"The brightest flame will defeat the deathly chill of seven Decembers."
Castor and Pollux Jones, transfer students from Ilvermorny, are now attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After the unexpected death of their mother, they move t...
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Castor feels the air escaping her lungs as she finds herself staring up at the dense fog that settles over wherever they are now. Cedric and Harry are not far from where she still lies on the ground, and the cup rolls across the dewy grass, both panting and groaning in pain. She sits up slowly, rubbing a hand across her forehead slowly, wondering why she felt like she was underwater for so long. She remembers the maze herding her through the hedges to the Triwizard Cup, how she stood beside the shining silver beacon, uncompelled to take it, how she felt like she was supposed to wait for someone.
And then nothing.
Her mind fell into a haze as she ran through the possibilities of her escaping the maze without the cup. She didn't care about the championship anymore, didn't care that she stood in front of the shining blue cup until her mind clouded over. The next thing she knew, Harry's hands were on her shoulders, and he was shaking her, waking her mind from the haze she found herself in. She wishes she'd been able to speak up about the cup before they grabbed it, before they dragged her with them...although maybe that was a good thing. At least now that she felt somewhat clearer, she could explain why they shouldn't be here.
It was a graveyard.
The headstones seemed to go on for miles, each of them dusted over with cobwebs and almost-black moss that covered the names of those buried there. There were crows flying around overhead, perched atop different crosses and staring down at them with their beady black eyes. Normally, she would try to befriend the birds, but these felt different, like they were spying on them. Keeping watch over them. It only served to unnerve her further, to make her instincts light with danger warnings that they needed to leave.
She stood quickly, ignoring the pounding of her head and how she still tripped over her feet, and rushed to help Harry stand. She helped Cedric to his feet as well. Harry moved to look closer at the large headstone behind them. She looked around the graveyard, past the large mansion in the distance, but all she could see was fog. No luscious, rolling Spring hills of Scotland, no castle with moving staircases, and no Pollux. The distance between her and her twin felt significantly greater here, wherever she was. Harry and Cedric noticed it as well, how drastically different their surroundings were.
"We need to leave." She gasped out. Her head pounded again, and she rubbed her fingers across her forehead to stave off the feeling. "The cup was a portkey. We need to get back to Hogwarts. This isn't right."
Harry still moved towards a particular grave, the looming, cloaked figure of Death standing atop the plot. Death still held his scythe, and the stone carving also donned large wings and skeletal hands that emerged from beneath his cloak.
"Where are we?" Cedric asked looking around.
"It doesn't matter." Castor barked out. "We're not supposed to be here. Find the cup and let's go!"
"Wait, Castor." Harry waved her over. She sighed as she stepped closer to her friend. Harry was pointing to a name on the grave. She felt her blood freeze, her nerves and instincts lighting with danger. She reached for her wand then, holding it tightly in her hand as she reached over to grasp Harry's hand.
