Dark Pasts { A Harry Potter Story }

Chapter 3 - The Dark Mark

"There's no one like Krum!" Ron cried above his brothers' obnoxious singing as we all celebrated after the match in the Weasleys' tent. "He's like a bird the way he rides the wind. He's more than an athlete, he's an artist!"

"I think you're in love, Ron!" Ginny said and we laughed.

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on," Fred said.

"It's not the Irish," I heard my dad say.

We all turned around and saw him and Mr. Weasley, looking quite worried. Dimly, I could tell that something was wrong. The noises outside the tent had changed. The singing had stopped. I could hear screams and the sound of people running.

"Everybody, quick, outside!" Mr. Weasley said and we all hurried out of our tents.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, I 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, along with jeering laughter.

Then a strong green light illuminated the scene. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Squinting, I realized they didn't seem to have faces, but it was only because they were wearing strange masks and hoods. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Several tents caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and I recognized one of them: Mr.Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down. The poor woman struggled to coverherself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick. . . ."

"Elizabeth!" my father cried. "Arthur and I are going to help the Ministry! You follow the others into the woods and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

I nodded frantically and turned to face the others, who all looked as scared as me.

"C'mon," Fred said as he grabbed Ginny's hand.

The rest of us followed them. The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees. Children were crying and anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating all around us. I felt myself being pushed by people, then Ron yelled with pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry and I walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from behind them.

We turned around sharply. Draco Malfoy was leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.