◇◇
The stadium was still vibrating.
Ireland had won — easily — and Krum had caught the Snitch anyway, because of course he did. The man flew like he was fueled by caffeine, grudges, and a pathological need to prove a point even when the point didn't matter anymore.
Emerald fireworks cracked open the sky, raining shamrock sparks that drifted like glowing leaves. Drums rolled across the hillside camps, the echoes bouncing off enchanted tents like a heartbeat. Leprechauns spiraled overhead, leaving trails of gold dust that shimmered long after they vanished.
The walk back from the stadium felt unreal — like drifting through a carnival dream someone put under a Magnifying Charm.
Kids waved glowing flags twice their size.
Parents carried snoring toddlers slumped over their shoulders.
Vendors shouted last-minute deals for overpriced shamrock hats that would break in a week.
Couples swayed. Friends danced. Strangers hugged each other like long-lost cousins.
Joy was everywhere.
Arthur felt every laugh, every spark of magic, every thrum of excitement brushing over his nerves. It sat on him like heat he wasn't used to holding — warm, loud, honest.
By the time he reached the Potter tent, the world had settled into a soft, pleasant buzz. Lanterns bobbed in the night breeze, casting gold ripples across the grass. The faint hum of distant music wove between tents. Someone was roasting something that smelled like cinnamon and burnt sugar.
Arthur stayed outside, sitting on the small wooden step just beyond the tent flap.
Elira perched on the tent pole above him — silent, elegant, watchful — her feathers glowing faintly like starlight gathered into a bird. She blinked down at him as if sensing his heartbeat.
The night was full. Warm. Human.
For once, the warmth didn't scorch him or press down on his chest. It didn't ask him to be more than he knew how to be.
It just… existed.
And for once, he let it.
He watched people pass. Families wrapped in scarves, sharing leftover snacks. Groups of teens still buzzing about the match. An elderly couple holding hands like they were sixty years younger.
Arthur felt his jaw unclench.
"Maybe," he murmured into the night, "Just maybe"
Auren hummed warmly, voice like sunlight grinning through fog.
"Honestly? Slay. Love that for us. It wouldn't harm you to enjoy the world you keep nearly dying in."
Arthur snorted. "Thanks. I think."
Footsteps approached behind him — steady, familiar.
Arthur didn't need to look.
He knew the scent: cinnamon soap, warm magic, something gentle and grounding.
Lily Potter eased herself down beside him, tucking her shawl around her shoulders. Lanternlight brushed her features, softening them into something almost ethereal.
"There you are," she said quietly. "I didn't see you during the match. Everything alright?"
Arthur lifted one shoulder. "Too many people. Too much noise. I needed distance."
Lily nodded in that way only she could — instantly understanding without needing to pry.
"You don't have to force yourself to be in the middle of everything," she murmured. "It's enough just to be here."
Arthur swallowed, unsure how to thank her in a way that didn't sound like he was cracking down the middle. So he simply nodded.
Lily watched the passing families for a moment, serenity settling around her like another shawl.
"You handled today well," she said softly. "Really well."
Arthur blinked. His brows dipped.
"I… did nothing."
"You stayed," she replied. "Sometimes that's everything."
Arthur stared at her, a breath catching in his chest — surprised by how deeply those words sank.
But before he could respond—
A sound cut through the air.
Sharp. Violent.
A scream.
Not a squeal of excitement.
A real one — jagged with terror, the kind that rips out of someone who's just seen something they wish they hadn't.
Arthur went still. So did Lily.
Another scream followed — deeper, rawer — then the rising pulse of panic: running footsteps, shouts, something crashing violently in the distance.
The music died instantly, like someone had severed an enchantment.
The night shifted.
Curled into something cold and wrong.
"Arthur…" Lily whispered.
But he was already on his feet.
Elira exploded into the sky in a streak of white fire.
Then, far across the camp, the first explosion tore open the night, flames blooming against the darkness like a second sun.
◇◇◇
They came out of the dark like a nightmare bleeding into reality.
Tall. Hooded. Cloaked in swirling shadows.
Bone-white masks gleaming under the firelight — blank skull visors that reflected nothing human.
Their wands weren't even raised in urgency.
They pointed upward almost lazily.
Like violence was a language they'd spoken since childhood.
Like this — terror, domination, cruelty — was muscle memory.
And above them floated—
Muggles.
Yanked into the air by invisible ropes.
Dangling upside-down like gruesome ornaments strung along a spine of darkness.
Their screams tore through the campsite.
Limbs flailed helplessly, hair hanging like ropes, clothes slipping toward their faces as they spun slowly in circles — a grotesque carousel with no music.
For one impossible second, the world went still.
Then, the crowd broke like a dam bursting. People shoved and tripped over each other. Parents grabbed their children and bolted in blind panic.
Lantern stands toppled, crashing into tents and igniting canvas.
Someone shrieked as fire burst across the ground.
Strollers overturned. Footlockers cracked open. A cauldron rolled by like it was trying to escape too.
Spells exploded in every direction — some defensive, some panicked, all uncoordinated.
Sparks and curses flashed wildly through the smoke-thick air.
James Potter burst out of the tent like a blast of wind and fury.
No jokes. No smirks. Just the Auror — sharp, commanding, dangerous.
"Everyone STAY TOGETHER!" he barked, wand raised, scanning threats with lethal precision.
Lily grabbed Harry, the twins and Lyra, moving them close to James. Her eyes locked briefly with Arthur.
She didn't say run. She knew better. She didn't say be careful. She knew it wouldn't land.
Instead...
"Be safe," she whispered — the kind of soft command that wrapped around Arthur's ribs like a promise he wasn't allowed to break.
Then she was gone, pulling her family toward safety.
Arthur studied them as they left. 1, 2... 5, 6. 6? Hang on. Where's—?
And then he heard it. A scream he recognized.
"ELENA!"
Harry's younger sister stood frozen several meters away, caught in the shockwave of panic — not running, not fighting, just staring as a tidal wave of screaming witches and wizards crashed toward her.
Arthur swore under his breath.
A groan — half frustration, half fear for her — tore out of him before he sprinted forward.
He slammed through the crowd, dodging flailing elbows and flying luggage until he reached her.
Arthur grabbed Elena's arm and yanked her back just as the stampede hit them.
"Stay close!" he barked.
"I AM TRYING!" she yelled back, gripping his sleeve like it was the last stable thing in the world.
A man twice their size rammed into them.
They staggered. Elena stumbled.
Arthur caught her wrist before she could fall.
A wave of people crashed past, screaming, shoving, trampling anything on the ground.
"Dad! Mum!" Elena cried out, her voice cracking.
"They'll be fine," Arthur snapped, pulling her toward the treeline. "It's you I need to worry about."
Ardyn's voice slid across his mind, cold and razor-sharp. "Protect the girl. Move."
"Oh shut up, old man," Arthur muttered as he dragged Elena behind him.
That was when the hooded figure lunged, breaking through the smoke — mask cracked, wand already slicing the air.
Arthur didn't think. He moved.
The curse blasted past his cheek — hot enough to burn.
Arthur ducked under it, pivoted, and drove his elbow up with brutal precision.
The blow connected with the attacker's throat so hard the skull mask split down the middle.
Magic sparked and fizzled across the Death Eater's wand — but he never got the spell off.
Arthur punched him again. And again.
The man dropped like a sack of cursed potatoes.
Elena stared at Arthur, horrified and impressed all at once.
"Arthur — you — you can't cast — you're underage!"
"I didn't cast anything," Arthur snapped, shaking blood off his knuckles. "I hit him."
"YOU BROKE HIS MASK WITH YOUR HAND!"
"My hands are very talented! Happy?"
She stared at him like he'd just said his favorite dessert was gravel.
But there was no time to argue.
Another masked witch appeared behind them — wand raised, curse already forming.
Arthur reacted before Elena even screamed.
He shoved her out of the line of fire and threw himself sideways as the curse blasted past.
He barreled into the woman, slamming his shoulder into her ribs.
They crashed into a pile of crates, splintering wood and sending potions rolling across the ground.
"Thank you, gender equality," Arthur muttered as he pinned her arm.
"You're INSANE!" Elena shouted from behind a toppled lantern stand.
"Later!" Arthur yelled back, already scrambling to his feet. "MOVE!"
◇◇◇◇
They bolted into the trees, weaving between panicked campers and half-collapsed tents that crumpled like dying beasts. Smoke curled through the branches. Shouts echoed from every direction.
Arthur kept Elena in front of him, one hand on her arm, steering her through broken lanterns and torn canvas.
Then, she stumbled hard.
"My wand—Arthur, I dropped my wand!"
Arthur stopped so fast she nearly slammed into him.
Of course she did.
Of course the universe said, "Time for a side quest."
"We have to go back," she said, voice shaking. "I—I need it, I can't— I can't defend myself—"
Arthur spun, grabbed her shoulders.
"Hey. Hey. Look at me. Breathe."
Her eyes were too wide, shimmering in the firelight. She looked like she was trying very hard not to break down.
Auren murmured gently. "She appears to be scared."
Ardyn's voice followed, cold and precise. "You cannot let her fall apart. Choose your next words carefully."
Arthur muttered under his breath,
"You sons of— fine."
He took a slow breath.
"We'll find it," he said. Calm. Firm. "Probably."
Her lip trembled.
"…Promise?"
He nodded. "Again — probably."
She exhaled shakily. They moved.
Slowly retracing their steps, scanning the ground. Elena kept glancing at him — that half-terrified, half-trusting stare.
Arthur only realized halfway through that he was still holding her hand.
He didn't let go. Good.
She wouldn't get lost easily.
They pushed back toward the clearing—
And then—
A light flashed across the sky.
Not gold, not blue, not fireworks.
Green.
Sickly. Heavy. Ancient.
A massive skull formed above the treetops — crackling with emerald fire, its hollow eyes glowing through the smoke. A serpent slid from its jaw, curling through the clouds like something alive and hungry.
Elena inhaled sharply.
"W-what is that?"
Arthur stared upward. He knew this symbol.
He'd read about it before Hogwarts, in a dusty book back at his godfather's. Back when "Voldemort" was just a name that sounded like it was made up by a 2 year old.
He remembered the chapter title. The Mark of Devotion.
A sign raised by Dark wizards ( Death Eaters, they were called) in service to The Dark Lord. It sounded like a fantasy novel.
They called it—
The Dark Mark.
Now, four years later, he knew exactly what it meant.
Who it belonged to. Who it called.
A slow, cold smile tugged at Arthur's lips.
Tom's coming back.
He'd kept their two-year agreement. Right on schedule.
Beside him, Elena froze completely, shaking.
Then Arthur's forehead exploded with pain. Not just a sting — a blade. Sharp. Precise.
He hissed, clutching his head.
"Yep," he muttered through gritted teeth, "it's Tom alright."
Ardyn's voice lowered, grave and ominous:
"…This is not coincidence."
Arthur groaned. " Yeah, no kidding, Merlin. Voldemort likes drama. This? This is not his aesthetic."
He lifted his head, eyes narrowing.
"This was rogue. All of it was."
As if the universe agreed, every hooded figure across the clearing froze at once.
They stared up at the Mark —
—then apparated away in a frenzy of cracking air.
Pure fear. Pure panic.
How convenient.
"Perfect," Arthur muttered. "Cowards."
He turned to Elena. "Stay here."
She grabbed his sleeve. "Arthur—!"
"Stay. Put."
His tone brooked no argument.
The kind of voice that sounded too much like James when he was serious.
Elena nodded, trembling.
Arthur tore away from her and sprinted toward the glow of the Mark.
The grass pressed flat under the force of the magic above. Smoke whirled in green currents. Shadows bent strangely at the edges of the light.
He scanned the trampled ground — boots, broken crates, scorch marks—
Then something glinted near a smashed signpost.
Elena's wand.
Arthur stooped and picked it up, turning it over.
"So this," he muttered, "is the weapon of chaos today."
His eyes lifted to the sky again, to the serpent curling out of the skull, to the promise of a returning dark lord.
A strange thrill ran through him.
"It gets even better."
◇◇◇◇◇
Then, shouting.
Arthur spun instantly and sprinted back toward Elena, branches slapping against his arms as he cut through the undergrowth.
Boots thundered toward them from every direction.
Spells whistled through the trees — fast, bright, lethal.
Red. Blue. Gold. And green?
All aimed straight toward him.
Ardyn's voice hardened:
"Oh no you don't."
Arthur felt his chest seize— then expand.
A pulse rippled outward from his body, exploding through the clearing like a clap of thunder.
A shockwave.
Invisible but heavy — a blast that hit the incoming spells mid-air and snuffed them out like dying candles.
Light fizzled. Magic cracked.
Everything went silent for half a breath.
Then—
Aurors burst into the clearing.
Dozens of them. Wands lit. Eyes wild.
Robes snapping like angry shadows behind them.
"WHO CAST THAT?!" one bellowed, spinning.
"WHO'S HERE?! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Arthur yanked Elena behind him, shielding her with his body.
Lanternlight flickered across the chaos — smoke, broken branches, the heavy green glow of the fading Mark.
Then a figure stepped into the light.
A man.
Face white as parchment. Eyes wide and jittery. Magic buzzing around him like static caught in a storm. And a moustache so aggressively stiff it looked like it held his entire personality together.
He jabbed a finger at Arthur.
"You there! Boy! Step forward!"
Arthur blinked.
"Um… and you are?"
Gasps rippled among the Aurors.
The man puffed up like a furious pigeon.
"Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement— now COME FORWARD!"
Elena grabbed Arthur's sleeve, voice cracking.
"Wait—he didn't—Arthur didn't do anything—!"
But an Auror pointed at the wand in Arthur's hand. Elena's wand.
Crouch's face twisted into righteous fury.
"You used this wand to conjure the Mark!"
Elena's gasp caught. Arthur felt her clutch his arm in panic.
And something inside Arthur… shifted.
A quiet click. A warmth.
A door sliding open inside his mind.
Auren whispered nervously, "Arthur, maybe don't—"
Ardyn encouraged him instead, "Oh yes. Do."
Arthur stepped forward.
Slow. Controlled.
Every inch of him radiating the kind of danger that wasn't loud — but cold and precise.
Crouch opened his mouth.
Arthur cut him off.
"Oh, absolutely," Arthur said, voice calm, deadly calm. "I definitely had time to throw Muggles in the sky, fight off two Death Eaters, save your citizen—" he gestured to Elena— "dodge twenty stray Killing Curses, and then conjure a The Dark Mark with a wand I don't even own."
Several Aurors shifted. One choked back a laugh.
Arthur stepped closer, eyes locked on Crouch.
"But you know, Barty… may I call you Barty? No? Great. Barty it is."
Crouch sputtered. Arthur continued.
"You storm into a clearing you didn't secure. You shoot curses at literally anything that moves. You accuse a kid holding a girl's wand of being Voldemort's suppporter—"
Some Aurors winced at the name.
"—and you think I'm the threat here?"
Arthur leaned in slightly.
"If Voldemort ever does come back? He won't need to defeat the Ministry."
He tilted his head.
"You'll destroy yourselves with your own incompetence."
Crouch's moustache drooped. Actually drooped.
His face purpled with fury.He looked moments from combusting.
Before he could explode, another Auror leaned toward him, whispering urgently:
"Sir… maybe we should… leave this one alone."
Crouch's nostrils flared so hard his moustache twitched.
Then, with the emotional maturity of a disgruntled teapot, he put his wand in his cloak
"Fine."
He threw Arthur a poisonous glare.
"This isn't over, boy."
Arthur smiled. Not kind. Not safe.
"Good," he said softly. "I like finishing things."
Crouch stiffened like someone poured cement down his spine, then spun on his heel and stormed off with the Aurors trailing behind him.
The moment he disappeared into the trees—
"ELENA! ARTHUR!"
James came crashing through the bushes, wand raised, eyes blazing.
Lily right behind him carry Lyra, Harry and the twins stumbling through smoke and broken branches.
Elena broke first. She ran straight into Lily's arms.
Lily hugged her so tight it looked like she was trying to fuse their bones together.
James placed himself between Arthur and the retreating Aurors with the protective energy of a mother hippogriff.
"What," James demanded, "is going on here?"
Before anyone could throw another accusation, the remaining Auror mumbled to James:
"The kid saved her. You… might want to take him home. Or confinement."
James blinked. Lily exhaled shakily. Elena wiped her eyes.
Harry stared at Arthur like he was trying to decide if this made Arthur his new hero or his biggest fear.
Arthur walked to Elena, gently placing her wand back in her palm.
"Just another normal night," he said.
But his gaze drifted upward.
The Dark Mark was fading, unraveling into smoke and starlight.