Upon hearing the screams from the camp, Harry Potter quickly dressed and rushed out with his good friend Ron.
He saw Ginny, in a white dressing gown, run out of the next tent in a panic, shouting, "Hermione is not in bed, and her wand is not here either... wherever has she gone?"
"You lot, get into the woods quickly, stay together, do not scatter! We are here to help the department keep order, and we shall keep an eye out for her!" Mr Weasley's voice cut through the noise as he shouted, hastily rolling up his sleeves.
Harry saw Bill, Charlie, and Percy following behind Mr Weasley, all properly dressed, sleeves rolled up, wands in hand, ready to help their father keep order.
There was no time to lose.
Fred seized Ginny's hand and dragged her, still looking round for Hermione, into the woods. Harry and Ron followed close behind, hurrying along the path.
The woods were already packed with wizards. Some were in dressing gowns, yawning wearily, quite unsure what was happening; others were decked out in Irish colours, hung about with all manner of trinkets, looking utterly terrified.
At this moment, though, it hardly mattered what anyone was wearing, or which team they supported. People mingled together like some spilt palette of colours, craning their necks towards the campfires, muttering and complaining, buzzing and huddling together like a swarm of bees driven from their hive.
Amid the chaos and noise, Harry and Ron soon found themselves separated from Fred and the others, after only a few turns. To make matters worse, Harry's wand had vanished without a trace.
"Lumos." Ron raised his wand, letting its narrow beam of light play over the ground, trying to help Harry find the wretched wand as quickly as he could. But however hard Harry searched, he found nothing.
"Did it fall out while you were running?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Very likely," Harry said, annoyed.
A wave of weakness and helplessness washed over him. Only now did he realise how unbearable it was, being without his wand. Draco's nagging, telling him again and again to keep hold of it properly, had turned out to be entirely justified after all.
But it was too late for that now. Reality pressed in on them, leaving no room for further delay. A deafening blast echoed from the edge of the woods, rolling across the night sky.
"Harry, shall we go on ahead?" Ron asked nervously, after listening for a moment.
Harry felt the same. Ron's judgement was sound; this was no safe place to linger.
Reluctant as he was, he had to set aside the matter of "finding the wand," and give priority instead to "getting somewhere safe."
The two boys, rather downcast, pressed on deeper into the dark woods, hoping to run into George, Fred, and Ginny, and even holding out some faint hope of finding Hermione, who had so mysteriously vanished.
They passed a knot of chattering goblins, who seemed entirely unbothered, showing not the least sign of fear; then several beautiful Veela, around whom a group of young wizards had gathered noisily, each unsurprisingly boasting some wildly exaggerated feat or other.
"Come on, Ron, stop staring." Harry pulled his friend firmly away, not daring to linger. They pressed on, further and further into the woods, until they reached its very heart.
Everything here fell silent; the sound of explosions seemed to have faded into the distance.
In the quiet, the low voices of a young boy and girl talking carried with unusual clarity, from somewhere behind a thick clump of bushes.
"Ow... gently, please..." the girl breathed softly.
"All right..." The boy's breathing sounded heavy, his voice rather anxious.
"No, that hurts too much..." The girl gasped, a note of hidden pain in her voice. Harry recognised it at once as Hermione's.
"Just bear with it... it will be over soon..." The boy's voice sounded like Draco's?
Harry was not entirely sure, for he had never heard Draco speak quite so gently before; his voice was usually much cooler, even a little cold.
But who else could Hermione possibly be so close to, besides that Slytherin boy?
"What are they doing?" Ron, too, had vaguely worked out who they were. He widened his eyes and asked Harry in an undertone.
"I have no idea either," Harry mouthed, almost silently. He swallowed hard, exchanged a glance with Ron, and their eyes shone with exactly the same curiosity, and the same eagerness for gossip.
They crept forward, peering out from behind the bushes towards the source of the voices...
It was indeed Hermione. She sat upon a large rock, wearing someone's once immaculately tailored black suit jacket, now rather crumpled.
Just now, she showed nothing of her usual commanding, assertive manner, and looked, if anything, rather fragile.
Draco wore a black shirt, its sleeves carelessly rolled up. He knelt before her, one hand cradling her bare ankle, the other holding the arch of her foot, moving it gently, slowly, back and forth.
The girl looked almost ready to cry at the movement. Draco glanced up at her tearful face, then quickly looked down again, murmuring, "There, there... it will be over soon..."
Harry and Ron stared at one another, wide-eyed, as though they had seen a ghost.
Hermione, who this very morning had been every bit as fearsome as Mrs Weasley, hammering on their tent to wake them, who threatened to confiscate their broomsticks over unfinished holiday homework, had somehow transformed, tonight, into precisely the soft, obedient "good girl" Draco described.
Draco really was remarkably brave, this was Harry's first thought.
Only a few months ago, she had punched Draco squarely, hard enough to make Harry and Ron wince just watching.
Had Draco no lingering fear of her at all? How did he dare to take such liberties?
Surprisingly, this proud young lady, who so hated being condescended to, seemed to have no objection whatsoever.
She even let out a rather pitiful "mm" for the platinum blonde boy before her, her voice trembling with tears.
Harry and Ron exchanged a silent look, conveying their mutual disapproval and astonishment, when suddenly, from the darkness, came a soft click... the sound of bone slipping back into place.
"There. That should not be dislocated any longer." Draco gently rested her foot on his knee, smiled at her, and his voice grew softer still. "Try moving it about a little. Can you flex your ankle?"
Hermione tried wiggling her ankle, and found, to her surprise, that it moved freely once more.
"You really are rather good at this, Draco!" she sniffed, unable to help praising him.
"It is best you do not move about too much for the next day or two. You still need to rest it." Draco, relieved, helped her back into her sock and shoe, his movements still very gentle.
Hermione sat quite still, letting him work, watching him.
Once he had finished with her shoe, he looked up at her, a note of concern in his voice.
"What is wrong? Why do you look so dazed? Are you still feeling unwell?"
"No," she stammered. In the moonlight, Harry saw a blush creeping over Hermione's face.
"We thought the two of you were up to something..."
Ron emerged from behind the bushes, wand in hand, a distinct note of disappointment in his voice. Harry followed him out, empty-handed.
"Harry, Ron, thank goodness! You are both all right!" Hermione exclaimed, delighted. Then, she eyed them suspiciously. "What did you think we were doing?"
"It is... well, that sort of thing..." Ron looked rather embarrassed by her question, and his answer trailed off into vagueness.
A flush of colour rose to Draco's pale, thin face. He was a boy himself, after all, and had a fair idea of the sort of nonsense boys his age liked to imagine.
"What are you two doing out here? Harry, where is your wand?"
After a brief flicker of embarrassment, he recovered his composure, glancing sharply at Harry's empty hands, his question pointed.
"Lost it," Harry said, his mood visibly darkening.
"Have you been taking lessons from that Longbottom?" Draco asked sternly.
Longbottom had, after all, lost rather a lot of wands last term.
"No," Harry said, somewhat offended.
"You really must break that habit of yours, keeping your wand in your back trouser pocket," Draco said seriously. "It is practically an invitation to any thief passing by."
Harry had already been regretting it for some while.
He said quietly, "I shall take your advice... if I ever find it again."
Hermione, standing to one side, had largely stopped blushing by now. Suddenly recalling something, she cut in, "Where is Ginny? Is she all right?"
"Oh, she is fine. George and Fred are with her..." Ron said casually.
Suddenly, they heard uneven, stumbling footsteps coming from behind a dark clump of bushes, as though someone were making their way towards them unsteadily.
Harry was about to call out a greeting when he saw Draco press a finger to his lips, signalling for silence.
On a night as dangerous as this, it would not do to act rashly before knowing whether friend or foe approached.
Draco judged it wiser to wait, and stay still.
Without warning, a man's voice suddenly broke the silence... casting a spell... "Morsmordre!"
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