Chapter One
Chariot lay on her bed in her white room, melting. The small osculating fan was doing its best to cool the room, but the sweltering heat seeping through the closed window wasn't helping. Her light, shoulder-length hair was fanned out over her pillow and it was damp where it met her scalp. Little beads of sweat stood on her brow and her body was overheated, her reddened face reflecting it.

Because of this extreme heat, the Muggle central air conditioning had broken, leaving Chariot thoroughly peeved. She was a witch, for Merlin's sake! Couldn't she rig something up that could make this heat a little more bearable? Hot and bothered, Chariot pulled herself up to her feet and opened the window in hopes of coaxing what little breeze there might be into her room.

She looked around the room. It was utterly different from the rest of the House which some found dark and opposing. Chariot agreed with them, but she was used to it. For her, it was simply home.

This room was naturally lighted and airy, where as the corridor outside was dimmed and muted with the red fire torches that hung on the decaying stone walls. Chariot had insisted on this room, both in decoration and for its position in the house, when she'd first been moved to the Riddle house. Her room had four good-sized windows, all overlooking the picturesque formal rose garden. Chariot loved her view and had fought for it by climbing up and clawing for her current position in ranking.

She groaned inwardly. The usually forgiving clock on the wall pinged eight o'clock. The weekly Report Meeting. Sighing, Chariot limped into her closet and pulled a black hooded robe from a hanger. She hated these pointless meetings that much. All they involved was Voldemort 'checking up' on all the pathetic Death Eaters who couldn't do their jobs. Of course, he already knew the status of their missions. He knew everything. But the Dark Lord knew the secret of keeping his faithful followers loyal: let them think they have power when in reality, they have none. Allow the slaves their veneer of freedom.

A minute later, Chariot had donned her robe and lined her eyes with dark kohl, her blonde hair hidden and bound beneath her hood. On her way out, she locked the door with a wave of her hand. This spell made the door only accessible to her and her alone. One could never be too safe. Especially in this house.

Wordlessly, Chariot took her seat among the Death Eaters. Most of them were old, distinguished-looking men. A couple of the faces were women, but those were far and few behind. Many of them had been expelled to Azkaban, their seats empty, waiting for the day he or she would finally expire or be released; illegally, of course. Whichever came first. There were close to twenty-five people assembled, all dressed in the black hooded robes. Their heads were bowed and some had their heads bent together, talking quietly. This was always a solemn affair. Chariot was by far the youngest there. No one expected much from her because of her youth, but she always leapt over their expectations. Chariot sat between two men. One was Lucius Malfoy.

"Good evening, Lucius," Chariot said coolly. There was no use ignoring the man she'd partnered on more than one assignment.

"Hello, my dear. I hope you fare well, Chariot?" His voice was cooler. He didn't look at her, but kept his head bowed. He didn't dare and neither did she.

"I'm fine, Lucius. Thank you."

He rubbed at the inside of his forearm under his robe: The Dark Mark. Unconsciously, Chariot touched her arm too and was thankful she'd never been branded. Like a pathetic calf. Chariot had never had to receive the Dark Mark. She'd been pressured, of course. But the experience she had in her young age and unfailing loyalty to Voldemort had secured that, if anything, for her. Besides, that made her unmarked. The ideal Spy.

"Good evening to you all." He was here. Lord Voldemort. His chillingly unfeeling voice greeted them. Instantly, Chariot turned her eyes down. She didn't dare look him in the eye unless instructed. She'd felt the pitiless effects of the Crucio and Imperio curses. It wasn't something Chariot cared to feel again if she could help it.

"I trust I'll find you all have accomplished something." The word something carried the connotation of or else at the end. Chariot took a deep breath. Her assignment was completed the week before. She'd been camping out in the forest outside the Minister's Mansion for a month. Just to get a single conversation recorded. Personally, Chariot didn't understand nor care about her mission, but coming back empty handed was not an option.

Lord Voldemort went through the Death Eaters one by one as though reading down a list. He knew every Death Eater by name and kept close tabs on all of them.

"Chariot Allison. The Spy. Do you have the tape?"

It was her turn. Nodding, Chariot pulled a tiny chip the size of her thumbnail from its secure place in her robe. She placed it in the palm of one hand and with a flick of the other, it grew in size. In the blink of an eye, the chip covered her palm. Chariot placed it in the Dark Lord's outstretched palm. She didn't touch the eerily sallow, claw-like hand.

Chariot didn't see the nefarious hint of smile that crept onto his thin lips. But every other Death Eater did, however. "You have done well, Chariot." He slipped the tape into his robe and continued on. Even surrounded in men and women that could end her life with a flick of the wand and only two uttered words, her 'family', Chariot could breathe again. Until her next assignment anyway.

Near the end of the list, a man called Whitley hadn't done his job, hadn't finished his quota on time. There always was at least one that didn't finish and Lord Voldemort didn't take well to that.

At the beginning, Chariot had cried and trembled when she watched at these meetings as those who fell behind were tortured mercilessly. For that, she had been punished. Now, there was no weeping and hiding her face. Chariot flinched and averted her eyes to the floor, attempting to block out the sounds of the man twitching on the floor. She, however, was not one of those who stepped foreword, joining in on the tormenting of this man. She was a Spy and above that.

Chariot watched helplessly as she watched Lucius Malfoy stride forward with an out-pointed wand, muttering 'crutio' under his breath. Again and again, Chariot rationalized that Whitley deserved it, that he should have known the consequences, but never quite believed it. When Voldemort and his mob had had their way, the meeting dispersed and Chariot had to walk past Whitley, lying still on the floor, his breath shallow and rapid, slowly bleeding to death. He would pick himself up eventually, Chariot knew. It could have been worse. Death Eaters liked their victims to die a slow, terrible death. They'd fried his nerves so badly, third degree-like burns stood out on his bare skin where the black robe had shaken off. The marks were bleeding freely and unabashedly. Chariot had the urge to kneel beside him and heal him. But that would spell out doom for her so she stomped it out under her feet as she stepped over a bruised arm. A person could get used to anything.

If you're wondering why this looks familiar, it is. So don't worry, your not going insane, it's just me. lol. Really, I deleted this story because I was having a bit too much fun at the end and, long story short, about half of the entire story went in trash. So I wanted to fix it and that's in the works as I type. The first few chaps are pretty much the same, but with a few key differences for the changes in plot I want to make later, so don't skip em or you'll miss some important details. Much love, hippy