Chapter 282. The Burning Cabin
The match was over.
Everyone drifted back to the campsite with the crowd.
Night had fallen, and Harry was still caught up in the match.
"Did you see that final dive from the Bulgarian Seeker?" He gestured, excited. "That was a high-difficulty move—maybe I could try it too."
"That's Krum—he's a professional," Ron said, the flush of excitement still on his face. "Worlds apart from us skill-wise. You don't need to compare yourself to him—don't push it."
"Wood's joined a professional side," Harry said, a little put out. "He got into Puddlemere."
"As reserve," Ron replied, then abruptly changed tack. "You're not thinking of going pro at Quidditch, are you?"
Professional Quidditch…
Harry thought silently. That might not be a bad choice.
He thought of Krum again. According to Ron, he was, like Harry, still a student.
He tried to put himself in Krum's place… No—there was no way he could have laid a finger on the Golden Snitch in a match that fierce.
He was a long way off yet.
In the small hours, they reached the Weasleys' tent—though it looked ordinary from the outside, even a bit shabby, the interior space had been expanded with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
Inside, the furnishings were warm and familiar, just like the Burrow. Mr Weasley seemed to have borrowed it from a colleague.
Naturally, the conversation kept circling back to the match.
From time to time they heard great commotion outside—the Irish wizards had formed a revelry procession to celebrate their victory.
A leprechaun even blundered in, seemingly drunk, and crashed headlong into their tent; Mrs Weasley had to use the magic she used on goblins to toss the leprechaun far away.
Ron said it was a pity; he'd have preferred the Bulgarian team's mascots to come crashing in.
While everyone was immersed in the merriment, Adrian Wesson stayed alert, stepping out now and then to check the surroundings.
If things followed the original plot, the Death Eaters would trigger a great disturbance in the small hours tonight.
But the plot had already been altered in part—the most obvious being that Peter Pettigrew was still in Azkaban; according to Dumbledore, the Dementors had already sucked out his soul. He was now a walking corpse.
Wesson had thought the Death Eater procession from the original would not happen.
But during the match he had noticed Lucius Malfoy acting oddly.
It was hard to say anything for certain.
When Wesson came back into the tent again, Hermione, ever observant, noticed something was off.
"Professor Wesson," she sidled up and asked in a low voice, "you seem worried about something?"
"Just a hunch," Wesson explained. "There may be some disturbance later—dangerous elements have slipped in. We'd best be ready."
Wesson hadn't lowered his voice; everyone present heard him, and all eyes turned to him.
"Disturbance?" Mr Weasley said, unconcerned. "What makes you think that, Wesson? No villains could get in here. The Ministry security's very good, I'm sure no one will—"
"Boom!"
A tremendous explosion erupted, cutting Mr Weasley off.
Everyone started violently from chairs or sofa.
"What happened?" Mrs Weasley's face had gone chalk-white.
The blast sounded as if it had come from right beside them—very close.
"Let's have a look!" A bad guess had already formed in Wesson's mind as he headed for the tent flap.
Outside.
Taking in the sight before him, Wesson couldn't help a sigh. "So it is…"
The others filed out of the tent and stopped, stunned.
Not far away, Wesson's little wooden cabin was roaring with flames. The fire leapt and raged, dyeing the surrounding tents a blood-red glow.
"Merlin's beard!" Mr Weasley cried, whipping out his wand. "Aguamenti!"
A thick jet of water burst from his wand tip and surged at the burning cabin.
The others also raised their wands to help douse the flames, but it was no use; the fire did not diminish in the slightest.
"This is Dark magic," Charlie said grimly. "Not as bad as Fiendfyre, but troublesome enough. Ordinary Aguamenti won't touch it!"
Wesson, however, was very calm. He quietly drew his Flamewood wand.
As he lifted it, the wand tip suddenly flared with dazzling red light. The rampaging flames seemed caught by some mysterious force, twisting into serpents of fire that darted and converged upon the wand tip, finally vanishing into the wand.
Soon, the last tongue of flame was drawn in.
Too late, though. The cabin was already a charred ruin, the air thick with a pungent, scorched stink.
"Who did this?!" Mr Weasley roared, furious.
Plainly, no one was going to answer him.
Wesson walked forward evenly. Truth be told, he had been mentally prepared, but this still made him angry.
From the strength of the flames, whoever had set his house ablaze had aimed to take his life.
If an ordinary wizard had been inside, they'd have been reduced to cinders by now.
Just then—
"They're not dead yet!"
A hoarse voice sounded from the shadows to one side.
Everyone looked that way and saw two hooded, black-robed figures standing not far off, wands in hand.
"You're—" Mr Weasley began to demand.
"Careful!"
Wesson shouted.
But it was already a little late.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light blasted from the wands of the two dark wizards—one streaking straight for Wesson, the other arrowing at Harry.
Wesson's reaction was astonishingly quick. He swerved sharply; the green light skimmed his robes and blasted a charred crater in the ground behind him.
At the same time, he flicked his right hand. "Protego!"
An invisible barrier sprang up before Harry, but the curse was too strong; the shield shattered at once.
In that split second, Harry pitched forward into a roll and dodged the killing green light. The Killing Curse grazed his shoulder and smashed into a great tree behind.
"Harry!" Ron shouted in terror.
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Two incantations rang out together—one from Wesson, the other from Harry, who'd already drawn his wand from his waist in the midst of his roll.
Two jets of light blazed in the night sky and slammed into the two dark wizards.
Both black-robed attackers were taken aback.
Wesson was one thing—an adult wizard—but Harry Potter's immediate counterattack was entirely beyond their expectations.
This was not the combat reflexes of an ordinary student.
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