"The moon is the reflection of your heart and moonlight is the twinkle of your love."
There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery. The moon...
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Mr. Weasley ad Damon woke them after only a few hours sleep. They 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. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague "Merry Christmas."
"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley quietly 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."
They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when they reached it, they found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. 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 walked 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, two cry echoed along the lane.
"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Mrs. Weasley ad Elena, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing their bedroom slippers, their face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in Mrs. Weasley's hand.
Elena dashed forward and engulfed her husband and daughter in a very tight and protective hug. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to them. Damon and Elara returned the hug trying to calm Elena. Pulling away, Elena searched their faces thoroughly for any injury, she then moved on and hugged Harry, Hermione and Ron too who were grateful to her for caring.
"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried -" Mrs Weasley choked.
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Harry saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive....Oh boys..."
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together. Elena and Elara shared a smile.
"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred...George..."
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house.
