreamless nights away from nightmares. The nightmares of a dying Unicorn, the Chamber of Secrets, and even Remus as a Werewolf, she can't sleep without it.