215: Chapter 215 Midnight Firelight

"Wake up! Malfoy, put on your robes, move now!"

Draco bolted up from the bed, his face still bearing the daze of being rudely yanked out of a dream.

The next second, screams echoed from outside the tent, a red light grazing past the top of the tent, burning a row of black holes into the fabric with cursed fire, and a rush of hot wind swept in, flipping over the silver cup by the bedside.

"What's happening outside?" Draco grabbed his boots, frantically slipping them onto his feet, "Where is my mother? Where is my father?"

Allen stood at the tent entrance, a knut in his sleeve having just cracked open, "Narcissa is in the north tent. Lucius is not in the tent area."

Draco froze mid-action, "How do you know?"

"He left at one-forty-seven."

Draco's hand trembled, his bootlace tying itself into a knot. Allen bent down, snapped the buckle, and threw the robe directly onto him, "Move. If you want to ask your father, survive until dawn first."

Outside the tent, chaos had already erupted.

Several tents were set ablaze, Wizards in their pajamas running across the grass, children dragged along by adults, trunks, pots, and brooms scattered everywhere.

The Ministry of Magic's red warning spheres spun erratically in mid-air, with no one listening to commands.

Narcissa rushed over from the north side, followed by a House-elf.

Seeing Draco, her first reaction was to grab his shoulders, and her second reaction was to look at Allen.

"Draco, come with me."

"Mother, Father, he—"

"Don't look for him," Narcissa interrupted, pressing her fingers against the back of Draco's neck, "Right now, we just leave."

Draco gritted his teeth and nodded. A round of drunken laughter drifted from afar, making his expression look even uglier.

In the southern Muggle section, a group of masked Wizards hoisted a Muggle caretaker's family high into the air.

The man, woman, and children hung upside down, forced to bob up and down with the curse light.

The masked figures formed a loose, long file, the tips of their wands catching fire as they walked and laughed, while several young pure-blood Wizards nearby egged them on, though they didn't dare get too close.

"That's the Roberts family," Zabini crawled out from behind the hayrick, his robes stained with mud, still holding a teacup in his hand, "The camp Muggle caretaker. The Ministry of Magic fears nothing more than being seen by Muggles, and now the Muggles themselves are hanging in the sky."

Nott followed behind him, an old notebook tucked into his lapel, "The northern path is passable. Exit Seven is packed with people, but there's a gap behind the hayrick. The Ministry of Magic's first team went in the wrong direction."

Draco looked toward the masked figures, his throat tightening, "Why are they doing something like this?"

No one answered. The answer was too old, and too filthy.

Peter clung to the cage inside the Portable Space, trembling, muttering old names in his mouth—Avery, Rosier, Mulciber, Travers—halfway through before being pressed back down by the tip of the void's tail.

Allen raised his hand, a Spatial Thin Layer pushing the group toward the hayrick.

A drunkard's flame curse swept past the spot where they had originally stood, smashing into the silver flagpole beside Malfoy's tent.

The flagpole shattered, the fragments deflected into the grass by Spatial Displacement.

Zabini looked at the smoking silver piece in the grass, "You saved a cup of tea for me."

"File the cup."

"What about the person?"

"Along the way."

Draco grew angry, "Can you two not joke around in the middle of a fire?"

Narcissa pulled him back, "Shut up, move."

They retreated along the path behind the hayrick.

Ordinary Wizards ran north, but the people in the pure-blood area split into two groups—one actually fleeing, and the other stopping at their tent entrances to peer out, as if trying to recognize the faces behind the masks.

Allen saw several upper-year Slytherin students mixed in at the edge of the crowd, excitement on their faces, yet their feet did not dare step into the firelight.

Flint was there too. Seeing Draco, he opened his mouth and shouted, "Malfoy! Are your father's people over there?"

Draco's face paled by half a shade.

Allen flicked a knut over, striking the ground near Flint's feet, a Spatial Thin Layer splashing muddy water onto his robes.

Flint retreated with curses, and the two students beside him were startled away.

"Don't answer," Allen said.

Draco gritted his teeth, "I wasn't planning to."

"You were about to turn your head just now."

Draco clenched his fists into his sleeves, forcibly pulling his pace back beside Narcissa.

Narcissa glanced at Allen, saying nothing, only moving Draco along even faster.

The fire spread toward the Muggle section.

Ministry of Magic personnel finally formed a team, but the command was in total disarray.

Some shouted to protect Muggles, some shouted to catch the masked men, and some shouted to put out the fire first; the three orders collided, and the Wizards in the front row blocked each other's spell lines.

Nott recorded as he ran, "The masked main team consists of nine people. Three control Muggles, four set fires, and two maintain the barrier. Six on the outer perimeter drive the crowd, and at least two in the rear cut off communications."

Zabini added, "The drunkards are just a shell. The real messengers are in the southern woods."

Draco snapped his head around, "How are you still counting?"

"Counting clearly is how we live long," Nott tucked his notebook back into his lapel, "Running around blindly will get you hit by a spell line."

Allen stopped behind the shadow of the hayrick.

Spatial Perception spread into the southern woods, layering the firelight, the crowd, and the spell lines.

Every time the masked figures advanced, they drove the crowd toward the open space, avoiding the Ministry of Magic's front-line team.

Whenever red light approached the left flank, the right flank dispersed ahead of time, as if someone in the distance were pulling strings.

"The riot has formation," Allen said.

Peter screamed in the cage, "Someone is directing them! I said so! Even if the old Death Eaters were dead drunk, they wouldn't be this organized. If Barty were here, he'd look at the Master's mark first, then make everyone think it's just old-timers reminiscing."

The void flicked the cage, and Peter almost bit his tongue.

In the distance, Mr. Weasley led several adults charging toward the fire, Percy guarded Ginny, and the twins pushed Ron and Harry toward the woods.

Hermione grabbed Harry's sleeve, but Harry turned back to look at the Roberts family suspended in mid-air, slowing his pace by a beat.

"Is Potter charging back?" Draco panicked, "Was his brain smashed by a Snitch?"

"He'll be dragged away by Hermione," Allen watched over there, "Ron will scold him too."

Sure enough, Hermione yanked hard on Harry, Ron was so anxious he even threw his flag away, and the three of them were pushed by the flow of people toward the woods.

Allen noted Harry's position. The next second, the magic aura of the wand in Harry's right robe pocket was dispersed by the crowd, briefly vanishing into the chaos.

Allen's gaze darkened, "Harry's wand is lost."

Nott's pen tip paused, "When?"

"Just now."

Zabini tucked his teacup into his sleeve, "The Dark Mark requires a wand. If someone uses Potter's wand to cast the mark, the Ministry of Magic will lose its mind."

Draco cursed under his breath, "They'll say Potter's gone mad."

"Fudge will panic first," Allen looked toward the woods, "Crouch will start arresting people first."

Narcissa immediately asked, "Are you going to look for the wand?"

"First, I'll escort you out of the line of fire."

"Draco, come with me," Narcissa grabbed her son, "Mr. Potter, don't drag him into the woods."

Draco struggled slightly, "Mother, I—"

"Shut up," Narcissa's voice dropped very low, "Your father isn't here, and I only care about you."

Draco froze. The firelight reflected on his face. He looked toward the masked figures, then at Allen, and finally tore the knut off his cuff and shoved it into Nott's hand, "If my father is in there, write it down."

Narcissa's hand tightened, but she didn't stop him.

Nott took the knut, nodding solemnly, "I will record it."

Allen pushed the three toward the northern open path, "Zabini, take Narcissa and Draco to the second exit behind the hayrick. Nott, come with me to the edge of the woods, we're not going in. We'll only watch the wand aura."

Zabini immediately frowned, "How many times have you said lines like 'we're not going in'?"

"Tonight counts."

If the door knocker were here, it would probably have started cursing already. But the door knocker was sealing the old manor, and the family crest couldn't hear either.

Only the void pressed against the inner wall of the Portable Space, its silver pupils locked onto the ebony box, preventing the cracked pocket watch from being awakened by the time noise of the fire.

A new commotion came from the southern woods. A House-elf's cries were drowned out by the crowd, and the residual magic of the Crouch family flickered at the edge of the woods and instantly cut off.

Harry's wand aura rose from the same direction, a strange spell-casting intent entwined around it.

Allen stopped walking.

Nott also stopped, his notebook half open, "What is it?"

Allen looked deep into the woods. The curse lights of the fire fluttered wildly behind him, and the laughter of the masked figures still rolled across the camp. But the truly dangerous magic had already left the firelight and walked toward the shadows of the trees.

"Don't chase the fire," Allen pressed down on the wand within his sleeve, "The fire is meant for people to look at."

Nott's pen tip hovered over the paper, "Then what are we looking at?"

"Watching who is borrowing Harry's wand to light a lamp for Lord Voldemort."