Dartel descended unhurriedly from the top of the canopy. After landing, he stood beside Daphne, his gaze fixed on the notebook in his hands as though the new species of flying dragon was more interesting.
Daphne tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Dartel for a moment, but she made no comment. She turned to Draco and waited for him to speak.
Draco pulled his coat collar a little higher, covering everything below his nose. He was silent for several seconds, during which his gaze moved in turn between the hollow's entrance, Daphne, Dartel, Montague, Crabbe, and Goyle. Then he stepped two paces aside, sat on a protruding tree root, and adjusted his posture so his back rested against the trunk.
"Get ready. We'll head to the camp and rest first."
As Montague rose from the stump, the last layer of iron-gray sheen on his right shoulder faded back to his collarbone. Daphne withdrew her palm, and a pale blue glow flickered at her fingertips before going out. Without a word, she took two steps back and scraped a layer of copper-colored slime from her boot tip against the ground.
Draco had already chosen the new camp's location—a relatively dry patch of high ground at the edge of the beech clearing. The slope was less than five degrees, the drainage was good, and thick tree roots surrounded three sides of it, forming a natural barrier. The rear faced the nest, providing an open field of view.
He stood in the middle of the patch, marking two points with his feet, then glanced at Crabbe. Crabbe was already moving when he received the look. He walked to the marker on Draco's left, crouched down, pressed his right palm to the ground, and sank his knuckles roughly two inches into the soil.