Chapter 45: A Trap Sprung
The Dark Mark burned in the sky, a signal of terror from a time everyone wished forgotten. Its appearance meant only one thing in the minds of the witches and wizards below: murder.
The last time it had shone was at the Quidditch World Cup, a act of cruelty and showmanship. But here, over Hogsmeade? It was an invasion. The village erupted into panicked chaos. Families dragged children inside shops, bolting doors and windows, their faces white with fear. Why was it here? No one knew, but no one dared question its terrible meaning.
"Harry! HARRY!"
Hermione's shout was lost in the din. Before she or Ron could stop him, Harry had wrenched the door of the Hog's Head open and sprinted into the street, his eyes fixed on the glowing skull in the distance.
"He's going towards it!" Ron yelled, pulling out his wand. "Come on!"
He tore after Harry. He wouldn't let his best friend face it alone. Not again. Last time, he hadn't been there when Voldemort returned. He wouldn't fail this time.
Hermione followed, her worst fears crystallizing. She had been right. Something was happening. And it was worse than she'd imagined. The Dark Mark could only mean Death Eaters. And if Death Eaters were here… Elian was here too. This was the "service" he'd joked about. Her stomach twisted with dread.
As she burst onto the street, she saw Professor Flitwick, his voice magically magnified. "All students inside! Now! Do not leave the shops! Prefects, maintain order!"
"Miss Granger! Stop!" someone cried, but Hermione didn't look back. She ran, her breath coming in sharp gasps, toward the pulsing green light.
Not far from the hovering Mark, Lucius Malfoy stared up at it, a flicker of triumph cutting through his anxiety. "Now!" he barked. "The Child of the Prophecy has been found! Move!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He and the three Death Eaters beside him vanished into swirls of black smoke, reappearing instantly in the small forest clearing where the Mark had been cast.
Lucius's heart pounded with a giddy hope. It had been so smooth. The boy had wandered right out of the village, making himself a perfect target. Draco's information was flawless. This success would restore his standing. He would no longer be the one who had wavered. He would be the one who delivered the prize.
A fleeting thought of Draco gave him pause. This was the kind of功劳 that could elevate his son in the Dark Lord's eyes. But a cold, fatherly caution smothered the idea. Not yet. The war was not won. Dumbledore still stood. He would not pull Draco fully into the darkness until victory was certain. This risk was for him alone to bear.
His triumphant thoughts shattered as they landed.
The clearing was wrong.
Beneath the shimmering skull stood a teenage boy, looking utterly calm. Beside him, a vibrant red cloak hovered in mid-air, its edges folded as if it had arms crossed over its chest. It seemed… alert.
On the ground lay two of their comrades, still in their black robes, unmoving. Their wands lay snapped beside them.
The boy—Elian Throne—gave a sigh that sounded almost embarrassed. "Alright, alright," he said to the cloak. "You're the best. I'm rubbish."
The cloak gave a cheerful little flutter.
(End of Chapter)
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