There was a dragon in her dream. It hulked over her, snarling and roaring, shooting plumes of fire. She screamed and turned, ankle twisting as she slammed not into the ground but into a very deep lake. This time when she screamed, she choked on it, and her hands were trapped by seaweed as she thrashed.
The dragon dove down after her, still breathing fire, its eyes bright and murderous. She kicked out, crying and no one heard her. The dragon lunged and turned into a snake, snapping at her head and all of a sudden she was kneeling, slumped, on the grass, crying. She couldn't move, and she didn't know how, but she knew something horrible had just happened. A rat scurried past her, the snake twisted around her neck, forcing her to look up to where the sky had gone green. No, she realised. It hadn't gone green. There was just green light, hanging there, swirling around in drifting grey smoke, the shape of a skull with a snake writhing from its mouth. She could hear people screaming.
Next thing, she was panting in Ginny's bedroom, the moon still bright outside. She slumped back down with a sigh, trying to get back to sleep.
They were woken up very early in the morning, when Calla felt like she'd only just dropped off to sleep. Even before the dream had interrupted her slumber, she, Hermione and Ginny had stayed up for probably far too long, chatting and gossiping. It was nice to have insight on Ginny's year as well as their own, and Hermione told Calla some very amusing stories about Harry and his homework attempts - and procrastination methods - that she couldn't wait to tease him about. But her dream had put much of that excitement out of her mind, she deeply regretted all of it when they had to get up at half past four, and her head was thumping and she could barely see in front of her.
It was cold, too, which didn't help, and both Hermione and Ginny were pale as they set about getting washed and changed. Someone clattered on the stairs and Calla groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead and splashing water in her eyes to wake herself. It didn't work very well, but she tried to imagine that it did and hopefully she could trick her brain into believing it.
"I hate getting up early," Ginny muttered, handing Calla her glasses, which she put on eagerly. She still felt a little bleary, though. "And I don't know what to wear."
"Jeans and a t-shirt," Calla said with a yawn. They'd been told to wear Muggle clothes for today - to go 'incognito' - which she thought was an awful shame, because she wanted to wear her robes.
Hermione had pulled on a light pink top and a blue hoodie, along with her jeans, and was trying to wrangle her hair with a brush. Calla didn't know how she had the energy to deal with it; she ran some Sleakeazy's through hers and then pulled her hair into two messy pleats, one over each shoulder. She'd deal with brushing her hair when she actually felt awake.
Still trying to wake up, she pulled on one of Dudley's old, faded t-shirts and tied it at the back with a hair bobble so it didn't seem to drown her, and pulled on her jeans and trainers which were mercifully her own and fit her. She still shot a mournful look at her robes as she laid her mother's bracelet on the bedside table - she didn't want to risk losing it in the crowds at the match. Maybe after the cup, Remus and Sirius would take them into some Muggle shops for decent clothes of their own.
"Do I look ridiculous?" Ginny asked, wearing a very long grey jumper and a bright blue skirt, over what looked like striped leg warmers and high leather boots.
"Yes," Calla said honestly, trying not to giggle as Ginny pouted. "Come on, Hermione, let's sort this out."
They both giggled as they tried to put together a decent outfit for Ginny, and had just managed to get her one of Hermione's blouses to go with the blue skirt when Mrs Weasley came in. "The time the three of you take, come on, your breakfast's almost ready."
"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," Calla said, grinning.
"They were getting me to look like a Muggle," Ginny said with a sigh, fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse. "Apparently this is what they wear?"
"You'll blend in perfectly," Hermione assured her with a smile.
"Come on then," Mrs Weasley said briskly. "On you go downstairs."
She marched down ahead of them, and Ginny was still rubbing her eyes when they reached the kitchen. "Do we have to be up so early?" she whined, sitting down drowsily at the table.
"We've got a bit of a long walk," Mr Weasley said.
"Are we walking to the Cup?" Harry asked, looking surprised, and Mr Weasley shook his head, chuckling.
Calla slumped down next to her brother, head on the table. "No, no, the Cup's miles away," Mr Weasley said. "We only need to walk a short distance. It's just that it can be very difficult for so many of us wizards to congregate in one area without arising any suspicion from the Muggles around. And on such a big occasion as the Quidditch World Cup-"
"George!" Mrs Weasley cut in sharply, causing Calla's head to hurt. She groaned and glanced up, as Harry passed her some toast. "What is that in your pocket?"
"What?" George asked in fake innocence. Calla was sure no one was fooled by it.
"Wha is that in your pocket?"
"Nothing!" he insisted.
"Don't lie to me!" Mrs Weasley said, as Calla bit into her toast, watching the scene with curiosity. She didn't have much of an appetite at this time in the morning anyway. Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"
A moment later, a load of brightly coloured sweets were zooming out of his pocket; he and Fred both tried to catch them, but it was unsuccessful, and they all flew into Mrs Weasley's outstretched hand. "We told you to destroy them!" she said furiously, face going red. Calla squinted; they were definitely more Ton-Tongue Toffees. She had to admire the twins' persistence, and she wondered just how many they had developed. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, both of you now, go on!"
They'd clearly been planning on smuggling the toffees into the cup, and only turned over a few before Mrs Weasley resorted to using the Summoning Charm to make the rest of them fly into her hand. George was looking just as furious as Mrs Weasley was as toffees flew from the lining of his jacket and the upturn of Fred's jeans.
"We spent six months developing those!" Fred howled as his mother put them away.
"Oh, and a fine way to spend six months that is!" Mrs Weasley shouted back. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"
Calla chewed on her toast among the unpleasantness, which didn't seem to be ceasing at all. She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder tiredly and he looked at her. "Tell me you actually slept last night, right?"
"Yeah," she said, stifling a yawn. Her forehead still hurt. "But I... I had a dream."
"A... A bad dream?" Harry asked tentatively, and she nodded. Ron looked at them curiously and she shook her head with a dismissive sort of smile.
"Yeah. I don't know what it means." She hated not knowing what her dreams meant. Just once, she thought, could they not be straightforward and pleasant?
"What happened?" Harry started to ask, but just then they were interrupted by Mr and Mrs Weasley declaring that they ought to set off soon.
With a tired sigh, she finished the rest of her toast and said, "I'll tell you about it when I'm more awake."
She ran back upstairs with Hermione and Ginny to grab their rucksacks and Matilda, who Calla was insisting on bringing with her - she shouldn't have to miss out on the fun, and Calla was reluctant to leave her alone with Crookshanks and the owls, since she was so little - before running back to the door where everyone was preparing to depart. Harry kept close to her as Mrs Weasley bade them all goodbye, still glowering from the incident with Fred and George.
"Well, have a lovely time," she told them all. "And for goodness' sake, behave yourselves." This last part was definitely aimed at Fred and George, who pointedly ignored it. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy over around midday."
They all crossed the dark garden, Matilda resting placidly on Calla's shoulder. She was fairly certain she'd gone to sleep, the lucky thing. It was still chilly outside, as well as dark, though there was a subtle, slightly greenish tinge to the horizon and Calla could tell that daybreak was drawing closer. She couldn't wait until she could feel the sun on her face, rather than the chill on her arms. Matilda flicked her tail at Calla's elbow absently, just as Harry sped up, and Calla followed him quickly.
"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" he was asking Mr Weasley curiously.
"It's been a massive issue," he said, sighing. "An absolute nightmare to organise. Thing is, there's about a hundred thousand wizards that turn up to the World Cup, and we've got some places that are hidden from Muggles, but can you imagine trying to fit a hundred thousand of us into Diagon Alley, or Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" That didn't sound like a possibility at all. "So we had to find a nice deserted moor and set up some anti-Muggle defensive charms, as many as we possibly could.
"We've had to sort of stagger ourselves, so to speak. People with the cheaper tickets have been arriving since two weeks ago. Some have been using Muggle methods of transport, but we can't have too many of them clogging up their buses and trains, you see. There are wizards coming from all over the world, remember.
"Some apparate of course, like the boys are doing, but we've had to set up special areas for it, well away from any prying Muggle eyes, where they won't be found. I believe there's a handy wood nearby that they're using. For those who don't want to, or can't Apparate, such as us, they're using Portkeys."
"That's what we're using, then?" Calla asked, and Mr Weasley nodded.
"Precisely. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from once place to another. They have to be rather inconspicuous things though, some litter or junk that the muggles won't think to pick up." Calla didn't suppose it would be a good idea for a Muggle to pick up a book lying about in Kent and suddenly find themselves in Glasgow. "They can do large groups at a time if need be, which is more convenient for families. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, near places where a lot of wizards tend to live. The nearest one to us is up on Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."
He pointed to a massive looking hill that was just up in front of them beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole and Calla stared. Climbing that massive hill sounded like a horrific idea.
"Tell me it's not on the top of the hill?" she asked, and Mr Weasley made the sort of face that told her it was absolutely at the highest point possible.
She groaned. "Great."
They trudged quietly down the dark lane towards the nearby village, which was a quiet sort of place. Though she supposed most places were at this time of the morning; the sky was only just beginning to lighten, turning a pale blue colour. Harry hung back a moment, letting the others pass as he claimed he had to tie his laces, and Calla waited on him. "Right," he said quietly. "What did you see?"
"It was weird," she said as they walked slowly onwards. "It kept changing a few times, and it was like I couldn't quite get a foothold on each vision. They were a bit blurrier too... Like it was less certain."
"But none of them are certain, are they?" Harry asked, frowning. "I mean, your Buckbeak vision proved wrong."
"Technically, my interpretation was what was wrong," she pointed out. "But yeah, I get what you mean. So anyway, there was this dragon, right?"
"A dragon?"
"A dragon." She shook her head. "Yeah, I don't know either. And then it sort of breathed fire at me, and then I was drowning, and it turned into a snake, right? And I've been seeing this snake a lot, it's definitely important, I... Well, I don't think it'd be too much of a leap to say it's related to You-Know-Who. And then after I was in the water I was sort of kicking out and then I landed on the grass and I was..." She swallowed her words. She didn't really want to say out loud that the dream vision version of herself had been crying.
"You were what?" Harry asked with a frown.
"Well I was crying," she said quickly. "I don't know why, I Just was. But this snake sort of cooled around my neck, and it made me look up and there was this..." She lowered her voice as she considered her next words. "Do you know what the Dark Mark is?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "No. But it doesn't sound good."
"No. Daphne told me about it. It's his mark."
"And you saw it?" Harry whispered. "Calla..."
"I know what that means," she said lowly. "There's only one thing it can mean."
"It could just be one of his followers..." Harry said, though he didn't sound like he believed it. After Pettigrew escaping and what Calla had seen, it didn't really seem like there was any other option. He might not be back, but he was stirring. Something was coming.
"Come on, Potters!" Mr Weasley called briskly over his shoulder. "Keep up!"
Ron shot them a questioning look as they hurried on only a little. "We'll tell Remus and Sirius about it after the match," Harry promised quietly. "They'll know what to do."
Calla didn't think she believed that, but she very dearly wanted to. At the least they would do something to help, or to reassure them. "Yeah," she said quietly as they began the climb up Stoatshead Hill. "I'm sure they will."
The climb was long and arduous, and Calla's whole body was freezing by the time they got to the top. Her ears especially felt like they were about to fall off and she wasn't certain she could hear quite right.
"Whew," Mr Weasley panted as Calla and Harry at last came over the crest of the hill, bringing up the rear. He took off his glasses and checked his watch with a smile. "Ah, we've still got ten minutes. Good time, good time." That was ten minutes they could have spent in bed, Calla thought grumpily. "Now we just need the Portkey. It won't be big... Come on."
They spread out to search for it, and Calla saw Ron and Hermione quietly interrogating Harry over the subject of their conversation. He didn't seem to be saying much, though his gaze kept flickering over to her while she looked around with Ginny. They'd barely been searching a few minutes though, when someone shouted.
"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"
Calla and Ginny straightened up and turned to see two figures silhouetted against the lightening sky on the other side of the hill. "Amos!" said Mr Weasley.
Calla shot Ginny a questioning look and she whispered, "Amos Diggory. Lives on the other side of the village."
"Diggory as in Cedric Diggory?"
Ginny nodded, and Calla could have sworn her cheeks went a little pink. "I think that's him there, too."
Calla looked over, and followed Ginny and the others after Mr Weasley, who was greeting Mr Diggory warmly. Mr Diggory was short, unliked Cedric, with a sort of scrubby beard and a rather ruddy face, and he was also holding a manky looking old boot, which didn't add to the image.
"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr Weasley. "Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Calla looked at him scrutinisingly. Remus didn't seem to like many of the wizards in that department, as she'd picked up in conversations over the years. They tended to be very biased against werewolves. "I believe you know his son, Cedric?"
Calla only knew him in passing; he was a few years older and almost seventeen, and played Seeker on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. Harry had played against him last year when the Dementors had come, and though he had apparently wanted a rematch and been rather fair about it, she still didn't think Harry particularly liked him. But he was, she had to admit, quite handsome. "Hi," he said, and she caught Hermione and Ginny's eyes with a small grin which the boys were obviously oblivious to.
"Hi," she replied with everyone else except Fred and George who clearly had not gotten over that Quidditch loss.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Mr Diggory asked cheerfully. It was far too early for someone to be that cheerful. Calla squeezed her eyes shut; they still had a few minutes until whatever Mr Weasley had mentioned with the portkey, and she could take a nap standing up.
"Not too bad," Mr Weasley was saying. "We live just over the other side of the village there. You?"
"Has to get up at two, didn't we, Ced?" Mr Diggory said. "I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still, not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, eh? Wouldn't miss it for a thousand galleons - mind you, the tickets cost about that. Though it looks like I got off easy..." She could hear people shuffling. "Are all these yours, Arthur?"
"Only the redheads," Mr Weasley said. "This is Hermione, one of Ron's friends... and there's Harry, another friend of Ron's, and-
"Merlin's beard," Mr Diggory said sharply. "Merlin's beard... Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er, yeah," she could hear Harry saying awkwardly. She shifted a bit behind Ginny and partially wanted to look at her brother, and partially wasn't sure she could actually open her eyes.
"Ced's talked about you of course," said Mr Diggory. "Told is all about playing you in Quidditch last year... I told him, didn't I Ced, told him... That'll be something to tell the grandchildren one day, won't it? You beat Harry Potter!"
"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," Cedric said awkwardly.
"Yes, but you didn't, did you?" Mr Diggory asked. "But then, where's the other one, his sister? She doesn't play Quidditch, does she?"
"No," Calla said, grudgingly opening her eyes and poking her head out from where she'd ended up behind George's shoulder. "I'm not a fan of flying, but I like watching." She nodded tightly to Cedric. "They both played well."
"Well, our Ced's always been modest but see, the best man won!" Calla tried not to glare at him. "I'm sure Harry would say the same, wouldn't you? One stays on his broom, the other falls off, you don't have to be a genius to tell which is the better flier!"
"Look at the time!" Mr Weasley said quickly before Calla could retort. It wasn't Harry's fault he'd fallen of his broom. If Cedric had been through what he had and seen what he had, he would have too. "Do you know if we're waiting for any more, Amos?"
"The Lovegoods have arrived already," Mr Diggory said. Calla wondered if he meant Luna Lovegood's family, the rather eccentric Ravenclaw in the year below her. "And the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets. There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"
"Not that I know of," Mr Weasley said, checking his watch again. "Well, it's about a minute off. We had better get ready." He glanced at Calla, Harry and Hermione. "All you have to do is to touch the Portkey. A finger'll do the trick."
The ten of them crowded clumsily around the manky old boot, Calla gripping its toe as much as she could given the lack of room. She didn't trust that, if she didn't actually hold the thing, she wouldn't go flying off and end up at the bottom of the hill when everyone else moved. That was just the sort of thing she thought would happen to her.
Everyone was very quiet as they waited, and Calla was glad it was dark. She tried to imagine a Muggle stumbling across them, ten people holding onto a manky old boot at the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere... She had to hold back a giggle at the idea.
"Three..." Mr Weasley muttered. "Two... One..."
It was like something had just grabbed Calla's stomach, like a hook into her navel. She felt herself jerked forward and gasped, as she rose into the air. Or was she rising? She couldn't see the hill, and her feet were most certainly not on the ground. It was like she was just floating in nowhere, and she really didn't like that feeling.
Then they started moving and she bumped into Harry and then Ginny, and she felt the wind pick up around them, spinning them around dizzily like they were in some kind of wizard washing machine. She clung to the boot even though she was sure at this point she wouldn't be able to let go anyway.
Her feet slammed into the ground and she stumbled as the boot seemed to throw her off. There was a moment of panic before she realised it had done that to everyone, and she straightened up, feeling a bit dazed. That was definitely not her favourite method of transport. Mr Weasley and the Diggory's were all still standing, looking far more dignified than the rest; Ron was strewn on top of Harry, looking disgruntled.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."
