"Mr. Bagman is utterly irresponsible," Hermione said, her brow tightly furrowed. "How did he get elected head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Games and Sports?"
"I remember he really was an incredible Quidditch player," Ron said, scratching his head and plopping down on the grass. "While Bagman played for the Wimbourne Wasps, he led them to three consecutive championships!"
Harry, meanwhile, was weighed down with worry. He prayed that the unrest at the campsite would end soon and hoped Mr. Weasley and the others would round up every one of those evil wizards.
"Poor Mr. Roberts and his family," Hermione sighed, sitting beside Jerry, worry and unease flickering in her eyes. "What if the Ministry people can't get them down safely?"
"There's really no need to worry," Jerry said, gently shaking his head. "Even if Mr. Roberts and his family are injured, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries will treat them and make sure they recover."
"I just think everything tonight is completely unbelievable. How could something like this happen when almost every Ministry official is here?" Hermione sighed. "Did all the security staff drink too much? Or..."
Before Hermione could finish, Jerry suddenly frowned and stood up. He tightened his grip on his wand, his gaze turning wary and serious.
Hermione quickly turned her head, her sharp gaze darting into the depths of the trees. Clearly, she too had caught the faint sound of footsteps. Yet those footsteps abruptly ceased, ghostlike, and deathly silence settled over their surroundings again.
Harry and Ron sprang to their feet, their bodies tense as they looked warily back at the dark trees.
The night was ink-black, darkness swallowing everything within sight, but Harry could vaguely sense an unseen presence lurking at the edge of his vision, watching in