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Mary levitated the heavy black cauldron into the center of the chalk circle she’d carefully drawn. The potion inside had remained viscous, a texture like clay softened by water.
“Very good,” murmured Cedric, standing in the corner of the room. “You’re doing so well.”
The warmth in her chest spread up and into her face as she sent him a small smile. Soon enough, she’d be able to touch him. The thought excited her so much that her hands shook as she took up her crystal adorned dagger for the next step.
She thought back to afternoons spent practicing the words, the symbols, the channeling of magic. Cedric had had her practice on pen and paper during the summer, whenever she’d hidden in her room to escape noisy pick-up Quidditch games and visiting relatives. Her family was huge and loud and yet somehow, they never seemed to notice her, regardless of whether she was in the room or not.
But not Cedric.
Cedric had always been with her, and only her, for as long as she could remember. He’d stayed with her even as she’d hidden in her room to avoid her parents’ screaming fights. He’d reassured her when her brothers had told her to quit writing them with her petty worries, that everything would be fine.
And she’d tried, desperately, to believe them, to not be hurt by their words.
But then, their dad had left, and their little family had been faking happiness ever since.
Or, maybe worse, they hadn’t ever been happy at all.
She hated her mum, and her brothers and sister, but she maybe hated her dad the most. How could he leave her like that? How could he run off like she didn’t matter, even though he’d stayed with her mum long enough to raise all of her siblings?
If they didn’t love her, then they shouldn’t have ever forced her to be born! But it was fine, because she had Cedric, and he had her. And soon, he’d be more than just a dead boy.
Her fingers covered in a tacky layer of potion and her own blood from pricked fingertips, she began drawing over the chalky ground. Each rune had to be powered individually, which had been too much for her magical core last year. Even after finally receiving her wand. She didn’t think he’d ever been as disappointed in her as when he’d resignedly stated that they’d have to wait.
She was determined that this year, he’d be proud of her instead.
All of the other students were at the Halloween feast in the Great Hall, including her older siblings and all of their obnoxious friends. Although she’d marveled this morning at all of the fantastic decorations and a part of her yearned to go upstairs and eat some of the delicious foods, she was glad that there was no one to bother her as she finished the ritual. She was tired enough already to risk carrying the cauldron from the circle, rather than trying to levitate it.
Cedric didn’t comment on her exhaustion, offering only a reassuring smile that stirred up her wavering willpower when she looked over.
A deep breath, and then she removed her wand from the pocket of her robes, not bothering to clean her hands.
Mary began to cast the spell he’d created and then painstakingly taught her. The Latin fell off her tongue effortlessly. Her eyes closed without her realizing, the magic swirling through her veins making her feel lit up and powerful, even as her stomach began to cramp and her fingers became numb.
The world began to tilt, and her stomach cramped even worse than before. If she’d eaten lunch, she might’ve seen it come back up to greet her again.
The ritual would take her back to the point in time where Cedric’s living soul had separated from his body. Once there she would have to stop him from dying, in the quickest possible way. She wouldn’t be able to explain anything until afterwards, but it would be fine, Cedric had assured. All she had to do was kill a murderer.
She had to stop Cedric from dying. She had to kill Harry Potter.
As the last words left her parched mouth, Mary felt the world shift hard to the left, and she stumbled. She took a deep breath to settle the roiling of her stomach before a sharp gasp had her jerking her head up to see where she’d ended up.
Two boys were in front of her. An obviously beaten Cedric stood wavering, bruised and bleeding, but still he looked at her with concern on his beautiful face.
“Mary!” a sharp voice from beside her broke her from her distraction. “That’s him! You have to do it!”
Tearing her eyes from Cedric, wand clasped tightly in trembling fingers, Mary lifted her wand to the other boy—short, scruffy, bright green, surprised eyes. “Avada Kedavra!” she cast.
The boy before her fell to the ground, dead.
“What did you do?” asked the living Cedric, horrified. His eyes were on the other boy, not looking at her. Why wasn’t he looking at her? She’d saved him.
He was alive because of her!
“Wormtail, kill the spare,” rasped a voice from behind that she didn’t recognize. Before she could turn to face it, a bright, familiar acid green light shot forward and struck Cedric. He, too, fell to the ground, dead.
“What?” she rasped. Her knees trembled. He couldn’t be dead…? She’d saved him!
Cedric’s ghost, still beside her, snorted. The sound was so incongruous that she turned, wide-eyed to look at him for direction.
He looked at her, shimmering and beautiful as always, but the usual warmth in her chest was absent. His features, so familiar, looked strangely cold. The curl of his lip looked smug, the light in his eyes cruel.
“You stupid girl,” he said softly, as his features began to warp and change. His chestnut hair darkened to a deep black. His eyes narrowed, becoming a pretty green. His plush lips thinned, even as they curled into words that broke her heart. “You really thought yourself the hero of this story.”
“What?” she asked again, voice breathy and barely audible, but she could no more speak up than she could fly away from all of this.
The man came into view from behind her, cradling something in his arms. He held the thing over the first boy, apparently examining the body. The voice from before spoke again, coming from the creature cradled in the man’s arms.
“So, we failed, then?” it asked.
The ghost who used to be Cedric shrugged. “All of the other horcruxes were found and destroyed, of course. We were right to have one unremarkable item hidden amongst all of the treasures.”
“And now Harry Potter is dead. And there is but one obstacle left in the way of my triumph.”
“I do believe you mean my triumph. I am, after all, the one who had to clean up your mess.”
“By using a little girl to do your bidding, yes, I can see how powerful you are.”
Mary sank to her knees as she finally understood. “You’re… Lord Voldemort.”
Cedric—no. Lord Voldemort’s ghost turned his sneer to her kneeling form. He seemed to enjoy her despair.
“Yes, you silly child. Keep up, will you? Your life force is tied to me now, so you won’t die or fade away, which means I’m stuck with you. The least you could do is find some common sense. After all, it’s not like you’ll be able to find refuge among those who would defy me.
Not after killing the Boy-Who-Lived.”
She bent her head further at his words, her hair falling into her face as she stared blankly ahead. The two Voldemorts continued their conversation without her input, words like vipers as they argued over who should be restored to full power and what steps they should take.
What she’d done fully dawned on her then—she’d just released two Voldemorts into the world, and if she knew anything about the Great Wizarding Wars, it was that Wizarding Britain had barely survived his reign the first time.
This time, there wasn’t even Harry Potter to lead the charge. She had an idea of how he’d been defeated, of course, but if Harry Potter wasn’t around, and Dumbledore was set to die in the next couple of years, then who—?
And finally, spine straightening, she realized that, although her knowledge of the timeline would be unreliable because of how much had already changed, that she was the person with all necessary knowledge to defeat the Dark Lord.
She glanced up, seeing that she was still being ignored, and remembered that not everything had changed. She was still considered irrelevant.
Somehow, she’d make this right. Someway, somewhen.
Mary Alice Potter vowed, there and then, to kill Lord Voldemort.
No matter what she had to do.