Voldemort returns and is intent on revenge, preventing the prophecy from coming true and ensuring his reign over the wizarding world. But everything changes when he realizes the girl who lived, his ultimate nemesis...is actually a Horcrux...
Voldemo...
What happened after that was a blur—a cacophony of blurred edges and fractured memories. Hadria stumbled, disoriented, her senses reeling. The Triwizard maze had spat her out, returning her to the very edge where the task had begun. The cheers from the stands had initially erupted for her...victorious, triumphant...until the grim reality settled like a shroud. Cedric Diggory lay lifeless, his eyes vacant, and the crowd's jubilation curdled into horror.
After that, it was chaos. Screams tore through the air, cries of disbelief and grief. Hadria's legs gave way, and she collapsed beside Cedric's body. She remembered being pulled away carried back into Dumbledore's office...numb, unfeeling...as if her very soul had been wrenched from her chest. Hogwarts loomed before her, its ancient walls a sanctuary she could hardly comprehend.
Dumbledore's hand settled on her shoulder, a comforting weight. His eyes held both sympathy and resolve. She could hardly see through her tears, the world a watery blur.
"Hadria," he said, his voice gentle, "we need to know what transpired in that graveyard."
Severus Snape knelt before her, his usual sarcasm absent. His voice, too, was calm...a balm for her shattered nerves.
"What happened, Hadria?" His fingers tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into hers, demanding answers.
"He's back...Voldemort is back..."
The name tasted bitter on her tongue...a curse, a nightmare. She confirmed what Severus already knew deep down—the truth etched in the lines of his face when he felt the burn of his Dark Mark and saw it darken once again.
She recounted the ritual...the blood, the chilling presence of the man who defied death. The graveyard's shadows clung to her memory...the eerie glow of the Dark Lord's resurrection, the whispers of ancient incantations. Severus's wand traced a healing path over her wound, sealing it. But the scar ran deeper...a mark of survival, of witnessing the impossible.
***
Hours blurred into exhaustion. Hadria found herself in the hospital wing, the sterile white walls offering no solace. Snape's draught had granted her dreamless sleep, shielding her from nightmares. Yet fate had other plans.
A raspy voice cut through the silence, pulling her from slumber...a whisper that seemed to emerge from the very fabric of reality.
"Hadria...wake, my dear."
She stirred, caught between realms, and then opened her eyes. The hospital wing had vanished, replaced by a grandeur she couldn't comprehend. She lay in a four-poster bed—the softest fabrics cradling her like a cocoon. It was as if she were suspended in clouds, drifting between wakefulness and dreams.
The room...no, the chamber...was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Lavishly decorated, it exuded opulence. The walls bore intricate tapestries, their threads weaving tales of forgotten kingdoms and lost magic. A crackling fire danced in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the room. Its warmth battled the chill that permeated the air...a paradox of comfort and unease.
Hadria sat up, her senses reeling. Moonlight spilled through stained glass windows, painting kaleidoscopic patterns on the dark wood floor.
Only kings and queens have rooms this big, she thought, her mind grasping for context. But where was she? How had she arrived here...from the hospital wing to this ethereal sanctuary?
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