In the garden outside the tent, on either side of the rough wooden dining table, Ron paced back and forth like a caged animal. His long legs carried him in rapid, restless strides as he gnashed his teeth and cursed the nameless, faceless thief who had taken his money in increasingly colorful terms that would have made even Fred and George blush.
Harry stood frozen as if hit by a particularly powerful Petrification Charm, as he desperately scoured through his memories, trying to reconstruct the chaotic events of the evening and pinpoint where he might have dropped his precious wand. Hermione looked anxiously at both boys, unsure of whom to comfort first.
"I remember now!"
Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up with a spark of hope. He twirled to face Hermione, his voice rising with excitement as he exclaimed,
"I still had my wand in the Top Box. I used it to fight that wizard in the black cloak, remember? But then... I got hit by that eerie whip!"
Harry rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing his right arm. The skin was now smooth and uninjured, thanks to Cliodna's powerful healing magic, but Harry could still feel the pain of the lash.
"That whip – it hurt so much, like being branded with white-hot iron. I couldn't hold onto my wand at all. It just flew out of my hand and then... then it fell into a pile of rubble!"
"Didn't you pick it up before we escaped, Harry?"
Hermione stared at Harry, her expression a blend of disbelief and exasperation, clearly incredulous at his carelessness.
"I meant to!" Harry's frustration boiled over, and he pounded his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. His voice rose to a shout, tinged with indignation and frustration,
"But then that first dark witch nearly killed Sirius. And then that other witch, the one called Cliodna, appeared out of nowhere like some avenging angel. Before I knew it, Professor Watson was dueling her, spells flying everywhere, Finally, Sirius and Mr. Weasley were rushing us to escape from the box, pushing us ahead of them. Hermione, be honest – you would have forgotten too! There was so much happening, so fast..."
That was true enough, and Hermione's expression softened as she considered Harry's words. The events of tonight had been one shocking, terrifying incident after another, with rapid attacks and narrow escapes. Under those chaotic circumstances, Harry forgetting to pick up his wand wasn't entirely incomprehensible, even if it was still a serious oversight.
"I need to go find my wand, or how am I supposed to attend classes next term!"
After a few seconds of regret and self-pity, Harry suddenly straightened up, a look of determination settling over his features. He turned to Hermione; his voice filled with resolve.
"Now?"
Hermione's brow furrowed once more, deep lines etching themselves across her forehead. Her tone was full of disapproval, tinged with fear for her friend's safety. She didn't bother to hide her thoughts, her words tumbling out in a rush of concern,
"Running out there now isn't a wise decision, Harry. You saw it yourself when we came back – there were panicked wizards everywhere outside, running around like headless chickens. The Ministry is searching all over the place; they think there might be injured culprits who couldn't get away still hiding here, waiting for a chance to escape or cause more havoc. I bet if people hadn't seen Professor Watson enter this tent, the Ministry would definitely come barging in to search. You understand what I mean, don't you, Harry? It could be incredibly dangerous!"
"We should go!"
The frantic Ron, who had been pacing and muttering to himself, suddenly quieted down. He turned to face his friends, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying in their intensity. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple as he spoke, his voice low and determined,
"I want to check the forest. That despicable thief must have taken advantage of us while we were distracted by Professor Watson's duel! They're probably still out there, counting our gold and laughing at us!"
Hermione pressed her lips together tightly, looking at Ron with disappointment shining in her amber eyes. She could see the recklessness born of desperation in both of her friends, and it worried her deeply.
With both Harry and Ron insistent on going, Hermione knew she couldn't stop the two boys. Their stubborn Gryffindor courage – or foolhardiness, as she sometimes thought of it – was in full force. Still, she grabbed onto Harry and Ron's sleeves, her fingers clutching the fabric tightly as she made one last attempt at reason,
"At least tell Sirius, Harry. If he finds we're not in the tent, he'll surely be worried sick. Or... notify your dad, Ron. The path to the Quidditch pitch is bound to be full of Ministry officials, we could get into serious trouble—"
"Sirius was injured tonight, Hermione. He needs rest now, I don't want to disturb him—"
Harry considered Hermione's suggestion for a second before rejecting it. Ron, however, was beyond listening to reason. He shook off Hermione's hand impatiently and rushed towards the tent flap, calling over his shoulder,
"We have Harry's invisibility cloak, don't we? The Ministry won't be able to find us! Come on, every second we waste is another second that thief gets further away!"
Although she didn't approve of Harry and Ron venturing out at a time like this – her logical mind was screaming at her that this was a terrible idea – but Hermione still followed them. She couldn't let her best friends face potential danger alone, no matter how foolish she thought they were being.
Over the summer holiday, all three had grown considerably taller. They had become slenderer and more mature, losing some of the roundness of childhood. The invisibility cloak that could easily cover all three of them in their first year, allowing them to roam the corridors of Hogwarts undetected, now barely managed to conceal them. Fortunately, Sirius's tent was set up close enough to the edge of the forest; otherwise, traversing such a large wooded area while trying to remain hidden would have been quite an ordeal.
And As expected, the world outside was still in utter chaos.
Many of those who had come to watch the Quidditch World Cup match had already dispersed, fleeing into the night with their families. But quite a few, whether out of bravery, curiosity, or simply having nowhere else to go, had chosen to spend the night here. The campground was a patchwork of abandoned tents and huddled groups, interspersed by the harsh lights of magical flares and the shouts of Ministry officials trying to maintain order.
But, not all of those who chose to stay did so out of safety concerns; some foreign wizards with ill intentions had set their sights on the tents left behind by those who had fled in panic. These opportunistic looters sneaked from shadow to shadow, entering the abandoned dwellings without permission. They ransacked the valuables inside, stuffing their pockets with jewelry, and magical artifacts before sneaking away furtively into the night.
"Oh, these things are all mine, I tell you! What do you think you're doing, manhandling me like this?"
Not far along the path, Harry and his friends encountered just such an incident. Several Ministry employees, their robes disheveled and faces grim, had cornered a sneaky-looking fellow. The wizard, his face flushed with either guilt or indignation, clutched a pile of exquisite ornaments to his chest. The Ministry workers demanded he provide proof that the valuable items truly belonged to him, as their wands were held at the ready. The two parties, unable to reach an agreement, quickly came to blows. Spells began to fly, multicolored jets of light illuminating the night as they fought noisily in front of a particularly luxurious tent.
"Oh, daring to cause trouble for the Ministry at a time like this, just you wait and see. The Dementors of Azkaban will give you a warm welcome!"
Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father whom they had met this very morning at Stoatshead Hill, rushed past Harry with several other officials to join the fray. Before long, the foreign wizard trying to fish in troubled waters was struck by a well-aimed Stunning Spell. He crumpled to the ground, the stolen treasures spilling from his limp arms.
As Mr. Diggory and another wizard passed by Harry again, levitating the unconscious thief between them, Mr. Diggory's face was flushed with exertion and anger. He muttered furiously to his companion,
"This is the fifth one tonight! You'd think people would have more decency, especially after what happened at the match. But no, they see chaos and think only of lining their own pockets!"
"Come on, let's not waste time, Harry. Let's go find your wand!"
Hermione poked Harry sharply in the ribs, her whispered words urgent and impatient. The brief delay had clearly set her nerves on edge, making her even more anxious to complete their 'foolish' mission and return to safety.
Harry pressed his lips together tightly, not voicing the deep disappointment that welled up inside him after witnessing this scene. The wizarding world, was no fairy tale. It was not all wondrous spells and magical creatures; it had its share of greed, selfishness, and darkness. Harry had begun to understand this harsh truth last summer when Professor Watson had led him into that eerie, ghostly underground cave. Now, seeing wizards take advantage of a crisis to steal from their fellows, the lesson was driven home with painful clarity.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, the trio discovered that the security measures were even more intense than in the open campground. There was at least one grim-faced Ministry official patrolling every area about the size of two Hogwarts classrooms. After the shocking events of tonight, these Hit Wizards didn't dare to be the least bit careless. They scanned the dark forest with hawk-like sharp gazes, their wands held at the ready, prepared to strike at the slightest sign of threat.
Ron, his mind still consumed by thoughts of his stolen Galleons, accidentally stepped on a twig. Though it was just a faint sound, barely audible above the distant shouts and spell-fire, the keen-eared Auror responsible for this area noticed the disturbance. He immediately rushed over, his wand tip glowing with a Lumos charm as he circled the area several times.
The trio froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as the Auror's searching gaze passed over them again and again. Finding nothing out of the ordinary – thanks to the invisibility cloak's powerful magic – he finally walked away slowly towards other areas, but not before casting several detection spells that made Harry's skin tingle unpleasantly.
Phew—
Even Ron, whose mind had been fully occupied with thoughts of his lost galleons, was frightened enough by this close call to momentarily forget his anger. He unconsciously let out a long, shaky breath, only to have his ribs sharply jabbed by Hermione's elbow.
After this nerve-wracking incident, the three moved forward with even more caution than before. Their progress was painfully slow, each step carefully considered to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves. The invisibility cloak, while effective at concealing them from sight, did nothing to muffle sounds. They had to rely on their own stealth and the ambient noises of the forest to mask their movements.
They had spent about twenty agonizing minutes creeping through the underbrush but had moved no more than two hundred feet when, on a small hill bathed in eerie moonlight filtering through the canopy, Harry saw several wizards wearing dark green robes. The cross of bone and wand embroidered on their backs gleamed silver in the dim light.
These distinctively dressed wizards were gathered around a figure lying flat on the mossy ground, barely clinging to life. Some were waving their wands in intricate patterns, showering the area with a soft, pulsating light. Others were carefully administering potions to the injured wizard, muttering incantations under their breath as they worked. All in all, three or four people were bustling about busily.
"Those are—" Harry began to ask in a whisper, his curiosity momentarily overriding his caution.
"Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Ron's voice was urgent, tinged with a mix of awe and uneasiness. Growing up in a wizarding family, he was all too familiar with the sight of these magical medical professionals.
Ugh—
At that moment, the Healer with his back to them suddenly stood up, revealing the full extent of the injured person's condition to the three hidden observers. After just one horrified glance, Harry felt his whole body break out in goosebumps.
Beside him, Hermione was not so lucky in controlling her physical reaction. She crouched down, one hand pressed against her mouth in a futile attempt to hold back the tide of nausea. Unable to contain herself, she vomited on the spot.
Harry and Ron also felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over their heads. They inhaled sharply, shuddering, and hurriedly averted their gaze. But the brief glimpse they had caught was now etched indelibly in their minds.
******The following section contains graphic descriptions of violence and injury that some readers may find disturbing*******
The wizard lying prone on the ground was a nightmarish sight. His body was charred to an unrecognizable black, his skin cracked and peeling like the bark of a tree consumed by fire. Blood seeped from horrifying fissures that crisscrossed his body, creating a gruesome network of crimson rivers that stained the earth beneath him. The ground was now a canvas of death, painted in shades of red and black.
But the most terrifying aspect, the detail that made even the battle-hardened healers from St. Mungo's flinch, was the wizard's face. His nose had melted like a candle exposed to intense heat, leaving behind only a soft, fleshy mass that barely resembled a human face.
***
Despite the obvious futility of their efforts, the healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries worked with frantic determination. Their wands moved in intricate patterns, casting spells of healing and restoration. Potions were poured down the wizard's throat, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the ashen hue of his skin. But even Harry, with his limited medical knowledge, could see the grim truth etched in the lines of worry on the healers' faces. Their efforts, valiant as they were, were destined to be in vain.
As if to confirm Harry's unspoken observation, after only two minutes of intense magical intervention, the healers surrounding the grievously injured wizard began to stand up one by one. Their shoulders sagged with the weight of their failure, deep sighs escaping their lips as they removed their lime-green healer's hats. In a gesture of respect and mourning for the deceased, they bowed their heads, creating a somber circle around the lifeless body.
"Poor fellow," sighed one of the healers who had previously had his back to the trio. His voice was heavy with regret and a tinge of professional frustration. "If his leg hadn't been broken by the falling scaffolding, he might have had a fighting chance. But he was simply too close to Mr. Watson's magic - his body was practically cooked from the inside out!"
The healer's clinical description sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He had witnessed the awesome power of Professor Watson's magic during the chaotic events at the Quidditch World Cup, but to see its devastating effects on a human body was something else entirely.
"What will his family say?" another healer asked worriedly, "Strictly speaking, he died at Mr. Watson's hands."
"Let's hope his family doesn't do anything foolish," said the healer who had been administering potions to the deceased. His voice was calm, almost detached, as if he had seen too much death to be truly shaken by this latest tragedy. "If they want a large compensation, the Ministry will certainly oblige. But if they try to cause trouble for Mr. Watson, well, the Ministry won't stand for it. Without Mr. Watson's intervention tonight, the death toll could have been hundreds, if not thousands of times higher. If they dare go to Hogwarts to confront Mr. Watson, I'll personally kick their heads off with my boot!"
The healer's words, though harsh, carried a ring of truth that almost no one could deny. The night's events had been catastrophic, and without Professor Watson's powerful magic, the outcome could have been far more devastating.
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