A Brief Farewell

The scene that followed descended into chaos for a while.

Who had cast that spell?

Clara's wand was examined, and she was quickly cleared of suspicion.

But that green light had come out of Harry's wand.

So was it the House-elf? Or Harry?

Neither seemed possible. Clara began to think about the second sound she had heard.

"Mr Collins, was there really no one else around?" Clara edged cautiously over to Mr Collins and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.

"Amos and Crouch both checked. There was no one." Mr Collins seemed to have noticed her confusion. "Did you notice something else, Lyla?"

"When I cast my spell, I heard two sounds. The sound of two 'people' falling to the ground."

Mr Collins's eyes widened sharply for an instant.

"Clara." Mr Collins crouched down and put his large hands on her shoulders, his expression turning grave and serious. "Are you sure you heard it?"

"I'm sure."

Mr Collins looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded. He straightened and looked past her at Mr. Crouch, who was still questioning the House-elf and Mr. Diggory. Clara followed his gaze-Mr. Crouch's hand was trembling. Was it from anger, or something else?

What was he afraid of? Was it just because this was his House-elf? Or had he found something in the bushes?

"Don't tell anyone about this yet." Mr Collins patted Clara's shoulder, his voice firm. "I'll handle it."

Clara nodded.

She understood why Mr Collins had told her not to speak up. It might not be a good thing for a fifteen-year-old to point out something the Ministry officials had failed to notice.

She had nearly been taken to the Ministry of Magic over a spell she couldn't even explain herself. If she let those people know she had heard a second sound, things would probably go even worse for her.

Harry's wand was also returned to him, and Mr. Crouch took the House-elf, Winky, away. Evidently, they had decided to let the matter rest for the night.

But the witch named Fawcett still came over and took Clara's wand.

"Miss Albert, we need to keep your wand for the time being. We've confirmed that you were involved with tonight's Dark Mark, but as for that spell-Sectumsempra-we must make sure you didn't learn Dark Magic with malicious intent, especially since you're still an underage witch."

Clara silently handed over her wand. The moment it left her fingertips, she felt a faint current of warmth flow from the handle across her palm, then fade away.

Holly, Unicorn Hair core, eleven inches.

Professor McGonagall had taken her to buy it at Ollivanders in Diagon Alley four years ago.

"Until you find a reasonable explanation," Fawcett said in a businesslike tone as she sealed the evidence bag, "or until your professor submits a request, we'll keep it for the time being."

Was that a hint that she could go to a professor?

Oh, Merlin, but who could she possibly go to? Who would be willing to write that statement for her?

Still, at least she herself hadn't been taken away. They had left her some dignity, at any rate.

She didn't even dare imagine what her classmates would say after school started if she had made a trip to the Ministry of Magic.

The Ministry people left in twos and threes, and Mr. Diggory sent the three of them back to the campsite.

The Quidditch World Cup had ended far too badly—that was Clara's last thought before she drifted off to sleep in the tent.

She had thought she would be unable to sleep. After all, that night she had been through the Dark Mark, a headache, Dark Magic, and the confiscation of her wand. But her body was evidently more honest than her brain: the moment her head hit the pillow, her consciousness sank as though she had been hit with Stupefy.

Rowle shook her awake the next morning. Clara opened her eyes to see the canvas roof of the tent glowing pale gold in the morning light, while the aroma of the black tea Mr Collins was brewing in the kitchen drifted through the air.

For a moment, she thought everything that had happened yesterday had been a dream—the Dark Mark, the terrible headache, the chase through the woods, that silvery-white spell—but when she reached for the bedside table, all she found was the basic model of Omnioculars.

Her wand wasn't there.

The return trip by Portkey went without a hitch, probably because the adults were in no mood for pranks anymore. They were probably thinking of packing the children off home as quickly as possible, then returning to work overtime at the Ministry of Magic and the Witch Weekly editorial offices.

Mr Collins and Mr. Diggory stood on either side, enclosing the three children between them, and the whole journey was as smooth as riding a Muggle lift. Clara didn't even fall over-for a moment, she was still unused to it when she landed steadily on the road in front of The Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley was already waiting there. She had probably heard about last night from Mr. Weasley, because as soon as she saw Clara, she pulled her into an embrace, then pressed a large, freshly baked Pumpkin Pasty into her hand.

"Poor child," she said, patting Clara's cheek with her plump hand. "Nothing like that would ever happen at Hogwarts. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it."

There was a certainty in her voice that made it impossible to argue. Clara bit into the Pumpkin Pasty and suddenly felt a sting in her nose.

Mr Collins had already submitted an application for a Floo Powder route to the Albert home. Since it was a Muggle household, the paperwork was complicated, and it would probably take a while longer to connect.

Rowle was going with him to central London first. Mrs Collins had some business in the city, and they were going to meet up with her.

Before leaving, Rowle hugged Clara for a long time, pulled her "Krum is the best" woolly hat over Clara's head, and said, "It's yours, Lyla. Keep it safe for me until school starts. Don't be sad, Professor Dumbledore will definitely find a way! See you at school!"

She stood in front of the fireplace and watched the green flames swallow Rowle and Mr Collins.

She stood in the crooked yard of The Burrow. The morning light had completely dispersed the mist, the Weasley family's chickens strutted around the yard, and the rags on the clothesline were wringing themselves dry.

Everything was so normal, so peaceful. It was like a completely different world from the marsh last night, with green light shooting into the sky and screams ringing out everywhere.

"Clara."

She turned around. Cedric was coming out of The Burrow's side door. The Diggory family's luggage was already packed, and they were probably waiting for their turn to travel by Floo Powder too.

He stopped beside her, about an arm's length away. The morning light fell behind him, making his white shirt almost glow and making him look like a pine tree bathed in sunlight.

He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and he stood straight without looking stiff, probably because he had played Quidditch on a broom since he was little.

She often watched him train from a distance in the Quidditch stands. The angle at which he leaned into turns while weaving around the posts was so fluid she couldn't look away.

Back then, she would sit in the top row with her face hidden in her scarf, pretending to watch the match when her eyes were really following only one person. Rowle needed Omnioculars to watch Krum, but she didn't need them to watch Cedric.

"Don't worry. I'll write to the professor. You'll have your wand back soon."

He spoke and turned to look at her, his black hair shining in the sunlight. Although she didn't know where he got that confidence, Clara chose to trust him unconditionally.

"Does your head... still hurt?" The boy's worried voice sounded beside her ear, and Clara froze for a moment.

In fact, if he hadn't mentioned it, she would have almost forgotten about that.

One thing after another had happened last night, and she hadn't even had time to think about why her head had hurt.

"Much better. It's probably nothing serious." Clara shrugged. "Maybe seeing the Dark Mark scared me? Perhaps I ran into it thirteen years ago and developed some kind of terrifying muscle memory."

All right, she had made that last part up. She wasn't the Chosen One; that person certainly had nothing to do with her thirteen years ago.

But she really couldn't offer a reasonable explanation either.

Cedric looked at her, curiosity and confusion in his grey-blue eyes.

It was too complicated. She couldn't explain it clearly.

But Clara always had the feeling that when he looked at her, it was as though he wasn't looking only at her.

After a long while, he sighed.

"Do you really not remember why you used that spell?"

Clara shook her head. She didn't know why he was asking her that again; he didn't seem like someone who liked to pry.

"I don't remember," she explained seriously all the same. "It just came out of my mouth on its own, like... like how you can ride a broom. You don't need to give it any extra thought."

"Muscle memory," Cedric said by way of explanation.

Clara nodded, more or less accepting the explanation. "Muscle memory, but I don't even know where I got that memory. Do I look like someone who knows Dark Magic?"

She spread her hands in bewilderment as she stood before Cedric. The morning breeze lifted the stray hairs at her forehead that she hadn't yet combed, and the unruly curve at the ends of her hair swayed with them.

Cedric stared for a second at the sight of her standing there with her hands spread, then laughed. He braced a hand on the fence, a stray lock falling over half his eyebrow, and his laughter was soft, like the morning breeze brushing against a wind chime.

He wanted very much to tell her that not only had she mastered that Dark Magic, she had also taken on the Dark Lord head-on.

When Clara heard him laugh, her fingertips tingled faintly, as though something had raced from them all the way to her heart. She hurriedly shoved her outstretched hands back into her pockets and looked down at her toes, but the tips of her ears were already turning red at a visible rate.

"Ced! We're leaving!" Mr. Diggory's voice came from inside the house.

Cedric took his hand off the fence and straightened up. He turned to Clara, his grey-blue eyes looking especially gentle against the light.

"Don't worry about your wand. It'll be sorted out soon. Rowle was right—you should trust Dumbledore, shouldn't you?"

Clara nodded and swallowed the words, "But I don't know Dumbledore at all." She followed him into the house, walking half a step behind him so that she landed right on his shadow.

It was only a few steps from the yard to the kitchen, but walking beside Cedric, those few steps seemed to stretch out.

Mr. Diggory already had his luggage on his back and was saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Cedric quickly shouldered his own travel bag, then slipped a small note into Clara's hand before stepping into the fireplace.

"When did you write this?" Clara was a little bewildered.

"At breakfast." He winked, and Clara understood that he meant for her to make sure she read it. "I had nothing else to do anyway. See you at school! I'll write to you." He paused, seemingly unwilling to make his words sound so abrupt. "To ask how things are progressing with your wand."

Before Clara could answer, he had already grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace. As the green flames rose, she saw him wave to her again.

The note in her hand felt faintly warm.

Clara stood where she was, looking down at the note in her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly. She was about to open it when she suddenly felt a weight settle on both shoulders at once.

"Oh~ what's this~"

A voice came from the left, and Clara rolled her eyes.

"A love letter~"

Another voice came from the right.

Fred and George Weasley popped up behind her, one on each side, identical mischievous grins on their identical faces.

Evidently, the two of them had been hiding behind the kitchen door the whole time, watching Cedric slip her the note and drawing a great deal of entertainment from it.

"Mr. Weasleys, I don't mind giving each of you a Densaugeo!" Clara slapped both of them away.

"Oh~ she's furious~" Fred clutched his chest and put on a deeply wounded expression.

"We're only concerned-"

Clara had already walked out of the kitchen and into the yard. Merlin knew she had almost wanted to dig a hole and hide in it just now.

She opened the note. Cedric's handwriting was as pleasing to look at as he was.

Clara:

I already told Professor Sprout about your wand last night. She's our head of house and the person who knows the Hufflepuff students best. She wrote back to me this morning and said she would tell Professor Dumbledore immediately. I think it will be sorted out soon, so don't worry.

Also, if you think of anything during the rest of the summer holidays, you can write and tell me. Of course, you're welcome to come to my home too. The address is:

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England

Yours, Cedric