𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧, rw.

𝟬𝟬𝟭. something wicked this way comes.

(contains mentions of torture and slight mutilation. please read with caution, there will be a recap in the author's note if needed.)

LITTLE HANGLETON, JUNE 24
BRITAIN       1994

THE FINAL TASK.

Her stomach begins to nervously turn. The moment she hits the cold, hard ground she knows something is wrong. It's in the way the gloomy haze settles itself upon her skin like a woollen coat, and the stillness of the area surrounding them. There is no whoosh of wind, tree branches swaying, or even the buzzing of tiny bugs. There is an uneasy absence that stretches in the gloom except for an oof, a groan, and a thud.

Blinking through the blur in her vision she rubs her temples and clumsily stands up, stumbles a bit to the right, scrunches her nose at the sudden headache, and looks up. Dread drips off the clouds in a thin sheen of fog, illuminated by the pale moonlight that manages to creep its way through. They've found themselves in a graveyard, of all places, dark and overgrown with moss clinging to the crevices of death. Various names are etched in the dull marble, and almost immediately she can tell the headstones have been long forgotten. The thought of her grave being neglected leaves an ache in her chest. Death is the abandoned body buried in soil. She fears they may be next.

"Fuck, is your leg okay?" Mabel asks when Harry makes a noise behind her, turning towards him. "Let me help you up, yeah?"

"I'm fine." Harry shortly says, pushing away from her hand that wraps beneath his arm. His brow furrows, nose scrunching in pain, and guilt ( not for the first, nor the last time ) punches her in the gut. He'd pushed her out of the way when the spider made to grab her and injured himself in its hold. "Where are we?"

"Did anyone tell either of you it was a Portkey?" Cedric asks with a frown.

Mabel scoffs, "Obviously not. D'you think I would have grabbed it otherwise? I hate Portkeys."

Cedric rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, we know you do, Mae." He tells her, laughs despite himself and looks around. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah, I think so." Harry replies.

The three of them pulled their wands out, looking around the graveyard. In the distant sits the outline of a fine old house. One that seems to bring forth an odd sorts of familiarity. She's certain she's been inside it before, and with another turn of her stomach and an even stronger sense of unease, she shifts her gaze towards the right, where a large marble headstone was sat. Making her way towards the headstone with the wand-light in front of her and a deep frown, she reads, TOM RIDDLE, raking her brain for where she's heard that same name before. She lifts her gaze forward when the eerie feeling of being watched shoots involuntary chills down her spine.

"Harry," She calls over her shoulder, fingers tracing the letters carved into the stone, "Where have we heard the name Tom Riddle before?"

"Tom Riddle? Didn't he own that notebook from second year?" Harry calls back, continuing with a sudden panic, "Mae, come back over here. Someone's coming."

"I will in a —" Mabel began, pausing when she blinks and see's the faint, distant outline of The Chamber of Secrets. Or, at least, she thinks it is, because she hears the hiss of the snake and letters in the air. "No. Harry — Harry, we need to go! Tom Riddle's an anagram for —"