Since going blind at 6 years old, Fiona Diggory has lived in the shadow of her twin brother, Cedric.
Now entering her 6th year at Hogwarts Fiona finds herself thrown into a new friendship with Fred and George Weasley while trying to determine the m...
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{In the stillness of a mist-shrouded meadow, a solitary wooden goblet stood, incongruous against the swirling fog. Its humble form bore the weight of something old, something that thrummed with a quiet power. There was nothing grand about it—just rough-hewn wood—but the space around it seemed to bend, as though the world itself acknowledged its presence.
Fiona moved closer, her steps slow, deliberate. She could feel the pull of the goblet, an irresistible lure that tugged at the edges of her thoughts. As she neared, blue-white flames flickered to life within the cup. They rose and twisted with an almost living grace, their movement wild and unpredictable.
Her fingers moved of their own accord, reaching toward the heat, toward the searing edge. But before her hand could close on the cup, another hand—a shadow of movement—intercepted it.
The goblet was gone, pulled back from her grasp.
A young man stood before her, the goblet in his hand. His features were obscured, swallowed by the light of the flames that licked up the sides of the cup. He lifted it to his lips, drinking deeply of the fire.
The fire drank back.
Fiona's breath caught in her throat as his body crumpled, lifeless, a discarded shell. He fell with a quiet finality, sinking into the earth, leaving only silence and the weight of what had been.
But out of the shadow where he fell, a presence stirred, laughter trailing in its wake—thin, brittle, like glass about to shatter. The laughter echoed through the mist, hollow and menacing.
From the dark, two eyes gleamed red—slanted and serpentine. They floated in the air like a cruel mockery, watching her, unblinking and cold. The eyes saw everything.
The red gaze drew her attention down, down to the body at her feet. Her breath caught, her heart twisting in her chest.
"Cedric?" His name escaped her lips in a whisper.
She knelt beside him, her hand trembling as she reached out. His skin was cold, hard beneath her touch, a chill that went deeper than the body. He was no longer Cedric, only a memory carved into something cold and unyielding.
"Cedric, wake up," she pleaded, her voice cracking against the silence. Her hand pressed harder, desperate for warmth, for life. But he was still, beyond her reach.
Laughter from the haunting red eyes echoed—a jagged sound, cruel and sharp. It filled the space around her, mocking her. The mist thickened, the goblet forgotten, as Fiona found herself stranded in a nightmare.}
Slowly, the world began to creep back in. The oppressive laughter faded, replaced by the gentle hum of morning. Birds chirped faintly outside the open window, their song light and delicate in the cool autumn air. A breeze stirred the wind chimes, their soft, steady music weaving through the quiet of the room. Fiona lay still, caught in the space between the fading echoes of her dream and the calm rhythm of the waking world. The peace felt fragile, as though it might shatter with the slightest touch.
