𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍 | 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺

Chapter 61 - Family Fights and Gowns

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The stars can shine so brightly 

because of the abysmal darkness between them.

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Sirius tenderly woke his niece after only a few hours of light slumber. The time to go back to the Borrow had finally come. Betelgeuse sat up, combing her long black hair with her hands. She glanced around the tent, raising an eyebrow at what she beheld.

Somehow, Fred had managed to sneak behind the flap of Sirius' bunk during the night and fell asleep at the feet of the bed. Betelgeuse took a moment to peacefully study his face. While he slept, his freckled face lost his typical smirk, leaving room for a look of pure innocence. She marvelled at how Sirius had resisted the urge to kick him out. As if he had read her mind, Sirius appeared before her, an innocent expression on his noble face.

"No ginger was armed," he informed her, making her giggle. 

The girl nudged Fred softly, attempting to wake him up. She was not victorious. So, she proceeded to hit him in the face with a pillow.

"Blast —" Fred jerked awake, his flaming red hair sticking in all the direction. He looked around, lost, then he noticed Betelgeuse. "How're you, love?"

"Sore," Betelgeuse quietly admitted as Fred helped her to her feet.

Sirius had not only succeeded in lulling her to sleep, but he had also healed some of the damage the Cruciatus Curse had caused. Betelgeuse felt still weary but to a certain extend restored.

Mr Weasley used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr Roberts at the door of his cottage. The Muggle had a strange, confused look about him, and he waved them off with a vague 'Merry Christmas'.

"He'll be all right," Arthur quietly reassured as they marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while — and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."

Although it was intended to reassure, his explanation did not soothe Betelgeuse's uneasiness as she laid her grey eyes on the unfortunate Muggle. She could still hear the wails of despair of his children and feel the mortification of his wife at being so cruelly bared.

They caught urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and they found a great number of witches and wizards huddled around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamouring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible.

As Mr Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil, they joined the queue and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. They marched back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted and thinking longingly of their breakfast. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs Weasley came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

"Arthur — I've been so worried — so worried —"

She flung her arms around Arthur's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Betelgeuse saw the headline, SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. She sharply turned her head towards Sirius; they had to go back as soon as possible.