Ember. It means fire. Ember was never safe. Even before she was born she was coverted. Hunted. She's the last of her kind. Once there were many. Once there were four. Four families. One for each element. Air. Water. Earth. Fire. Every other family e...
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Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet as George got to his and then helped Ember up to her feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Ember could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.
"How on earth do people manage to find Portkeys? All this is litter." Ember whispered to George.
George chuckled. "That's the point. It can't be anything interesting so Muggles don't pick it up instead."
"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night...You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite. Weasley . . . Weasley. . ." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory. . .second field. . .ask for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Ember could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Ember knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.
"Morning," said the Muggle.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"
Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Ah - right - certainly -" said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry, who was the closest muggle born out of the three of there (or at least everyone thought Ember to be besides herself and Harry, as thanks to the Dementors, Ember discovered both her parents were pure blood. Her mother, Alyssa, had been a purebred accordingto the man who murdered her but Ember didn't know her fathers blood status, and therefore didn't know if she was half or pure blood), toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . .So this is a five?"
