Harry's Wand

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"It doesn't matter. You're right to be vigilant, and you should maintain that vigilance at all times," Ethan said with a smile.

Fleur and Gabrielle seemed to want to say something, but before they could, a group of boys and girls in silk pajamas crowded around them.

They pulled the two sisters into a lively conversation, their voices filled with concern.

"Are you alright? Where did you go?"

Most of the group expressed their worries about the sisters' safety. Fleur, overwhelmed by their attention, managed to wave at Ethan before her classmates swept her and Gabrielle to the other side of the camp.

At that moment, the tall figure of Madame Maxime approached Ethan. Her expression was a mix of gratitude and urgency.

"Ethan, I truly must thank you. Without your help, I don't know what might have happened," she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.

"This was the least I could do," Ethan replied with a warm smile.

Madame Maxime nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ethan, I can't properly repay you right now. I need to escort the students back to Beauxbatons as soon as possible. But I'm certain we'll meet again soon, and when we do, I'll ensure you receive my deepest gratitude."

Ethan understood. Her mention of their next meeting likely referred to the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.

After expressing her thanks once more, Madame Maxime hurriedly said goodbye and departed with her students.

The camp, now largely empty, bore the marks of the recent chaos. The Aurors worked efficiently, ensuring everyone was cleared out.

The fires in the tents had been extinguished by magic, leaving trails of blue smoke wafting into the air.

Dozens of Aurors moved through the jungle and camp, combing the area in search of the hidden Death Eaters.

Amid this tense atmosphere, Moody approached Ethan quietly, beckoning him aside.

"Ethan, take a look at this," Moody said in a low voice, holding out a wand.

Ethan examined it carefully. The wand was made of holly wood, about eleven inches long. Recognition flickered in his eyes—it was Harry's wand.

Ethan's surprise was evident.

"Harry's wand?" he murmured.

This didn't make sense. Barty Crouch Jr. had already been dealt with—how had Harry lost his wand?

Moody's expression was grave as he continued, "I just used Prior Incantato on this wand. It was used to cast the Dark Mark."

Ethan's frown deepened. He had thought that taking down Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr. would slow Voldemort's plans for resurrection, buying him more time.

Yet the persistence of Voldemort's supporters suggested otherwise—the original course of events remained unchanged.

Noticing Ethan's troubled expression, Moody grew anxious.

"Ethan, I swear on my honor, Harry has nothing to do with this!" Moody said fervently, fearing that Ethan might suspect Harry of aligning with the Death Eaters.

"Goodness, Moody! How could I ever doubt Harry?" Ethan replied, his surprise evident.

Seeing Ethan's serious demeanor, Moody finally let out a sigh of relief.

"Someone stole Harry's wand," Ethan whispered.

"Give it to me, Moody. I'll investigate the matter. Don't report it yet."

Moody nodded without hesitation.

He understood Ethan's reasoning—reporting the incident could prompt an investigation by the Ministry of Magic, and any implications involving Harry would only bring unwanted scrutiny.

After receiving Harry's wand, Ethan examined it carefully for a long time but found nothing unusual. With a sigh, he tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Alright, Moody. That's enough for now. We should return to the Ministry of Magic. The next few days are going to be hectic," Ethan said with a weary tone.

Moody nodded in agreement. Together, they used a Portkey provided by the Ministry and quickly returned to the bustling corridors of the Ministry of Magic.

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Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Harry finally collapsed onto the soft bed in his dormitory.

The night's chaos—the fear, the running, the confusion—had left him utterly exhausted. Professor McGonagall, upon hearing Snape's account of the events, swiftly sent Harry, Ron, and Hermione back to their dormitories, ensuring that the house elves prepared a warm dinner for them.

Despite the comforting meal, none of them felt like talking. The trio ate quickly and retreated to their beds, seeking much-needed rest.

Since school had yet to begin, the dormitory was eerily empty, with only Harry and Ron occupying the space.

Harry lay on his bed, replaying the day's events in his mind. The thrill of the Quidditch World Cup, the sudden eruption of chaos, and the desperate escape seemed surreal.

Yet something felt... off. There was a nagging sensation as if he had forgotten something important. He tried to piece it together, but fatigue clouded his thoughts.

As the dormitory grew darker and Ron's steady snores filled the room, Harry decided to draw the curtains and settle in.

His hand instinctively reached for his wand, only to grasp at empty air.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

Now he knew what had been gnawing at him—his wand was missing.

Frantically, Harry searched his bed, his belongings, even under the mattress. Still, there was no sign of it.

"Ron! Wake up!"

Harry slapped his friend on the arm, shaking him awake.

"Huh? What's going on?" Ron asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"My wand! It's gone!" Harry exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic.

Ron blinked at him in disbelief.

"Your wand? But it's always with you, isn't it?"

"I thought so, too, but it's not here!" Harry said, pacing the room.

"Alright, calm down," Ron said, trying to steady his friend.

"Did you check the whole room?"

"Everywhere. It's not here," Harry replied, his voice strained.

Ron grabbed his own wand and opened the dormitory door, stepping into the dimly lit Gryffindor common room.

Holding his wand aloft, he tried a spell he'd seen his brothers use.

"Accio Harry's wand!" Ron shouted.

But nothing happened.

Embarrassed, Ron lowered his wand.

"Well... it seemed worth a try," he muttered.

Harry groaned. "Should we tell the professors?"

Ron hesitated. "Do you really want to wake them up in the middle of the night? Let's not. We'll talk to Hermione in the morning—she'll know what to do."