𝖛. the hollow hour

"STUPEFY!" had been the first shout, and Alicia could still feel the echo of its power in her bones. The barrage of spells had left her rattled, but her mother's voice had pierced through the noise like a lifeline.

Now, Stella Crockford knelt beside her, brushing dirt from Alicia's face and clothes with trembling hands. Her mother's eyes were searching and sharp, scanning her for injuries. "Are you hurt? Tell me if you're hurt," she demanded in a whisper, though her voice wavered.

"I'm fine," Alicia replied shakily, though her heart was still racing. She dared a glance at her father. Archer Crockford stood rigid, his wand drawn but lowered. His face was a storm of emotions - fear, anger, and the weight of unspoken questions. It made Alicia's throat tighten, but now wasn't the time to fall apart.

She glanced sideways at Harry, who was crouched low beside her. His green eyes, illuminated faintly by the greenish glow of the Dark Mark, were locked on the Ministry wizards as if calculating their next move.

"Which of you did it?" Mr. Crouch's voice cut through the air. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?" he demanded, his sharp, accusatory gaze flicking between them.

"We didn't do that!" Harry said, his voice firm as he gestured at the towering skull in the sky.

Alicia bit her lip, fighting the urge to snap back at Mr. Crouch's absurd accusation. She had always been dramatic, but this situation felt like something plucked straight from a nightmare. Her fingers twitched with the urge to point out the absurdity of suspecting teenagers.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron interjected indignantly, rubbing his elbow and casting a betrayed look at his father. "What'd you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" Mr. Crouch barked, his wand snapping up to point directly at Ron. His bulging eyes were wild, almost unhinged, as he stepped closer. "You were discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," Stella said, stepping in sharply, her voice edged with exasperation. "They're kids. They'd never-"

"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" Mr. Weasley cut in, his tone gentler but no less urgent.

Alicia flinched as the attention shifted again. Beside her, Hermione's face was pale, but her voice was clear as she pointed toward the trees. "Over there. Someone was behind the trees. They shouted words - an incantation."

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch sneered, his gaze now piercing Hermione like a hawk. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well-informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy-"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Alicia, Harry, Ron, or Hermione had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late. They've Disapparated," Stella said grimly, shaking her head as she straightened up. Her voice was clipped, but her hand lingered on Alicia's shoulder. It was a small, comforting gesture that nearly unraveled her composure.

"I don't think so," Mr. Diggory had said moments earlier, and now his triumphant cry seemed to validate his confidence. But something about his tone, followed by the rustling and crunching of leaves, made Alicia's stomach churn with apprehension.

When he reemerged, the sight he carried froze the clearing in place. The limp figure of Winky, Mr. Crouch's elf, hung from his arms. She looked frail and helpless, her head lolling awkwardly to one side.

For a moment, no one spoke. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Mr. Crouch stood stock-still, his face carved from stone as his blazing eyes fixed on his elf. Alicia felt a twinge of pity for Winky, even though she didn't understand the situation entirely.

"This - cannot - be," Mr. Crouch said, his voice unnaturally clipped and jerky, as though he was struggling to process what he was seeing. Then, suddenly, he moved. Alicia flinched as he brushed past Mr. Diggory, his strides purposeful, and disappeared into the shadows where Winky had been found.

"No point, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Diggory called after him, though his voice lacked conviction. "There's no one else there."

The rustling grew louder as Crouch pushed through the undergrowth, clearly unwilling to accept defeat. Alicia's gaze flicked between her parents. Stella's lips were pressed into a thin line, and Archer's hand hovered near his wand, his sharp eyes following every sound.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, breaking the silence as he set Winky gently on the ground. His tone was a mixture of disbelief and discomfort as he looked down at the unconscious elf. "Barty Crouch's house-elf... I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr. Weasley interjected, his voice calm but firm. "You don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr. Diggory sharply, raising his voice above the din, "and she had a wand."

"What?" Mr. Weasley's expression darkened, his voice edged with disbelief.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up the slender wand, the polished wood gleaming ominously in the torchlight. "Had it in her hand. That's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

The implications of his words hung in the air like the Dark Mark above them, suffocating and inescapable.

Before anyone could respond, there was a sharp pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated into the clearing with his usual flamboyant energy. He spun on the spot, eyes wide and darting, his breath coming in quick gasps.

"The Dark Mark!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic as he took in the scene. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Bagman's frantic gaze landed on Mr. Crouch, whose return had gone unnoticed by many. His face was ashen, his mustache twitching erratically, and his hands clasped tightly at his sides.

"Where have you been, Barty?" Bagman demanded, frowning as he gestured to the chaotic scene. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too - gulping gargoyles!"

Bagman's words cut off abruptly as his gaze fell on Winky, crumpled on the ground. He took an involuntary step back, his expression shifting from confusion to outright shock.

"What happened to her?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost wary.

"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr. Crouch replied curtly, his jerky speech barely masking his frustration. "And my elf has been Stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why - ?" Bagman's face twisted in thought, his eyes darting between Winky, the Dark Mark above, and Mr. Crouch. Comprehension dawned, and he recoiled slightly.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," said Mr. Diggory firmly, holding up the wand again. "I found her holding it, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Mr. Crouch remained motionless, his stony silence unnerving. Mr. Diggory interpreted it as permission and stepped forward, his wand aimed at Winky.

"Rennervate!" he said clearly.

A faint glow emitted from his wand, and Winky stirred weakly. Her large, doleful eyes blinked open, and she stared blankly at the wizard's feet in front of her. Slowly, her gaze traveled upward to meet Mr. Diggory's stern expression, her trembling becoming more pronounced. Then, as her eyes flicked toward the ominous emerald skull above, a gasp escaped her lips.

Her trembling gave way to sobbing, loud and wracking, her small frame rocking forward and back as she cried in terror.

"Elf!" Mr. Diggory barked, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky barely seemed to hear him, her rocking intensifying as her cries grew louder, her breathing short and ragged.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," Diggory continued, his voice a mix of authority and impatience. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I- I- I is not doing it, sir!" Winky stammered, her words tumbling out between sobs. "I is not knowing how, sir! I is not knowing anything!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Mr. Diggory, thrusting the wand toward Winky like it was a damning piece of evidence. The clearing held its collective breath, the flickering green light of the Dark Mark casting long, eerie shadows over the assembled wizards.

Alicia shifted uneasily, her gaze darting between the accusing wand and Harry, whose face had twisted into an expression of recognition. The emerald light caught the surface of the wand, making it gleam ominously in the darkness.

"Hey-that's mine!" Harry blurted, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

All eyes turned to him.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Diggory said, his tone laced with incredulity. He blinked at Harry as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

"That's my wand!" Harry repeated, stepping forward. His green eyes glinted with determination, but Alicia noticed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his brave front. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" Mr. Diggory repeated, as if savoring the absurdity of the statement. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" snapped Archer, his sharp tone breaking the rising tension. "Is Harry Potter-the Harry Potter-likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

The mention of Harry's name sent murmurs rippling through the clearing. Harry shifted awkwardly, his shoulders tensing under the weight of the scrutiny. Alicia frowned, stepping instinctively closer to him, though she tried to look casual about it.

"Er-of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory, his bravado faltering. "Sorry... carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," Harry said firmly, jerking his thumb toward the shadowy trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the woods."

The air grew heavier as Mr. Diggory turned back toward Winky, who was still cowering at his feet. His eyes narrowed, cold and unrelenting.

"So," he said, his voice hard as steel. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" Winky squealed, her words tumbling over one another in her panic. Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the sickly green light. "I is... I is... I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" Hermione interjected suddenly, her voice trembling but resolute. She looked up at the towering Ministry wizards, her small frame dwarfed by their imposing presence, yet her determination burned brightly. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" Hermione nodded fervently, her eyes darting to Alicia, Harry and Ron for backup. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," Harry said firmly, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron chimed in.

"Much deeper," Alicia croaked out, her throat suddenly dry.

"Well, we'll soon see," Mr. Diggory said, his tone clipped and unimpressed. He shifted his weight, squaring his shoulders as though preparing for a duel. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed. Elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled violently, her wide eyes darting between Mr. Diggory and the wand. She shook her head frantically, her oversized ears flapping like a terrified bird's wings.

Alicia felt her stomach churn, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The scene felt grotesque - Winky's trembling figure before the sea of judgmental faces, the oppressive green glow of the Dark Mark looming overhead.

Mr. Diggory raised his wand with a sharp, authoritative motion, placing it tip-to-tip with Harry's wand. The clearing fell silent, a tense and uneasy hush enveloping the onlookers.

"Prior Incantato!" Mr. Diggory roared.

Alicia barely had time to react before a gigantic, serpent-tongued skull erupted from the joined wands. She stumbled back instinctively, her heart pounding. The skull was a shadow of the monstrous green symbol above, its ghostly gray smoke curling ominously in the air.

Hermione gasped sharply, her hands flying to her mouth. Ron muttered something under his breath, his face pale. Alicia found herself rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the ghastly specter of the Dark Mark. It felt as though the symbol carried an echo of the hatred and fear it was meant to inspire.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, his voice slicing through the tension. The smoky skull dissipated into nothingness, leaving only the suffocating green glow from the sky above.

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his voice laced with savage triumph.

"I is not doing it!" Winky squealed, her voice cracking under the weight of her terror. Her bulbous nose quivered, and her large eyes rolled wildly. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf! I isn't using wands! I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr. Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said loudly, stepping forward with an exasperated look. "Think about it! Precious few wizards know how to do that spell. Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Mr. Crouch said, his fury barely restrained, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

The words hung in the air, heavier than the oppressive green light. A deeply unpleasant silence followed, and Alicia caught the shift in the crowd-whispers dying in throats, gazes darting nervously between Mr. Crouch and Mr. Diggory.

Amos Diggory paled, his earlier confidence crumbling like a house of cards. "Mr. Crouch... not... not at all..." he stammered, his voice weak and trembling.

"You have now come dangerously close," Mr. Crouch continued, his voice rising, "to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" His piercing gaze swept the crowd before landing squarely on Diggory. "Harry Potter-and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course-everyone knows-" Diggory muttered, now looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"And I trust you remember," Mr. Crouch pressed on, his eyes bulging with anger, "the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?"

Mr. Diggory reddened behind his scrubby beard, his earlier bravado fully extinguished. "Mr. Crouch, I-I never suggested you had anything to do with it!"

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" Mr. Crouch bellowed, his voice cutting through the clearing like a whip. His face, already stern, twisted with cold fury. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She - she might've picked it up anywhere-" Amos stammered, though his confidence was clearly faltering under Mr. Crouch's glare.

"Precisely, Amos," Mr. Weasley interjected, his voice calm but firm. "She might have picked it up anywhere." He turned to Winky, softening his tone as he addressed her. "Winky? Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

The little elf clutched her tea towel so tightly that Alicia could see the fabric fraying beneath her trembling fingers. "I - I is finding it... finding it there, sir," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the tension in the clearing. Her eyes darted nervously between the wizards. "There... in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" Mr. Weasley pressed, gesturing toward Winky. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated immediately after casting it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But that would mean she was just a few feet away from the real culprit!" Archer interjected sharply. He turned to Winky, his expression intense. "Did you see anyone, Winky?"

Winky began trembling worse than ever, her entire body shaking as though she might collapse under the weight of the question. Her enormous, tear-filled eyes flickered from Archer to Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and finally to Mr. Crouch. She gulped audibly and said, "I is seeing no one, sir... no one..."

Mr. Crouch stepped forward, his sharp features hardening even further. "Amos," he said curtly, his voice like frost on steel, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr. Diggory's expression soured, his lips tightening as he glanced between Mr. Crouch and the quivering elf. It was clear he disagreed but lacked the authority to challenge Mr. Crouch outright.

"You may rest assured," Mr. Crouch continued coldly, "that she will be punished."

"Master..." Winky whimpered, her voice cracking as she looked up at Mr. Crouch. Her eyes, now brimming with tears, were wide with pleading. "Master, please..."

Mr. Crouch's gaze was like stone-hard, unyielding, and devoid of pity. The lines on his face deepened as he spoke, his tone devoid of warmth. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly, his words slicing through the tension like a blade. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

"No!" Winky shrieked, throwing herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. Her cries were raw and desperate, echoing in the oppressive silence of the clearing. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

It was a pitiful sight. Winky clung to her tea towel as if it were her lifeline, her small frame racked with sobs as she prostrated herself before Mr. Crouch.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out, her voice ringing with fury. She stepped forward, glaring at Mr. Crouch with righteous indignation. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a deliberate step backward, as though even the air around Winky were somehow offensive to him. His lips curled in disdain as he surveyed her - small, trembling, and utterly broken - as if she were a blemish on his otherwise spotless reputation.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said, his voice as cold and sharp as ice. His gaze flicked momentarily to Hermione, his expression hardening. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

Winky's sobs grew louder, each one piercing the tense silence in the clearing like a knife. Her tears streaked down her face as she clutched at the frayed tea towel, her only semblance of comfort, but Mr. Crouch did not so much as flinch.

The silence that followed was oppressive, thick with unspoken judgments and simmering anger. It was Mr. Weasley who finally broke it, his voice low and steady. "Archer," he said, his tone almost a command, "I think we should take our lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -"

Amos Diggory hesitated for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing, before handing the wand back to Harry without a word. Harry slipped it into his pocket, his face unreadable but his movements tense.

Archer stepped closer to Alicia, giving her a soft pat on the back, signaling it was time to leave. She didn't look up, only nodding faintly as she folded her arms tightly around herself, a silent effort to steady the churning emotions inside her.

The group turned and began to walk away, the clearing behind them fading into the shadows of the forest. Hermione lingered for a moment, her eyes locked on the sobbing elf, her expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley called, more sharply now.

Reluctantly, she turned and fell into step with Harry and Ron, her jaw set and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

As they made their way through the dark forest, the tension hung between them like a storm cloud. Alicia trudged along silently, her gaze fixed on the forest floor, listening to the hushed rustle of leaves and the low murmur of voices around her.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione burst out the moment they were far enough from the clearing. Her voice was tight with suppressed fury, and Alicia could hear the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

"I don't know," Mr. Weasley said, his tone heavy.

"The way they were treating her!" Hermione continued, her voice rising. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time.. and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," Ron said, half-muttering.

Hermione stopped abruptly, spinning to face him with blazing eyes. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way -"

"Hermione, I agree with you," Mr. Weasley interrupted firmly, his tone brooking no argument as he gestured for her to keep walking. "But now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," Ron admitted. He hesitated, then added, "dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

Mr. Weasley glanced at his son, his expression tight and anxious. "I'll explain everything back at the tent."

But when they reached the edge of the woods, their progress was brought to an abrupt halt. A large crowd of witches and wizards had gathered, their faces pale with fear and confusion. The moment Archer and Mr. Weasley came into view, the crowd surged forward, voices rising in a chaotic din.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Archer - please, it's not Him, is it?"

"Of course it's not Him," Archer snapped, his voice edged with exhaustion. "We don't know who conjured it. Whoever it was Disapparated before we could catch them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get to bed."

His words seemed to calm the crowd slightly, though their murmurs didn't fully die down as Archer and the others pushed through, moving toward the campsite.

When the familiar shapes of the tents came into view, the Crockfords broke away from the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. Archer and Mr. Weasley exchanged a brief nod, their expressions heavy with unspoken words, before parting ways.

Alicia lingered behind, her head bowed low, her feet dragging slightly as though the weight of the night pressed down on her shoulders. She barely noticed the departure of the others, her focus consumed by the growing pit in her stomach.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Archer turned to her, his voice low but firm. "We're going to have to have a conversation, Alicia."

The words hung in the air, heavier than the stillness of the forest around them. Alicia didn't lift her head, her throat tightening as she forced out the only response she could muster.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice cracking slightly. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, the words feeling insufficient, almost hollow, but it was all she could offer.

Archer didn't reply immediately, his eyes searching her face. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rustle of the trees and the faint hum of voices from the campsite.

Taking a shaky breath, Alicia steadied herself, her next words barely more than a whisper. "Are Bella and Rue okay?"

Archer's gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained steady. "They're fine. They're in their tents with their parents." He hesitated, adding, "They said you got lost."

Stella, who had been silent until now, sighed heavily as she pulled off her gloves, her movements deliberate. "We were worried sick, Alicia," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of relief and exasperation. "You're lucky nothing worse happened."

Alicia swallowed hard, guilt swirling in her chest. "What about Mason?"

Archer gave a small, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Knowing him? Probably asleep already. Nothing seems to bother that boy for long."

Alicia managed a weak nod, but her mind was far from settled. The reality of what had just happened still churned within her-a storm of fear, guilt, and confusion that she couldn't quite make sense of. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the distance as her parents exchanged a glance.

"We'll talk more in the morning," Archer said quietly, his tone gentler now but still firm. "For now, let's just get back to the tent and try to rest."

Alicia nodded again, following silently as they made their way back to their campsite.