It felt like something was growing in her chest. Calla didn't know if that was an entirely accurate assessment, but it was one that Madam Pomfrey has yet to dismiss, and it certainly felt that way. At first she thought she'd merely injured a rib, or it was growing pains, but no. It felt like something.
It was almost acidic, and somewhat corrosive, though she knew that if there was some corrosive curse on her, Pomfrey would have realised and she would have been dying far quicker. Whether or not she was correct, though, Calla knew her own body just as well as she knew her own mind, and she knew that there was something wrong. When she wasn't having terrified visions or dreams of Voldemort, or strange misty rooms, or houses that fell in on her, she was trying desperately to control her breathing, holding her wand tightly as if its simple presence would help her.
Likely, it was dark magic, but Hogwarts' teaching of the subject had always been lacking, and impostor-Moody had yet to touch on anything that caused this sense of impending doom and utter detachment. She'd asked Madam Pomfrey for a mirror but it didn't make her feel any better; her reflection was rather worse for wear, her scar looked more like a brand, and she couldn't shake the strange sensation that she wasn't really looking at herself anymore. She didn't know what had changed. Maybe nothing had, and maybe it was all in her increasingly confused head.
It had occurred to her on Sunday - a horribly bright day - that there were some things people were never going to teach her. No one had taught her how to face a Dark Lord and survive. No one had taught her how to scrape the last remnants of her sanity back together after watching someone die and being so convinced that she would be next. No one had taught her what Dark magic was, or how to truly survive it, but now it was eating her alive.
The need to know burned even stronger inside her. So she made a small list of books, fields of enquiry, tucked it folded under her pillow, and pretended she slept well.
Xx
She left the Hospital Wing at dinner time on Monday, armed with a salve that was meant to soothe curse scars, and a weak assurance that they would find a more permanent means of soothing the pain. Her chest felt permanently tight, like someone was squeezing her very hard. She barely even noticed her surroundings. She just felt blank. Whispers seemed to follow her, not only from the students she passed but from inside her head. Eight shades of Tom Riddle to Voldemort, whispering over and over mine, mine, mine.
The common room was blissfully quiet when she went inside, but everyone she did see stared at her as she passed. Head down, shoulders up, she hurried to her dormitory, praying it would be empty or that only Daphne or Padma might be in. Her prayers were not to be answered; all six of her dormmates turned as she entered, eyes widening, and she was suddenly drowned by them.
"Oh my God," Isobel kept saying, "you're alright? You are actually alright?"
"But what happened?" Mandy asked. "Dumbledore said - about Cedric - but he didn't tell us very much."
"We thought you might've, you know... When you didn't come back with your brother-"
"God, Potter, you even had me worried!"
"I just can't believe it, it all sounds so horrible, Cedric can't have been killed-"
"I'm just glad you're alive - not that Cedric - but Jesus, Calla-"
"Right," Padma said decisively, shooing the others back to their own beds. In a softer voice, she asked Calla, "Have you eaten?" She shook her head. "We're going to head to dinner soon, but we'll help you reorganise your stuff first."
"You don't have to," Calla told her quietly, holding her little bag of books and clothes protectively, as something tangible to cling onto, "I'm not that hungry anyway."
"You should still eat," Daphne told her, but Calla just shook her head. "You have to eat, Calla."
"I don't..." The words got stuck in her throat. "I don't... Everyone'll be..."
"She doesn't want to face everyone," Lisa said, surprisingly perceptive. She didn't look at Calla, but she did give Padma a look. "I think it's fair enough."
"You'll have to do it at some point," Padma told her gently, which didn't much help.
"Not yet," Calla said. Padma and Daphne exchanged a nervous glance and she shifted uncomfortably. Brianna the dragon flew around her head, flapping her wings gently, but she was getting slow. Calla stroked her hard back gently. "Breakfast, I'll try."
"Calla..."
"Please."
All of the girls were looking at her rather nervously now, even Isobel and Lisa. Like they didn't know what to do with her. "Breakfast, then," said Padma finally. "We'll bring you up some leftovers when we're done, if you're sure you don't want to come."
"I'm sure."
But when they left, she wasn't so sure. Being alone in the dorm felt strange, and she was itching for anyone to be near her, not to ask her questions or look at her like they were worried she'd fall apart, but to just be there with her and be normal. She put Terry's copy of The Hobbit down on her bedside table and shuffled her own books around to be organised by author, then by genre, then size and then title, and then her copy of Little Women flopped onto the floor and she sank down with it and started crying even though she didn't know why. The others found her like that, and she wasn't sure how or when but at some point they'd managed to get her to stop crying and get ready for bed but everything was just a horrible, colourless blur. Even as she tried to drop off, she could hear their breathing around her, uncomfortable and stifling and grating on her nerves. Even Matilda's gentle purring felt wrong. She couldn't sleep, but was merely suffocated by the darkness.
At some point, when it was for once completely dark outside, she took her copy of Little Women, a completely normal, completely mundane book and went to sit in the common room, curled up in one of the cozy armchairs until she could doze off to a fitful sleep that was haunted by spectres of her parents, of fire and of snakes winding around her.
The last week of classes felt like they dragged on forever, yet Calla had no idea what had happened in that time. It was as if the whole week had been lost to her distracted, yet empty, mind. Professor Babbling held her back at the end of Ancient Runes on Thursday, Calla's last class of the day. They hadn't done anything that day, nor any other day since the Third Task.
"I wanted to see how you are," she said gently. "Doubtless you've been asked this same thing by any number of your other classmates and teachers, but I've seen a marked difference in you this term in general, and after what happened after the Third Task..." She didn't know what to say. Professor Babbling sighed. "You're a bright witch, Calla. I do mean it. If there is anything you need, if it's even just somewhere to sit in the quiet, my door is always open, alright? Your work this term has been great, considering everything you've been going through."
Calla nodded. There was a lump in her throat that rarely seemed to have gone away the past few days, and her eyes stung a bit. "I saw the enchanted grate things you put in the maze," she said quietly, and Babbling's eyes lit up.
"Oh, you did! I hoped somebody would! Did they help you?"
She nodded. "I only used one, the water one. It blasted a whole load of Acromantulae out of my way."
Professor Babbling smiled faintly. "I told Dumbledore they'd come in handy for someone!" Calla smiled back, not knowing much else to say. She shouldered her bag, fiddling with the strap. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"
There were a million things, but Calla didn't think she was capable of talking to anyone about them. She shook her head. "No, I... I'll just get back to my common room. I think Padma's waiting outside."
Professor Babbling smiled again. "Good. Again, Calla, anything you need, when we return from break, and if you have any questions about the coursework I've set for over the Summer. And if... If you are struggling, I won't hold it against you if-"
"I'll get it done," Calla said, shorter than she'd intended. But Professor Babbling didn't seem to mind. "I think it'll be good for me to have something to take my mind off of everything."
"Alright," Babbling said, shifting some of the papers that littered her desk. "Well then. I'll see you in September, Calla."
"Thanks," she said awkwardly, hoisting her bag. "En-enjoy your Summer, Professor."
On Friday night Calla went to Dumbledore's office after dinner. The girls had been pressing her all week to talk and she didn't want to, but there was one person to whom she could ask questions rather than only have to answer them.
He was standing when she arrived, apparently in deep conversation with one of the Headmasters' portraits on the wall. He nodded to Calla as she entered, and she meekly took a seat at his desk, waving to Fawkes the phoenix. "Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore was saying to the portrait, "carry the message on, will you?"
The Headmaster he was speaking to sniffed and said, "Is this the Potter girl, then?"
Calla jumped, a little surprised at having been acknowledged by a portrait. She looked to Dumbledore, who smiled serenely. "Um, yes, sir," she said to the portrait. "Calla Potter."
Phineas made a loud huffing sound. "Well. We'll see about this, Dumbledore." And then he swept imperiously from his frame, leaving Calla to stare at the empty portrait.
"Don't worry about Phineas," Dumbledore told her. "He is helpful when he wants to be."
Calla nodded, looking down at the desk. "I have a few questions," she said in a nervous rush.
"I thought as much."
"I sort of... I made a little bit of a list."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and his mouth twitched up at the edges. "Indeed?"
"Yes." Calla cleared her throat. "I know you don't want to tell me everything and that you haven't wanted to. But I - I think... I'm almost fifteen now, and Voldemort will use anything he can to get what he wants. And I think with everything that's happening, it's time I knew what you know." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "So. You've said that there's this - this connection between Voldemort and me, but I want to know how and I want to know why and I want to know how it works, as much as you know."
He considered her for a long moment, and then said wearily, "Very well. But I must warn you, Calla, there is less that I know and more that I have supposed."
"Well, I want to know what you suppose, then," she said. "It's... It's my life, Professor. So I think I deserve to know."
"I am not disagreeing with you," Dumbledore said gently. He took a deep breath. "I have told you already that the connection between yourself and Lord Voldemort was formed the night of your parents' murder in Godric's Hollow. When his attempt to kill your brother failed, Voldemort transferred some of himself to him - quite unintentionally, I am sure. With you, the opposite happened. Voldemort sought to kill Harry first, but he had made a bargain to spare your mother - yet he did not want her in the way. I believe he intended to cast the spell you told me about - viricaptus - on her, and had undertaken the ritual necessary to prepare his body for binding, but when your mother insisted on saving Harry, he killed her and turned his wand to you and your brother instead.
"When his body was destroyed that evening, a part of his soul remained and in its - his - determination for survival, he completed the ritual. He could, if he wanted, perform it as many times on the same person, and whenever he was near, or a part of him was, he could take from them their strength and magic."
"Like he did in the forest," she said slowly, "and in the graveyard. And... That's what happened with the diary, too."
"Precisely," Dumbledore said, with a troubled kind of triumph in his eyes.
"So I'm just... Weak, then? That's it? I can't really fight him, because he'll always have the upper hand!"
"Not quite," Dumbledore told her. "I would give you every advantage I possibly could. Occlumency is one that as already served you. But your magic, Calla, remains yours. It may have been stolen, but it responds to you, if only you know how to call it. I believe you managed to resist the Imperius Curse?" She nodded numbly. "Your mind, like your magic and like your soul, belongs to you and you alone, if only you understand how to wield it. As for weakness, I do not think so. You have other strengths that Voldemort did not count on, and that he is, I'm sure, furious at not being able to utilise.
"You see, while Harry is able to, for example, speak to snakes and can see partially into Voldemort's mind, at some moments, Voldemort, in his perhaps unconscious attempt to weaken you, brought to the fore some of your own more hidden magical talents."
"The Sight, you mean."
He nodded. "By this method of draining your energy, Voldemort invoked a reaction in your magic. While when you are near him, or a part of him - such as when you were around Professor Quirrel or Tom Riddle's diary - your physical magical strength is depleted, but your mental capabilities extend themselves. I believe your Sight first revealed itself when you came into close contact with Voldemort in the forest, when he was at perhaps his most desperate, feeding on unicorn blood?" It was Calla's turn to nod. She scribbled some of what he had said down on parchment and could have sworn Dumbledore smiled.
"That makes some sense," she said, "but if I'd been around Quirrel all year, how come my Sight only revealed itself then?"
"I cannot know for certain. My guess is that Voldemort was, in that moment, determined to draw strength from anything he could. A unicorn's blood... Or, yourself."
"And then the diary," she said, "because I'd had visions surrounding the Basilisk and everything... He can't have intended for that, could he?"
"I don't believe he necessarily intended it, no," Dumbledore said, "nor can he control it - only use it to his advantage. He may be able to gain entry to your thoughts, as a skilled Legilimens, but your mind, Calla, remains yours and yours alone. And you can fight it."
"Well," she said bracingly, "that's good to know." She frowned. "So, you said he - he put a bit of himself in Harry? Is Harry drawing magic from him, then, in some weird way? Or did he just pick up his, you know... Things he can do? Because Voldemort said he needed me, for my Sight, and he couldn't take that power, but he was still able to be inside my mind. But - well, I suppose Harry's never exactly tried to use Legilimency on me or on Voldemort, but he - Voldemort's stronger than ever. But he still couldn't kill him." Her frown deepened; even she wasn't entirely sure where she was going with this. "But the connection with Harry and Voldemort, it - it isn't the same thing, just in reverse?"
Dumbledore nodded. "You are correct. It is not the same thing."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore said slowly, "but none that I can reveal at this moment."
She'd thought as much, so Calla moved on quickly. "So if there's a bit of Voldemort in Harry... Like there was a bit of him in the diary... Does that function the same way in terms of drawing on my magic?"
Dumbledore seemed to be considering her very carefully, as though wondering how best to respond. She could tell there were still many things he wasn't going to tell her, and from the brief worry in his eyes, she was getting closer to something he didn't want to reveal. For a moment she thought she'd take a step back and ask something else, but she waited, her silence pressing him. "I do not think so," he said at last. "Your brother may have certain aspects of Voldemort, but he is not him, and his subconscience would not act as such." Calla nodded, satisfied and a little relieved.
"Okay. So, I have my visions, which is... You know. But you mentioned shield magic, too, that it was my magic's natural defenses? How does that work? Is my magic sort of like a separate... I don't know, force?"
"Many wizards have contemplated the theory of magic as being an essence quite separate from its wielder, though no one has yet proven it, nor, I believe, will they ever. There is in fact an argument that different wandwoods hold their own magic and hence respond to a wizard's magic, rather than that wizard themself."
"Do you agree?"
"I am, as of yet, undecided on my stance. Ollivander, I know, believes that wands respond to a wizard's soul rather than his magic. There have, also, been tales throughout history of wands switching allegiances after being won from their owners, recognising the magic of another and working with it, but many of these legends, I'm afraid, have yet to be confirmed. If you would like to read further," he added, "Wandlore and Magic by Aurelia Lauris is a good starting point, if a little lengthy." Calla couldn't help but smile, and made a note of the title and author. "We have a copy in the library here, if you ask Madam Pince nicely."
Calla was about to ask more, but she didn't want to get sidetracked and let Dumbledore avoid her questions. She had a slight feeling that he was trying to do exactly that. "How does the whole shield thing work, then?"
Dumbledore smiled. "In truth, I cannot know for definite. I think that, in Lord Voldemort's tendency to favour flash and force, he typically overlooks the need for defensive magic. Of course, the Killing Curse is itself, a rather useful defense." Calla felt a chill as he said this, and Dumbledore seemed to notice, as he went on, "It is possible that your magic recognises the threat Lord Voldemort poses, and thus determines itself to act as a strong shield. You did tell me that Lord Voldemort's attempt to place the Imperius Curse upon you was less successful when, based on previous experience, you had not expected it to be. Or," he said, "perhaps, you simply have a natural aptitude for defensive magic quite separate from your connection with Lord Voldemort. You would not be the only one."
"Okay." That hadn't helped an awful lot, really, but she liked the feeling of being at least somewhat on the same page as Dumbledore. There was one last thing she had to ask, though, something she hadn't dared to voice in the Hospital Wing with Harry nearby. "Professor, when I was in the graveyard after Voldemort touched my scar and I, you know, passed out... I had a vision. Well, a few, actually."
Dumbledore didn't looked surprised at all, not that Calla had truly expected him to. "Go on."
"It was weird. I was, like... I was just in this weird, white space. In my head, I guess, but also not?" She looked at him. "It was weird. And then I moved and I was in Privet Drive and nothing really happened, I was just sort of there? But I - I could hear his voice. Voldemort's," she added for clarification, and Dumbledore nodded. "There was a lot going on after that, everything just kind of flew past me? I couldn't really control it at all, and I couldn't really grasp onto any of it. But I - I saw Harry." Her voice was shaking, and so were her hands, she realised. She was talking an awful lot more than she had intended to, as well, but now she'd started she felt she had to tell someone. Calla gripped the edge of the desk tightly. "He looked like he was - he..." She forced the word out and it was heavy on her tongue. "Dead."
Dumbledore's eyes softened and he reached over the desk to take her hand gently. "Your brother is not dead, Calla."
"He - that doesn't mean... Voldemort was there too. It was like he came out of him." For a second she thought she saw something glint in Dumbledore's eyes, almost triumphantly, and she withdrew her hand sharply. "What does that mean to you?"
"I am not sure." She looked at him, frowning. There was something there, she knew it. "It could mean any number of things, Calla."
"Yeah." She pursed her lips. "But - but what do you think it means? Professor?"
"Perhaps it was what Voldemort desired at the time. You said this occurred in the graveyard - your brother did have the Killing Curse sent at him."
"Yeah, but..." She struggled for her words. "I don't know. I don't think that's it."
"Was that all?"
She swallowed and shook her head. "There was this room. I was in it, I think with other people, but then I wasn't with them. It kept changing. But there were all these shelves, loads of them, and they had this weird blue smoke? It was... eerie," she said, considering the word carefully. "But not in a bad way. It was..." She didn't want to say the word comforting. Something about that part of her vision had indeed called to her, and she hadn't wanted to leave. "And then I was running and I don't know why, and I ran out and then... It stopped. I think that was when they left. But then with Voldemort... I'm not entirely sure whose mind I was in to be honest. But there was this cave, and he seemed really angry that I was there, and then I saw... Him, but not. I mean, I think it was most likely just some function of his Occlumency, but I saw these sort of, eight figures? They were all Voldemort, but not? All of them were different ages. I don't think he wanted me to see them."
He considered her for a moment, blue eyes twinkling with assured curiosity. "No. No, I don't suppose he would."
"Do you know what it means?"
Dumbledore merely smiled, but there was a glint in his eyes like he'd just proven something. "I expect you shall learn in time."
"So, yes. You just don't want to tell me." Frustration flared in her chest. "Why not? It could be important! And I'm the one who saw it."
"Indeed you are," Dumbledore said. "But I am going to have to ask you to trust me, Calla."
"Trust you." It came out with more of a scoff than she had intended it to. "How am I possibly meant to trust you?" He was a liar, she told herself, bitterness curling between her ribs. He was a liar and even now, even after what she'd just been through, he wasn't telling her what she was sure she needed to know. "If I can see more of this, then I need to understand what it means. Professor."
"You will understand in time," Dumbledore said. "But I am afraid that, for now, I must keep my silence, until I am absolutely certain. This information, may be of the utmost importance. I cannot risk whispers of what you have seen getting out."
"What?" She stared at him. "So you're the only one who is allowed to know?"
"For now, I think it wise."
"Wise." She shook her head, eyes stinging. "Sure." He was just going to use her information for whatever he thought was right, and perhaps she did trust that he knew what he was doing - but it was what that meant that scared her. How did she know this wasn't some other secret Voldemort could use against her? How did she know Dumbledore wouldn't let him?
"Now," he said, changing to a pleasant tone and smile, "I have a rather plentiful supply of hot cocoa."
"You think you can distract me from this with hot cocoa," she said flatly, folding her arms.
"Well, I would hope so. It is quite scrumptious."
"I want to know what's going on, Professor," she said, with an ounce of pleading in her voice. "I have to know."
"Calla," he said. "Trust me."
"I don't," she told him, and surprise flickered in his eyes. She'd surprised herself too, by speaking so freely. "Not when you won't trust me."
For that, he seemed to have no reply. That only angered Calla further. He couldn't even think of what to say, refused to even try to mend this, to attempt to help her by telling her the truth. "Do you at least know what happened to my scar?" she asked tiredly.
"It is a remnant," he told her, "of the curse Voldemort placed upon you as a child. Viricaptus, as you told me." She nodded grudgingly, not meeting his eyes. "It seems that your sudden proximity to him has aggravated it, causing the curse to flare up. Without ending the curse, you cannot end the pain in your scar. But it ought to die down, for a time."
"Until he tries to kill me again, you mean."
He looked down. "You mustn't live in fear. Scars can often come in useful, after all."
"Maybe, if they aren't cursed."
He winced. "It is late. I must discuss with you the matter of your accommodations for the Summer."
At this, she perked up. "Yes?"
"Sirius is graciously allowing me to house the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters in his family home. As such, we will take some time to settle in and make the place suitable for residence. There are rather a few dark artefacts lurking there."
"Right," she said, not liking where this was going. "But we'll still get to stay with them?"
"I will be frank with you," Dumbledore said, and her heart sank, "I have my reasons for insisting you and your brother remain with your aunt and uncle for a portion of the holidays each year."
"So you're sending us back?" She hadn't expected the tears that welled up at that pronouncement. "Even after this!"
"It is for your protection."
"Protection! The Dursleys have never done anything to protect us!"
"They have done a great deal more than you know," he said. "When your mother sacrificed herself for you and your brother, she placed a powerful form of old magic upon you. It protects you from Voldemort, keeping her memory. Her protection lies in the blood you share with your aunt and brother. The area around Privet Drive is protected. And I feel," he added, "that you may benefit from the relief on your magic. Take some time to recover."
She blinked. "But if the protection is in our blood - Harry and I share that? Surely we can protect one another."
His smile wavered. "When I first had you brought to Privet Drive, I did not know for certain the nature of Lily's protections. I had to ensure that it was safe, and myself strengthened the enchantments. While it is true that you two can protect yourselves, it has not always been the case."
"If you're talking about Harry-"
"I merely meant that the Muggle world may offer you a reprieve that more time in ours cannot. But I do promise that you will be reunited with your respective godfathers soon enough. Calla, you are still vulnerable."
"Thanks," she said quietly, looking away from him. She didn't like that reminder.
"I mean no insult. And as for your brother... I think he may also benefit from some time away from the situation."
She stared at him. "That's the last thing Harry would ever want." Her brother had always insisted on being a part of the action, and was never content to sit on the sidelines. Especially with something like that. It seemed Dumbledore just wanted them out of the way, and it stung. Perhaps she was just paranoid and desperate to find fault, but she couldn't help the bitterness she felt toward him. "You're not going to budge on this are you? You never have! You've never let us be with Remus even when that's where we're happiest! It doesn't matter if we're actually happy, or if we actually feel safe. Because you think you know what's best."
"In this respect, Calla," he told her in a low voice that told her this was the last he would speak of it, "I do." The twinkle in his eyes was gone and she felt herself deflate, a lump in her throat. "Will that be all?"
No, she wanted to spit, along with a thousand other furious indecencies. But she restrained herself to silence. It wasn't like he was going to listen anyway. "Yes, Professor."
He smiled but the spark didn't return to his eyes. "Now I suppose, as I will not be seeing you for a while, hot cocoa may be in order."
It was far from what she needed, but Calla contented herself with playing whatever game Dumbledore wanted for the time being. But silently she resolved that if he would not tell her the truth, then she would find a way to discover it herself. There was much that Dumbledore had hidden from her - and most people - over the years. But she had to know. Know something. And some part of her just wanted to make that act of defiance against him, because she wasn't sure if there was any other defiance she could manage.
It did feel rather odd to be drinking hot cocoa with the Headmaster while he talked to her - and partially to himself - about dragon blood and wandlore. His own wand, Calla discovered, was made of elder, like hers was, and Dumbledore seemed rather interested in that fact. "Ollivander said it was meant to be powerful," she said, sipping the last of her drink as the clock on Dumbledore's wall neared nine o'clock, "but I'm not sure it ever worked for me too well. I guess powerful wands only work with powerful magic? But then I don't know why it would choose me." She shrugged. "Maybe Ollivander's closer to the truth than the others are, that they don't choose you based on magic alone."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "But the intricacies of wandlore are for another day. Now, Calla, it is getting near to curfew for fourth years. I suggest you return to your dormitory to think on it."
She smiled testily and stood up, nerves prickling over her. "Right," she said flatly. "Goodnight, Professor."
"Goodnight, Calla. I shall see you in September."
She shivered as she left, unsure if she even wanted that anymore.
Xx
The final night of term, that Saturday, meant the Leaving Feast. Most years Calla had enjoyed it, winning the House Cup in first year, and stuffing herself with great food the rest of the time. But this time it meant having to face everyone she didn't want to talk to, all in the same hall at once. She had a feeling Dumbledore would mention Cedric in his traditional end of feast speech, and when he did that, she knew people would be looking at her.
But she also knew that she couldn't avoid this feast. So she finished packing her trunk in the dormitory with the other girls, hurried between there and the boys' dorm to pick up and return various books and random bits of notes. They all headed to the Great Hall together, and Calla was grateful for the way they seemed to form around her like a guard. The Ravenclaw table was only half full when they arrived and the Beauxbatons students hadn't entered yet, so they found seats easily, Calla between Daphne and Padma and across from Isobel, Terry and Anthony, the others dotted around them. Where most years the walls had had tapestries of the house colours draped from them, this year all the hangings were black. For Cedric. Calla tensed, eyes stinging. People whispered around her, as if she wouldn't hear them. "Ignore it," Daphne murmured. "Just ignore it."
"You're not the one being whispered about by everyone," she hissed back, feeling the eyes of the hall on her.
"Calla?" Fleur's voice said behind her. She froze, tensing, and swallowed nervously as she turned around. Fleur didn't look well. "I have not seen you."
She nodded numbly. "I know. I've been... You know."
Fleur put a very gentle hand on Calla's shoulder. "It is terrible, what happened. Cedric... He was a wonderful friend."
"I know."
"But I am glad you are okay. I was scared." She smiled gently, though it wobbled at the edges. "You will write to me, yes? I would like to hear from you."
Calla nodded. "I - I will."
Fleur smiled, and swooped down to give Calla a brief but tight hug, that was frankly, very unexpected. "Good." One of her Beauxbatons friends called something and she shouted back swiftly in French, before turning back to Calla. "I will speak to you soon." She nodded, and then looked shakily along the hall, her eyes falling on the Hufflepuff Table. Hardly anyone was speaking there, all subdued and quiet. Calla saw Hannah and Susan and knew both of them had been crying. "Be careful."
Then she was gone and Calla sighed, eyes returning to the table before her. She kept looking around, not at anyone in particular, but searching for Harry. He came in nearly late, Ron and Hermione either side of him, and Calla caught his eye tiredly. They hadn't spoken since she'd had her talk with Dumbledore, and though she had no intention of telling anyone else the details of that conversation, she felt she ought to tell Harry, at some point, when she was ready. But for now they just exchanged heavy nods, as Harry sat down and disappeared amongst the mass of Gryffindor students.
The Hall was quieter than usual, too, Calla noticed. It was far from a surprise. And when Dumbledore stood up at the Staff Table, it went absolutely silent. She could hear herself breathing.
"The end," he began, "of another year." His eyes lingered on the Hufflepuff Table. "There is much that I would like to say to you all. But I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person-" he gestured to the Hufflepuff Table, where Hannah was now visibly teary, and Ernie was paler than he'd ever been "-who should be sitting here, enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all to stand, please, and raise your glasses to Cedric Diggory."
Eyes stinging, Calla got to her feet, hands shaking around her goblet. Everyone in the hall did the same, the benches scraping as all their many hundreds of voices rumbled together. "To Cedric Diggory." She found her tears spilling over again as she spoke and choked off at the end of Cedric's name, wiping her eyes fiercely as she sat back down. Padma rubbed her shoulder gently.
"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities of Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore said. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know how his death came about."
Calla felt her stomach plummet. People from along the Ravenclaw Table turned towards her for a second, eyes wide, before they turned back, everyone's eyes on Dumbledore. If Calla was truly honest, she was scared that hearing the words spoken aloud might just make them real. "Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."
This was enough to cause a wave of whispers to break out amongst the students in the Great Hall, some panicked, some knowing, as if they'd expected this. Calla gripped the table tightly, and her yearmates looked at her, all seeming to watch for her reaction as Dumbledore confirmed the answer to the question they had all been dancing around all week. Calla swallowed down the threat of tears and forced herself to look at Dumbledore. "The Ministry of Magic," he continued, voice perfectly calm, "would rather I didn't tell you this information. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or that they are determined to follow the Ministry's lead, or because they believe that I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is preferable to lies, and not only would dishonesty be an insult to Cedric's memory, but the avoidance of the truth - terrifying thought it is - would put you all in far graver danger."
Though she could feel tight nerves in her throat and stomach, and her vision was blurred by tears, Calla nodded determinedly, as though in solidarity. Someone reached across the table to grab her hand, and Daphne took her other, squeezing it tightly. Behind her at the Slytherin Table, she could hear someone muttering, and this stung her even more, anger curling in her stomach. Daphne tightened her grip fiercely.
"There are two others who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore said, and Calla blinked fiercely as tears ran down her cheeks, determined to keep her head up as she looked at him. She knew what was coming. "I am talking, of course, about Harry and Calla Potter." Daphne was now holding Calla's hand so tightly she thought her fingers might break off, and Padma had her arm warm around her shoulders.
"Harry and Calla Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "Harry risked his life to return Cedric's body to his parents, and to alert us immediately of the events that occurred so the Ministry's Aurors could save his sister and confront the Death Eaters." Calla remembered Cedric's pale face, the light of his eyes dying in a wash of green. "Both Harry and Calla resisted Voldemort. They showed in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for that, I commend them both." But Calla didn't feel particularly brave. She felt sick at the memories of Voldemort in the graveyard, worming his way into her mind, and at the thought of her brother fighting on his own, trying to haul her and Cedric back to that Portkey, under fire and terrified. She remembered fire, and a wave of helplessness swept over her. Her scar burned and she felt herself away, leaning heavily against Padma.
Dumbledore looked between Harry and Calla and raised his goblet once again. Calla didn't know what to do as the hall rose again to its feet, murmuring her and her brother's names. It felt wrong, somehow, to hear it ripple out as Cedric's had done, under Dumbledore's eye. She didn't want to be a martyr as Dumbledore was making him, and she knew she wasn't the hero that Harry was. Though she couldn't quite see her brother through the crowd, she had a feeling he felt as she did. That he did not want to be praised as he was right now, when they had just discussed Cedric's death. That while Calla would fight Voldemort with anything she had, she didn't want this to be a call to arms. This was supposed to be for Cedric, not for Dumbledore to make his speech - and yet she knew why he did, knew that the emotions of everyone in this hall would lead some of them to fight, in Cedric's honour. She still wanted to cry.
Some of the Slytherins stayed seated, she noted, glancing over. Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle, but Theodore - though he looked rather nervous about it - and Zabini had gotten to their feet, and Astoria stood almost defiantly, and even Parkinson was in a sort of half rise, her eyes not on Calla but on Daphne, whose knuckles were white as she clutched her own goblet. And she could see, too, Krum standing, though he was very pale and almost nervous, and she could tell Fleur's hands were shaking around her goblet.
"The Triwizard Tournament's aim," Dumbledore continued, "was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened - Lord Voldemort's return - such ties are more important than ever before.
"Every guest in this hall, will be welcome here at any time, if they so wish to return. I say to you all once again, in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, that we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.
"Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and emnity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally great bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.
"It is my belief - and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken - that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you, in this Hall, have already suffered directly at the hand of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder." Calla felt her eyes well again. "A week ago, a student was taken from our midst.
"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time shall come when you must decide between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort."
Xx
Calla barely knew what had happened the rest of the Feast, except that when she returned to Ravenclaw Tower her yearmates all went to the boys' dormitory together and she joined them, all ten strewn across three beds and a puddle of unpacked clothes on the floor which none of the girls would touch. "We know you don't want to talk about what happened," Daphne started, tilting her head, "but we want to know. He is back, isn't he?" Calla nodded. "He's why Cedric..." She swallowed. "Well. This is it, then."
"What?"
"A lot of people never really thought he was gone," Lisa told her quietly. "Some people thought that his Death Eaters were on the rise... Now we know he is back. My," she looked around, nervous in a way Calla had never seen her before, "my father died because of his Death Eaters, you know. He was a squib. My mother didn't want them to hurt us, too. That's why I was brought up in the Muggle world."
"I..." Calla stared at her. "I didn't know."
"It's not the kind of thing that makes great conversation," Lisa said, keeping her eyes as far from Calla's as she could. "But see, my mum always said, my dad would have fought him with everything he had, even without magic. And he did." She folded her arms. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to do the same."
Calla blinked. She hadn't expected Lisa of all people to react like this.
"Well," said Isobel, with a hard look in her eye, "I've not exactly got a choice, have I? You've told us what's happened, we know the truth. I still don't know a whole lot about the Wizarding World, not really, but I know a lot of people don't want me here." She shrugged. "I want to be here."
"So do I," Terry said, voice very quiet.
"And the point is," Padma said gently, "that we're all with you."
"You can't be," Calla whispered. "This isn't... This isn't some game. It's not another adventure. He meant to kill my brother. He - he tortured me, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd killed me, once he'd gotten what he wanted. He'll kill you, too."
"He'd kill us anyway," Isobel said. "Me and Terry."
"I can't ask you to - I don't even know what that would mean. I'm... This is on me."
"You think this is just about you?" Terry asked coolly and she blinked.
"No, but I - none of you have to-"
"This is about everyone. All Muggleborns are in danger if he's back, and not even just us."
"But this... All of this stuff with him, my - my visions... That's all on me. I don't want you guys to put yourselves in harm's way. That's something I have to handle." Even if she didn't know how.
"No it's not," Mandy said. "Don't be silly. It shouldn't have been on you in the first place but..."
"You're our friend," Sue said, and the others nodded. Padma squeezed Calla's hand.
"Yeah," said Anthony. "None of us know what's going to happen. But I figure... Dumbledore's right. This is right."
"Besides," Terry said, his gaze still holding hers, "if it's coming anyway, we should be prepared for it as soon as we can. It's just logical. We can't get away from it. So we might as well face it together."
"They're right," Michael told her, speaking up for the first time. "There's no point avoiding the issue."
"I don't want to have this conversation right now," Calla said quietly. She felt horribly empty and tired. "I don't think I can."
The others all looked at her, frowning. "We know it's hard."
"You don't understand." She shook her head, getting shakily to her feet. "I - I can't talk about this right now. Cedric's been d-d-dead for a - a week! And everyone wants to make this... About fighting and... I can't yet."
"You heard Dumbledore," Isobel said, a rather fierce look in her eyes. "We have to choose. Between what's right and what's easy."
She nodded, feeling unbearably heavy and stiflingly hot. "I - I know. I know. But I... I need time." Their faces blurred as more tears burned in her eyes. "Then I can fight but I - I can't. I don't even know how. And I don't want any of you to get hurt."
"And what if we do anyway?" Terry shot back. "What happened to Cedric was..." Grief contorted his features for a moment. "Awful. It could have been anyone. He won't be the last. But it... It could have been you, too. And we're all so glad it wasn't.
"That's why we're with you," he told her, as Padma and Daphne both grasped either of her hands. "More than that, we're with each other. Aren't we?"
"We're your friends," Padma said, "and we... We'll fight with you. And if you can't, we'll be here while you do that, too. But we'll all fight together." She squeezed her hand and slowly, Calla sank shakily back onto the bed, lowered her head and cried into her friend's shoulder as the others surged around them, each of them holding part of her and each other.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice cracking a little. "All of you."
But the terrifying truth remained. Because Cedric Diggory was dead. And it could have been her, and she reminded herself in bouts of self-loathing that maybe it should have been her, that surely she didn't stand a chance when such a wonderful, brave, talented person had been so mercilessly killed.
Laying in bed that night, trying to put off the inevitable return of her nightmares, she wondered if maybe she'd never been supposed to live to fight. If maybe her destiny, whatever it was, had been to die and she'd just inadvertently screwed it up and wound up here, crying because she was alive and he wasn't and because she knew even without the Sight that he would not be the last to die, and this would not be the last time she cried over a lost friend and her failure to save him.
Author's Note: And that (almost!) wraps up fourth year! Next chapter we'll get to the Summer holidays, and I have a lot in store for Calla. Let me know of any thoughts or predictions you have and anything you'd like to see. This next year is going to be a serious learning curve for Calla and I'm excited for the new twists to canon. As I think I've said, this is where Calla really starts to go off on her own and begin to forge her own path, and I'm super excited to write her changing character and relationships. Currently I've got about drafts of almost a dozen more chapters written, taking us to the start of September in the timeline, and updates will probably be around once a week for the foreseeable future. I hope you all enjoy, and I shall be back next week with an update!