In third-year halls, their paths first crossed,
A Raven boy, a Blonde girl lost.
"Stay out of my way," she warned with a glare,
But something lingered in the frosty air.
Crimson with his scar and fame,
Emerald with her secrets untamed.
Two worlds ap...
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Aria's consciousness returned slowly, her mind clawing its way through the fog of unconsciousness. A sharp, pulsating pain throbbed at her temples, and as her senses began to clear, she realized she was lying on cold, hard ground. The air around her was damp and heavy, filled with the smell of earth and decay. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her vision blurry, the world around her spinning in disjointed shapes and colours.
She blinked a few times, trying to steady herself, and finally, the scene before her snapped into clarity—a graveyard, ancient and foreboding. Weathered headstones jutted out of the ground like jagged teeth, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the whole place.
Her heart pounded as the realization hit her—this wasn't Hogwarts. She tried to move, but her limbs felt weak as if her body had forgotten how to respond.
"Harry?" she croaked, her voice barely more than a whisper, throat dry and raw.
To her right, she saw him, lying sprawled on the ground, still unconscious. His glasses were askew, and his breathing was shallow but steady. Her heart sank. What had happened? How had they both ended up here?
A rustling sound caught her attention, and her gaze snapped to the left. Cedric Diggory lay not far from them, his face pale in the moonlight, but he was not moving—he was dead. But before Aria could react further, a figure emerged from the shadows—a hunched man with thinning hair and trembling hands.
Wormtail.
Fear spiked through Aria's veins as she recognized the man. Her instincts screamed for her to run, to escape, but her body remained frozen, weighed down by fear and whatever spell had left her here.
"Where are we?" Aria muttered, trying to keep her voice steady despite the dread pooling in her stomach.
"Little Hangleton," Wormtail rasped, his voice shaking as much as his hands. "The Dark Lord... he will rise tonight."
Aria's blood ran cold at his words, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. Someone had captured her—not to keep her from interfering with Harry's task—but for something much, much worse. This was a trap. The Tournament had been a trap all along.
Wormtail shuffled closer, cradling something wrapped in dark robes. Aria's eyes widened in horror as she realized what it was—Voldemort, or what was left of him.
Her pulse quickened, and she struggled to move, her muscles responding sluggishly. "You can't do this," she breathed, her voice shaking with desperation. "Harry—he won't let this happen. We'll tell Dumbledo-"
"Harry has no choice," Wormtail replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing something trivial. "Nor do you."
