A Kindred Spirit

When Albert woke at noon the next day, the spot beside his bed was already empty. After getting up, dressing, and heading downstairs, he found Isobel sitting in the dining room with today's newspaper in hand, though he had no idea what she was reading. Albert walked over, wrapped an arm around her shoulders from behind, and looked down at the paper. "You don't seem very happy."

"Look at this..." Isobel handed the Daily Prophet to Albert. The headline read: "Terror at the Quidditch World Cup," accompanied by a flashing black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark hanging above the treetops.

"Looks like something bad really did happen at the World Cup." Though he said that aloud, Albert was not particularly concerned. He had expected the chaos at the World Cup long ago.

"What happened?"

Albert did not think this alone should have provoked such a reaction from Isobel. After all, they had known about it in advance.

"Mother went over early this morning to help. Our tent wasn't burned down, but..." There seemed to be a trace of unease in Isobel's voice. "Someone entered our tent after we left."

"A stranger?" Albert narrowed his eyes.

"When Bit was packing up the tent, he used the Revealing Charm inside and found the footprints of two strangers."

Isobel knew perfectly well what that meant.

In that kind of chaos, no one would have simply wandered into their tent. And if one considered why Albert had arranged things that way, it was obvious that whoever had broken into their tent meant them harm.

What worried Isobel was that someone wanted to do something to them, and those people had most likely come for Albert. As for who they were, it was not hard for her to guess. Certain pure-blood wizards had disliked Albert