Chelsea landed on the wrong foot, falling sideways into hard, cold grass; her head slamming against something hard; Lucius Malfoy chuckled, Rookwood glanced down at her. Chelsea winced in pain, raising herself from the dirt. Pain throbbed at the back of her skull and something warm and wet slid down her neck.
“Where am I?” She said as cool mist breezed over her exposed skin, a shiver twisting down her spine. She looked around, Hogwarts was long gone; her friends long gone, and the stadium lights extinguished. She found herself standing next to a decrypted black church. The structure had seen better days, its windows having been broken over time the remaining shards littering the ground, and its sides weather-worn from decades of heavy rain. A graveyard spread out before them, crumbling and lopsided headstones stood erect. Around her were black outlined mausoleums and leave-barren trees. Fog ebbed between every structure and no other distinguishing landmarks could be seen; with an exception of a fine house in the distance.
“Aurelia, all will be explained later. We must go to meet our host, he’s been dying to meet you.” Rookwood grabbed her arm tightly, pulling the dizzied girl forward. His grip strong, bordering painful.
“Let go of me! I did what you said! I went to the Astronomy tower! I listened!” Chelsea screamed, tearing her arm from Rookwood’s grasp. She turned on her heels, running as fast as she could, dodging between headstones.
“Bloody fucking hell.” She heard Rookwood spit out in annoyance. Blood pounded heavily in her ears. ”Crucio!”
Before Chelsea could turn around to defend herself, she had been hit by the Cruciatus curse in the center of her back. All-consuming pain spread from her spine to every inch of her body. Molten glass poured over every part of her skin... Broiling knives pierced every inch of her spine. She felt as if she was surely going to explode from the pain; her organs felt as if they were boiling inside her body; she screamed louder than she’d ever screamed in her life. Her throat bloody and dry as the pain continued, seemly never to end. Chelsea clawed at the ground, withering in such pain she hadn’t notice Rookwood’s approach.
“You bloody little bitch,” Rookwood pulled her up by grabbing a fistful of her hair, “when I told you I could hurt your measly little friends, I still can. Behave or I will personally kill them in front of you.”
“Control your daughter, Rookwood. He won’t be pleased by her disobedience.” Lucius Malfoy sneered, approaching the pair.
He stopped the spell with a flick of his wand, Chelsea fell to the ground gasping for air. She had never felt such pain in her life, her nerves were still on fire when Rookwood dragged her to her feet. He grasped her arm again, this time not hiding the iron grip.
Not even ten feet from them was a large flash of blue light and before Chelsea, Cedric Diggory, Charles Tanner, and Harry Potter appeared out of nowhere, the Triwizard Cup abandoned on the dead grass behind them.
“Not a word.” Rookwood cast a silencing spell before Chelsea could scream, pulling her out of sight from the boy but still having a full view of them. They could hear every word the boys said.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry and Charles.
“Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?” he asked.
Charles shook his head, looking around.
“Nope,” said Harry, “Is this supposed to be part of the task?”
“I don’t know,” said Charles. He sounded slightly nervous. “Wands out. Just in case.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. All three boys had their wands at the ready but had no idea what was in store for them.
All around Chelsea, shadows materialized, Death Eaters appearing and waiting in anticipation.
“Someone’s coming,” Harry said suddenly, his voice disrupting the eerily silence.
Squinting tensely through the darkness, Chelsea watched a figure drawing nearer to the boys, walking steadily toward them between the graves.
Chelsea saw the unease in Harry’s face, the unhinged anxiety in Charles’s stance, and heard the heavy breaths escaping from Cedric’s mouth.
Chelsea watched the figure closely, she had no idea who it could be but the figure was carrying something. Whoever it was, they were short and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over their head and their face was hidden in the shadows.
As the gap between the boys and the figure grew closer, it was clear that the thing in the person’s arms looked like a baby. Chelsea thought it had to be. But the more she stared at the bundle, a shiver traveled down her spine. It couldn’t be... could it?
She watched Charles glance sideways at Cedric and Harry. Cedric shot both boys a quizzical look. They continued to watch the approaching figure, all three boys on a defensive stance.
The man stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from the boys and a mere two feet from Chelsea. For a second, Harry, Charles and Cedric, and the short figure simply looked at one another.
And then, without warning, Harry screamed in agony. His wand slipped from his hand as his hands covered his face. He fell to the ground, screaming out in pain. Both boys quickly pointed their wands, ready to send spells flying.
Chelsea tried to break free of Rookwood’s grip to no avail. She wiggled and twisted and turned in his grasp.
From the headstone, Chelsea heard a cold voice say, ”Kill the spares."
She stepped on Rookwood’s toes, earning a loosened grip before sprinting to the boys, knocking a shocked Charles to the ground. Charles gripped her arms tightly.
From behind her head a swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: ”Avada Kedavra!"
A blast of green light blazed through the night, striking Cedric in the chest. Harry heard several things amidst his pain. Someone being pushed to the ground and something heavy falls to the ground beside him.
Chelsea watched Harry retch in pain. But to his left, she saw where Charles should’ve been. Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.
“Chelsea? What are you doing here?” Charles gasped in surprise before Rookwood emerged from the shadows, pulling Chelsea by her hair. She wiggled under his grasp, clawing at his hands.
Charles lept to his feet, wand pointed at Rookwood. “Let her go!” He yelled. Harry stared at the scene unraveling before him, too numb to move. His mouth hung open as he stared into his friend’s scared eyes. Chelsea’s eyes pleaded for help.
“Oh son, put your little stick away. You don’t stand a chance here.” Rookwood growled, wand pointed at him.
“Please! Don’t hurt him!” Chelsea screamed, the silencing spell long broken. Her fingers bloody from clawing away. “Please! He hasn’t done anything!”
“You had your chance, little love. Should have listened. I told you, I could still hurt them,” Rookwood raised his wand high, pointing straight at Charles, ”Avada Kedavra!”
The same green light that took Cedric blazed through the fog.
“No!” Chelsea screamed as Charles hit the ground with a heavy thud. Chelsea stared at his face, at his open blue eyes, blank and expressionless. But his cheeks wet, tears soaking his collar. His mouth was half-open in surprise. Rookwood let go of her, and she ran to his body. She held him in her arms. Tears streamed down her fast, a cascading river. Her heart shattered.
“Please come back! Come back to me! CHARLES!” She wailed, shaking his body. The warmth started to leave him. “No! No.... n-no... CHARLES TANNER WAKE UP!” She sat there rocking his body.
“You should have listened. This is punishment for your disobedience.” Rookwood pulled her away from his body, leaving Charles alone.
“How dare you!” Chelsea screamed at the man, pounding his chest with her fists. Sobs racked her body and tears continued to fall with no end in sight. Rookwood took his wand out again.
"Petrificus Totalus.” Chelsea felt her limbs tighten against her body. She tried to move but nothing but her eyes moved. She continued to silently sob. She was forced to watch the scene unraveling in front of her.
The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and dragged Harry towards the marble headstone. Chelsea watched as Harry recognized the name upon it flickering in the wand light before he was forced around and slammed against it. His eyes grew wide.
The cloaked man conjured tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone.
“You!” Harry gasped at the man under the hood. He tried fighting the cords, Chelsea watched him try. But the man under the hood paid him no attention, he was too busy checking the ropes. Chelsea noticed how he anxiously trembled.
When he finished his task, he withdrew a length of black material from depths of his robes and stuffed it into Harry’s mouth, and shuffled away quickly. Chelsea’s heart ached. All she wanted to do was grab Harry and run but she was being held close to Rookwood’s side. She watched Harry struggle.
Cedric’s body was lying some twenty feet away, and Charles lying five feet to the left. Some way beyond Cedric, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Chelsea saw Harry’swand was on the ground at Cedric’s feet.
The bundle of robes was close to Harry at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it wearily. Chelsea felt her stomach drop suddenly knowing that she didn’t want to see what was in those robes... Nothing good would come from that bundle being opened. Chelsea’s breath hitched as a giant snake slithered at Harry’s feet, circling the headstone. The snake sneering at Harry.
The cloaked man dragged a large, black stone cauldron towards the headstone. Liquid slopped around with gurgles and wet slaps. Chelsea had seen a cauldron this large once, and it was not used for a good potion, no potion that size could be good.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. The hooded man 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 began not only to bubble quickly but also sent out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam thickened with every passing second, blurring the outline of the servant. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated.
Chelsea heard the high, cold voice again.
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
“It is ready, Master.” The hooded man pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside time. Chelsea heard Harry release a strangled yell. If she wasn’t cursed, she would have yelled as well.
The thing that emerged from the robes was something ugly, slimy, and blind but worse; thousand times worse. It had the shape of a crouched human child, except Chelsea had never seen anything less like a child. The fetally curled thing was hairless, scaly, and was an unnatural reddish black in pigmentation- as if filled with dead man’s blood. Its arms and legs thin and fragile. And dear merlin- no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike with horrid red eyes.
The thing, so utterly helpless, wrapped its thin, spindly arms around the hooded man’s neck, causing it to fall back. Chelsea saw the look of revulsion on man’s weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Chelsea saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. A shiver passed through her spine, she felt the curse slowly becoming undone.
The man lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Chelsea heard the potion gurgle.
Before the creature hit the bottom of the cauldron, the un-named man spoke. 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 Harry’s feet cracked. Horrified, Chelsea watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at the man’s command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water bubbled and hissed violently; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous blue.
The man stood alone by the cauldron violently shaking and whimpering. He pulled a dagger from his cloak and he broke into horrified sobs.
“Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will —revive — your master.”
Chelsea felt her stomach roll, threatening to turn. She knew what was going to come next. He stretched his right hand out in front of him, the hand was curiously missing a finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. She closed her eyes.
The poor man’s scream pierced the night, and with a sickening glurg, it fell into the cauldron. The man’s anguished panting could be heard throughout the cemetery. The moment the hand hit the surface, the potion glowed a fiery red.
All Chelsea could do was watch as the stranger approached her friend with the silver dagger. He dragged it across the crook of Harry’s right arm as blood pooled into a glass vial. All Chelsea wanted to do was push the cauldron over, that would be enough to ruin the potion and give her enough time to save Harry. If only she could move her body.
"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe.” The man said into the night, staggering back to the cauldron, dumping the vial in. He then collapsed to his knees, clutching his arm and sobbing.
The cauldron was bubbling dangerous, sending diamond sparks into the sky. For many minutes, nothing happened. Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief, something must have gone wrong.
Sparks flew from the cauldron erratically until extinguishing. White steam billowed from the surface, blocking Harry from Chelsea’s view. Everything disappeared under that horrid steam.
Through the shadows, a dark outline of a man rose from the cauldron. He was horribly thin.
“Robe me, Wormtail,” He said in the bone-chilling cold voice through the steam. The sobbing man, Wormtail, picked up the black robes on the ground and gently dressed his master.
The man stepped out of the cauldron, his red eyes staring at Harry. Chelsea watched Harry meet him. The boy shook violently in his binds.
Chelsea heard Rookwood chuckle, “he’s back.”
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