❝IT'S YOU-KNOW-WHO'S SYMBOL...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

By some miracle of good fortune, luck, or perhaps a Confundus Charm done well, Fred and George are spot-on with their prediction. Ireland wins 170-160, but the prodigal seeker Viktor Krum of Bulgaria dives to a spectacular catch, outflying the Irish Seeker Lynch and making the match a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Fred and George are chattering excitedly on either side of Ara all the way back to the tent, planning all-new ways to spend the money Ludo Bagman owes them, and Ara listens quietly, but is yawning entirely too much to join in. She sits between them at the small kitchen table, listening to the excited conversation, recapping the match one play at a time. It's a cozy atmosphere, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, her head resting on George's shoulder, listening to Mr. Weasley and Charlie debate the legality of cobbing, each of the others chiming in occasionally (except Percy, of course, who disappears into the tiny tent bathroom for some "bloody peace and quiet").

And then Ginny's head drops onto the table, sending her hot chocolate flying across the table, spilling it everywhere, and the night careens to a full stop. Mr. Weasley insists everyone go to bed, despite Fred, George, and Ron's protests, and Hermione and Ara help a very sleepy Ginny walk to their own, smaller tent.

The celebration outside has largely died down, but if Ara listens closely, she can still hear fireworks and singing from the Irish section of the field. It's still a shock to her that Ireland won, what with Lynch's unfortunate flying performance, but she supposes if you make it to the World Cup, you've got to be the best.

"I hope they're not celebrating all night," says Hermione grumpily, pulling her blankets up and rolling over. "We've got to leave early in the morning."

Ara opens her mouth to reply, but then, just below her, there's a loud snore–from Ginny!

Hermione bursts into a fit of giggles, and Ara joins in, and it seems at least three hours before they can stop laughing and actually attempt to get to sleep, Ginny snoring softly all the while.

Ara can only have been asleep maybe five minutes before she's being shaken awake roughly. "Come on, A, get up!" a voice hisses in her ear.

Groggily, she sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "What–?"

"Get up," says George, his own eyes puffy and hair tousled. "Come on!"

Ara blinks, seeing Hermione and Ginny already awake and pulling on jackets over their pajamas. She lets George pull her out of bed and takes her jacket from Ginny, pulling it on and hurrying after George, out into the night.

There are still loud bangs and shouting, but the celebration has stopped: Something is deeply wrong. Ara can hear screams and people running–and then she sees it, as George stops next to Harry, Ron, and Fred: A crowd of people wearing dark robes and masks, and above them, four people, doing flips and cartwheels in midair, as if suspended by ropes.

There's cackling laughter from the group, as more people join the swelling mass of wizards, moving slowly toward them. Tents catch fire as spells fly awry, and Ara recognizes the people in midair as the Muggle campsite manager, and possibly his wife and children. She reaches out for the person next to her, finding a familiar warm hand and grasping it.

Fred squeezes her hand gently, pulling her closer.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy come running toward them, fully dressed, wands at the ready, and Mr. Weasley follows them, rolling up his sleeves. "We're going to help the Ministry!" he shouts at them over his shoulder. "You lot – get into the woods and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Ara's stomach turns over uncomfortably as she watches Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Percy sprint toward the crowd, wands raised. Fred tugs her along, hand tight around hers, and they run toward the edge of the forest, toward the crowd of people already bustling through the trees.

George and Ginny are right behind them, and Fred pulls Ara close as they're bombarded by hordes of people, crying and shouting for family members, calling out to friends, screaming and rushing away from the crowd of hooded wizards as fast as they can.

It's not long before Ara realizes Harry, Ron, and Hermione are nowhere to be seen, and when she stops to look around, George and Ginny have disappeared, too.

"Fred!" Ara tugs on his hand. "George and Ginny–"

"They'll be fine," Fred says, bending down to her ear so she can hear him over the commotion, "George'll keep Ginny safe."

As they hurry further along the path, deeper into the trees, Ara realizes something about herself. She's always been aware of the fact that she's not afraid of most things, not afraid of danger or loneliness or death, but one thing she truly does fear, deep inside, is losing those she loves or hurting them.

And on nights like tonight, Ara is afraid for them.

There's a loud bang from behind them, and Fred's hand tightens around Ara's as people continue to rush past them, screaming and shouting. There's no sign of George, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, or Harry, but Ara catches snippets of French and what sounds like Bulgarian as they force their way through the swarm of people.

Then Fred veers sharply off the path to the right, toward the edge of the trees, where there's a large chestnut tree, branches forming a sort of semi-circle around its trunk, shielding it from both the path and the edge of the wood.

"Let's wait here and watch for the others," Fred says, pulling Ara further into the circle of branches. "We can see the path well enough from here."

Ara nods, pulling her jacket tighter around her. For an August night, it's rather chilly, and the air of fear and discomfort doesn't much help.

"Are you cold?" Fred asks, glancing down at her.

She shrugs. "A bit."

Fred starts to pull off his sweater, but Ara shakes her head fervently. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm not that cold."

Fred rolls his eyes. "Fine. Then c'mere." He opens his arms to her, beckoning her toward him.

Ara sighs. "Ever the gentleman, you are." But she's not complaining; a hug from Fred would be nice. So she walks happily into his arms, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Fred sighs into her hair, resting his chin on top of her head. "D'you ever feel like the world's changing more and more every day? Like everything's getting darker around us?"

Ara nods. "We can't go anywhere without evil wizards around, can we?"

Fred chuckles softly, a low rumble in his chest, soft against Ara's ear. "No, apparently we can't."

Ara pauses to listen for a moment. It seems as though the crowd hurtling along the path has quieted; there's still a soft murmur of voices, but no shouting or screaming, no thundering of footsteps.

"Fred, I think we might–"

But then there's a far-off shout and a flash of light in the sky, and Ara turns to look–

An emerald green skull, mouth open, with a snake made of green smoke slithering out like a tongue, rises into the sky above them, horrifying and captivating all at once. There's a pause as Fred and Ara both stare at the smokey symbol, bright against the deep black of the night sky–

And then screams erupt all around them, a chorus of terror in the night.

Fred's face drains of all color. "Oh, my god."

"Fred, that's–" Ara's mouth is suddenly dry. "It's You-Know-Who's symbol."

"I know." Fred grabs Ara's wrist and pulls her back onto the path. "We need to find George and Ginny!"

They hurtle back down the path, against the tide of people, shouting George and Ginny's names into the commotion, hoping to be heard. Even though the crowd attempts to pull them apart, Fred doesn't let go of Ara, keeping her close behind him.

And then a hand tugs on Ara's jacket, pulling her sharply to the left. She grabs the disembodied wrist, opening her mouth to scream, and then a familiar voice says, "God, Ara, it's me!"

Ara looks up, blinking in the darkness, and sighs in relief as Charlie Weasley's face comes into focus. "Charlie, I–"

"No time." Charlie gestures for Fred to follow them, eyes urgent. "Let's get back to the tent."

"But George and Ginny–!"

"Percy went to find them," Charlie replies patiently. "Now come on!"

Reluctantly, Ara and Fred follow Charlie out of the wood, toward the wreckage of burned and smoking tents, away from the thinning crowd of people. Fred slides his hand down from Ara's wrist to intertwine their fingers in the darkness, squeezing gently.

Ara squeezes back, grateful for the comforting touch of his hand.

It's a shocking contrast from the wood to the campsite, from screaming and shouting to almost complete silence, except for the soft murmur of voices here and there.

Charlie pushes back the flap of their tent for Ara and Fred to walk through, and immediately Ara's blinded by the sudden brightness inside the tent. She blinks furiously, and as her eyes adjust, she sees Bill sitting at the tiny kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his left arm and grimacing.

Fred pulls out a chair for her to sit in, and Ara sits down gratefully. She gestures to the chair next to her, but Fred shakes his head wordlessly. He's too nervous to sit, Ara realizes, so she just leans her head back against his chest, his hands wrapped around the back of her chair.

Charlie paces in front of the tent flap, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Ara just now notices that his shirt is torn down the middle, right over his heart. She shivers uncontrollably. Fred's hands tighten on the back of her chair.

The tent flap opens after what feels like a thousand years, and George, Ginny, and Percy step inside, all blinking at the brightness of the lamp above the table. Ara leaps out of her chair, stomach fluttering in relief, and runs right into George's arms. He hugs her back, kissing the top of her head sweetly, and Ginny's shaking all over as Ara pulls her into her arms.

She looks over the top of Ginny's head at Percy, who's staring right back at her, blood drying just above his lip. "Percy, are you hurt?"

"Just a bloody nose." Percy shakes his head. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Ara shakes her head, and without Ginny in her arms anymore, there's an inexplicable distance between them, a tension so tangible she can almost taste it.

Screw it.

Ara pulls Percy into a hug, arms around his neck, and immediately he relaxes, his arms coming to rest just beneath her shoulder blades. The tension between them evaporates into nothing, but Ara can feel everyone's eyes boring into her, so she lets go, dropping back into her chair as Charlie peers out the tent flap, muttering about how the others should have been back by now.

And then he calls, "Dad, what's going on? Fred, George, Ginny, and Ara got back okay, but the others–"

Mr. Weasley responds, but Ara can't make out the words, and then Mr. Weasley's head is poking into the tent flap, and then Harry, Ron, and Hermione are behind him. Ara's shoulders sag in relief. They're all safe and unhurt, as far as she can tell, although Hermione looks visibly shaken up and Ron's white as a sheet.

"Did you get them, Dad?" asks Bill. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No." Mr. Weasley shakes his head bitterly. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"What?" Bill, Charlie, and Percy say in perfect confused unison.

"Harry's wand?" Fred asks.

"Mr. Crouch's elf?" Percy repeats, eyebrows raised.

Mr. Weasley explains how Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in a clearing with the person who conjured the Mark, and how Harry had lost his wand, and how when the Ministry officials searched the surrounding area, they found Mr. Crouch's house elf unconscious and holding Harry's wand. Harry's wand had indeed conjured the Mark, but it was clear that neither Harry nor the elf could have done it, and the culprit had escaped before anyone could see him or her. In a fit of rage, Mr. Crouch had fired his elf simply for disobeying him, despite the fact she didn't take the wand.

"Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he says, puffing out his chest indignantly. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to... Embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry... How would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control–"

"She didn't do anything!" Hermione hisses, taking everyone–including Percy–by surprise. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok–" Percy begins, before Ara elbows him sharply in the arm.

"Percy, not the time."

"She didn't run amok!" Hermione protests. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

Before Percy can retort, Ron interrupts. "Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was? It wasn't hurting anyone... Why's it such a big deal?"

"It's You-Know-Who's symbol," Ara replies quietly. "It probably hasn't been seen since he disappeared... I'd panic, too, if I remembered when he was powerful."

"I don't get it." Ron frowns. "I mean...it's still only a shape in the sky..."

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," Mr. Weasley says patiently. "The terror it inspired... You have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside... Everyone's worst fear, the very worst..."

There's a tense silence, and Ara glances over at Percy. His nose is bleeding again. She stands up and walks over to the kitchen, digging around in the drawers until she finds a washcloth. She rinses it in water, wringing it out until it's damp, and walks back over to the table.

Percy winces when she presses the rag gently to his nose, and Ara pulls away hesitantly, but he shakes his head. "No... it's fine. That feels nice. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ara says softly, and she dabs gently at the dried blood above his lip, keenly aware of Fred's eyes boring into the back of her head. And well, everyone else at the table is watching them, too. You'd have to be blind not to notice what's going on.

"Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it," says Bill, glancing down at the cut on his arm. "It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

Ara sighs in relief. She was afraid something worse might have happened to that poor family.

"Death Eaters?" Harry asks, confused. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," Bill replies. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," Mr. Weasley says, shaking his head. "Though it probably was."

Ara yawns widely, and Percy attempts to pull the rag from her hand. "I can finish this up," he says, pushing her hand away. "You go to bed."

"No, I'm fine." But Ara lets him take the rag anyway. She is rather tired. She yawns again.

And then, as if time speeds up suddenly, the conversation ends when Mr. Weasley says something fuzzy about getting sleep and catching an early Portkey back to the Burrow. Ara blinks a few times, struggling to hear through the apparent cotton in her ears, and then there's a tapping on her shoulder.

"Ara, love, it's time to go to bed."

She nods slowly, closing her eyes and muttering something about a few more minutes here at the table, and then there's an arm under her legs and another beneath her shoulders, and she's lifted into the air bridal-style, pressed back against a very familiar chest.

There's a voice, soft in her ear, that seems as though it comes from ages away: "Fred, is she really asleep?"

"Nearly," Fred replies, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. "Tonight must have really drained her."

"You know, I don't blame her," says George quietly. "I'm knackered myself."

Then there's a blast of chilly air: Fred's just left the boys' tent, and then he pushes through another set of flaps, entering the girls' tent.

"Fred, what are you doing in here?" Ginny whispers.

"Ara's asleep," Fred whispers back. "She in this bunk?"

There's a quiet "Yes" and then Ara feels cool sheets against her skin, a quilt pulled up to her chin. There's snoring beneath her, which means Hermione's asleep already.

"Fred, you fancy her, don't you?" Ginny says softly, as Fred's adjusting the blanket around Ara.

"Ginny, go to sleep," Fred mutters, and his hand pushes the hair away from Ara's face gently, smoothing back her curls.

"You do," Ginny whispers. "It's so obvious you do!"

"It's three in the morning. Go to bed."

Ara's not quite asleep, but not quite awake either: It feels as though she's hearing everything from outside her body, but Fred's hand on her cheek is very real. And so is the kiss he presses to her forehead.

The last thing she feels before the dark embrace of sleep is the burning sensation of his lips on her skin.

.・。.・゜✭・.

someday i'll actually figure out how to update regularly smh

but 250 reads is cool! this story moves fairly slowly at the beginning, but i promise once they get to school it picks up :)