A/N:Thanks to BookWorm77071, Muentiger, Skylark#1 (Yeah… Skye does seem a bit older, but remember, she is sorta infected (for use of a better word) with her ancestors knowledge, but you've got a point, so I'm doing this chapter for you,) xXMizz Alec Volturi, Squirt, arabellaistotallyawesome, beba78 and SaRaH (I'm updating! I'm updating!).

A special shout out to Squirt, who reviewed every chapter. You are awesome!

For SaRaH and Squirt.

Chapter 11: Silence before the storm.

The ministry building was dark – but what else was to be expected – it was night, after all. No one dared to go home in fear of their mistress' wrath. The ministry now consisted of former Death Eaters – happy to serve a new tyrant, random shape-shifters, werewolves, muggleborn-haters and truthfully wizards who followed the new regime of the ministry. Merope was clever than he late son, who had specialized in muggle and muggleborn killings. She knew muggleborns were needed to widen, as she says, the wizarding world. Muggles… now they were an entirely different story. Muggles she hated, power-hungry fools, who only feared what they cannot explain. She wondered how they could not believe in magic – how else could the wonders of the world be explained? Did muggles honestly think that they had constructed the pyramids? How ignorant were they? Also, her hatred for them had its origin in her past.

It had been a normal day. As normal as things could be in her house, at least. Her father yelled at her for dropping a fork, her brother had hunted for yet another snake – nothing extremely new.

Until she saw him. Tom Riddle Senior. She'd instantly fallen in love with him – or what she had foolishly assumed was love. Love is a useless emotion, for jesters and dupes. No. What she'd felt, was lust. But what would she have known? She was a teenage girl, sold on the romantic notions of love. Her heart had been set on finding someone, settling down and having babies.

She'd waited for him every day, the whole week long, until he finally stopped.

"What is it with your obsessiveness?" He'd demanded. "What is it with this huge infatuation you harbor? I am one of the most eligible bachelors in this town… why would I choose you? You're a tramp's child, is what you are. Look at you! Ever the skew-eyed little aberration you are."

She'd waved a hand nonchalantly, pretending not to have heard him… but her heart had shattered. Into a million tiny pieces…

Her father found out, of course, thanks to her brother. It was while the man from the ministry had been there too, her brother had cursed Riddle. They put on an embarrassing display – one she could never forgive them for.

The ministry man returned with other men, they captured her relatives, and for the first time she was truly free. She suddenly had time to do what she wanted, a few coins to do with what she wanted – and it felt good.

According to her father, she was a squib, she had absolutely no powers and skill, not outside the kitchen at least. But she used one of their pots and had started to brew the love potion. The ingredients she acquired by growing them, stealing them or using the last of their funds to order it – owl post.

One day she waited outside again, casting a spell on him to be utterly parched. She offered a glass of water – he accepted it.

Months later, after they'd wed and found out she was pregnant, she stopped feeding him the potion in hopes he would stay with her, even if it was just for the poor child forming in her tummy.

She'd been mistaken. Of course she had. The Riddles had money, they were well-off, and why would he stay with her, having to work for a living when he could live under his parents' wings? When he could enjoy a lavish life? Three kingly meals a day, a queen-sized bed, covered in only the finest silk? When his clothes could be hand-washed with care? Dozens of servants at his bidding speed? His parents jumping to his every whim? And, of course, the many spinsters who would throw themselves at him – the truly beautiful ones.

He left her to fend for herself. She sold the only possession she had – the locket of Slytherin. Knockturn Alley was where she found a shop that finally believed it to be real. Ten galleons, she received. Ten measly galleons…. But she was desperate and took it.

Her baby would have to be raised in an orphanage – she wouldn't be able to take care of him. So, when the time presented itself, she went to one. Giving birth, telling them to name the boy Tom Marvolo Riddle and faked her death. It was far too easy. From there she returned to Gaunt shack and waited patiently for her family to return home.

She hated him. Her little boy's father… She grew restless and ripped up the floorboards, just for something to do. She'd found a scroll. One speaking of a powerful witch, a descendant of a powerful wizard… her destiny would be great – she would rule the world with her awesome powers of shape-shifting and telepathy… and she'd assumed it was her. After all, her ancestor was Salazar Slytherin…

She pulled herself out of her memory and glanced at those surrounding her surroundings. She was in a conference room, sitting at the top of the table. The room was vast, but for the time being empty. She smirked, if only he could see her now… Tom Riddle Senior, of course. His eyes would be popping out of his skull. She'd orchestrated his death, and, for good measure, those of his parents, so fluently that it would never be traced back to her. Voldemort had taken care of them – as she'd expected when the ideas of a pure-blood society had been planted into his already dangerous and ambitious mind. After a while she'd gone to work at the Orphanage, undercover, of course. She'd only stayed long enough to ensure Tom's future at Hogwarts and his odd behavior to be noticed. She'd planted the seed of a new world there. When he returned the next year, she was still there. Her magic had grown stronger in the meanwhile, and she planted even more ideas in his mind – he'd already found out he was a half-blood – a fact he truly detested.

After that she'd left, to find a new lover – she needed another child. Another pawn in her plan… She'd assumed she was the powerful witch, the Empress, as it had been revealed by then. But she couldn't understand why she wasn't changing…

She went back to Gaunt Shack and ripped up the floorboards again – another scroll. This time speaking of a veela-mother and a descendant of a powerful wizard.

It wasn't her. Her mother hadn't been a veela. She didn't know much of her mother, but she did know that she was certainly not a veela. She'd gone into denial, staying out of sight… living a miserable existence…

Many years later she heard of Voldemort's plan to create hybrids – she kept up to date with what her son was doing. And she wondered if the girl would be born there?

By then she'd found a lover, and killed him, and had a small son. He was more of an annoyance to her than anything else. She fed him, clothed him and bathed him – but that was it. She couldn't be a mother – she didn't want to truly be one, nor did she know how to be one. Oh, she spoke sweet words to him, but the words were empty.

But Night had seen it. Her plans… she was to be disposed of. For a number of reasons.

123

The sky was a bright blue, stormy clouds covering random bits of it. A storm was coming, that much was evident, and to the teenagers of Hogwarts it meant nothing. Not even to the new teaching staff. Skye and Draco were running around outside, next to the lake. He was chasing her with an ostrich feather, and Skye was terrified of it. It all started that morning…

"Skye?"

"What, darling?"

"Did you just call me 'darling'? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" He pointed the fork threateningly at her, a piece of cooked bacon dangling from it. Skye slapped the fork out of his hand, and managed to pierce herself with three holes in the process. She clutched at her hand and blinked away the sudden tears.

"Skye! Are you all right?" Draco immediately wrenched her hand from her own grip. He watched the three droplets slide from her palm down her wrist. "I'm really sorry, love…" Skye had started laughing. "Now what?" He demanded.

"It wasn't your fault, Dray."

"But I pointed it at you…"

"And I tried to cast it away, how silly of me." She smiled sweetly – Draco knew never to trust that smile. "I'm mostly appalled that you pointed a piece of bacon at me." Her eyes darkened somewhat. "Revenge will be mine…"

She said it so dramatically that Draco burst out in laughter.

That's how a day of ill-planned pranks started.

The couple went to breakfast together, but they eyed each other shiftily – the one as careful as the other.

At breakfast they checked their seats for dungbombs and whoopie cushions. Finding none they sat down, and then they stole each other's plates in hopes of avoiding an embarrassing display – unsuccessfully, though. The other professors thought it was highly amusing. As did the students, as a matter of fact. They watched their Care of the Magical Creatures professor lick every piece of food conspicuously, announcing, aloud, that it was only hers and glare at her husband, as if suspecting him of food thievery, who had, in turn, taken his plate as far away from Skye as he possibly could.

After breakfast they departed for their own classes, Flying was now an extra subject every student had to take – it didn't count for their averages, of course, but it was a skill all needed.

Skye popped out of nowhere and tangled her hand in Draco' hair, pulling him around and kissing him slightly before running off to put paste in some unsuspecting third year's hair.

"Love!" Draco called after her. No one knew the two professors' names, they always called one another 'dear' or 'love', and the other professors called them the Mallorys – that was it.

"What, dear?" She called back, wiping her hand on another third year's robes.

"Where in the world did you get paste?"

"I made it." She said proudly. "Laud helped me."

"Professor!" The third year huffed. "Can I be excused?"

"Of course, Keith." She replied. "We were just going to do a few riddles in class, in case we you ever meet a sphinx. But I think you'd be able to handle yourself, don't you?"

"I just want to clean my hair, ma'am, I don't think it will take me that long." He replied.

"Oh, well, I'm off to class." She skipped away, hair flipping joyfully behind her.

Draco roared with laughter as she mussed up a girl's hair and winked at him.

At dinner Draco got onto his chair, not even bothering to touch his plate.

"Good day, boys and girls!" He yelled. "Today I would like for you to humor me… I wish to serenade my wife, who I've dreadfully wronged this passing morning!"

With that he looked at Skye and started singing a dreadful opera.

After a half hour the Great Hall burst into applause, Draco was a ghastly singer – but his enthusiasm made up for it.

Skye's eyes were filled with tears as he finished singing – tears of laughter that is. She'd stifled her laughter throughout the whole scene, but at the last chords she couldn't keep it in.

"Glad to see you enjoyed it, love." He snapped at her. Skye stood up and tugged him down from the chair before kissing him in front of the whole school. Wolf-whistles could be heard throughout the hall. The newly married couple simply ignored it as they started teasing each other. Skye slapped him

playfully and he tickled her. Severus watched them from the corner of his eyes, they were happy. He had always sort of known they would end up together. Even before they started dating – they were always simply that close.

He made a mental note to visit Storm that night.

He watched the two children race one another – Draco won, of course, he was slightly faster than Skye if they raced at human speed – even if they raced at superhuman speed he was faster than her. Just outside the door Draco pulled out a feather and started chasing her with it, until they reached the lake, where they started to run in circles.

She plodded down on the ground, exhausted.

"You are evil." She announced as he sat down beside her.

"As are you, my sweet."

"Your sweet, now, am I?"

"If I'm your darling, you can be my sweet." He lifted a hand to her face and guided her face down to his. Their lips met briefly. "Like your kisses." He finished. Skye giggled and slapped him again, lightly.

"If I agree not to call you darling, will you stop calling me your sweet?"

"Most likely not."

She sighed dramatically.

"Shall we go in?" She asked. "I've got a… fun – shall I say? – evening planned for us."

Draco was up even before she'd finished her sentence. He held out his hand to help her up. She glared at it.

"Ever the feminist." He said. She grinned and took it.

"Yes. I may be a feminist when I choose to be, Draco, but you should remember that we are not Gryffindors."

"Of course, we are Slytherins – but remember that we are allowed to have characteristics of other houses."

She grinned absentmindedly at him.

"Has it ever occurred to you that we don't speak like other teenagers?"

"That is because we are far from normal, love."

"Be that as it may… doesn't it bother you?"

"Not being normal? Not at all."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"I think I should be thankful to have you."

"Flattery, again."

"We both know you don't need flattery to get in my bed."

"Seeing as I'm already there."

Skye kissed his nose.

"That too. Let's go."