After only two or three hours of sleep, Mr. Weasley quietly woke everyone.
Jerry rubbed his bleary eyes and flexed the arm Hermione had used as a pillow until it went slightly numb. She was already up, busy packing for their departure.
Everyone rushed to pack their belongings, with no time even to wash. Mr. Weasley used magic to fold the tent neatly into a bag, and they hurried out of the campsite.
On the way, they passed Mr. Roberts standing outside the little stone cottage, his face pale. He looked dazed and mumbled "Merry Christmas" as he waved goodbye.
"Don't worry, that's a normal reaction," Mr. Weasley explained as they strode toward the marshes. "When someone's memories are altered, they often need a little time to adjust, especially when those memories were deeply ingrained. Without magic to change what he remembers of last night, it might have haunted Mr. Roberts for the rest of his life!"
As they neared the Portkey collection point, a wave of noise washed over them. Closer up, they saw a crowd of witches and wizards surrounding Basil, the Portkey attendant. Anxious and disgruntled, they were all demanding to leave at once.
After a brief, efficient exchange between Mr. Weasley and Basil, everyone quickly lined up. Before dawn broke, they received a Portkey shaped like an old tire that would take them back to Stoatshead Hill.
In the first faint light of dawn, they carried their luggage through Ottery St Catchpole, then hurried along a damp, winding path toward the Weasley family's home, The Burrow. Exhaustion kept nearly everyone silent. Only the fierce hope of breakfast drove them on.
Before long, The Burrow came into view.
Almost at once, a cry of joy and relief rang down the path. "Oh, thank goodness! Thank goodness!" Mrs.