Until the Very End

The Dark Mark

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

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

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys got ready for bed. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

Hermione lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and thinking about the conversation at the start of the match. When Ginny and Harry were talking about who Hermione fancied, she could've sworn she saw Fred's smile drop, but just for a millisecond. But maybe it was the lighting, or maybe he had started getting a cramp, so he had to move? That was probably the reason. What was she thinking? Ugh, was this what it was like, fancying someone, thinking all of their expressions and emotions pertain to you? Then this was going to get annoying really fast.

She didn't have time to think anything else, however, because quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley had barged into their tent and was shouting.

"Girls--Hermione, Ginny, get up, get up now! This is urgent, get up!"

Ginny bolted up, rubbing her eyes with an annoyed look on her face, but stood up just the same.

"What's wrong, Dad? Why do we have to--"

"There's no time to explain, just grab a jacket and get outside--quickly!" he shouted before he rushed out of the tent.

Hermione did as she was told and rushed out of the tent, Ginny right behind her.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, she could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Hermione squinted at them...They didn't seem to have faces...Then she realised that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small--they were two children.

Fred, George, Harry, and Ron were all huddled together by this point, and the looks of horror on each of their faces was indescribable. Fred and George stood behind Hermione and Ginny, respectively, and put their hands on the girls' shoulders, as if to lead them away; but everyone was so shocked and horrified that they couldn't move.