Even though the Ministry officials came up with a fairly reasonable explanation, an angry Mr Crouch still had no patience left to hear of Winky's innocence.
Hermione felt rather disillusioned. How could Mr Crouch cast Winky aside so callously?
Throughout the whole day of singing and celebration, she had met all manner of Ministry officials under Mr Weasley's guidance.
They had been, on the whole, easy-going or good-humoured, and even those with sterner faces had maintained some basic sense of fairness and responsibility.
Mr Crouch, of all people, the very man Percy so admired, was supposed to be a highly respected official, and yet he proved far more extreme than she had ever imagined.
He was too consumed with fury over Winky's "disobedience towards her master's orders, leaving the tent without permission," to spare a single thought for the fact that tonight's terrifying scene would have frightened any house-elf afraid of heights half to death.
He cruelly resolved to give Winky the "harshest possible punishment"... her clothes. The poor house-elf burst into tears, quite unable to accept the terrible fate suddenly thrust upon her. Mr Crouch, meanwhile, stepped back in disgust, as though avoiding something unclean, shaking off the elf's grasping hands.
"How could this happen?" she said indignantly to Draco, in a low voice.
"How could he treat Winky so heartlessly? Should we not do something?"
He shook his head and said quietly to her, "Hermione, there is nothing we can do here. We cannot change the mind of a man already decided. After all, this is a private matter within the Crouch household... even Ministry officials cannot interfere in that."
Hermione looked round, and realised he was right.
No official stepped forward to intervene.
They were all too occupied taking charge of the scene, sealing it off, checking for any overlooked clue that might help them find whoever had conjured the Dark Mark.
"To my mind, these children are of no further use here."
At this point, Mr Diggory said kindly, "Arthur, do take them back."
Arthur Weasley was greatly relieved to hear it. He, too, had been meaning to get the children out of these woods as swiftly as possible. This was no laughing matter; it was hardly a situation children their age ought to be facing at all.
Just then, Arthur glanced over at the Malfoy boy standing nearby, an odd unease creeping over him. The boy had stood quietly to one side the whole while, his manner every bit as haughty as his detestable father's.
Arthur noticed he seemed entirely unmoved by the chaos around him, never once bothering to answer anyone, whether met with malice or genuine concern... he seemed thoroughly out of place amid all this trampled grass and scrub.
The only real difference between him and his father, perhaps, was that Lucius Malfoy, that arrogant champion of pure blood, would never have allowed himself to be so meekly protected by a Muggle-born girl, the two of them standing so close together, hand in hand.
Even now, this boy with his air of nobility was tilting his head, leaning quite naturally close to the girl to pick a few blades of grass from her hair; the girl looked up at him, murmuring something, entirely unbothered by this small intimacy, as though thoroughly used to such closeness with him.
To be perfectly honest, this was a sight Arthur had never once heard of, nor witnessed, before.
He would never have imagined any Muggle-born girl being taken seriously by a Malfoy, of any generation, until this very day.
If Lucius, that pure-blood-obsessed madman, could see this scene, would he still manage to save face? A curious thought struck Arthur, quite unbidden.
He even found himself entertaining a stranger notion still: that this boy might turn out rather different from his father.
However, mindful of that long-standing truth that "a Malfoy has never once been friendly towards a Weasley," Arthur still looked somewhat hesitant as he approached Draco. "You... will you come along with us, out of here?"
"Yes. Thank you." Draco said calmly, casually plucking the last blade of grass from Hermione's hair, and giving Mr Weasley a slight nod.
He remembered, too, that when Barty Crouch had questioned him, Mr Weasley had spoken up in his defence.
Arthur Weasley, whatever the strained history between their fathers, was plainly a decent man.
And so, as the dew grew heavier, they left behind the fading shrieks and pleading cries, and hurried out of the clearing, making their way back through the woods.
Mr Weasley led the way, asking Ron and Harry in detail what had just happened; Draco followed quietly behind them, keeping a little distance.
He carried on carrying Hermione. Though she protested twice, her face flushed, he insisted, "Your ankle needs rest. Or would you rather someone else carried you instead?"
"No, it is not that," she muttered, glancing at him furtively.
She had had quite enough of him tonight, so much so that she had grown almost accustomed to it.
Was this a good thing, or a bad thing? He wanted to play the doting older brother again, was that why he was being so attentive?
While she rather enjoyed his particular care, a small ache of bitterness settled in her heart all the same.
"Think of it as my thanks, for you standing up so bravely on my behalf," he said lightly, smiling at her.
This was not the first time Hermione had spoken up for him. He remembered, back in second year, how she had argued with some Hufflepuffs in the library, simply because they said he was "unworthy" of the title of Seeker.
From that moment on, she had come to mean something entirely different to him. She was no longer merely the girl from his past life's memories, but had taken on some new significance of her own.
She was protecting him! Protecting him so fiercely, so selflessly. He thought to himself, walking steadily forward, refusing to lag behind the others simply for carrying another person.
The feeling of being protected by her was a joy he had never once known in his previous life.
Back then, only his mother and father had ever protected him, bound as they were by blood; now, with Hermione Granger added to that small number, the feeling felt wonderfully new, warming him through.
His brave girl.
Draco could hardly imagine how such tremendous energy could burst from so slight a frame.
She had dared stand up to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement himself, her own presence in no way diminished beside his.
She really is a remarkable girl.
He even felt a surge of pride at the thought.
She had spoken up for him so thoroughly... at the very moment he had been utterly dispirited, maliciously misjudged, wronged and left quite speechless.
He had been entirely powerless to defend himself, just then.
Both the accusations from without, and the turmoil raging within, had very nearly overwhelmed him. He had been afraid... afraid of a fate that could never be set right, afraid of repeating old mistakes, afraid of being doomed all over again.
Being born was original sin enough, an unalterable fact. He was the son of a former Death Eater, and might well become one himself in future... how obvious a conclusion that must seem, to anyone looking on.
But she had never believed in that sort of superstition, nor judged him by his birth. She had been willing to stand up for those the world looked down upon... to stand up for him.
She carried a certain idealism about her that often struck him deeply, and drew him to her all the more.
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