Harry slammed into the ground and felt all of the breath knocked out of him. He gasped, and cold, sodden grass tickled his nostrils. The sounds around him were muffled, but nothing felt real, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He kept a tight grip on Cedric, on the cup. The world felt like it was swaying underneath him, like he was on the deck of a ship and if he let go of either of those two things - Cedric, the cup - he would surely fall overboard. Shock and exhaustion kept him tied to the ground, as he breathed in the grass, felt his sister breathing shallowly under his shaking arm, waiting... Waiting for something to happen, anything... For someone to help... Where was Calla? Where had she gone? He couldn't make himself move, and terror held him down. He'd let go, someone had taken her. Was she still there, still unconscious, without him? All the while his scar burned dully on his forehead, the pain refusing to leave him even while he lay hundreds of miles away from Voldemort.

There were voices all around him, muffled by each other and by Harry's shock; there were shouts and screams and the rush of footsteps over the ground that Harry could feel in his bones. He stayed where he was, face against the sodden grass, screwing his eyes shut as if, if he could only keep them closed long enough, he'd realise this was all just one nightmare, and he would force himself to wake up. The only thing he saw in his mind was Calla. Where was she? She was gone. It was his fault, he told himself. He couldn't breathe.

Then a pair of rough hands grabbed him and turned him over. "Harry! Harry!"

He looked up, heart pounding, into the face of Albus Dumbledore. Other dark figures pressed in around them, their footsteps reverberating in Harry's skull. He let go of the cup, but held Cedric closer to him, hardly feeling able to breathe. He'd come back to the edge of the maze. It was over. But he reached up and siezed Dumbledore's wrist, as his face swam in and out of Harry's vision. "He's back," he said hoarsely. "Voldemort's back. He - he has her - Calla... He said that he - that he needed-"

"What's going on? What's happened?"

It was Cornelius Fudge. His face appeared over Harry, white and panic-stricken. "My God - Diggory."

"Calla," was all Harry could say. "She - he has her. He has Calla!"

"The boy..." Fudge stared at Cedric. "Dumbledore - that boy's dead!"

Those words were repeated all around. Harry could see the faint outlines of Remus and Sirius pushing through the crowd of people, running to them, could see others behind them, Daphne and Padma being held back, both of them looking like they were screaming. "Calla," Harry mumbled numbly. His sister's face flashed before his eyes, haunted and terrified. She was still there. He couldn't save her. "Calla!"

"Harry, let go of him," Fudge's voice said gently, as he tried to prise Harry's fingers off of Cedric's cold wrist. Harry couldn't. He couldn't move.

Then Dumbledore's blurry face came closer. "Harry, you can't help Cedric now. He's gone. You need to let him go."

"I can't!" Harry said, panic rising in his throat. "I can't! Dumbledore, Voldemort-"

"I know," he said, voice impossibly soft. It only served to scare Harry further. How could he be so calm? "Miss Delacour told us you were taken from the maze and we are trying to find where the cup took you. The Aurors have been alerted-"

"They're in the - the graveyard," Harry gasped out. "Where Tom Riddle's buried. And Calla - she said - help her." It felt important to explain. "I couldn't get her wand, I had to save her, but he - he took her!"

Dumbledore looked grave. "It's alright, Harry."

"No! No, it's not, he - Voldemort's back, he has my sister! She - she - she might be-" He couldn't say the word but he struggled defiantly to his feet, fingers unfurling from around Cedric. "I have to - to go back, I have to - Calla! Cedric - Cedric said to - to take his body back." Harry slowly let his wrist slip from his grasp, let Fudge move him. "He wanted me to take him back to his parents. I tried to - to take him and save her but she - they took her..."

"It's alright," Dumbledore said gently, and slowly made Harry sit up.

"I have to - I have to find her! He'll kill her!"

Dumbledore's hands clasped Harry's arm protectively. He swayed, head pounding. People were shouting. His ears searched for Remus' voice among them.

"What's happened?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Diggory's dead!"

"What about Potter?"

"Where's the girl?"

"What are they doing?"

"He'll need to go to the Hospital Wing!" Fudge was saying loudly. "He's ill, he's injured... Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're in the stands. And where is the girl? The Delacour girl said they disappeared, where did it take them? And Remus Lupin and Sirius Black..." He looked vexed by saying their names aloud. He turned around, face white.

"I can take Harry, Dumbledore," Moody's voice growled. "I'll take him..."

"No, I would prefer..."

Harry could see Professor Flitwick hurrying between the legs of the crowd towards them, followed by Madam Pomfrey. He was asking for Calla, but there was no one left in the maze, and the tiny professor looked more terrified than Harry had imagined a teacher capable of appearing. Fleur had her hands to her mouth, and looked like she'd been crying for a long while. Her elbow was in a cast. She was lucky. Harry's head felt dizzy and heavy. "Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's coming... don't you think you should tell him, before he comes... and Remus Lupin... Oh, Merlin, where is the girl?"

"Harry, stay here."

"Calla - I have to... They took her to the graveyard! Tom Riddle..." But Dumbledore was already fading and Harry wasn't sure he'd heard. It was going to be too late. Panic seized his throat. They had to listen, someone had to listen, and he had to find Remus, had to explain, had to get help.

Girls were screaming, crying hysterically. He could see a small cluster of them in bright blue, Calla's dormmates, holding each other. The scene flickered oddly before Harry's eyes. "It's alright, son... I've got you... Let's get you to the Hospital Wing..."

"Dumbledore said stay," Harry said thickly, the loud pounding of his head blocking out everything else. He felt like he was about to throw up. "I have to - have to tell him - the graveyard - Calla. I have to tell them everything, they have to find her or he'll - he'll kill her! And I - I have to find Remus, have to tell Remus - I want Remus-"

"You need to lie down... Come on, now."

"My sister..."

"Will be alright." His voice sounded almost angry. "The Delacour girl got out and raised the alarm, Fudge has called Aurors to him. They'll find her, Potter."

Someone larger and stronger than Harry was pulling him through the heavy press of the crowd. Harry could hear them gasping and screaming as the man supporting him led him through. He was taking him to the castle, across the lawn, past the lake, past the Durmstrang ship and the Beauxbatons carriage... Harry could hear nothing but heavy, laboured breathing as he went.

"Calla," Harry gasped. He couldn't feel anything but terror. "I let her - I tried to hold on but I couldn't, they - they took her. She's dead. She could be dead and it's - it's because of me, that's why."

"She'll be alright, Harry." Moody said, stumping up the stairs into the castle. "What happened?"

"Aren't you listening? He - he did something, she passed out. They're going to kill her!" He struggled against Moody, but he was much stronger. "I have to go back! I have to get her, he'll kill her and it's my fault, she's my sister-"

"You don't have to do anything," Moody growled, turning him back around. Harry felt almost suffocated by his terror. "That's Dumbledore's job now. You tell me what happened. I don't know if Delacour's told us the right version of things."

"The cup was a Portkey," Harry told him, trying to stop himself from screaming the words. "Took me and Calla and Cedric to a graveyard... and Voldemort was there... Lord Voldemort..."

"The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?"

"Cedric... They killed Cedric." He felt like he was going to be sick. "Made a potion... got his body back."

"The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?"

"Then the Death Eaters came... He said he had to use Calla... he cursed her... she fought... then he made her fall and... and then we duelled."

"You duelled with the Dark Lord?"

"Got away... my wand... did something funny... I saw my mum and dad... they came out of my wand."

"In here, Harry... in here and sit down... you'll be all right now... drink this..."

A key scraped in a lock. A cup was thrust into Harry's hands. "Drink it... you'll feel better... come on now, Harry. I want to know exactly what happened."

Moody tipped the contents of the cup down Harry's throat; it was oddly peppery and made him cough. Moody's office came into view and so did Moody, he looked even whiter than Fudge, and the scars on his face stuck out even more than usual. Both of his eyes were focused unblinkingly on Harry. "Voldemort's back, Harry? You're sure? How did he do it?"

"He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail and me." His head felt a little clearer now and his scar didn't hurt as much, but he felt his stomach swimming. This wasn't the Hospital Wing, this wasn't where they would be bringing his sister soon. He could still hear distant screaming and shouting from the Quidditch Pitch - or at least, he thought he could, it might have only been his head. "She isn't in the maze. They aren't going to find her there. They need to save her, I need to tell them!"

"What did the Dark Lord take from you, Potter?"

"He - he took my blood," Harry said, not sure how this was possibly so important when his sister was still there, still in danger. "But Calla..." Harry had to force himself to breathe. That was sister, he had to find her and he'd already wasted time sitting here with Moody. What good was that when she was with him? "We have to get Dumbledore, you - you're an Auror, they were in this graveyard, his dad's grave was there, you have to find it!"

"Not just yet, I need to hear what happened."

"Aren't you listening?" Harry yelled. "You need to go now! I have to tell Dumbledore!" He strained, but Moody shoved him back into a chair, too roughly. "I have to - have to find Remus."

"Not yet," Moody growled. "The Death Eaters, they returned?"

"Yeah," Harry said faintly, shakin hisbhead, "loads of them." He felt sick at the thought of what they might do to his sister. Why wasn't Moody doing anything? He didn't... He looked into Moody's eyes. He didn't look like he cared. Something felt wrong here. It wasn't just him being paranoid. Harry stared, hardly daring to think.

"How did he treat them?" Moody asked quietly. "Did he forgive them?"

But Harry remembered suddenly. He should have told Dumbledore, that should have been the first thing he'd said. "There's a Death Eater!" he blurted out. "There's a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There's a Death Eater here, they put mine and Calla's names in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure we got through to the end!"

He tried frantically to get up but Moody pushed him back down.

"I know who the Death Eater is," he said quietly.

"Karkaroff?" Harry said wildly. "Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?"

"Karkaroff?" said Moody with an odd laugh. "Karkaroff fled tonight when he felt the Dark Mark burn on his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to be welcomed back into his ranks... but I doubt he will get far... The Dark Lord has a way of tracking his enemies."

"He's gone?" Harry asked. "He ran away? But then - he didn't put my name in the cup?"

"No," said Moody quietly. "No, he didn't. It was I who did that."

Xx

When Voldemort touched her, all she could feel was pain, freezing cold and at the same time burning through every inch of her. She was sure she was screaming but she hadn't the consciousness to hear.

"Wormtail has told me all about you." Voldemort's hand wrapped around her thin wrist. "Your gift for seeing the future, for prophecy. I have need of it, you see. You will help me."

I won't, she wanted to scream, but she couldn't make any sound come out. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it was about to take off. Where was Harry? Her brother, where was he? She felt too sick to move. "Come," Voldemort said quietly to the Death Eaters. "We must move out of the open." Their shadows crept together, one mass of darkness. Calla was hauled to her feet; something cuffed her wrists, and she was shoved forwards. She tried to walk, but stumbled, falling onto the hard ground. A numb sort of pain grazed her knees, and laughter rippled all around, mocking her. Her eyes smarted from exhausted tears.

Something pulled her upwards again. She didn't know what. She didn't know anything that was going on - where was Harry, where was Cedric, where was she?

They were coming closer to the edge of the graveyard where Wormtail had arrived from. He was cradling his hand, looking pale and terrified. The Death Eaters moved as one, a shapeless but monstrous entity. Calla didn't know where she was going, but she couldn't stop herself from moving. Her head spun. She had no wand, and she was surrounded by dozens of adversaries; all stronger and older than she was. Even if she had her wand it would not have been a fair fight.

"Sit, Calla Potter," Voldemort said softly, and she felt herself being pushed down by invisible hands onto a cold, hard rock. They were no longer in the graveyard, but the edge of a forest. Orange lights seared dimly over a hill. The Death Eaters shifted in the longer shadows.

She couldn't move and she could barely think. She wanted Harry, but she didn't want him to be here. Feeling like she was going to be sick, she looked down at the ground, squeezing her eyes shut. There had to be a way out. Had to be. She knew Voldemort was a Legilimens and she knew he would use anything he could see in her mind against her. She had to hide herself, but she could barely even do that when she was trying with Dumbledore.

She clenched her fist, bracing herself against the edge of the statue ledge as the Death Eaters closed in on her. Something forced her chin up, made her eyes meet Voldemort's. They were the colour of blood. "For years," he said softly, "the power of Divination has... eluded me. A rare flaw. It is rare, your gift, but it is powerful.

"A long time ago, before you were even born, a prophecy was made. About myself - and about your brother." She didn't know what he was talking about. She wanted out - out of this place, out of her mind, out of her body. She itched to run away, but she couldn't move. "I began to realise that fate was bringing us together, leading me to an ultimate victory. Once I destroyed Harry Potter, I would have nothing standing in my way."

"You won't," she spat out, shaking her head fiercely.

"No? It is luck that has seen Harry Potter escape me tonight; but you have not been so lucky. Fate has its reasons, wouldn't you agree?" She seethed. "Wormtail." Pettigrew whimpered. "Hand me my wand and hold the girl still."

She started to shake, trying to break out of her bonds. The Death Eaters laughed as Voldemort raised his wand, the tip balancing between the middle of her forehead. Pettigrew held either side of her head, stopping her from recoiling as she so dearly wanted to. She still had her legs free, even though they felt numb; she could run, but where to? She had no idea where she was. There was a faint shadow of a house on a hill but she didn't know if there was anyone there. No one seemed to have heard her screaming.

Voldemort whispered something so quietly Calla couldn't make it out. Something thin and silver wisped from the end of his wand, soft against her forehead, where it split and curled away like smoke over her eyes. Ever so slightly, she could see confusion in Voldemort's eyes. He hadn't expected that, whatever he saw.

He snarled, turning away and hissed something to his snake, who crept up over Calla's legs, curling around her torso tightly. She struggled for breath. Someone had to save her, she thought. Someone must, someone always did. But no one came. It was her and the trees, and the snake and Voldemort and Wormtail and the Death Eaters. She could feel the ghost of Voldemort's touch even as he left her, whispering amongst his masked followers. There had to be a way out, she thought, but she had none. If she broke these bonds, if she did something to distract them, she could run. The lights in the distance might have been a town, but she didn't know how she could conceivably get there. She wasn't even sure she could stand up without falling over again. But if she could only find a way to get the attention of whoever was nearby... If anyone was nearby...

Her head was pounding. She knew somehow that her proximity to Voldemort was causing it, and she could feel the beginnings of a vision pressing at the boundaries of her mind. Part of her wanted to give into it, wanted to forget everything that was happening right now, wanted to see a way out. But she knew that was what he wanted. He wanted her gift, wanted to use it, and for that, she had to use it, too. So she couldn't.

It took every ounce of her control to keep herself grounded in reality, as the Death Eaters converged around her, as their whispers grew louder and more sinister, drowning out everything. She tried to separate her thoughts, forming a plan only in the back of her mind, but she didn't know if she could possibly hold up against Voldemort. She didn't even have a wand. But she had to get out of here.

She had to try. Even as he took her wrist again, scraping brittle sharp nails like claws over her skin. Even as she felt like she was going to pass out or even die. She tried to move, slowly, but her eyes caught into his, that horrid red. She could feel herself slipping again as the snake uncoiled from around her, and she gripped the statue harder. Voldemort's face twisted into a cold, satisfied smile. "Don't resist it, Potter," he told her. "There's nothing you can do now."

"Why?" she bit out, wishing only that she could get him talking, buy herself some more time. Maybe someone was out for a late night forest stroll. But she didn't think Voldemort and his Death Eaters would lose a fight to a Muggle, and they'd have no problems killing them besides. She knew Voldemort liked to talk, and he had all his Death Eaters here. They were his audience; he wanted a show. For now, all she could do was act it out; just not entirely by his script.

"Why?" He laughed coldly and her eyes flicked to the pocket of his wands. She could see just the tip of her wand and fought to keep back a gasp, to keep her thoughts protected. "Because you have power, and I want it. I have heard so much about you, Calla Potter... The other child in the nursery that night, the shadow to your brother. Perhaps that night was only fate... Needed so that I could rise again, rise higher than ever before. And so that I would have you as my prize."

"You're mad."

He only laughed dismissively. "You think I have not heard so before? There is no madness in a desire for power. The madness would be to abandon that which lies right in front of me. You, Calla Potter... I find we have a strange connection. Many years ago, you came across me in a forest... I was weakened and desperate, at my lowest, resigned to feeding off of the energy of lesser creatures. And then I encountered you." As he spoke, Calla could feel the terror that she'd felt the first time she'd had a vision grip her again. "I could feel that odd connection even then. You fainted at the sight of me, exposed and vulnerable as I was, in such need of strength... and I got it." Her head span. "I did not understand it at the time. In truth, I did not intend to leave you alive either, the night I came for your brother... But there are spells spoken of by wizards of old. Viricaptus." As he said it, something in Calla's chest seized and tightened. White noise rang in her ears and panic clogged her throat and mind before every sensation faded and she lurched forward, head spinning. The word echoed in her mind. "Yes, Calla Potter. You see now? Fate wished it that I had to spare you that night, that our magic became entwined. Fate wished that I would have you here, the key to my dominion."

"No," she whispered, even though she felt in her soul that it was true.

"No? You do not believe in fate, in the workings of Divination?"

"This..." She couldn't find her words. "Fate changes. Choices make fate. People make their fates."

He laughed coldly. "Then perhaps you are the mad on, Calla Potter. Mad to think you could stand against me. Look at you now... So frail, so weak. I know how you defeated me once before, when I was but a memory of my self. It will not happen again. Already, can't you feel it?" His fingernails scratched the skin on the back of her wrist, where she'd been burned before in first year. It seemed to burn again now.

But she couldn't condemn herself to stay here at the whims of 'fate'. Fate was subjective, she reminded herself through pained breaths. "I'm not going to die."

She said it to herself and hadn't realised she'd spoken until Voldemort replied, "And I am not going to kill you. It would be such a waste." A hostage, then. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her, a strangling pressure against her throat. "You know this is your fate, Calla Potter. You feel it just as I do. Now, bow to me, and I will go easy on your mind."

She looked at him, the horror of her situation truly dawning. This wasn't only about death or about power. Maybe it was to him, but to her... He was going to use Legilimency. He was going to force his way into her mind. Like all Ravenclaws, her mind was her prized possession. She couldn't let him in.

"I said, bow," he said, and she did so silently, because he had raised his wand and an Imperius would make it more difficult to resist Legilimency. The Death Eaters around them jeered. Her heart pounded. It felt wrong, but it was keeping her unhurt, for now. It was giving her time. Her eyes drifted to the still-lit cauldron, the slowly burning fire underneath. "Very good," Voldemort told her in a mocking, but sickly pleased voice. "I see you are less rude than your brother." A sob wrenched from her throat. "Ah, don't cry. We're all having such fun."

She wanted to rise up, to scream in fury, to punch him, kick him, destroy them all. Not yet. She swallowed her fury in favour of a blank look and a blank mind. She rose, met Voldemort's eyes, and tried to suppress the shiver of deathly recognition that went through her. Something in her gut seemed to respond. It felt like it was being pulled out of her. Maybe she was just ill. Maybe this was fear. Maybe this was him.

Voldemort raised his wand again; the tip traced her collarbone and then up her throat. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, cool nausea rushing over her. She wanted to close her eyes and ignore the world, but she couldn't, because it would be so much worse. The tip of the wand travelled up her throat, her chin, trailed along her jaw and cheek, catching against the leg of her glasses, and then pressed against the side of her forehead and the edge of her scar.

For a second, the world blazed white with pain, and then disappeared.

Remus' face flashed through her mind. He was running, both scarred and scared, his wand out. Sirius was with him, both pale and worried. They were coming for her, she had to believe they were. There were other with them, faces she didn't recognise. They all seemed to blur together.

Her legs gave out and her vision twisted around her. Harry, older, face lined and scarred, making his way through the forest. His face was shadowed, and he looked scared in that resigned sort of way, like he knew what was coming. He faded into the white space of her mind along with everything else, and yet she knew she wasn't alone. There was a shadow at her back and it was growing.

Calla could feel Voldemort pressing closer, feel him trying to snake his way towards her, and she tried to move, bend her mind around her visions. He wouldn't be satisfied. She wouldn't let him get what he wanted.

She saw Hogwarts aflame and she turned away from that, made her vision-self go to the lake. Somewhere calm, somewhere clear, a place she imagined when she needed something to drown her thoughts in. Voldemort was chasing her. A snake hissed, slipping through the damp grass by the lake. It had red eyes and it was coming for her. "No," she said quietly to the snake, willing it to stop. This was her mind, her vision. She wanted to control it, but she felt her control of herself even slipping away. The lake rippled, whispers from beyond rising to the surface like steam. She slipped into the lake and the snake followed. It thrashed in the shallows and she forced herself deeper and deeper down. There was a lump of terror in her throat, and yet the water was soothing. It was like nothing could hurt her here. She saw gloomy figures up ahead and leaned down into the murky, cool waters.

Then she was back in the graveyard, gasping for breath, Voldemort's glare heavy on her. His eyes flashed with fury, confusion. "What is this?" he murmured. Her scar burned so terribly she thought she was going to pass out again. "How can you resist me..."

He was confused, thrown off from his plans. Calla, heart pounding and mind empty of everything but fear, took the opportunity to pull her knee up and hit Voldemort hard, knock the wand from his hands. She broke through the invisible bonds on her hands, and stumbled forwards on shaky legs. He stumbled and she swiped at his robes, taking her wand by its tip, and took off, heart pounding as she tried to run over twisted roots and knots. But Voldemort was faster.

He clasped her wrist and then pressed not his wand but his finger to her forehead. Her breath was wrenched from her throat as she struggled, bringing her own hand up. She scratched the back of Voldemort's wrist.

"You fight like a Muggle," he sneered, and she swung her leg to hit him in the side. He stumbled sideways, but a red spell shot past and hit Calla's shoulder. She screamed. "Perhaps this ought to loosen your mind up. Crucio!"

It was like nothing she'd felt before. Fire raced through her from her chest to her throat to her arms to her stomach to her feet. Her every nerve felt on edge and she couldn't control them, could barely control her thoughts. She was screaming, but she didn't know the words she was saying. She couldn't think. Pain made her double over and then retch, then pull back and arc, trying to fend it off. Her hands reached out to grab something to anchor her, but she couldn't even feel the trees beside her. She screamed and screamed until her throat was hoarse and dry, and then she pushed back, trying to force the pain away. She couldn't let him do this. The magic felt like an acid in her chest that she had to expel, and yet somehow it felt a part of her. It was burning through her veins, destroying her from the inside out. Maybe this was how she would die. Maybe she would succumb to the pain. Maybe it was all too much.

She had just enough clarity to see the shadow of the man before her. Remind herself why she was here. He'd spoken of a connection, him drawing on her magic. She was weak. But she wasn't dead. Not yet. Blinded by another onslaught of pain, she cried out, begging for it to stop, her eyes burning from tears. Anything, she thought, anything but this. With a cry, she lurched forward onto the ground, panting, cheeks stained with tears she couldn't remember shedding.

She had only a second to recover. Voldemort's eyes were wide, almost surprised, and then he was in her head. She could feel his presence in the expanse of white, two ruby eyes before her. She was fighting him even in her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs in a plea for anyone, anyone to help her.

She fell through the air and landed in a dank, damp cave. He was holding her by the shoulders, pushing her forwards, and she could hardly control herself enough to resist. A voice whispered - his, but not. It was deeper, almost warmer, just a little bit more human, and it was both taunting and mocking at the same time. Just come closer, it sang. Don't be afraid. She slipped into black water. Pale arms reached out, disturbing the surface, and then something else pulled her back by force.

She was in a small shack now. Dark magic hung heavy in the air. There was a ring on the floor, shrouded by dust, but it sang to her. It was his voice, but... Her heart pounded. Her mother was singing there too. She saw her ghost in the gloom, then her father, and then Cedric, rising, made from light, it seemed. She reached out to it, saw a blackened claw reach out to her, wrapping around her wrist and pulling her down, down, down.

She was standing at the edge of a frothing sea. A slightly older Tom Riddle stood above her, eyes rimmed with red fury. "Where did you see that?" That was Voldemort's voice, not his. Voldemort was behind her.

She turned and turned and the world spun around her. He didn't want her to see that. There was something important. Something she'd recognised, too, in that lake.

She reached out, and though she felt him pushing against her, she was pushing back, too. She willed the sea to still. "What was that?"

Heart pounding, terror of the future fighting with her need to understand, she took ahold of him and pushed into another mind. This one was darker, a deep and tangled forest of yew trees. He was there, silent and still, but when she blinked her vision clouded. She pushed through the mist. She needed to know. She could feel his panic, panic he'd used against her.

Then he split. There were different shadows, all of them him; she counted eight. One was the Tom Riddle she'd seen, but he was faded like a ghost. The others were different versions of him, perhaps different memories and different parts of his life. Mist drifted through her fingers and a whisper echoed. She strained to hear.

She moved to the shade she recognised but was thrust back, towards the ground, and his vision become only darkness and mist. Was this his Occlumency then? What was he hiding?

She pushed forward, a hand against a yew tree, other hand reaching towards one of the shades of Voldemort, and then she was thrown out.

She landed hard on the ground. That moment of strength had cost her; exhaustion pulled at her. Pain echoed throughout her entire body, burning through her chest. She twisted around, stumbling to her feet.

She had to see what he was hiding, look through the mist, but already one of the Death Eaters has a hold of her, Pettigrew on the other side. Voldemort was staring at her, red eyes full of hatred and contempt, but something else too. Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what had just happened, what she'd seen.

You're not dead yet, she reminded herself, and forced herself to believe it. Control over her legs was difficult to regain. But force wasn't winning. She couldn't just force herself to remain in control.

"We must move," Voldemort said, and she found herself being dragged along the ground, up the hill towards the house she'd seen so many times in her visions. Her breath caught. She tightened her grip on the cloth of her robes and her eyes caught the ground, littered with stones and bits of wood. Weapons. And she had a wand. She still had a wand, whatever it could or could not do. The fire under the cauldron has been extinguished now. But fire... Fire was a beacon.

She stumbled, shoved forward roughly, and her hands grazed sharp, pointed rocks and splintering, dry wood. Pocketing whatever she could, she allowed herself to be hauled to her feet, heart pounding. Her head swam.

She kept hoping someone would appear, someone to save her, but no one did. The night was still. Dumbledore had said the Ministry had extra security; where were they now? Where were any of the people who were supposed to protect her? She only had herself, her wand, and her mind.

They brought her to the door of the house. It looked like it was falling into disrepair, cracks in the walls, age-old paint all but gone from the wood. It didn't seem to have completely rotted though, at least.

She was forced through the door into a familiar, dusty kitchen. The snake curled around her ankles and then slithered along with her. Her ankle trembled when she put weight on it, and she dug her nails into Pettigrew.

"See how she stumbles?" Voldemort said in a low, cold hiss. "See how she flails? Wormtail, have our guest seated."

Pettigrew moved, just enough to let Calla's arm fall, her hand to reach into her pocket. She clutched the rounded end of the sharp stone, pushed a flat plank of wood to the bottom of her pocket where it could lie. She knew the rune for fire by heart. She trembled as she was pulled into a chair and made a show of slumping over onto the table. The Death Eaters jeered at her weakness as she slowly scratched the sideways arrow into the wood, and thanked wizards of the past for making it so simple.

"As we see," Voldemort said, "Calla Potter has most... unusual gifts. Though I must admit myself disappointed. It seems it has taken rather the toll on her." The Death Eaters jeered. "Yes, my contact at Hogwarts told me so... Little more than a squib."

Her anger was hot in her chest. She stroked her thumb over the rune, feeling no gaps. "Here, tonight... Our other friend has evaded us, but we shall soon move on..." Shifting so that the plank of wood was settled against her knee, Calla started to form a circle, her motions slow and steady so as not to alert anyone to what she was doing. "Malfoy, I believe your house has room for guests..." The snake glided over her feet and she shivered, but ground her teeth.

"Yes, My Lord."

"For too long, I have kept to the shadows..." A small flick where the circle met, enough to be a spark. "But no more... Lord Voldemort has risen, greater than ever before..." Calla tilted precariously on her chair, and caught her eyes on a cluster of wood by the fireplace, on the still ajar door, on leaves that had been trailed inside and left abandoned. "Even the great Albus Dumbledore..." She eased the piece of wood from her pocket, slipped her wand from the other pocket and held it carefully in her hand, positioned just underneath the shadows of the table. "Oblivious to my plan... My impostor." Ollivander had said this wand was powerful. She hoped it would prove it, now that she needed it. "See how slow he is to act, the fool?" The piece of wood slipped to the edge of her pocket. "Wormtail, fetch my belongings from the drawing room. Soon, we go... Soon, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters will preside over Britain once more."

Now. It had to be now. Her wandtip traced the grooves of the circle around the Rune. If no one was coming, she'd make them. She'd been told before people always came running when someone shouted fire, but if people thought they were in a burning building, then they would always try to run out. They would scatter. They would leave. She could do one better than merely the threat of fire. This house was falling apart anyway. And if this night killed her, she'd do as much damage as she could trying to live. She just hoped she had the strength left for it.

Breath shaking, chest heaving, she whispered, "Fascine," and threw the piece of wood across the room as it burst into flame.