Dawn Broke

Red flames, eerie green light, and blurry starlight and moonlight... As all the light near the swampy woodland gradually faded, darkness once again enveloped the campsite on the outskirts of Dartmoor, Devon.

The flames that had burned for most of the night finally ran out of fuel, leaving behind a charred ruin. Bright orange-yellow light disappeared into the darkness, while a faint, dark red glow lingered in the shadows.

A hazy, gray smoke rose slowly, drifting into the vast sky. Not long after the flames died down, a damp, cold mist spread, obscuring the leaves and silently soaking clothes.

The air was thick with mist, dampness, choking smoke, and the fresh scent of grass and trees. The evening breeze was unpredictable, and the shamans camping in the open had to light a campfire to ward off the pervasive chill.

Several blue flames, resembling bellflowers, swirled and floated in the air, radiating a gentle warmth.

Sitting around the campfire, Bill slumped on the ground, covering his arm with a sheet, his sleeve stained with blood. Charlie's shirt was torn open, revealing an old scar on his chest, the dried blood congealing into a dark red scab. Percy was wiping blood from his nose with a damp cloth.

Some were accidentally injured while maintaining order, while others were injured while moving the petrified bodies. Molly treated the children's injuries while crying, blaming them for not paying attention to the danger.

Having just experienced a farce, even George and Fred were feeling down. Listening to Molly's rambling complaints actually made them feel a bit better.

Loren unfolded a plain white blanket and wrapped it around himself and the girl beside him, and the temperature gradually rose.

Like melting ice and snow, Hermione's cold and hard expression softened. She tilted her head slightly and leaned gently on Loren's shoulder. Light and shadow danced in her beautiful brown eyes, and the Winky face of the House-elf kept appearing in her mind.

"Disobedient House-elf... should be punished!"

"Lord, Lord, Master... Please, please..."

"Your actions tonight have shocked me greatly. I told you to stay in the tent. I told you to stay there while I dealt with the disturbance... but you disobeyed me, which means—clothes!"

"No! No, Master! I don't want clothes, I don't want clothes!"

Hermione shook her head, finding a soft, comfortable spot on her shoulder, and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "She must have been terrified... Winky has a fear of heights, and those masked wizards were suspending people in the air. It's understandable that she wanted to escape them. Anyone would have done the same, and no one can blame her for it."

Loren didn't speak, but simply rested his cheek against the girl's hair, seeking some warmth.

"How could they treat her like that... Mr. Diggory always called her 'little imp,' and Mr. Crouch ..." Hermione paused, "He knew perfectly well that she didn't do it, yet he still abandoned her. Nobody cared how scared or sad Winky was. They didn't treat her like a human being at all... It was truly disgusting."

Hearing Hermione say such serious things, Percy paused for a moment. He glanced at Molly and whispered to defend his boss, "A wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't bear the responsibility if his House-elf run amok with a wand... Besides, House-elf aren't human, are they?"

Molly threw the wrung-out handkerchief into his arms and glared at him hatefully.

"That doesn't mean she had no feelings, no heart... She didn't do anything wrong, she didn't do anything wrong, she just shouldn't have been there at that time."

Hermione leaned on Loren's shoulder without moving. Having communicated frequently with Professor Bubage over the past year, she was already well aware of the wizards' attitude towards House-elf.

Loren tightened his embrace of the girl.

"Well..."

Arthur Weasley sighed and added a few slightly damp pieces of firewood to the campfire. The incompletely burning firewood emitted bluish-white smoke that blended into the ethereal night.

"Hermione, I agree with you, but..."

"But..." Molly sprinkled the Gillyweed essence on Bill's wound, eliciting a cry of pain. "I don't know if House-elf have human emotions, but Crouch definitely doesn't!"

The Weasley family children were stunned; their mother had actually said something so cruel.

Ginny asked timidly, "Mom, what... does that mean?"

"When he spotted us, he ordered an attack without saying a word. If we hadn't dodged in time, a spell of that magnitude, even just Stunning Spell, would have been enough to keep us in St Mungo's's for months!"

Molly got even angrier as she spoke, unconsciously tightening the bandage on Bill's wound, making him grimace. "And more than a decade ago, when the Dark Lord fell from power, he was the one who voluntarily sentenced his own son Azkaban, to life imprisonment... He treated even his own son like that, what feelings did he have!"

"Ahem..." Arthur coughed twice. "Don't say that. Mr. Crouch was just trying to deal with the Death Eater ... Perhaps it was too dark just now..."

George chuckled in a strange tone, "Yeah, it's too dark, and that green skull is too dark too."

Fred nodded repeatedly, still feeling a bit scared as he recalled being surrounded by dozens of Stunning Spell: "It's all the fault of the Dark Lord and the Death Eater. They didn't make that spell as bright as the sun when they invented it."

"..."

Arthur and Percy silently lowered their heads to tend the campfire; if they continued talking, their whole family would dislike them.

Ron glanced at Molly, remembering his mother's terrified expression from back then. After hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Dad, why is everyone so nervous about that skeleton?"

Loren felt Hermione's cheek twitch; she probably wanted to explain, but refrained because of her low spirits.

"Let me tell you, that's the symbol of the Dark Lord, Ron," Bill replied softly. As the eldest of the Weasley family, he had lived through that era firsthand. "It's been thirteen years since we've seen it, so people are naturally very nervous... It's almost like we've seen the Dark Lord again."

"I don't understand..." Ron frowned as he looked at him, "I mean... in the end, it's just a shadow in mid-air..."

"Ron, every time the Dark Lord and his followers kill someone, they display the Dark Mark in the sky," Arthur explained solemnly. "The fear it brings... you don't know, you're too young. Imagine coming home one day and finding the Dark Mark hovering above your house, do you know what you'd see if you went inside..."

Molly shuddered in fright, and the bandage rubbed against Charlie's wound, causing the already stopped bleeding wound to ooze crimson blood again.

Charlie grinned:...

"That's what everyone fears most... the most, most terrifying thing..." Arthur said quietly.

The young wizards who hadn't experienced that era fell silent for a moment. Recalling what they had witnessed that evening, Harry couldn't help but ask, "What are the Death Eater trying to do, suspending Muggle in mid-air? I mean, what's the point?"

"Meaning?" Arthur chuckled dryly. "Harry, there is no meaning. It's just their way of having fun. Back when the Dark Lord was in power, most of the Muggle they killed were for their amusement."

Loren felt uneasy thinking about the Roberts family and frowned as he asked, "Mr. Weasley, how will the Ministry of Magic treat the Roberts family?"

"Well..." Arthur said, "They should heal their injuries, repair their houses, erase their memories, and then contact the Muggle Government to give them some compensation."

Loren watched the flickering, rising flames, a faint light gleaming in his eyes.

This is truly standard procedure for handling a magic leak...

After treating the child's injuries, Molly came over and handed him the Gillyweed essence, gently ruffled his hair, and smiled, "Thank you, Loren. If it weren't for your medicine, they would probably have lost dozens of gallons of blood."

George exclaimed in surprise, "Dozens of gallons! Are they bison?"

Scattered laughter suddenly broke the stillness of the swampy woodland, blending into the crackling campfire and adding a touch of warmth to the chaotic night.

Many things happened tonight, involving 100,000 wizards from all over the world, including staff of the Ministry of Magic of powerful countries and relatives of Pure-blood Families... As the location of the incident, the Britain Department of International Magical Cooperation immediately entered its busiest time.

To take stock of the petrified wizards, contact other countries' Ministry of Magic to verify their identities, comfort the frightened wizards, apologize to other Ministry of Magic and ancient families, and maintain the image of the Ministry of Magic...

It is foreseeable that the staff of the Department of International Magical Cooperation will be extremely busy for the next few months.

But at this very moment, Mr. Barty Crouch, the usually dedicated Director of the International Affairs Cooperation Division, suddenly requested to go home to rest and handed over his work to the Deputy Director.

However, considering that Mr. Crouch had been in charge of coordinating everything since the Quidditch World Cup began, and that he probably hadn't had a good night's sleep in almost a week, and also considering that Mr. Crouch's House-elf were involved in the case of the Dark Mark... his colleagues, who thought Mr. Crouch was exhausted, took over the work.

Crouch Manor, a wizarding village in Wiltshire, England.

Only a few Oil Lamp were lit, and the person who lit them was probably in a great hurry, not even having time to close the lampshade. The light flickered constantly, and the shadows in the room also swayed.

Barty Crouch hurriedly finished cleaning the house, turning all traces of Barty Jr. Crouch.'s existence into ashes. To avoid leaving any clues, he didn't even use a wand, and used matches he had borrowed from Arthur Weasley to start the fire.

Looking at the ashes in the fireplace, Barty Crouch wearily rubbed his face and slumped weakly onto the sofa.

Panic, shock, anger, and sadness came one after another, and his brain was already somewhat numb, but chaotic thoughts still emerged from every corner of his brain, pulling at his mind and making it impossible for him to fall asleep.

That idiot son has escaped. What will he do now?

Will making a public appearance ruin his reputation?

No, as long as Winky doesn't reveal his secret, the Ministry of Magic has no evidence.

Go and seek refuge with his Dark Lord?

Was Dumbledore's claim of Voldemort's return a power grab, or a genuine warning...?

Thump!

Knock knock!

Suddenly, there was a series of urgent and forceful knocks at the door.

Crouch abruptly stood up, staring intently at the mansion gate.

Knock knock knock!

The knocking echoed through the ancient, empty Castle.

"Who?" Crouch asked warily.

"I."

A loud and familiar voice answered; it was the voice of another Barty Crouch, his son.

A mist clouded over Barty Crouch's eyes; he couldn't quite describe his feelings—not anger, not joy, not sadness...

Or both.

However, Barty Crouch, a veteran of the Ministry of Magic, did not let his guard down. He reviewed the situation in his mind: Bertha Jokins ' wand had been confiscated as evidence, Barty Jr. should not have a wand on him. After being confined to the Castle for more than ten years, he could not find any help in a short time.

Having averted the danger, Barty Crouch, wand in hand, cautiously approached the Castle gate. With a light wave of his wand, accompanied by a creaking, ear-piercing sound, the gate quietly opened.

Seeing two figures standing outside the door, Barty Crouch was startled and immediately waved his wand—

A crimson light flashed, and Barty Crouch fell backward to the ground, unconscious.

Bellatrix glanced smugly at the guy on the ground, then went inside first, tilting her chin up as she looked around. Seeing the dilapidated state of the mansion, her face was full of disgust.

Barty Jr. Crouch Jr. walked behind, carrying a swaddled baby in his hands. After closing the door, he carefully placed the swaddled baby on the sofa and called out devoutly and respectfully, "Master."

The candlelight flickered, revealing the monster in the swaddling clothes. It was a lump of tender flesh that looked as if it had been scorched by fire, a dark red, sticky mass with scarlet eyes on its flat, snake-like face.

"Hahaha... This couldn't be more perfect, this couldn't be more perfect!"

The deep blue sky was completely dark, a thick, damp fog rose, and the campfire had quietly gone out sometime earlier.

"Wake up, wake up..."

Hearing the low, hushed call, Loren, who was half-asleep, opened his eyes a crack and saw Molly had already packed her things, waking them up one by one.

"We can leave now, let's go."

Walking back the way we came, passing through the burned-down tent camp, we saw Ministry of Magic staff on duty at the stone house at the entrance, registering people. Probably because not many people knew about it yet, and it was still dark, there weren't many people in line.

Mr. Roberts stood at the door of the stone house, looking dazed and with blank eyes.

"He'll be fine." Arthur finished filling out the registration form and saw Loren and Hermione staring at Roberts in a daze. He comforted them, "When someone's memory is altered, they will be a little confused for a while, especially since they're trying to make him forget such a big thing... He'll be fine in a few days."

As they walked out the door, Roberts mechanically waved goodbye to the departing crowd and mumbled, "Merry Christmas."

Hermione's heart tightened, and she subconsciously tugged at Loren's sleeve.

Loren sighed softly, "I wish the Roberts family good luck."

As they walked away into the swamp, a glint of light flashed in Roberts' eyes at the unnoticed doorway of the stone house.