Chaos at the Campsite

"Victor, I love you!"

"Victor, I do!"

"When we're apart, my heart beats only for you!"

"Shut up you lot!" roared Ron, throwing his blanket on the floor. Fred and George, however, did not listen, continuing their chant as they danced across the tent.

It had been hours since the Quidditch World Cup had ended; Ireland had triumphed over Bulgaria, even though the latter's seeker had been the one to catch the snitch. Fred and George had been very pleased at the results, having made a bet with Bagman on that exact outcome.

The Irish were pleased as well, having spent many hours dancing outside in the fields. They were still at it, somehow managing to get even louder.

"Reckon the Irish brought their pubs with them?" asked Fred, having just finished the final verse of his song.

"Reckon they did, dear brother of mine." responded George.

"Maybe they're going after those Veela." guessed Harry.

"Yeah, I reckon they are. I know I would, if I knew dad wouldn't tell mum." said Fred, staring blankly ahead.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. She slammed her book shut, before turning to Harry, Ron, and the Weasley twins.

"Did you not see the way they got covered in feathers? Besides, you've never even been within a hundred metres of one! What if they're horrible?"

"Doesn't matter though, does it? I mean, if you look like that, you're free to be as horrible as you want." said Ron dreamily.

Just before Hermione could respond, the group all heard a shriek coming from outside. Mr. Weasley's eyes narrowed slightly, before walking outside of the tent to check. A moment later he rushed back into the tent, his eyes now suddenly wide.

"Get up, get up! We need to leave now!" he shouted urgently, quickly grabbing his jacket and pulling out his wand. Bill, who had just looked out of the tent, immediately ran back and began to toss robes at everyone, yelling, "A fight must've broken out and gone overboard!"

The effect was immediate. The remaining Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry all scrambled to put their robes on, before following Arthur out the tent. They were instantly surrounded by the panicking crowd, all rushing to get away from a scene that appeared to come out of a nightmare.

A group of wizards wearing pure black robes marched through the field, setting fire to everything in their path. A few were chasing after the men and woman attempting to flee, though mostly the latter. Harry, who knew enough to figure out what they might be trying to do, began to shake in anger, as did the Weasleys and Hermione.

A very weak storm formed overhead, a light rain starting to pour. It wasn't at all large in size, or even slightly harmful, but the crowds of witches and wizards became even more panicked. The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione themselves began to panic as they were slowly separated by the crowds. Harry most of all, he could tell that he was somehow causing the miniature storm, but couldn't control it in the slightest. It had to be him, he could feel his magic pounding angrily through his veins.

"Get to the woods!" yelled Mr. Weasley at Harry, Ron, and the youngest four Weasleys, "Get to the woods and hide, we'll find you when this is all over, we need to help the Ministry!" He then ran after Bill, Charlie, and Percy, all of whom had already run over to help the ministry members attempting to end the commotion.

"Come on, let's go!" yelled Hermione, her voice hoarse. She grabbed ahold of Ron and Harry's hands, attempting to drag them out of the crowd. The screaming witches and wizards, however, seemed to have a different plan, as they continued to panic and run as far away from the source of danger as they possibly could. Harry was pushed away from his friends, suddenly alone in a crowd of foreign magicals.

I could potentially die, and I'm worried about whether or not they're foreign.

Harry laughed quietly to himself, before remembering the seriousness of the situation and began attempting to separate himself from the crowd. A few long and painful minutes later, he had succeeded. No longer slowed down by the struggles of others, Harry bolted towards the forest, and began his search for Ron and Hermione. He was losing sight due to the dark, and therefore shoved his hand into his pocket in search of his wand.

It isn't there.

Harry cursed under his breath. He was now completely alone and without his wand in the woods, while a potential massacre occurred just a few hundred metres away. He had heard of powerful witches and wizards being capable of doing magic without their wands. He wasn't entirely sure he met the description, but he had performed some incredibly impressive magic in the past. The Patronus he had cast by the lakeside had to be an example of it.

Wait a moment. I literally spent the entirety of the last few weeks trying to work on wandless magic.

Harry stuck out his hand, trying hard not to curse at his forgetfulness, and muttered, "Lumos."

Nothing happened.

He tried again, and again, and again. He was met with the same results. He was getting tremendously annoyed now. His friends might be lost, or hurt, or maybe even worse. Those thoughts did not help much to calm him down. He focussed his mind on creating a means of sight, any possible way for him to see where he was going. At the same time, Harry was so completely drunk on his anger that he couldn't help but imagine a giant bolt of electricity, smiting everything in his path.

Opening his mouth, he yelled, "LUM - "

He instantly quieted down, staring at his hands in shock. A few miniature bolts of electricity were sparking across both hands, jumping from one finger to another. When he lowered his hands to the side of his body, a few of the sparks jumped towards the ground, creating singe marks on the forest floor. He raised his hands once more, suddenly noticing something.

.....

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