Chapter 5 - August-September 1994

Chapter 5

August 25-26, 1994

* * *

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 9

* * *

Charlie, Bill, and Percy jostled each other as they erupted out of the tent, wands drawn. A flood of people ran toward the wood behind the campground, the flow of World Cup attendees gushing around tents and campfires. The three brothers looked at each other for an instant, coming to an unspoken agreement just as quickly. We've got to do something.

"This way!" Bill yelled, barely audible above the din.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Charlie heard his father shout at the younger ones behind them as he and Percy ran after Bill. "You lot – get into the woods, and stick together...."¹

Chaos increased as the brothers struggled and shouldered their way through the screaming, panicked stampede trying to go the opposite direction. High above, the sickening sight of levitating bodies loomed ahead of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Percy get knocked to the ground. Shoving his way through the human torrent toward his fallen brother, he shouted, "Perce!"

Percy scrambled out from beneath the herd of feet, protected from being trampled in the lee of a tent.

"You all right?" Charlie bellowed when he reached him.

Percy merely nodded, clearly shaken.

"Come on!" Charlie urged him, helping him to his feet. Arms linked this time, Charlie's broad solidity protecting Percy's taller but slimmer stature, the two of them fought their way against the deluge of humanity.

When the tide of bodies trying to get away finally stemmed, Charlie was greeted to a blood-chilling sight: masks, hoods, and robes milled about beneath their suspended victims, accompanied by horrible chanting and cruel laughter. Flashes of red caromed through the clearing, followed by screams of pain and people dropping to the ground at random.

Death Eaters!? Charlie shuddered, recalling the hideous costumes from photographs in newspapers stolen from the dining table in his childhood. But the scene before him was supposed to be impossible. They'd all been defeated! Imprisoned or killed! Their leader vanquished! He tried to swallow his fear, but his mouth was dry. His courage faltering, Charlie took several steps backward. No! Not this. Anything but them.

A spell sliced through the night mere feet beside him, sharp and wicked. The clinical malevolence of it made the hair on his body stand on end. To his right, Bill clutched his arm and howled in pain, jolting Charlie out of his terrified reverie.

"Bill!" Percy bellowed, lunging toward him as Bill staggered backward from the force of the spell.

Charlie cast a Shield around his brothers just in time to deflect another flash of red. He felt Percy reinforce it with his own spell a moment later. Roaring in fury, Charlie shot a Stunner toward the cabal. One hooded minion crumpled, and Charlie's heart leaped with victory. Take that, you bastards!

But his retaliation drew more attention. A barrage of spells flashed, aimed directly at him now, and several whooshed by only inches away. He heard Percy shout another Shield spell, then felt its familiar, familial power envelope him. From within the protective field, he directed another Stunner toward the masked ones.

Aurors began appearing, Apparating behind the tents at the margins of the clearing, then running toward the melee as the three brothers fell into a rhythm of sorts, working together to incapacitate the attackers while shielding each other from offensive spells. Bill managed to get back on his feet and join the battle, but his aim was off, as he was holding his injured wand arm close to his body and trying to cast spells wrong-handed.

Charlie scanned the small clearing, searching for their father. "Where's Dad?" he hollered in the direction of his brothers, unable to find him.

"No idea!" Bill bellowed back before slinging another Shield, deflecting a garishly orange spell away from them.

"You kids get out of here!" a witch in a woolen dressing gown shouted. "Leave this to the professionals!"

"I'm with the Ministry!" Percy snapped indignantly as Bill sent a Hotfoot jinx into the riot.

Another attacker fell with a snarl, and one of the airborne Muggles – a child – lurched, plummeting several meters toward the ground, jerking to a halt just above everyone's heads. The Muggle woman shrieked, impotently reaching for her child as he tumbled earthward. The young boy screamed in terror.

"Defensive counterspells only!" a commanding voice bellowed as the team of Aurors took up their positions surrounding the rioters. "Secure the perimeter!" Then the man, thick-maned and bearded, began chanting an Anti-Disapparition Jinx.

The firefight intensified. Whether the rioters were emboldened by the lack of retaliation or made desperate by the sense of being surrounded and trapped, Unforgivables spewed forth with renewed vigor. Charlie, Bill, and Percy stood their ground, using Shields as best they could to deflect the damage away from the defenseless Muggles and each other. The air around him crackled with magic, and Charlie's skin prickled with it. One powerful blast hit his Shield head-on, the force of it filtering through with yet enough strength to shred his shirt.

Then an enormous scream, emanating from a thousand throats nearly in unison, welled up like a tidal wave behind them, beginning in the forest and moving across the field toward the fight. Green light began to overpower the orange glow of campfires and grey smoke of smoldering tents, bathing them from above. As the battlers became distracted, turning over their shoulders to look up into the sky, a jinx broke through the defense line, knocking the leonine man to the ground. A witch wearing an eye patch dashed to his side, Shielding him while checking his injury.

"The Mark!" a woman's voice screamed from within the masked circle.

Charlie looked up. A skull, ghastly and gruesome, leered down upon them from over the forest. A snake retched from the mouth, writhing and horrific as it hissed sparks. The hollow, black sockets, like singularities, seemed to suck every other photon of light into them, along with any sense of human happiness or hope. All his adrenaline-fueled fury was instantly replaced by a cold, gut-numbing dread.

All hell broke loose amongst the rioters as they abandoned any semblance of a united front. They bolted from the clearing, trampling each other in their haste and panic. The Muggles plunged to the ground, their screams of fear and pain unheard above the general melee.

"Halt!" Percy shouted at a hooded figure, burly and tall, barreling toward them. He stood with legs apart, his wand aimed at the man. But the oncomer tucked his head to his shoulder and rammed past Percy, knocking him to the ground once again.

"Stop them!" someone else shouted, but it was too late. Something must've happened to disable the Anti-Disapparition Jinx because the rioters began disappearing en masse with a chorus of loud pops.

"Let them go!" another Auror shouted – Charlie recognized the commanding voice from before. "Get a location and assemble in the wood. We want whoever conjured that thing!"

Every Auror who wasn't incapacitated disappeared in the next moment. Charlie, Bill, and Percy were left in the clearing with the Muggles, two injured Aurors, and the eye-patched witch who stayed behind to care for them.

"Perce!" Charlie ran to Percy, lying on the ground out cold, and met Bill at his side.

"Rennervate," Bill rasped, and Percy groaned as he came to. He rolled to his side, toward Charlie, who saw his younger brother's nose was bleeding and likely broken.

"Anything but your face hurt, Perce?" Charlie asked. When Percy carefully shook his head, the movement accompanied by another groan, he turned his attention toward Bill. "How bad's your arm?"

Bill had favored it throughout the fight, keeping it close to his body. "I'll survive," he replied, his voice hoarse from the pain. "What the hell is that thing?" he asked, nodding toward the sky.

Percy and Charlie both forced themselves to look at it. The sight inspired the most profound revulsion Charlie'd ever felt.

"Dunno," Charlie mumbled. But it's got You-Know-Who written all over it, don'it? None of them had to say what they were all thinking. Charlie glanced around. The Muggles weren't moving, and a cold fist clenched around his gut. Please let them be all right!

"Stay here," he ordered his injured brothers. "I'll go see what's next." Jogging over toward Ms. Eye-patch, he heard her ask, "You all right, Rufus?" as he approached, and the man on the ground began to ease himself up, nodding.

"Can we help – my brothers and I?" he offered. "I'm a dragon keeper, and I know a bit of first aid."

Ms. Eye-patch sized him up, then said, "Best leave it to the professionals, young man. Can you Apparate to St. Mungo's? Tell them we need a team of mediwizards. Be sure to mention Muggles are involved."

Charlie nodded, disappointed. He'd been to St. Mungo's plenty of times before, of course – there'd been a few Quidditch injuries his mum hadn't the confidence to patch up at home – but the last thing he wanted to do was attempt to Apparate somewhere when people were depending on him. But he gritted his teeth, told his brothers what he was about, then spun on the spot.

He breathed an enormous sigh of relief when he managed to arrive at the welcoming desk's foyer, only knocking into a decorative philodendron whose broad, benevolent fronds gently helped to right him. After the green-tinged darkness of the campground, he squinted in the bright, institutional light of the hospital.

"There's been an emergency at the World Cup," he announced, dashing toward the Welcome Witch.

~*~

September 1, 1994

* * *

But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 11

* * *

Bill and Charlie stood beside their mother on Platform 9¾, watching as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of sight. It had been somewhat entertaining to bedevil their younger siblings over the past week, coyly alluding to the big "secret" awaiting them at school: the newly resurrected Triwizard Tournament. Their mother had, for once, condoned the baiting – Charlie assumed she'd hoped it would keep the little ones' minds off of other, more disturbing subjects.

Charlie didn't think her tactic worked. Ron and his friends had spent plenty of time at the Burrow with their heads bent together, talking in hushed tones about scars hurting and a "serious" person. The twins had also spent a good deal of time whispering together, though Charlie strongly doubted their discussions centered around anything besides how much mayhem they'd be wreaking on the school this year.

But the time for teasing and childish games was over. Before the last coach had left the station, the three of them nodded to each other, then Disapparated as planned.

They reappeared on Hogsmeade's drizzly High Street a moment later. The weather barely registered for Charlie – he regularly endured far worse in Romania – and Bill merely lifted the collar of his leather jacket against it. But Molly made a point of digging her enchanted umbrella out of her bag and waving them over.

"Come get under the Bumbershoot, boys," she commanded as it shot open with a snap.

"It's not that bad, Mum," Bill grumbled.

"I'm fine, really," Charlie replied, determined to hold his ground as long as Bill did.

"You'll catch cold from all this damp!" Molly barked. She fixed them with a you'll-not-argue-if-you-know-what's-best look, and grudgingly, the boys obeyed. There really was no point in resisting when she got this way, Charlie knew.

"That's not how you catch a cold, Mum," Charlie thought he heard Bill mutter under his breath.

The Bumbershoot enlarged itself to its maximum proportions, levitating above them, and Molly wrapped her arms about her boys, gathering her chicks to her bosom, as always. It mattered not that these particular chicks physically dwarfed her or lived completely independent, adult lives without her supervision now. They were under her watchful care at the moment, and she'd be mothering the ruddy hell out of them whilst they were.

They were met at the school gate by Professor McGonagall, who, as usual, stood ramrod straight in her somber robes, a voluminous pointy hat upon her head.

"Minerva!" Molly sighed, sounding relieved to see her. "Is Arthur here yet?"

Professor McGonagall nodded as she opened the gate. "Dumbledore is quite keen to see you all, Molly," she greeted them in her familiar brogue. Then she gave Charlie and Bill another prim nod of acknowledgement. "Gentlemen."

Charlie was pleased to at last find a person in Britain willing to at least address him like the adult he felt he was. His mother had alternately scolded or coddled him, his father had smiled weakly and winked whenever Charlie had attempted to broach a serious subject, as if to say Let the grownups handle it, my boy, and his siblings had been interested in nothing but teasing banter or keeping their own secrets.

Molly cleared her throat and, her stout little legs working hard to keep up with McGonagall's pace, leaned close. "I'm afraid I must warn you – Fred and George have been hatching something all summer," she murmured.

McGonagall's expression altered only in that one eyebrow raised. Charlie nearly laughed out loud.

Molly gave her a pained look. "It's a... a commercial enterprise this time, I think."

"Indeed?" McGonagall replied. Charlie imagined she sounded a little impressed.

Molly nodded worriedly. "I tried to put the kibosh on it at home – Vanished everything I could find – but I'm afraid it's rather difficult stopping them when they've put their minds to something. They'll take some careful watching this term, Minerva."

"Those two always require careful watching, Molly," McGonagall replied, her stern tone and expression belied by the tiniest quirk of amusement near the corners of her mouth.

Molly's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yes, they do, don't they?" she sighed. Then she straightened up again. "Is Mad-Eye all right, then?"

McGonagall frowned worriedly. "We haven't heard from him yet today. Albus is expecting him at any moment, actually. We'll know more about what really happened once he gets here."

Charlie exchanged a knowing glance with Bill. They'd both read the article in that morning's Prophet, condescendingly implying that last night, one of Britain's greatest Aurors of all time imagined he was being attacked by dustbins. Granted, the old fellow might be paranoid, but who in their right mind wouldn't be, having lived through what he did during the war? Mad-Eye Moody had seen the worst You-Know-Who's supporters could throw at him and lived to tell the tale – the man deserved some respect, for Merlin's sake!

They made their way quickly up the lane and were bustled into the castle by McGonagall, who led them through the corridors and up the staircases with her patented no-nonsense efficiency. She commanded the gargoyle to open with, "Licorice allsorts," and the four of them rode the staircase into Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, my dear Weasleys!" Dumbledore cheered when they emerged into view. "I do hope you are well in spite of our soggy Highland weather." He gestured for them to take seats, and Charlie chose to share a small settee with his father, who'd greeted his family with his usual smile. His mother and Bill sat in two chairs closer to the warm hearth fire, a little behind him, and McGonagall stayed put near the stairs, as if standing guard.

"It was so good of you all to come upon such short notice. I fear my invitation may have sounded more like a summons," Dumbledore said as they settled themselves.

"Not at all, of course," Arthur replied on behalf of all of them.

"But I see we are one dear Weasley short?" Dumbledore noted quizzically.

"Erm, yes, well," Arthur mumbled a bit. "Percy is rather busy, you see, and didn't feel as though he could take time away from the office today."

Charlie thought his father sounded embarrassed by this fact. As if a summons from Dumbledore – and there was no mistaking the "invitation" as anything but – unquestionably outweighed anything else.

"I suppose it is reasonable to assume the Department of International Magical Cooperation is rather a busy place at the moment," Dumbledore replied. "I'm pleased to know my friend Barty finds our young Percy so indispensable."

Oh, yes, Weatherby is so bloody indispensible. Charlie wasn't entirely sure why Percy had begged off coming today – not so very long ago, he would've swelled with self-importance to be called into Dumbledore's office to give a report on the misbehavior of others. If nothing else, Percy excelled at obsequiousness before an authority figure. And, like the rest of them, Percy owed his Ministry position to Dumbledore's influence – though whether he truly acknowledged that debt was now in question. But surprisingly, he'd mumbled an excuse into his teacup that morning at breakfast and, pretentious briefcase in hand, Apparated off before anyone could argue.

"Things have been a bit hairy throughout the Ministry lately," Arthur reported. "And all the half-truths and utter rubbish being published in the Prophet isn't helping things. I'd certainly like to know where that Skeeter woman gets her information," he added with a grumble.

"Indeed. But at the moment, we have rather larger fish to fry than Ms. Skeeter, I think," Dumbledore said.

"Quite right," Arthur replied, a little chastened.

"Let us begin with your eyewitness accounts, then," Dumbledore proposed in a manner that, while his tone of voice was kindly, brooked no dissent. "Arthur, why don't you go first?"

"They were Death Eaters, all right," Arthur said, plunging in. "About nine or ten of them, I think."

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "More than I had expected, considering how many are currently residing in Azkaban."

"You think they're recruiting new members?" Arthur marveled, horrified.

"That would be a worrisome development," Dumbledore agreed calmly, his expression inscrutable.

Arthur swallowed nervously. "I suppose they just couldn't resist parading about before such a large, international audience. It started out as their usual sort of gathering: terrorizing innocent people, setting a few fires, flashing a few curses. They had those poor Muggles in their clutches, you know... Terrible, terrible," he lamented, shaking his head. "I sent Harry away from it – into the woods to hide with my younger ones."

Dumbledore nodded once. He turned his gaze toward Charlie, then Bill. "And that was when you bravely joined the fray?"

Molly gave a muffled whimper when Bill nodded. "Charlie and Perce and I ran toward the disturbance. We got there just before the Aurors did."

"I imagine that was quite a shocking sight for you and your brothers," Dumbledore said quietly, a soft look in his eyes. "You were very young the last time these ruffians raised their cowardly heads."

Charlie nodded when Dumbledore's gaze alit on him. "They were in full regalia: hoods and masks included. Right out in the open for anyone to see. And those were Unforgivables they were casting about without a care."

"The Death Eaters have a rather appalling disregard for the sanctity of human life, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Believe me, Charlie, when I say how very sorry I am you had to see such a scene. The last thing I ever wish is to put any of you in harm's way."

Charlie shrugged, unsure of what to say. The situation was hardly of Dumbledore's making, was it? Nor was there any way to battle evildoers without being in harm's way once in a while. It was a risk he was willing to take.

Dumbledore's gaze moved back to his brother. "And then what happened?"

"We fought them off for a bit," Bill explained. "Between us and the Aurors, we had them surrounded. Probably should've gone on the offensive then, but we were worried about the Muggles getting hurt."

"And you were quite right to do so," Dumbledore assured. "It is clear their safety mattered not a whit to their captors."

Bill nodded, accepting Dumbledore's acquittal.

"Then somebody conjured that awful thing in the sky, and all hell broke loose," Charlie volunteered the fact he found most puzzling. "The bloody bastards couldn't run away fast enough at that point. But if that was their special signal, why were they so afraid of it?"

"Language, Charlie!" Molly scolded.

"That is a curious turn of events," Dumbledore agreed. "Unless one takes into account that every former Death Eater now free to assemble are those who've lied to the Ministry about their innocence and turned traitor to Riddle and their former comrades in order to avoid imprisonment. Should their leader ever show his face again..." Dumbledore paused as everyone else in the room involuntarily shuddered at the thought of You-Know-Who returning from whatever Purgatory he was currently confined to. "You're certain no one in the Death Eater's circle conjured the Dark Mark?"

"Positive," Arthur answered. "It was in the sky over the woods, at least five hundred yards away from the riot."

"Very curious," Dumbledore murmured, drawing the syllables out, his hands clasped together and his forefingers steepled against his lips.

"Rufus caught a Crucio to the chest, and his Anti-Disapparition Jinx broke when he went down, allowing the rioters to escape. But he ordered us into the woods to find whoever conjured the Mark, rather than attempting to pursue the Death Eaters," Arthur continued.

"I see," Dumbledore said. It was unclear whether or not he agreed with Head Auror Scrimgeour's command.

"Those of us with the Ministry Apparated on his orders, and, wouldn't you know it, I found poor Harry standing there, surrounded by nearly twenty wizards with wands drawn." Molly gave another whimper, but Arthur pressed on. "It took Darla and me a moment to talk some sense into everyone. But I mean, really, how could anyone have thought for even a moment that Harry, of all people..."

"It has been my experience that panicked people are seldom thinking at their clearest," Dumbledore said.

Arthur nodded. "Hermione told us she'd heard someone nearby saying the incantation, and when Amos Diggory went to investigate, all he found was Barty Crouch's house-elf cowering in some bushes, holding Harry's wand."

"How could a house-elf conjure that thing?" demanded Bill.

"It couldn't," McGonagall insisted, joining the conversation for the first time. "Only fully vested Death Eaters know how to cast that spell."

"But Dad, you said Harry's wand had definitely conjured the Mark," Bill argued. "That it spat out a tiny version of it under Prior Incantato. And the elf was in possession of it, so..."

"I admit, the evidence does look damning," Arthur said. "But the kids swear the voice they heard chanting the incantation was a deep, human one – not an elf's at all."

"So Crouch's elf is innocent?" Charlie asked.

"Barty didn't seem to think so," Arthur sighed, his own confusion evidenced by a furrowed brow. "She swore she didn't do it. Then Crouch searched the area but couldn't find any corroborating evidence or further clues. The poor thing was beside herself the whole time, wringing her hands and rocking. She was obviously terrified, but he was furious with her, Crouch was. Dismissed her right on the spot."

Dumbledore gazed off into the distance as Arthur spoke.

"Seems like an overreaction to me," Molly suggested. "Why wouldn't Barty trust his own elf?"

"This isn't the first time Barty Crouch's reputation has been tainted by association with the Dark Arts, Albus," McGonagall murmured softly.

Charlie found the comment cryptic, but his parents apparently didn't. They gave each other a significant look.

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered after a long, unnerving silence. "It would seem as though we have a rogue Death Eater on our hands, among other problems. One that has a bone to pick with the others. Whether it is an old foe we've lost track of or a new initiate is the most pressing question, to my mind." He turned to McGonagall. "Whom haven't we accounted for, Minerva?"

McGonagall pursed her lips and shook her head, at a loss to answer.

After another, shorter silence, Arthur spoke. "If they're recruiting new members..." he said leadingly, his voice tinged with real worry.

"It's time we officially resurrected the Order," McGonagall finished his thought aloud, as if she'd been waiting the entire time to voice precisely this suggestion.²

"Perhaps you're right," Dumbledore replied, shifting in his seat and laying his gnarled, beringed hands on the desk. "It would not do to simply stick our heads in the proverbial sands of ignorance, pretending nothing is wrong."

McGonagall gave a sarcastic snort. Charlie thought he heard her mutter, "Idiot," and, "Fudge," along with a few other words under her breath.

"Quite right, Minerva," Dumbledore chuckled. "I shall make the necessary contacts with our prior allies, and–" then he leveled his pointed gaze first at Bill, then Charlie before continuing, "–perhaps we might do a little recruiting of our own. Any viable organization generally benefits by the influx of new blood."

Me!? Charlie squawked in his own head. In the Order of the Phoenix!? But before he'd even had the chance to splutter a protest or acceptance, his father pressed on.

"There's another thing I'm worried about, Albus," Arthur said. "This business about Bertha Jorkins' disappearance in Albania... I've got a bad feeling about it."

"Hmm. Yes," Dumbledore replied, frowning thoughtfully once more. "Dear Miss Jorkins is somewhat distractible, if memory serves," he murmured, pausing when McGonagall gave another snort. "How long has she been missing?"

"Nearly a month now – maybe more. Ludo sent her off to Albania on some job or other."

"There's a pair of bumblers," McGonagall muttered. "Barely a Sickle's worth of sense between the two of them."

Arthur smiled wanly. "I know Bertha's a bit scatterbrained, and Ludo doesn't exactly have a head for details, either, but..."

"The timing and location of her disappearance is rather alarming," Dumbledore agreed. Then he turned his keen gaze to Charlie once more. "How fortunate for us that one of our own is familiar with the area and will be returning there soon."

And just like that, without quite realizing it in the moment, Charlie had been set his first mission as a full-fledged member of the Order of the Phoenix.

1- Direct quote from "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" by JK Rowling.

2- The precise timing for this decision is unclear in canon. According to Harry Potter Wiki, the extant members of the first generation Order were contacted immediately after Harry's escape from the newly reconstituted Voldemort on June 24, 1995 and were organized into watching over Harry throughout the ensuing summer – therefore some attribute this date as the Order's re-formation. For the sake of my story, I respectfully disagree. Dumbledore's actual quote in Chapter 36 of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" – delivered to Sirius as Harry lay recuperating in Hogwarts' hospital wing – was: "You are to alert... the old crowd." In my opinion, this is vague enough to drive a tractor through. So I did.