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——TEAR ME APART, RIP UP MY HEART
THE FIRST THING SHE REGISTERED TO WHEN SHE AWOKE WAS THE DULL, NUMBING SENSATION FROM HER ARMS. Effie later realized it was because of the ropes binding her wrists behind her.
However, that didn't mean she was entirely powerless. Effie managed to grab a sharp pebble after slicing her palms open a few times, beginning to work through it.
Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away. Some way beyond her, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Potter's wand was on the ground at Cedric's feet, and Potter... Potter was bounded a few feet away from her, her wand at his feet which he kicked conspicuously to her once he noticed she was awake.
Fortunately, Effie had stepped on it by the time the unknown man—Cedric's murderer—turned to look at Potter before going back to what he was doing. However, due to always being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and unfortunately getting dragged into the shits that Potter got himself into, she realized Cedric's murderer was Peter Pettigrew.
And somehow, Cedric's death hasn't gotten to her. . . yet. All she could think of was to get herself and Potter out of this alive.
Through the mist in front of her, she saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron. What—What the fuck?
"Robe me," The high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Potter. . . and Potter stared back, just as pale with horror. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils. . .
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
Bloody hell, she thinks, numb with resignation as she got her ties somewhat loose. Of all the fucking hells I got stuck in—this is where my fate sticks me in.
His hands were like large, pale spiders, his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face—the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant.
