The sky had been glowing with magic.

You stood beside Harry, both of you craning your necks toward the pitch, hearts pounding from the energy in the air. Viktor Krum had just caught the Snitch. The crowd exploded in cheers, and fireworks lit the sky with glittering gold and green.

“Merlin, that was insane,” you laughed breathlessly, grinning at Harry as people around you jumped and shouted.

He nodded, eyes alive with excitement. “Krum’s incredible.”

You sat close at the edge of the hill, legs tangled in the grass, drinking in the energy, the feeling of being young and safe.

But then—just like that—the night shifted.

Screams.

Not cheers. Screams.

At first, you thought it was part of the celebration—someone being dramatic, drunk fans maybe—but the sound grew sharp. Real. Panicked.

“Harry?” you said quietly, standing.

And then the smoke came.

A thick column rising in the distance. Sparks. Green light.

The Dark Mark.

“Move!” someone yelled, shoving past. Tents were ablaze. Shadows ran wild between them—Death Eaters. Laughing. Cursing. Burning.

“Run!” Arthur Weasley called out, grabbing Ginny’s arm, yelling for everyone to regroup.

You and Harry darted between collapsing tents, smoke burning your lungs. You heard a child screaming. A man begging. Somewhere, a woman sobbed in the dark.

You almost tripped—but Harry grabbed your hand, pulling you up. “Stay with me!”

A jet of red light flashed across your vision—missing you by inches.

Someone was dueling behind the tents.

You didn’t know where to look, or where safety was. Your hand tightened around Harry’s. You couldn’t breathe through the panic, the smoke, the tears stinging your eyes.

“Harry—” you gasped. “What if we don’t—”

“We will,” he said firmly, his voice low, protective, terrified—but sure. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He squeezed your hand tighter as the world burned around you.

You didn’t let go.