Harry's mood only got worse for the next few days. Ron and Hermione didn't write lengthy replies. Sirius didn't write any at all, and he seemed too annoyed to yet consider writing to Remus — though probably it was because he knew he'd only get the same reply they'd been getting all summer.

Stay out. Don't run off again. Be careful. We'll see you when we can.

That was starting to sound like a code for 'never'.

So Harry took to roaming the streets, happening upon newspapers whenever he could in search of better news than was reported in the Daily Prophet. Calla spent her time either with Mairi or locked in her room searching books furiously for any magic she thought she could start to implement to soon defend herself, any solution to the ever-increasing sense that she was losing herself, and that she may never find herself again. On one afternoon she read through a book about Occlumency again. Harry was out and Mairi visiting her family in Edinburgh for a few days. The book was largely useless, telling her nothing she hadn't already known, and it felt like a complete and utter waste of time and money to retrieve it.

Across the hall, Dudley pummelled his punching dummy and then, just as Calla was about to snap and throw her book away, he stopped. The dummy came into view of Calla's door as he made his way, pink-faced, downstairs to the kitchen. She couldn't stop herself glaring but at least he didn't see.

Then an idea came back to her. She'd never been as strong as Dudley, of course, but she'd noticed that there was more to boxing — and fighting — than brute strength alone. He had developed a technique of sorts. Still rather brutal and not anything she would consider refined, but a technique nonetheless.

Before Calla knew what she was doing, she had set her book down and was creeping her way across the landing, staring in the door. Her cousin's room had always been filled with clutter, and now it was filled with boxing clutter, and his trophy which Uncle Vernon hadn't shut up about all summer. It gleamed golden and bright on his bookshelf, which was not used for holding anything else. His name was engraved somewhere there. Calla wondered briefly if her name was engraved on the Triwizard Cup — with Harry's, and with Cedric's. She shook that thought out of her head.

"What you doing?" Dudley's voice said from behind her, and Calla jumped. She hadn't heard him come up the stairs, which was unusual because he usually sounded like a herd of elephants.

"Where did you come from?"

"Downstairs, obviously." Turning around, she saw him take a spoonful of ice cream, considering her carefully. Dudley swallowed and said, "You ain't nicked anything, have you?"

"What?" Calla blinked, and then glared. "What do you have that I'd be interested in."

"Medals."

"Doubt anyone going to believe I'm a boxing champion."

He grunted and took another spoonful of ice cream. Calla tried to move past him, breeze back to her room, but he shoved her back. "What you doing then? Shouldn't you be holed up with Harry somewhere, or with your weird friend?"

"Her name's Mairi," Calla snapped. "And I'm just about to go back."

Dudley raised his eyebrows and had some more ice cream. Arsehole. His frame filled the doorway, and Calla tensed up, waiting for the inevitable moment where he'd try and hit her and she'd have to take the chance to duck away from his arm and run. But he didn't.

"I heard Mum and Dad talking about you the other night. You and your brother."

She went cold and very still, reminding herself to breathe and put on a cool mask of indifference. "I'm sure it was a riveting conversation."

"They said you got in some sorta trouble. Got the shit beat out of you."

"Oh, don't let mumsy hear you say that, Dud. Or is it Big D?"

"That's why your scar got all funny again." Brow furrowed, Dudley looked almost contemplative. "You ain't allowed to leave but they don't want you here. You'll get us in danger too, Mum said."

"And how did you hear all this?"

His face went a little pink. "Was just going out. None of your business anyway." Calla smirked and regretted it when his eyes flashed. No, she was taking too much a chance right now. Best not risk it by pushing his buttons. "You were in some Tournament. Dad said you got winnings but we haven't seen any of it. Bit ungrateful if you ask me."

"The winnings are gone," Calla said coldly. "And if you will excuse me, Dudley, I'm not interested in having this—"

"Said that — person, what killed your parents. Mum's sister..." He frowned.

"Lily," Calla ground out.

"Said he tried to kill you too." She didn't feel like correcting him that he was only going to kill Harry. She didn't want to face what he wanted to do with her. "You really got someone after you?"

"Piss off, Dudley."

"I'm talking to you. I reckon Mum and Dad are scared. Your lot are mental." She scoffed, but sobered when she remembered Dudley hadn't exactly had many friendly encounters with 'her lot'. Nothing life threatening, but still. "I'm not having them come here."

"You trying to kick me out?" She laughed. "I'd leave if I could, Dudley."

"No," he said, and looked away before shrugging. "Just thought you could use a hand."

"Excuse me?"

He nodded to the punching dummy standing in his room. "I need an actual person to practice with."

"What, beating up ten year olds isn't good enough for you anymore?"

Dudley's cheeks went pink. "Shut your mouth. I only fight people what deserve it."

"And what did Bobby Baird do?"

"He and his little mates kicked their ball at our gang." Calla snorted. "They got cheeky with me."

"Grow up, Dudley," she told him darkly. "There are worse things in the world than getting hit by a football. And I'm not going to be your punchbag." She was about to duck swiftly under his arm as she'd learned to do, when she stopped herself. "Although." It was unlikely of him to agree. "You do know a lot about fighting." He puffed out his chest in a way that was almost startlingly reminiscent of his father and smiled widely, like he was proud of it. He probably was.

"You look like you could be blown over by a leaf."

She scoffed. "Ah, I suppose I have your dear parents to thank for that. Now if you'll excuse me, Dudley. I'd appreciate you teaching me how to fight but I think we both know—"

"What you mean?" His brow was furrowed as he stared at her. "What my parents got to do with this?"

She could have laughed. As it was she was merely confused as to how Dudley could be so genuinely oblivious. "Never mind, Dudley." Calla rolled her eyes. She almost left, but glanced back at the punching bag instead. "You've got technique, haven't you? For boxing?"

"S'pose so."

"You can teach me?"

He laughed. "You couldn't throw a punch to save your life."

That stung her a little. "I might have to."

At that, Dudley just seemed confused. Then, he laughed again and shoved his way past her. "Nah, you can't fight. And my ice cream's all melted now."

Calla scoffed, wishing she hadn't said anything at all. Hot embarrassment crawled up her neck. Of course Dudley of all people wouldn't care. When had he ever given a damn about her? She just needed to get out somewhere, she decided, storming back to her room and closing the door firmly behind her.

"Right," she said out loud to herself, glaring in the mirror. If Dudley wasn't going to help her fight, she'd have to figure out a way to teach herself.

Xx

The local library, as it happened, did not have very many books about boxing, and the librarian looked at Calla very strangely when she requested it. She knew how she must look, in her only Muggle clothes which were handed down from Dudley and far, far too big for her. Her hair hadn't been cut in over a year, and was growing entirely out of control.

"There are leaflets about classes at the gym," the librarian said shortly. "Whatever it is you want to do with them."

She considered it, but those were the same classes Dudley had used to attend, filled with lads from their primary school. Instead, she nodded to the librarian and wandered over to the fiction shelves where she picked up a copy of The Secret History to check out and left, far more entranced by that. On her way to check it out, she did pick up a small pamphlet about self-defense. There were only basic techniques but they would do - if she could convince Harry to try them out with her.

"Are you mad?" he asked when she proposed the idea. "What's Aunt Petunia going to say when one of us goes flying to the floor?"

"I'd rather deal with Aunt Petunia shouting at me than Voldemort when I can't defend myself at all, personally."

Harry frowned. "Fine. But if we get in trouble, this is on you."

"Naturally," she said, and grinned at him as she opened the pamphlet to its demonstration. "Right. This one I have to sweep your legs out from under you if you sneak up behind me."

"How am I meant to do that? You know where I am."

Calla scowled, even though her brother was smirking. Clearly he found this all amusing. "It's called pretending, Harry."

Xx

Their birthday seemed to come around quickly, and yet Calla had never wanted to celebrate it less. Neither Hermione nor Ron had responded to Harry; Remus and Sirius still said they weren't ready for them; Daphne was in trouble for sneaking out, and Padma's mother was being awfully protective of her and Parvati. The twins weren't expecting to see any of them, and Calla knew very well that the Dursleys wouldn't so much as acknowledge the Potters turning fifteen.

Owls arrived early in the morning, bearing a multitude of presents. Daphne had sent a massive box of chocolate and cakes, while Padma had given Calla a book on Runes along with a light silvery scarf. Terry had sent some fancy chocolates as well as a card, while Isobel sent a box of shortbread and a bright yellow tartan scarf which Calla wasn't sure was meant to be fashionable or not. From Sirius, Harry and Calla both received a large, well decorated cake which they ate in place of breakfast, and from Remus, Calla received a bound collection of poems by Sabina Cralen, who was apparently a very famous poet in the Wizarding World. She smiled at it, its very pretty and well decorated purple and silver cover, and set it gently in her drawer, to ensure it wouldn't be found and potentially damaged by the Dursleys.

"D'you think we should go out somewhere?" Harry asked as he finished up his own generous slice of cake.

"Mairi and I are going for ice cream," Calla said, feeling her cheeks flush a little bit. "You can come with us."

"Are you sure?" he asked, more out of politeness than anything else.

Calla still hadn't told him about whatever was between her and Mairi. They hadn't said anything official, but there had been a lot more... contact, between them, since that kiss. And a lot of kissing. She felt her cheeks flame again. A part of her wanted to talk to Harry about it, but part of her, a louder part, worried he wouldn't understand or wouldn't care about it, or worse, that he wouldn't like it. That thought made her stomach take a tumble. She paused a moment, and wasn't sure what she was about to say, before she shut her mouth. Harry looked at her blankly. "What?"

"Nothing." She said it too quickly, and Harry noticed. "I'm cool."

He frowned. "What?"

"I..." She couldn't say it. She wasn't really sure how to say it. "I... Me and Mairi..."

Harry just looked very confused. "What?"

"Will you stop saying what!" she snapped, and he held up his hands.

"Okay, sorry. But... What?"

"Oh my God." She squeezed her eyes shut, and then looked at him again, taking a deep sigh. "I... Okay, I haven't told anyone this."

Harry suddenly looked less confused and more concerned, as Calla lowered her voice. This was not the sort of thing she wanted the Dursleys to hear. They'd probably throw her out if they knew, not that that hadn't always been a possibility anyway. Her stomach twisted. Would Harry get it? He would, she told herself. He'd be fine with it. And it was her, telling him. It wasn't... He had to be alright with it, and she was sure he would be, even if she wasn't totally certain of herself, she - she knew she liked Mairi. And she'd liked Zach, too, and she knew she liked boys but, Fleur had been very pretty and... Calla sighed, shaking her thoughts. It was all so complicated. Harry was still staring at her.

"I... Me and Mairi... We sort of kissed?" She said it like a question, and Harry frowned.

"You and... Mairi?" He looked surprised, which Calla had expected. She'd never suggested before... She held her breath, waiting to hear what he said, and felt rather nauseous as the silence filled the air around them. "I didn't know... So you... You're..." He seemed to not know what word to use. "Gay?"

"I'm not... really sure?" she replied, her words sticking in her throat. She glanced to the door anxiously, but she knew none of the Dursleys had heard. "I don't ... just like girls? I think? I - I think I like boys too, but I - I don't know and it's... It's... Confusing. And I don't know what the word is for it, if there is one."

Harry looked at her. "Right." He paused, seeming uncertain before he asked her, "So she's like, your girlfriend?"

She sighed. "I don't know? We've not - I mean, we've not said so, but... We act like it? I guess?" Calla tipped her head back to lean against the edge of her bed, staring at the ceiling. "It's confusing me."

"Girls are confusing," Harry said wisely, and Calla kicked him lightly. His words brought an unexpected giggle to her lips.

"I'm a girl!"

"I know."

She looked back at him with a faint pout, and then sighed, relieved. "So you... Is it, you know..." Harry stared at her, not seeming to understand. "Is it okay?"

He blinked. "I mean... Yeah."

She hadn't quite realised she'd nervous she'd been until he confirmed it, and she sagged in relief. "Thank you," she said quietly, a lump in her throat. "You - thanks."

By the end of the day, Harry appeared to have gotten rid of his initial surprise and had taken to teasing Calla behind Mairi's back when no one would notice, which was both infuriating and greatly relieving. He was acting like any brother would, Calla thought, around someone who their sister was having a relationship with. And it felt normal, and Calla was more grateful for that than she thought her brother could understand.

Xx

The couple of days after their birthday only brought a sharp rise in temperature. Everyone in Little Whinging was sweltering, as the drought continued on. Calla was tired of the heat, which was relentless now. Mairi had a small electric fan in the corner of her room, but it didn't work particularly well, and it was only marginally cooler inside than it was outside.

The two of them were lying on Mairi's bed, Calla's head resting on her shoulder. She could hear her breathing, soft and regular, and the assurance of Mairi's hand entwined with hers was reassuring. "Swear we never got this weather back home," Mairi grumbled lowly, and Calla giggled, the sound muffled in the sticky hot air.

"We haven't had it in years either," she said, and then laughed. "Apparently its a surge of pressure from France."

Mairi snorted. "Bloody France."

Calla giggled, and turned her head so that her forehead brushed Mairi's cheek, and she glanced into her eyes. "It is far too hot, though."

"Mhm." Mairi was looking at her with a gentle sort of smirk, tilting her head down closer and Calla moved up, and their lips brushed gently.

There was a loud crack outside and Calla jumped out of her skin, pulling away sharply. Her heart leapt and started at a hundred miles ago. "You alright?" Mairi asked, as Calla propped herself up to sitting.

She nodded shakily. "Yeah. Yeah, just got a fright." That cracking sound, she knew that. It was the same noise Apparating made - but who was Apparating uninvited in Little Whinging, without her knowing. "What time's it?"

"About twenty past seven," Mairi said with a frown, sitting up, too. "Why?"

"I was meant to meet Harry at seven," Calla lied, though it was plausible. They usually found some way of watching or listening in on the seven o'clock news.

Mairi blinked in surprise. "Oh. You didn't say."

Calla got up tiredly, pulling on her worn trainers. "Sorry. I should go." Who was in Little Whinging? Who had Apparated here? Was it Remus? Sirius? Or someone more sinister, someone who meant them harm? "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You're not alright," Mairi said, like this was something she had been puzzling out. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she said, too quickly. "Nothing, just... I don't want Harry to think I forgot him."

"I mean, you did a bit." Calla gave Mairi a withering look and she shook her head, taking Calla's hand gently. "Sorry. You just, you look worried. Even more worried than usual."

"I'm fine," Calla lied, and gave Mairi a short smile, squeezing her hand gently. "I'll see you in the morning, alright?"

"Alright," Mairi said. "I'll walk you out."

There was loud, thumping music coming from Andrew's room, and Mairi rolled her eyes as they passed, sending Calla an exasperated look. "Andrew!" she yelled. "Shut it!"

Andrew yelled a very rude word in response, and Mairi's mum, with the hearing of a bat, scolded him from downstairs. Mairi grinned, and Calla smiled back, a little reassured. This was fine. It felt fine. So then why did she have that horrible feeling of foreboding in her stomach? It was even stronger than usual.

Her vision darkened a little around the edges, her ears ringing, and she placed a hand against the wall. Mairi's hand went instantly to her arm, as she focused on breathing and squeezed her eyes shut. She was fine. This was fine.

Calla tried to imagine herself leaning back, falling into memories and into her mind, but then she caught herself in fear. It jolted her forwards and she squeezed her eyes open and then widened them again, clenching a fist. "Calla?"

"Sorry," she said, hurrying down the stairs. "I just... felt a little bit faint."

"It's probably just the hot weather," Mairi said uncertainly. "Do you need some water?"

"I'm fine," Calla insisted gently, shaking her head.

They reached the door and she took Mairi's hand again, brushing her thumb over the back of her hand. She smiled gently, catching her eyes, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Mairi waved her off from the door, still looking confused, and Calla tried to smile back at her. Turning the corner, she could see Harry having what seemed to be an argument in the garden, just by the wide windows. That was not a good sign. She hurried towards them, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

"We're not stupid, you know," Uncle Vernon spat at Harry, though his voice was low and Calla couldn't quite catch it all.

"Well, that's news to me," Harry said, and turned just in time to almost barge right into Calla.

"What's going on?" she asked, righting herself and standing by his side.

Uncle Vernon's beady eyes turned on her. "And where have you come from? Sneaking around the streets again?"

"I was at my friend's house," she said, and Uncle Vernon scowled. "Shouldn't you be worried where your son is?"

"Our Dudley's where he wants to be," Aunt Petunia said, narrowing her eyes in dislike at Calla. "With his nice friends."

Calla concealed her laugh. "Nice friends?" She shook her head. "Whatever. Come on, Harry."

"We're not finished with you two!" Aunt Petunia said shrilly, but Calla was already dragging Harry away.

"You're in trouble now," Harry said.

"So are you." She rolled her eyes, sighing. "What happened?"

"Dunno. I thought I heard - it sounded like someone Apparating."

Calla nodded. "I thought I heard that too. That's why I came back."

"From Mairi's?" Harry was smirking lightly, and Calla sent him a glare, cheeks reddening.

"Shut up. Who Apparated?"

"No one. Not that I could see." He looked uncertain. "It might've just been a car backfiring."

"Yeah," Calla said, just as uncertain. "It might've."

But Harry still looked over his shoulder, as though expecting a wizard to suddenly pop out from thin air in the middle of Privet Drive. "I thought... I thought it might've been Remus."

Calla sighed. "I'd hoped so, too." Harry scuffed the ground with the toe of his trainers, sending a stone skittering across it. "Your right sole's half tearing off," Calla remarked, and Harry stared down at the offending trainer.

"I know." He frowned. "But I was sure... Someone was there. Someone magical." Calla glanced at her brother. "Did you see anything?"

"I was at Mairi's."

"No, but... Did you See anything?"

She sighed, frowning. "No. I haven't. I told you I haven't seen anything in weeks."

"Yeah. I just thought... You might've."

"Well, I didn't," she said, shorter than she'd intended.

"Whoever it was," Harry said, looking over his shoulder again, "I want to know why they didn't speak to me."

"What, you wonder why a wizard didn't just stroll up to the Dursleys' house to look for you in a flowerbed and tell you everything you've been wanting to know all Summer?" Harry glared at her, and Calla shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it's best they didn't see you. We don't know who..."

She let her sentence hang unfinished in the air. Harry seemed to get it. "They wouldn't come to Privet Drive," he said, and to be fair, the idea of a fully masked Death Eater, or Voldemort, strolling up Privet Drive in the middle of a summer day was rather ridiculous. She laughed forcedly.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." She twirled her hair around her finger, before pulling it up into a high ponytail.

Beside her, she could tell Harry was stewing over something. He'd been even worse the last couple of days since their birthday, as Hermione had written that she and Ron would see him soon, and this had prompted Harry to try and throw out the two boxes of chocolate frogs they'd sent him, and she'd had to rescue them from the garden below their window before they melted. He still hadn't eaten them.

"Have you heard anything from the others?" he asked her suddenly, and Calla shook her head.

"Not in the last three hours, no." With a sigh, she linked their arms together, nudging his shoulder. "We'll hear eventually."

"The Summer's half done already. We should be with Remus and Sirius, or Ron and Hermione. We shouldn't be here, with them." He jerked his head backwards and Calla knew he meant the Dursleys. "It's... And Dumbledore still hasn't written anything to you, has he?"

Calla shook her head, flushing. "I'm sure he's just busy," she said as lightly as she could, and Harry huffed. "He doesn't exactly have an easy job, does he?"

"Still," he muttered, and she smiled somewhat at his annoyance on her behalf. But she didn't know what she would do with herself if Dumbledore did write to her. She didn't know wat she would say. Even if they had to be with the Dursleys, there was a part of her that didn't want to go back to Hogwarts and be around magic, all the time. Didn't want to see Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle and see the image of their fathers in the graveyard. Didn't want to look at the Hufflepuff Table and look for Cedric and not see him there. Didn't want to remember.

They turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent, down a narrow, dimly lit alleyway of garages where they'd once seen Sirius in his dog form. There was no dog here now, only them and the sun, fading slowly. He'd been warning them, too, though mostly Harry. Saying they shouldn't be rash, which Calla sometimes thought just made Harry want to act more rashly. "I just don't get it," he was muttering. "I don't know why they can't just... Tell us. Even if we can't go to Remus and Sirius', I... Ron and Hermione are probably at the Burrow together. No, I know they are." He scowled as they crossed the road, headed towards the play park Dudley and his friends liked to wreck. "It's stupid."

"Yup."

"They tell me not to act rash," he muttered. "You're the one who tried to run away. And it was your idea to go to Diagon Alley."

"I went for a walk," she mumbled in response. "And you wanted to go to Diagon Alley too, don't forget."

Harry didn't reply, just untangled his arm from hers and picked up the pace toward the park fence. He climbed up and over it quite ungracefully, and Calla sighed, shaking her head as she did the same and dropped onto the tired, dry grass. Her brother was already striding across the park, caught in his thoughts. There was only one swing that Dudley and his gang had yet to break, and Harry sat on it moodily, while Calla hopped onto the creaky, stiff roundabout next to the swingset, her feet dragging on the ground as she shuffled herself slowly from side to side.

"There was nothing on the news," Harry said, and Calla wasn't surprised. If he had heard anything of note then he would have told her by now. "Some budgie's taken up water skiing to keep cool." He shook his head, clenching his fist. "They've no idea what's going on."

Calla sighed in response. "I know the feeling."

Harry laughed drily. "Yeah."

There were no words between them for a long while more. Calla sat swinging tiredly from side to side, thinking. Her only visions recently had been in dreams, and even then she didn't know how to distinguish them from nightmares. Red eyes, snake scales, the terrifying feeling of being dropped down a great hole from which you're sure you can never escape. It scared her that she hadn't been able to make herself see anything properly in a while, only in her dreams. And yet, part of her didn't want to see anything, didn't want to know what was waiting in her future. Truth be told, she wasn't sure that she had much of a future. How long before Voldemort did make his return known? Until he came for her and Harry? Here, despite the visit from the girls and from the ever dwindling stream of letters, and from Harry's musing, she wasn't made to wonder and worry. She could just be. But she knew Harry would never be contented to simply be, to sit still while the world turned around him. It was driving them both crazy.

She didn't know how long it was before he came to join her on the roundabout, staring at the ground, too. It creaked slowly as they used their feet to push it around, the specks of white and red in the black ground blurring and streaming, but they faded too eventually as they creeped around in slow circles, and as the sultry night fell around them. "Don't know how he can expect me to just sit here and do nothing forever," Harry said, more to the night than to Calla. She just shrugged, and he said nothing more as the faint, steady sound of ticking bike wheels penetrated through the air.

When she glanced up she could see the silhouettes of Dudley's gang, him in the front as the largest, with the fanciest, most expensive racing bike. She scowled, eyes falling back to her lap as she heard the crude songs they were singing, the things they were saying, bragging about the boy they'd beaten up. She was glad Mairi's little brother had been at home all night.

With a glance at Harry, she knew he'd seen them too. His mouth was set in a hard, angry line, and his eyes had the challenge in them that they always had when he was spoiling for a fight. "Leave them," she murmured, but it didn't stop his glare across the park. She was sure the gang could feel it, Harry's hatred, the dare in his eyes. He wanted a fight, wanted to take whatever frustration had been building in him, hot as this Summer, out on those boys. She cast him a cool look.

"We should get going," she said quietly once they'd gone out of sight. "Shouldn't get back later than Dudley, we're in trouble enough as it is."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, getting to his feet and stretching. "They are stupid, though."

Calla snorted, hopping off the roundabout. "You know I'd never disagree with you on that front, Harry."

To her relief, her brother cracked a grin. "You know Sirius would have gone over there and picked a fight."

"Yeah," she said, "probably. Except you're not Sirius, Sirius would probably still get beaten against eight boys bigger than he is, and he told you not to pick fights." Harry gave her a stony look, and she rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's getting late anyway."

They set off quickly, and were still in rough hearing range of the gang of boys as they neared the park gate on Magnolia Road. They followed the sound of them, only seeing a little by the light of the few lampposts and by the muffled lights from surrounding houses. Dudley's gang slowed by the gate and Harry and Calla both slipped behind a lilac tree, listening out.

"Squealed like a pig, didn't he?" one of the boys, Malcolm, said, to laughs from the others.

"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers, and Calla's stomach turned from memories of the days before magic when she and Harry had been Dudley and his gang's punching bags. She didn't want to know what would have happened if they hadn't gone to Hogwarts and descended far enough into 'freakish' to scare him off.

"Same time tomorrow?" Dudley said.

"Round mine," the shortest boy said, "my parents'll be out."

"See you, then," said Dudley.

The boys called their goodbyes to him as they departed, going off in different directions back home. Calla waited a few moments for the sounds of the boys' conversations to fade before she and Harry came out from behind the tree, following Dudley in the dark around the corner onto Magnolia Crescent. He was walking alone quite carelessly, humming without a care in the world for any Lord Voldemorts or Death Eaters, and certainly without a care for whatever little boy he'd beaten up tonight.

"Hey, Big D!" Harry called down the street, and Dudley turned.

"Oh," he grunted, eyes flicking between them, "it's you two."

"And here I thought you'd be glad to see us, Dud," Calla said drily. He only glared back for a moment, before rolling his eyes.

"Nah, didn't you hear," Harry said, "it's Big D now, isn't it, Duds?"

"Shut it," Dudley snarled, turning away from them. Calla grinned.

"It's a cool name," Harry said conversationally. "But you know you're always Ickle Diddykins to us, right?"

"I said, SHUT IT!" Dudley shouted, clenching his hands into fists. Calla flinched, suddenly wishing she hadn't said anything. She tugged gently at Harry's arm.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face."

"Harry," Calla cautioned, with a wary glance at Dudley. Her brother might not be scared at him any longer, but he was still bigger than them, and a boxing champion. She didn't fancy their chances if it came to blows, even if that was what Harry seemed to want at the moment.

"What about Popkins then?" Harry asked, smirking in a taunting way. "Or Dinky Diddydums? Can we use them, too?"

Dudley kept silent, which Calla thought was a good thing, because if he had been less focused on the effort to do that, then he might have hit Harry. She took her brother's arm with a warning look, but he shrugged her off, his grin fading. "So who've you been beating up tonight? Another ten year old? I know you did Mark Evans a few nights ago-"

"He was asking for it," Dudley snarled, and Calla didn't believe him one bit.

"Oh, yeah?"

"He cheeked me."

"I think you ought to learn the meaning of proportional violence. You know, being called a twat doesn't quite warrant a beating."

"An' how'd you know," Dudley muttered.

"Ah, I have my tricks," Calla told him lightly, just enough to see the flicker of disconcertation on her cousin's face.

But Dudley seemed very concentrated on not doing anything. She could tell that wasn't what Harry wanted, but she shook her head slowly at him as they fell into step, winding down the alley between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. "Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley asked after a second.

"What thing?"

"That - that thing you are holding."

Calla knew he meant Harry's wand. Hers was in the pocket of her light cardigan, stretching its ends, but it was there. "Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud?" Harry prodded on. "But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time."

He pulled out his wand and though she sighed, Calla's hand want to hers, too. "You're not allowed," Dudley said immediately. "I know you're not. You'll get in trouble with those - your lot. It's against your rules. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know the rules haven't changed, Big D?"

"They haven't." He didn't sound very certain. "I know they haven't." Harry laughed softly. "You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Calla shot Dudley a glare, but he just laughed at her. "And you don't have the guts to take me on with it."

"And you need four mates to back you up just to take on a ten year old," Harry retorted. "Quite the big man, aren't you? You know that boxing title you keep blazing on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen, for your information," Dudley snarled in return. "And he was out cold for twenty minutes after I was done with him. And he was twice as heavy as the two of you out together. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out."

"Running to Daddy, are you? Ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" Dudley sneered, and Calla swore her blood went cold just thinking about it.

"This is night, Diddykins," Harry said, not catching on, "that's what we call it when it gets all dark."

"Harry," Calla murmured feebly. It was beginning to get colder. That feeling of foreboding returned to the pit of her stomach and started to clamber up into her chest.

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled.

"Shut up," Calla whispered to Dudley, shaking her head, and he laughed. "Stop it." Terror crept over her skin. She could feel... Something. Approaching. A low hissing, a ringing in her ears that was distant but getting louder, closer. Something was wrong, she could feel it on the air.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked, frowning. "I'm not so brave when I'm in bed? What, do you think I'm scared of my pillow."

"I heard you last night," Dudley said breathlessly. "And I've heard you, too, shouting. And moaning, in your sleep."

"Boys," Calla said softly, "I think we should get home."

But no one was listening. The colour seemed to drain from Harry's face. "What are you on about, Dudley?"

"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric! Who's Cedric, your boyfriend?"

"Shut up," Calla said, louder this time, and nerves are up her throat. She could feel something coming. "Shut up, Dudley! Both of you, listen to me, we have to—"

"And you. You're even scared of bloody shadows these days. You're a nutter, screaming in your sleep. Don't touch me, don't touch me! Don't let him touch me! Help me! He's going to kill me!"

Calla went cold even while her blood seemed to run more furiously hot than ever. She was shaking all over. "Shut up," she spat out, eyes burning. Did she really do that, cry that? She couldn't remember her nightmare from last night yet still she knew it, knew it was from that night in the graveyard. "Shut up, you don't know anything!"

"Oh, is little Calla crying? Is little Calla scared from her nightmares? Don't hurt me, don't take me, please! Oh, help me, Dad! He's going to kill us, Dad! Boo hoo!"

"Dudley," Harry said in a low voice, "I'm warning you."

"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help! We're going to die, Calla's going to die! He's killed Cedric! Calla can't-"

She didn't realise she'd moved until she lunged forward, her fingernails scraping Dudley's cheek. She was hardly enough to knock him off his feet, only surprise him rough to stumble against the wall, and he'd raised his fist quick enough that she was sure, for a terrifying second that he was going to punch her lights out, but then he let out a shriek and scrambled back.

"You don't know anything!" she screamed, quite forgetting her earlier fear as her nails scrabbled against his skin. He shoved her off as she yelled, "You don't know anything you're talking about, Dudley, you don't—"

His fist came roaring towards her face and she ducked out of the way just in time, only to hit the wall, hard. Pain raced through her shoulder.

"Don't you point that thing at me!"

She shook as she reached for her own wand, at the same time lunging for Dudley. But Harry had him backed against the wall as he hauled Calla back up to her feet, and she raised her wand feebly at him, too, her heart pounding. Harry didn't speak of exactly what their parents' spirits had said in the graveyard. It was one thing she'd never wanted to press him on. And she knew the fury that was crackling his eyes, and she knew the terrified anger that coursed through her, too, at the reminder of what almost was. A cold wind blew down the street.

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled, the tip of his wand pointed at Dudley's heart. "Do you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

Calla raised her wand to press against his cheek, hands shaking. He let out a whimper and it felt good to scare him, and Calla didn't know if she should fall back or press it further against his skin. Anger boiled under her skin.

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else! Get her away from me!"

"I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"

"GET THOSE THINGS AWAY FROM-"

Dudley took in a deep, shuddering gasp, and Calla felt it too. Cold crept over her arms and shoulders and she fumbled around her wand, falling back. Anger gave way to terror that gripped her chest. That familiar fear trickled into her stomach like icy water, and she looked up to the feeble stars. They seemed to have gone out, or had dark clouds swept over them. All the light and warmth seemed to have gone from the world around them. A whisper echoed in her mind, a sound she tried desperately to push out.

"Harry," she said, throat dry. "Dudley. We need to go. Something's coming." She stowed her wand away. "Now. We have to go now."

She didn't need to see to know what was coming. She knew it in her bones, in her truest and most terrifying memories. That feeling of nothingness, all her strength dripping away, of falling and never finding the bottom. "W-what are you doing?" Dudley's terrified voice asked, breaking the silence, and Calla stuffed her wand back into her pocket. The boys weren't moving and this wasn't something she thought she could fight, not now. "St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"No," Calla said, grabbing Harry in one hand and Dudley in the other. "No, no, Harry, we have to move. Now, we have to go."

But Harry didn't move. "Wh-What's going on?" Dudley whimpered, and Calla tried to tug him away from the wall so he could run, but he seemed frozen against it in terror. Her legs trembled against the intense cold.

"We have to go," she repeated, voice shaking. She pulled Harry back, to by her side, and stared into the thick, empty darkness. But it wasn't empty. The cold in her stomach turned icier, bitter and brittle. "Come on."

"Calla, I'm trying to listen-"

"To who?" Calla whispered, and jolted Dudley to stand behind her, though she knew she would be a terrible shield. "Harry, Harry... It's them."

This was worse than her worst fear. This was her worst fear returning ten times as strong, this was her worst fear weighing down on her and shattering this one warm month of normalcy. "What - what did you do?" Dudley asked.

"It wasn't us," Calla whispered, and moved backwards, shaking. "This... It's these things, Dementors. I can feel them. But they can't..." That voice whispered trough her mind like the icy wind. Mine. You will be mine. Something, somewhere in the alleyway, was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. And she knew. She knew this, but all of a sudden it was like she couldn't move anymore.

"C-cut it out!" Dudley said, and snatched his hand away from Calla. "Stop doing it! I'll - I'll hit you, I'll do you both! I'll d-do it!"

"Dudley, shut up!"

Calla panted, icy terror clawing at her chest. Her head felt heavy and numb, and her every instinct was telling her to get out and to get out now. In an effort to run, Calla grabbed Dudley's hand and twisted feebly, but she could feel that same terror weighing her down and she stumbled, sprawling onto the ground.

"Stop it," she mumbled, hearing a heavy thud above her, Harry yelling as he landed on the ground next to her.

"You moron, Dudley!" he yelled. "Calla are you-"

"Get up," she muttered, forcing herself to sit. Her arms shook with the effort.

"Dudley, come back! You're running right at it!"

There was a horrid, creeping chill trickling down Calla's spine. Her head clouded with ice, and she dazedly put a hand to her wand, but she couldn't take it out. Terror clamped around her, as she heard that rattling breath, the cold wind blowing against her skin. "Dudley, keep your mouth shut!" Harry was yelling frantically. "Whatever you do, keep your mouth shut! Wand! Where's - where's my wand! Lumos!"

A faint white light illuminated the ground and Harry grabbed Calla by the hand, hauling her upright. She swayed a little on her legs. "There's more of them," Harry whispered, his face pale in the light.

Calla didn't dare to look up. She knew they were coming anyway. Knew they were coming for her. What had he said in that graveyard? The Dementors would join him. Again she tried to run, but now she couldn't move at all. Harry stumbled backwards, raising his wand, and Calla tried to get her own but couldn't. "Expecto patronum!"

She concentrated very hard on moving, on forcing herself to take her wand out of her pocket, to try and defend herself. But no words would come to her cold lips. Instead, she ran, towards Dudley, screaming as she tried to grab his arms. The Dementor followed and its icy breath rattled against her flesh. "Run!" she choked out, shoving Dudley away.

Her hand clenched cold around her wand. She stumbled backwards again, concentrating on keeping herself from dropping her wand as her legs shook, as she tripped over her own feet again, and fell hard onto the ground, scrambling desperately away.

"Expecto patronum!"

A wisp of silver smoke came from the end of Harry's wand.

Calla raised her wand and screamed, "Expecto patronum!" For a moment, nothing happened; and then something burned through her chest, white-hot and painful, racing up her wand arm. Another scream wrenched from her throat.

Mine, I will take it. Stand aside. There is no use in fighting me. Do as I wish, bow to me.

"No, no, no." She was going to die here, she thought suddenly, and a sob choked her. She was going to die, she couldn't move, either they would take her or she would be left forever, left to rot and die. She couldn't move. Her brother's silhouette dimmed, and she couldn't hear him, not anymore. It slipped away from her.

The next thing she knew Harry was holding her up against her side, her face buried in his shoulder. Her breath came back all at once and she was sure she would choke as she made herself breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You're alive, she reminded herself, forcing her eyes to open. Her feet dragged on the ground, Harry was hauling her down the alleyway, to where Dudley lay, shaking and whimpering. Someone was already with him, trying to move him. She blinked in confusion, eyes adjusting. The person with Dudley looked up, and Calla stared at Mrs Figg, her batty, cat lady neighbour. "Oh, you poor girl," she said as she looked at Calla, who was again struggling to breathe. "I am going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"