Calla crashed onto a marble floor, head spinning as she hit it with a crack. Lights flickered behind her eyes and her scar burned. She knew too well what that meant.
"You bast-" Sirius' voice started, but was cut off sharply by a burst of silent red light. His scream rent the air and Calla's heart stopped, her body aching as she tried to scramble away, but it was like she was being held down by iron, left only to listen in horrified silence.
Her movements were slow and her own scream barely registered. Her vision blurred, but she could make out faint shapes of people and knew enough to fill in the gaps.
He was here. One of his Death Eaters was torturing Sirius. She reached for her wand but her arms were snapped to behind her back, locked together. She screamed again and someone hit her cheek, knocking her to the ground.
Sirius' screaming gave way to ragged panting as his blurred form slumped against the wall. A mass of black robes was coming nearer to Calla and her heart leapt up in her throat. No. No, no, no.
A memory flashed across her mind. A steaming cauldron, green light, unstoppable pain racing across every part of her.
"Careful with the girl, Parkinson," said Voldemort's silky voice. "I do need her mentally present, and I don't think she would fare well with brain damage."
Blood drained from her face. She was surrounded, in a closed space. She'd been in such a situation before and the similarity was debilitating. It made her head spin and her chest seize in pain. The voices above her were muffled and she struggled to get to her feet, only to be dragged down again. Her knees hit the floor and sent shockwaves through her whole body as she doubled over, heaving. Someone pulled her arms and dragged her upright, along the length of the room, towards stairs, and shoved her down into a filthy room with no light. A cellar.
The screaming started again. The sound of it dragged over the walls and floor, reverberating in her bones and Calla curled in on herself, heart pounding. "No, no, no, no, no." She shook her head violently, shoulder brushing the wall. "No, no, no, no, no." Hearing the screams seemed to tear her heart. "No, no, no!" Calla shrieked, not even knowing if anyone could hear. "No!"
The walls of the cell were growing closer, too close, and every thump of her heart echoed. She scrambled towards the door, but the touch of it burned her skin and she shrieked as she reeled back, pain wracking her body. Breath caught in her throat. She tried to scream but no sound would come out.
Focus, she tried to tell herself but she couldn't. The carnage upstairs rang in her ears over and over and she wasn't even sure if it was still happening but she could hear it nonetheless. Her fault. This was her fault. They'd found her, they'd been coming for her and now they had Sirius and they were torturing him. Because of her. She shoved her weight against the door again and that same burning pain went through her body.
"Sirius!" she screamed. "Let him go! Let him go!"
The door was flung open and cracked against her cheek, forcing her back. Narcissa Malfoy — pale, with more severe lines than Calla had seen on her before — stood grey in the shadows. "Quiet, girl. You'll only make things worse for yourself." She looked her up and down. She sneered the same way as her son did. Calla shuffled back, no words rising to her lips. "Good."
A loud scream from Sirius above and Calla flinched, her hairs standing on edge. She lunged forward, fist rearing towards Malfoy's face and forcing her against the wall. The woman shrieked and footsteps thundered down the stairs as Calla made a break for it up the way, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of a wand. Preferably hers, if only for the familiarity.
But then— "Crucio!"
The spell caught her off guard and the pain from it was even more blinding than the door hitting her. She couldn't hear herself scream. Her nerves seemed to numb for a moment and then hot pain rushed in through her veins. Breathe, she told herself as the pain coiled around her throat like a python. Breathe, just breathe. Not real, pretend it's not real.
Her head tipped back and she slumped against the stones, trembling as she forced her eyes shut. Not real. She imagined herself slipping into a lake, cool and calm. Perfect tranquility. There was nothing to hurt her. No curses. No torture. Just her. The pain dulled to an ache at the back of her head. She could handle that.
When she woke, she was curled up in a corner of the cell, head pounding. She tried sitting up, dazed. The building around her was silent — or had she merely lost her hearing? Everything felt strange. Each movement was slow and clumsy, causing an ache to go along her limbs. It felt like she was underwater, but not the way she wanted to be in her mind. Instead she was fighting the pressure, trying to move against a tide that was controlled by a god intent on drowning her.
The door was closed and she had no desire to go anywhere near it. There was a small gap, a window just large enough for someone to see through.
"I did try to tell you," came Narcissa Malfoy's lilting voice. "This will be so much easier if you simply co-operate, dear."
"Where's Sirius?" Her voice came out in a broken gasp and she had to take a moment to recover her breathe; her ribs flared with sudden pain. "What have they done?"
Something flickered in Malfoy's grey eyes but it was quickly extinguished. "I'm sure you'll find out in time. If you work with us. We've no intentions of hurting you."
She let out a derisive laugh that made her chest ache. Doubling over and trying to hide the pain on her face, Calla muttered, "You just used — cruciatus."
Narcissa feigned a wince. "Yes, it is a rather barbaric curse, I'm afraid. I'm sure we ladies can come to a more civilised agreement."
To that, Calla had nothing to say. Another wave of pain struggled through her chest and she hugged her knees, tensing around the pain and trying to block it out by squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Stars swam behind her lids.
"Tell me where Sirius is. Let him go." Malfoy laughed. It was a light sound and rang horribly around the stone walls. "I know it's me Voldemort wants, let Sirius go."
That only made Malfoy laugh harder. "And hear I was told you were an intelligent thing. Can't you see the truth, dear?"
"Don't call me—"
"If you only co-operate," she went on in a lilting voice, "we won't hurt you, or dear Sirius." It was then that, her head swimming, Calla remembered Narcissa was Sirius' cousin. Clearly that didn't mean any more to her than Calla and Harry meant to Dudley. "Now, I'm going to give you a moment to think. But it really will be so much easier if you work with us. The Dark Lord will be most pleased to see you."
When she swept away, the metal door clanged shut behind her, and Calla felt it ricochet around the whole of the little room. Her teeth chattered and she rocked back and forth, heart pounding. They were hurting Sirius. Because of her she was sure, to get her to co-operate. She didn't want to co-operate; if she did it would only make everything so much worse, and she didn't trust a word Narcissa Malfoy said anyway, knowing who she worked for and how scummy her son had turned out. If she let Voldemort into her head, who knew what he might see? Even without considering her visions, she knew far too much about the Order. She couldn't let any of that fall into his hands.
But the screaming started again upstairs and it made her heart break. The sound didn't abate and Calla wasn't sure exactly at what point her own screaming joined it, creating a din to shake the foundations of the manor; but her throat was raw as she pounded at the door, screaming to be let out, for Sirius to be alright.
The next thing she knew there was faint golden daylight sneaking through the cracks at the top of the ancient stone wall, the screaming had turned to silence, and she was shivering in the freezing cold of the cellar. Was it still November? Presumably. Was it still the same day? She had no idea.
Her head span and Calla had to half claw her way to sitting upright, listening to the house creaking around her. Had she gone deaf or was there simply nothing to hear?
The air around her felt thick with magic, and Dark magic at that — she could feel it stronger now, feel it seeping into her heavy bones. And something pulled at her chest, hooked between the ribs. Voldemort's power calling out to hers, his magic hunting her own. Her shoulder was stiff as she reached her hands up to the cellar door, trying the heavy iron lock. It was useless, as she'd suspected, and she fell back, trying to collect herself despite the fraying of her nerves.
Her hands trembled and she clenched then together in her lap. If Narcissa's presence was anything to go by then she was in Malfoy Manor, or at least one of their houses. She imagined the Malfoys were the sort to have many estates, out in the middle of nowhere, places no one could hear a little witch screaming in the cellar.
She could tell the time passing only by the dimming of the light above the cellar wall. On occasion she thought she heard the ticking of a clock, but whenever she tried to properly listen there was silence. Likely, she was going mad. Her stomach rumbled loudly and painfully as she stared, hands shaking, at the top of the wall, where the light slowly faded to pinkish orange.
There was a gap there, perhaps large enough to see out of if she could dig her fingers in. When she stood, her very bones seemed to shake and her heart pounded so much it made her feel like she was going to tear herself apart merely by walking. Her ears rang in silence. She thought of Harry, safe at Hogwarts with no idea what was happening and for a painful moment she wished she was there too. What had she been thinking, leaving her own brother? Maybe it served her right to be here.
She faltered in her footsteps, slumping against the wall to regain herself. "Focus," she whispered to the air through chittering teeth. She turned, arms reaching up, fingertips just scraping the stones below the gap. She tried jumping but didn't get very far at all, only causing some of the stone to dust and crumble and scrape viciously against her skin. Tiny specks of blood pooled from torn fingertips as she jumped again, tried to find a hold, and slipped back with barely a glimpse of white feathers.
"I wouldn't try that if I were you," came a cold voice, one that had haunted her nightmares and chilled her blood. She stopped breathing for an instant, fear holding her still. "The peacocks can be really rather vicious. And I would so hate for you to be hurt."
Lie, lie, lie, rang the voice in her head. She couldn't turn, couldn't look at him, but she could feel Voldemort slipping closer through the shadows. The back of her neck prickled and pain went through her scar, making the edges of her vision dim.
"It's been quite the trouble to find you these past months," Voldemort told her. "And I gather you have experienced your share of... Difficulties."
Feeling faint, she refused to speak. Voldemort took her arm and twisted it, causing her to let out a hell of pain as he turned her around to face him. His hand held her jaw. "Lost your tongue over the Summer, have you?"
"No!" she yelped, voice catching in the blinding pain.
He chuckled darkly and she shivered, skin crawling. "I hear you've turned your back on Albus Dumbledore, my old enemy. Too afraid to return to him at Hogwarts... Even with your dear brother." Her eyes smarted as she tried to struggle away, but Voldemort's very touch made her feel weak. For him, it seemed to be amusing. "Ah, dear, you mustn't feel insulted. In fact, I commend you. Not many would say no to Albus Dumbledore."
"That's - not - what I-"
"Dear, dear." Voldemort tutted as her voice died out. "Calla Potter. You could be great, you know. You could be so much more than this. I would never seek to tear you down. To limit you. A bright Ravenclaw such as yourself... Almost as great as Slytherin. There is much you could learn from me, if you would only let me into your mind."
"No."
"It would be a fair trade. I hear you have an interest in Runes... And the workings of the mind. Those arts that not even Dumbledore could master. I can teach you, Calla Potter. I can give you all the knowledge you have ever desired, and all of the power. You need not be weak, not with me. All I ask is your knowledge in return. Knowledge of the future... And you needn't be scared. No harm would come to you here."
"And Sirius?" she spat out, chest struggling. "My brother?"
His smile didn't falter but she saw the flash behind his red eyes. "They have knowledge too... Dear Sirius will not give it up, but I am sure you could convince him."
But she knew. She knew Voldemort would not keep any word. He was the one she was scared of, not only for herself but for her brother. Her friends. Her family. "I don't know what you're talking about," she ground out, and he laughed.
"Oh, but you do. You know more than anyone... Or perhaps you merely do not understand?" A wicked smile curved his lips. "No matter. You do not need to understand. I will have it out of you anyway." He took her arm and pain seared through her, racing towards her shoulder, and she gasped. "Now, Calla Potter. Let me inside that silly little mind of yours."
She cowered away, shivering. Every part of her body screamed at her to repulse him. "You reek of fear," he whispered. "It seeps from you. Fear is a weakness, Calla Potter."
I'm not scared, she wanted to protest. But it would be a lie, and a feeble one at that.
"You have many weaknesses. It was a miracle of luck that you evaded me last June... Yet I see your mistress, Fate, has landed you within my grasp once more."
He thought her weak. Perhaps she was weak. Her throat jammed with terror as he moved closer, seeping cold. She remembered what she had been taught: clear your mind, imagine serenity, be at peace and bury the darkness deep within you. Fight it. Fight it with subtleties, fight it in any way that you know how.
"You needn't shake so," he told her. "Yet you tremble like a leaf. Your parents were braver than you by far." The words stung at her eyes. "Sirius Black, too."
She trembled, but Voldemort was sneering and as he did so kept no eyes on the exit. But a shadow lurked behind the door anyway. Only one. They thought her weak. "W-what have you done to him?" Her voice trembled.
"Ah, one thing at a time." A cold smile. "Now, relax, Calla Potter. This won't hurt a bit."
In the recesses of her mind, Calla screamed. All was white, searing white, and it burned raw. Stop, stop, stop, her thoughts rolled over and over.
The blank expanse brought her little relief. She fought to keep it like that, mind empty. In some ways the pain helped. She focused on that, even as it felt like her very bones were going to shatter. Everything was blank. Nothing to see here, nothing at all, nothing important. Just as Sirius had told her.
Sirius. The scream that tore through her was not unlike his own and she found memory flooded into her mind. Green light, a cluttered vault, a fallen ceiling, too familiar, her brother's eyes. No, no, no.
Tensing, she tried to force the blankness in, empty all thoughts. It was the flood now, two tides pushing against one another and then there was pain, and only pain. That was everything. She surrounded herself in it, let herself be enveloped by pain and lean into it. Maybe if the pain went on long enough, this all would stop. The pain wasn't terrible when she was used to it and she had, in some ways. She was prepared. She let it wash over her, and let the world remain white around her. It had to stay like that. She had to.
Keep your mind empty, Snape had said. It should be a serene lake, clouded by reflection with the deepest secrets buried at the very bottom.
She imagined that lake as she felt the press of pain against her skull.
She slipped into white waters, a deep fog. The image of herself in her mind faded into the blankness. She was nothing. She did not exist. It was the only way to remain safe.
The pain was blunt at the edge of her skull, like someone knocking on a door. She couldn't let them in. She was the shade lingering in the corner.
The monster was at the door. It fell in on itself and pain tore raw through her throat. In her head there was a clearing in a wood. Shadows moved between the trees, cloaked in black, their masks shining. A new moon rose in an orange sky, half-obscured by shadows.
"You come to me," said a cold, high voice. "You are a coward. You are weak. Only I can live forever. There is no use in fighting."
She couldn't struggle. She had no body with which to do so. "Show me, little girl," whispered Lord Voldemort's voice.
The amber sky turned to flames that licked the tips of blackened trees. All was burning, all was destroyed. Green light echoed through the air, blinding, always. Bodies fell to the ground. A voice called out, "No! No!" In the sky, smoke formed a skull and serpent, and then flame morphed into a dragon that lunged forward to steal the crown of a treetop.
There was another presence in her mind. Cold, dark, and horrifyingly familiar. "See how the world burns," he whispered, "but you don't have to. I would let you live, Calla Potter, without suffering, if you would work with me. Your potential has never been realised by Albus Dumbledore, that fool. He seeks to close your mind to me... There is a wealth of magic far beyond that taught at Hogwarts. You know this. Open your mind to me, Calla Potter. Open your mind and I will make you strong."
"You — can't," Calla thought, though it was like a dam had been placed between her thoughts and she couldn't reach them. They all rushed in her head, but slipped away through rivers and she could not alter their direction. The vision shook around her. The dark sky crumbled. She wasn't strong. She wanted to be strong. She couldn't be strong.
Her vision went dark. She fought for the remnants of her Sight, but her head felt full to bursting. Everything faded.
She blinked up at the dusty ceiling of the Malfoys' cellar, now alone. Her eyes were dry, her head felt heavy, her scar burned, and her body was trembling worse than it ever had. There were no sounds, no signs of life. She wondered if she was dreaming. Was he in her head still, watching this and laughing?
The cellar door creaked and a plate was pushed through the gap. On it was a slice of bread, cheese, and next to it a glass of what looked like water but could easily be poison. Perhaps Veritaserum: odorless, colourless. She couldn't touch it, even though her mouth was so dry and her throat so scratchy. The bread, though. Her stomach rumbled. It was little better than anything she would receive at the Dursleys, if she were in trouble. The thought of it made her dizzy and then giddy. To her ears, her laugh seemed shrill and distant, as though she was hearing it through water. Beneath the slice of bread was tucked a folded parchment note, the corner blotted with ink. She didn't trust that ink, either. It was a deep red and seemed to gleam from the page, daring her to take a look. Her stomach flipped as she took it, read it against her better will. The very act of holding the note made her hands tremble.
You have been most useful to me, Miss Potter. I suppose I shall let you and your friend live. If you are more helpful to me, the food shall hopefully improve, but our gracious hosts were deprived of their best house elf a few years ago and their hospitality has never quite recovered.
Sleep well.
She eyed the plate and glass warily. A sleeping potion in them, then, surely. A poison. Her stomach growled but she ignored it and instead pushed them over toward the wall. The note caught alight and she watched it, licked by flames, until it crumbled into an ash that blended into the dusty floor.
Sirius was still alive, then. That was good, though she didn't know how she could believe Voldemort's word. But she didn't know what to think if he wasn't still alive. If he had been killed, because Voldemort wanted her and he had been caught in the crossfire. Just like Cedric.
The food and water felt less appetising now; her stomach tied itself into nauseating knots and she struggled to keep bile down out of her throat. Voldemort seemed to be bribing her with food, but she didn't trust anything she was offered. Still, she didn't know how long she could go without eating.
She'd been here perhaps a day already, though she had no idea of the time. She could go without food, but water... She breathed in and eyed the water again. Her head spun. She needed food and drink to keep her sustained and strong; but she didn't know if this food and drink would even do that. Still she had no idea of any rescue conveniently coming along soon. If she didn't drink, her mind would be dehydrated and therefore weaker, more prone to attack. She wouldn't be able to keep any mental barriers up.
She sniffed the water. Odourless. It could still have Veritaserum in it. But if she didn't drink, then she'd be weak enough that it wouldn't be necessary anyway. Without water, she could die. Her stomach gave a painful pang and she winced, grinding her teeth as she scooted back from the door, into her corner, taking the glass of water with her. Her hands shook around it. Not until she needed it, she thought silently, pressing her lips together. Not until the last moment.
She leaned her head against the cold stone wall. It was hardly soothing.
There were whispers through the cracks in the wall. Calla closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and looked through the black sea against her eyelids.
A snake writhed across the darkness, green scales glinting almost gold in the strange sunlight. Its hissing seemed to reverberate in her head, incomprehensible. Yet somewhere deep down she knew it was a threat to her. The snake's eyes opened lazily, exposing red rubies. They turned slowly to topaz, gleaming, then deep sapphires and finally, striking emerald which made her stomach twist. The snake reared up and then it lunged into further darkness.
She was in a crowded room, filled with clutter and dust which fell down from the ceiling. All manner of things were held there: cabinets were pressed against one another as though they might collapse, various pieces of jewelry hung from high, narrow shelves, and there was row upon row of crystal balls and decks of cards, tiaras lopsided on model heads, and bookshelves which seemed to take on different shapes the more Calla looked at them, until she was lost in a dark maze where all the spines were of worn, cracked leather. Outside a window, green light flared across the night sky, blotting out the stars. There was another hiss, long and low, like a pipe.
The world turned around her. Before her, now, in gathering shadows, was a pale boy, tall and worryingly thin, with bedraggled black hair and stormy eyes. He couldn't have been much more than a few years older than Calla herself, but in his eyes there was something ancient. When he spoke, his voice came out in a rasp: "You must destroy it. You already know how."
She wanted to ask what, but she couldn't speak. All sound had been stolen from her, and Calla could hardly even flail her arms, as the shadows thickened.
Then she was in a cell not unlike her own, but it wasn't her own. This place wasn't quite so grounded in reality; around the edges was a faint grey light, the world just smudged and ill-defined enough that she knew it was a vision, but not far away. In a corner of the cell, Sirius's eyes were lit like silver lamps. He had the same look in them that she had seen when she first met him. Haunted, and terrified, and losing the shape of himself.
She made to move, outstretch a hand, plead with him not to blame her, to know she would do something, anything that she could, bargain their freedom - but then the cell door banged open and Voldemort swept in, a sneer on his face.
Xx
When she was back in her cell, there were two minutes of heart-wrenching silence. Then the screaming started.
Calla didn't know if Voldemort had any control over what she could and could not see. Certainly, he wanted that control, and he wanted to be able to see the same as she did. Undoubtedly, there was something in her mind or their future that he needed to see, and something that he did not want her to see. He'd already said she could save Sirius, if only she gave her power to him. And Sirius... He had the face of a man once again haunted by the past. There was no one else coming to save them, and Calla's eyes stung with the realisation.
But if Voldemort wanted to manipulate her... She didn't know how to sort out truth from lies, memory from thought. If he couldn't have her mind, he could take it by force, and she knew she didn't herself have the force to stop him. Here, she was trapped, surrounded by enemies on their own grounds, and he was stronger. She had no element of surprise or confusion. She had no Aurors coming to save her, no brother raising the alarm at Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Suddenly it seemed like a haven. How long before anyone would even realise they were gone from Grimmauld Place? Remus was due back in the early hours of the morning and she doubted Kreacher would worry about them.
Calla had no wand. She had no way out and no way of communicating with anyone else. She had one chip: her mind. Voldemort had another: Sirius. If she could spare Sirius any pain, if she could help him to preserve his own mind and hopefully find some more solid way of communication with the Order which Calla didn't possess... But if she gave up, everything would be for nothing. She didn't want to give in to Voldemort's trap, but she didn't have any better options.
Would it be better to give in and spare herself and Sirius the pain? It would certainly be easier. But she imagined Remus' face when he found out, imagined Sirius' - she knew he would tell her to protect herself at all costs, but the screaming was echoing in her ears and all of a sudden she was back in that graveyard, Harry was running, there was green light and Cedric was dead and he'd died because of her and he would tell her not to let Voldemort win but she couldn't let Sirius die because of her too.
No, not die. He wouldn't die. Surely he wouldn't die. But Voldemort didn't have the incentive to keep him alive, and it wasn't like he'd had any problems killing innocent people because the got in his way before. He'd killed her parents, Cedric, Bertha Jorkins. He'd kill many more.
But she couldn't dishonour their memories by giving in. Terrified as she was, with her heart hammering and burning in her chest, Calla took a gulping sob and tried to steady herself by clutching the cracks in the stones. Dust rained down over her hands but she ignored it.
"Rational," she muttered to herself, struggling to sit upright. Bleary eyes made out faint wear in the stones across from her. Almost like runes, but they weren't. He wouldn't give her anything she could use. "Logical." She was a Ravenclaw, for goodness' sake. But it was hard to be rational when she could hear Sirius being tortured upstairs and feel it twisting a knife in her chest.
The screaming grew louder and a laugh mingled in their somewhere, high and cold, and Calla jerked, spilling the glass of water she held in her hand. She stumbled, trying to scoop up the damp, but it seeped like blood into the stones and her chest seemed to crack. "Stop it!" she choked out, and nobody heard. "Stop - stop! St-"
Her voice cracked and she slumped over, shoulders sagging. She couldn't move. Couldn't do anything. Her ears became numb and her fingers even more so. The half-empty glass of water was placed precariously on an uneven stone. She was so thirsty. Her head swam with it. She refused to drink.
There was something Voldemort wanted. Something specific, by the way the Order always spoke. She knew there was the prophecy, but there was something else - something even the Order wasn't told about by Dumbledore, if he even knew the details.
The sound from upstairs died down. A door slammed and there was a low, keening noise like that from an injured dog.
"Stop it," she muttered to the stones. "Stop, stop, stop it!"
No one was listening. She hammered her fist against the wall and still no one was listening; she stood up on shaky legs and threw herself at the door and no one was listening; she lay down and curled up and cried and no one, no one was listening.