“Over there,” said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. “There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words—an incantation—”
“Oh, stood over there, did they?” said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. “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 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,” said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. “They’ll have Disapparated.”
“I don’t think so,” said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric’s father. “Our Stunners went right through those trees… There’s a good chance we got them…”
“Amos, be careful!” said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth.
A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout.
“Yes! We got them! There’s someone here! Unconscious! It’s—but—blimey…”
“You’ve got someone?” shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. “Who? Who is it?”
They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.
Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.
“This—cannot—be,” he said jerkily. “No—”
He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.
“No point, Mr. Crouch,” Mr. Diggory called after him. “There’s no one else there.”
But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.
“Bit embarrassing,” Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky’s unconscious form. “Barty Crouch’s house-elf… I mean to say…”
“Come off it, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “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, “and she had a wand.”
“What?” said Mr. Weasley.
“Here, look.” Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. “Had it in her hand. So 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.”
Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald green skull.
“The Dark Mark!” he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. “Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What’s going on?”
Mr. Crouch had returned empty handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching.
“Where have you been, Barty?” said Bagman. “Why weren’t you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too—gulping gargoyles!” Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. “What happened to her?”
“I have been busy, Ludo,” said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. “And my elf has been stunned.”
“Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why—?”
Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman’s round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch.
“No!” he said. “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. “I found her holding one, Ludo. If it’s all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she’s got to say for herself.”
Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, “Ennervate!”
Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position.
She caught sight of Mr. Diggory’s feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.
“Elf!” said Mr. Diggory sternly. “Do you know who I am? I’m a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!”
Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.
“As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago,” said Mr. Diggory. “And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!”
“I—I—I is not doing it, sir!” Winky gasped. “I is not knowing how, sir!”
“You were found with a wand in your hand!” barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it.
“Hey—that’s mine!” he said.
Everyone in the clearing looked at him.
“Excuse me?” said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.
“That’s my wand!” said Harry. “I dropped it!”
“You dropped it?” repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. “Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?”
“Amos, think who you’re talking to!” said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. “Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?”
“Er—of course not,” mumbled Mr. Diggory. “Sorry… carried away…”
“I didn’t drop it there, anyway,” said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. “I missed it right after we got into the wood.”
“So,” said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. “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!” squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. “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!” said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. “Winky’s got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!” She looked around at Harry and Ron, appealing for their support. “It didn’t sound anything like Winky, did it?”
“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It definitely didn’t sound like an elf.”
“Yeah, it was a human voice,” said Ron.
“Well, we’ll soon see,” growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. “There’s a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?”
Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry’s.
“Prior Incantato!” roared Mr. Diggory.
Harry heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent tongued skul
l erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.
“Deletrius!” Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke.
“So,” said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.
“I is not doing it!” she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. “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,” said Mr. Weasley loudly, “think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell… Where would she have learned it?”
“Perhaps Amos is suggesting,” said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, “that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?”
There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. “Mr. Crouch… not… not at all.”
“You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!” barked Mr. Crouch. “Harry Potter—and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy’s story, Amos?”
“Of course—everyone knows—” muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.
“And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?” Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.
“Mr. Crouch, I—I never suggested you had anything to do with it!” Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.
“If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” shouted Mr. Crouch. “Where else would she have learned to conjure it?”
“She—she might’ve picked it up anywhere—”
“Precisely, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley. “She might have picked it up anywhere… Winky?” he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. “Where exactly did you find Harry’s wand?”
Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.
“I—I is finding it… finding it there, sir…” she whispered, “there… in the trees, sir.”
“You see, Amos?” said Mr. Weasley. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they’d done 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 then, she’d have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!” said Mr. Diggory impatiently. “Elf? Did you see anyone?”
Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, “I is seeing no one, sir… no one…”
“Amos,” said Mr. Crouch curtly, “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 looked as though he didn’t think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.
“You may rest assured that she will be punished,” Mr. Crouch added coldly.
“M-m-master…” Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. “M-m-master, p-p-please…”
Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.
“Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible,” he said slowly. “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!” shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch’s feet. “No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!”
Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch’s feet.
“But she was frightened!” Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. “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 step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over shined shoes.
“I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,” he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. “I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master’s reputation.”
Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, “Well, I think I’ll take my 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—”
Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.
“Come on, you three,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn’t seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. “Hermione!” Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees.
“What’s going to happen to Winky?” said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Weasley.
“The way they were treating her!” said Hermione furiously. “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,” said Ron.
Hermione rounded on him.
“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t got feelings, Ron. It’s disgusting the way—”
“Hermione, I agree with you,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, “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,” said Ron. “Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?”
“I’ll explain everything back at the tent,” said Mr. Weasley tensely.
But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.
“What’s going on in there?”
“Who conjured it?”
“Arthur—it’s not—Him?”
“Of course it’s not Him,” said Mr. Weasley impatiently. “We don’t know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.”
He led Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.
Charlie’s head was poking out of the boys’ tent.
“Dad, what’s going on?” he called through the dark. “Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others—”
“I’ve got them here,” said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered after him.
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.
“Did you get them, Dad?” said Bill sharply. “The person who conjured the Mark?”
“No,” said Mr. Weasley. “We found Barty Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand, but we’re none the wi
ser about who actually conjured the Mark.”
“What?” said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together.
“Harry’s wand?” said Fred.
“Mr. Crouch’s elf?” said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.
With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly.
“Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!” he said. “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—she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy—better, indeed, than any of the others.
“Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch’s position can’t afford a house-elf who’s going to run amok with a wand!” said Percy pompously, recovering himself.
“She didn’t run amok!” shouted Hermione. “She just picked it up off the ground!”
“Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?” said Ron impatiently. “It wasn’t hurting anyone… Why’s it such a big deal?”
“I told you, it’s You-Know-Who’s symbol, Ron,” said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. “I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.”
“And it hasn’t been seen for thirteen years,” said Mr. Weasley quietly. “Of course people panicked… it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again.”
“I don’t get it,” said Ron, frowning. “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,” said Mr. Weasley. “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…” Mr. Weasley winced. “Everyone’s worst fear… the very worst…”
There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, “Well, it didn’t help us tonight, whoever conjured it. 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.”
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