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“So,” said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.
“I is not doing it!” she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. “I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn’t using wands, I isn’t knowing how!”
“You’ve been caught red handed, elf!” Mr. Diggory roared. “Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!”
“Amos,” said Mr. Weasley loudly, “think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell… Where would she have learned it?”
“Perhaps Amos is suggesting,” said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, “that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?”
There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. “Mr. Crouch… not… not at all.”
“You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!” barked Mr. Crouch. “Harry Potter—and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy’s story, Amos?”
“Of course—everyone knows—” muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.
“And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?” Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.
“Mr. Crouch, I—I never suggested you had anything to do with it!” Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.
“If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” shouted Mr. Crouch. “Where else would she have learned to conjure it?”
“She—she might’ve picked it up anywhere—”
“Precisely, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley. “She might have picked it up anywhere… Winky?” he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. “Where exactly did you find Harry’s wand?”
Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.
“I—I is finding it… finding it there, sir…” she whispered, “there… in the trees, sir.”
“You see, Amos?” said Mr. Weasley. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they’d done it, leaving Harry’s wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.”
“But then, she’d have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!” said Mr. Diggory impatiently. “Elf? Did you see anyone?”
Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, “I is seeing no one, sir… no one…”
“Amos,” said Mr. Crouch curtly, “I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.”
Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn’t think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.
“You may rest assured that she will be punished,” Mr. Crouch added coldly.
“M-m-master…” Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. “M-m-master, p-p-please…”
Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.
“Winky has behaved tonight in a ma
“No!” shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch’s feet. “No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!”
Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch’s feet.
“But she was frightened!” Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. “Your elf’s scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can’t blame her for wanting to get out of their way!”
Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over shined shoes.
“I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,” he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. “I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master’s reputation.”
Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, “Well, I think I’ll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody’s got any objections. Amos, that wand’s told us all it can—if Harry could have it back, please—”
Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.
“Come on, you three,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn’t seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. “Hermione!” Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees.
“What’s going to happen to Winky?” said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Weasley.
“The way they were treating her!” said Hermione furiously. “Mr. Diggory, calling her ‘elf’ all the time… and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn’t do it and he’s still going to sack her! He didn’t care how frightened she’d been, or how upset she was—it was like she wasn’t even human!”
“Well, she’s not,” said Ron.
Hermione rounded on him.
“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t got feelings, Ron. It’s disgusting the way—”
“Hermione, I agree with you,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, “but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?”
“We lost them in the dark,” said Ron. “Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?”
“I’ll explain everything back at the tent,” said Mr. Weasley tensely.
But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.
“What’s going on in there?”
“Who conjured it?”
“Arthur—it’s not—Him?”
“Of course it’s not Him,” said Mr. Weasley impatiently. “We don’t know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.”
He led Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.
Charlie’s head was poking out of the boys’ tent.
“Dad, what’s going on?” he called through the dark. “Fred, George, and Gi
“I’ve got them here,” said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered after him.
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Gi
“Did you get them, Dad?” said Bill sharply. “The person who conjured the Mark?”
“No,” said Mr. Weasley. “We found Barty Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand, but we’re none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark.”
“What?” said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together.
“Harry’s wand?” said Fred.
“Mr. Crouch’s elf?” said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.
With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly.