Kirra felt her feet slam into the ground; her injured leg gave way, and she fell forward; her hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. She raised her head.
"Where are we?" Harry suddenly spoke up from behind her.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Kirra to her feet, and they looked around.
"Some graveyard," Kirra muttered
They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Kirra could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Kirra. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Kirra. She was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie.
"Is this supposed to be part of the task?" Harry asked them
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
"Stay close to me," Kirra mumbled to the two of them.
They pulled out their wands. Kirra kept looking around her. She had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming," she said suddenly.
Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Kirra couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, she could tell that it was carrying something.
Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And — several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time — Kirra saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby . . . or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Kirra lowered her wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot her a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure. Kirra had a sick feeling in her stomach, "Harry get behind me just in case."
"What? Wh-"
"Just listen to me," she snapped
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Kirra, Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another.
And then, without warning, Kirra and Harry's scars exploded with pain. It was agony such as she had never felt in all her life... this life that is; her wand slipped from her fingers as she put her hands over her face; her knees buckled; she was on the ground and she could see nothing at all; her head was about to split open.
She could hear Harry crying in pain next to her
From far away, above her head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare."
Kirra's body moved before she could even think
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"
She jumped up, managing to push Cedric to the ground, landing on top of him with a groan of pain.
A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes.
Cedric and Kirra were lying on the ground next to him, but both were alive.
"Ced! You alright?" Kirra quickly asked him, pushing the pain in her head away
Before Cedric could respond, they heard the voice call out again "Crucio!" Kirra felt excruciating pain flow throughout her body. She fell to the ground, pained cries falling from her mouth
"No. Not her," the second voice called, "the spare. Just kill the spare!" Kirra tried once more to get up from her feet and get in front of Cedric but it was too late
"Avada Kedavra!"
Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside her.
He was dead.
For a second that contained an eternity, Kirra stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised.
"No!" She cried out. She prayed that this was all just some sick nightmare. "Ced! Get up, you're okay, you're o-" she couldn't breathe. Her loud sobs echoed through the Graveyard. Harry was sitting there with wide eyes.
She tried to crawl over to him but she was suddenly being pulled to her feet.
The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging her and Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight but Kirra couldn't see anything through her tears.
It wasn't until they were forced around and slammed against it, that Kirra read the headstone.
Tom Riddle
Kirra felt her heart sink into her chest. The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry and Kirra, tying her from neck to ankles to the headstone. He was quick to cover her mouth with some kind of tape too
"Wouldn't want you using verbal magic now would we?" Kirra's eyes widened as she finally recognised the voice
She tried to call out his name through the tape, but she couldn't get any words out. Kirra could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; she struggled, and the man hit her — hit her with a hand that had a finger missing.
It was Wormtail.
"You!" Harry suddenly gasped as he looked at the hand.
But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Kirra and Harry were bound so tightly to the headstone that they couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from the twins and hurried away.
Kirra cursed herself angrily. She could have taken on Wormtail easily. How could she have been for careless and stupid. If only the pain from her scar hadnt knocked her down in the first place then maybe... maybe
Kirra couldn't make a sound, nor could she see where Wormtail had gone; she couldn't turn her head to see beyond the headstone; she could see only what was right in front of her.
Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away. Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Both Kirra and Harry's wands were on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes that Kirra had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Kirra watched it, and her scar seared with pain again . . . and she suddenly knew that she didn't want to see what was in those robes . . . she didn't want that bundle opened. . . .
She could hear noises at her feet. She looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Kirra's range of vision, and Kirra saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water —
Kirra could hear it slopping around — and it was larger than any cauldron Kirra had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire.
Kirra couldn't help but look at her old friend in sadness. What had gone so wrong? They had been so close in school and now here he was.
They were Black Lake, basking in the warmth of the sun and enjoying each other's company. Emily and Peter sat side by side, their laughter blending with the sound of the lake's gentle waves.
Sirius, leaned back into Emily, putting his weight on her as he turned to the group, a wide grin on his face. "How about a game of Gobstones? Winner gets to prank Snivellus next Potions class!"
James and Remus eagerly agreed, but Emily and Peter exchanged a knowing glance and chuckled. They had witnessed the chaos that ensued every time they played Gobstones in the common room.
Emily leaned in close to Peter and whispered, "Maybe we should form an alliance. We can't let those three dumbasses have all the fun."
Peter nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're right. Let's show them what we're made of."
As the game progressed, it became evident that Emily and Peter made an exceptional team. They played strategically, deflecting curses and hexes while simultaneously launching their own attacks. It didn't take long for James, Sirius, and Remus to realize that they were no match for the united front of Emily and Peter.
After a particularly impressive move that sent Sirius's Gobstone flying into the lake, Emily high-fived Peter, and they exchanged triumphant grins. "come on Em, that was a bit extra!" Sirius pouted
"Dont be a baby pads," Emily laughed, shoving the boy off her
"Alright, alright, you two win this round," James conceded with a laugh. "But we'll get you next time!"
The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Kirra heard the high, cold voice again.
"Hurry!"
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
"It is ready, Master."
Kirra's eyes widened as it all clicked in her head. No. No no no no.
"Now . . ." said the cold voice.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Kirra let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking her mouth.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Kirra had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, red-dish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
She couldnt stop the tears falling from her eyes as she looked at him. That wasn't Tom Riddle, it wasn't the smart Slytherin with a snappy attitude. It was Voldemort, the monster who had murdered thousands.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Kirra saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron.
For one moment, Kirra saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Kirra heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Harry was watching with scared eyes from beside his sister.
Let it drown, Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, please . . . let it drown. . . .
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The surface of the grave at Kirra's feet cracked. Horrified, Kirra watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master."
He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Kirra realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened — she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, but she could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Kirra as though she had been stabbed with the dagger too.
She heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Kirra couldn't stand to look, to see the pain on the face of someone she had once considered to be one of her best friends . . . but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Kirra's closed eyelids. . . .
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Kirra felt Wormtail's anguished breath on her face did she realize that Wormtail was right in front of her. He was looking at her, she could see the darkness and fear in his eyes... but there in the back... barely visible she could see the light of the Peter Pettigrew she once knew.
Peter turned to Harry, stepping in front of him
"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe."
Kirra could do nothing to prevent it, she was tied too tightly. . . . Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding her, she saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand.
She struggled against the ropes, trying everything she could to help Harry. She ignored the pain in her body from not only the scar, but her mangled leg and the left over remnants of pain from the Cruciatus curse. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened. . . .
Let it have drowned, Harry thought, let it have gone wrong. . . .
Kirra could do nothing but watch. She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what to feel. She couldn't stop the salty tears from falling down her face as she stared into the cauldron
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Kirra and Harry, so that they couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hangng in the air. . . . It's gone wrong, Harry thought . . . it's drowned . . . please . . . please let it be dead. . . .
But then, through the mist in front of them, they saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Kirra . . . and Kirra stared back into the face that had haunted her nightmares for years. There wasn't even a trace of the boy that she had once loved.
Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils . . .
Lord Voldemort had risen again.