Hit me from the back side
I am on the white side
You are on the black side
-Gravity, The Dresden Dolls

The Malfoy parents learnt to ignore Tempest for the rest of the school year. The message, it seemed, was passed on also to Draco, who also made a point of not going near her. He was content enough in the fully attention of his parents, and had no reason to complain. Nor did Tempest. She was plenty happy enough being left to herself, practising closing out her mind. She did not know how she was supposed to test the fact, but assumed that come the summer holidays she would find out whether all the practise had worked.

It could not be said, though, that tensions had at all lessened. Narcissa still hated Tempest, and Tempest detested her likewise. Lucius very rarely taught the girl as the year went by, until she was teaching herself- or, to put it in better terms, revising over the spells. She was sure enough she knew each and every one off by heart, and knew that she could perform those that she did not dare use if the time came.

Yet, change was due in the lifestyle, as most lifestyles are interrupted in some way another. For some, it is the realisation that a spell has gone horribly wrong, and that they must walk around with a cabbage for a foot for quite some time. For others, it is the knowledge that they can't perform spells at all, and envy the person with a cabbage for a foot. In the case of the Malfoys and Tempest, it came in a much different form.

As was usual, Tempest sat at the edge of her bed, her eyes closed, the image of concentration. There was little else she did in those months other than close her mind, constantly praying it worked. Still, there were times when she was forced to leave her room out of bear necessity, and she did so reluctantly, clutching her quite empty stomach. The house was quiet enough for her to walk with the knowledge that no one was going to start throwing curses at her- she didn't put it past Narcissa at all.

Although the household had already bought a new house elf, Tempest did not like to ask it for anything when she was hungry. She didn't know its name or gender, and didn't really want to ask. It was difficult to tell, really, seeing as it looked such an abnormal thing that she did not like the idea of speaking to it. It reminded her too much of something carved out of a potato.

When she entered the kitchen- which, in her opinion, was one of the less cared for rooms of the house- she arched an eyebrow to see Lucius standing there, a goblet in his hand. He looked over to her nonchalantly, and nodded briskly.

"You only ever drink in the parlour," Tempest pointed out lightly.

"Supposedly not," he replied, taking another sip. "So you've finally decided to leave that room?"

"Guess," she said sarcastically, turning away from him to open the cupboards. She wrinkled her nose. "And now I'm slightly regretting that choice."

"As per usual, I only wish I could care more," Lucius drawled, taking another sip. "I remind you that Draco will be returning in a week or so."

"I may have been in my room for a while, but I do know what day it is, Lucius."

"Would you honestly have rathered I'd let it come as a shock? I didn't think you'd be happy with a surprise attack."

"Over the years I've learnt that a surprise attack from Draco is really no different than being jumped by a Bowtruckle. A little bit of a scratch, then easily caught on fire."

"Ah yes," Lucius said thoughtfully, remembering that eventful summer so many years ago. "I don't think he quite forgave you after that."

"I never asked him to." Lucius smiled slightly. However much he hated to admit it, he had missed that sarcastic charm over the months. His smile, however, quickly turned into a grimace as he dropped the goblet and clutched his arm.

Tempest looked up from the countertop, her eyes wide.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly, forgetting his composure. "Must have been a twitch. It's nothing."

"As if you have ever had a twitch," she said irritably, walking towards him and grabbing his arm. "Let me see."

"For the last time, it's-"

"Nothing," she mimicked, shaking her head. "You don't constantly have to be so stubborn, now let me-"

"No."

"Lucius, let me look!" There was minimal struggle before Tempest successfully pulled up the arm of his robes and stared blankly at his skin. To her surprise, there was a dark tattoo of a skull, a snake coming out of its mouth. She tilted her head, as Lucius waited with baited breath. "What on…"

"You should learn to keep your curiosity to yourself," Lucius spat.

"I was only trying to help," she muttered, but her eyes could not stop staring at the spot on his arm that was now covered by his robes. "What is it?"

Lucius opened his mouth, but gritted his teeth. He kicked the goblet lazily as he went to leave the room, although was stopped as Tempest clung to his robe sleeve. She wasn't quite sure why she was so desperate to know, but did not like the idea of a secret being kept. The very idea of made her blood boil. With a quick wave of his hand, Lucius batted her away and strode up several flights of stairs towards his bedroom, Tempest following him at each step.

"I advise you leave," he said bitterly as he closed the door behind him, locking it and leaving Tempest on the other side. Tempest clenched her fist and hit it against the door several times before gritting her teeth. A few minutes had passed, and she heard a rush of footsteps in the room. She pressed her ear against the door, not quite sure what was happening. At last, it became too much, and she took a step back and extended a hand towards the door.

"Alohomora!" she said, and with a loud click the door unlocked. She refused to pause before charging forward and opening the door.

What happened next could not entirely be explained in words, and nor could it be explained in any abstract manner within Tempest's mind. From what she gathered, the door must have been stiff, and she flew across the room until she had charged into Lucius. Tempest could not remember seeing his face, but knew that even if she had looked directly towards him she would not have seen him. After that, there was little time to think before she suddenly rolled to the floor.

She was met by a strange darkness.

As a sound of feet in the grass started to sound, Tempest looked up and allowed natural instinct to hide wash over her; she saw a gravestone not too far away and scrambled towards it silently, breathing heavily. Even by this point, she hadn't a clue what was happening, and doubted that she wanted to know. She shivered slightly in the cold- it had been warm when she had left the manor (she was sure that she had definitely left it, there were no gravestones in the garden), and yet now it was so cold that she could almost see her breath on the air.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said a quiet voice- quiet, yet it still echoed as if shrieked. "Thirteen years…thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday… we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

Tempest shuddered again, less out of the temperature, and more due to the quiet, high pitched voice. There was something about it that made her spine tingle. As if she were in a young child's nightmare. Such a nightmare opened up so many opportunities of curiosity, though, that she found she could not resist. Tentatively, Tempest leant forward, shaking so much that it took all her effort not to collapse to the ground heavily. Her eyes wandered the cemetery- she had gathered that it was such- and in the time she did so, her breathing returned quite to normal.

Lucius was down on his knees, looking up to the owner of the quiet voice. Lord Voldemort. Tempest knew that she did not know much about the world. In fact, it was quite a pitiful amount that she did know. Yet of all the things she had known, Lord Voldemort was the one thing that held little interest to her. He had died. Everyone knew that he had died. At least, those were the suspicions. The Malfoys had never spoken about the subject, so Tempest had come to the conclusion that there was no longer a wizard by the name of Voldemort- the name and principle of his evil was all she knew of him.

There was only one other figure of any significance in the grounds, one that could barely be noticed due to the dim lighting. If it had not been for the dim fire under a cauldron, Tempest would not have seen him.

The Boy Who Lived.

She leant forward slightly, as if to get a better view, but froze as she felt something under her hand after she had moved it. With a mixture of both fear and abhorrence, she looked down, and had it not been for the intense fear that had hold of her, Tempest would have screamed at the sight. Laying on the ground, a pale and stony expression on his face, was a young man- he could not have been more than seventeen years old- freshly deceased. Tempest could not help but note he was a handsome man, though his hair was ruffled in a strange manner, and his clothes ripped every so slightly. He must have fought somehow before he died, Tempest thought to herself.

Even though there was enough to watch, Tempest could not think of any single specific thing she wished to look upon. All of it somehow led to death. She saw hazily that the boy who lived- she could not bear to name him directly, he was more a celebrity than a human- was untied and watched him grapple for his wand. She watched him diving behind another tombstone, and emerging with a determined face.

Yet it was all still a haze.

Minutes could have gone by. An hour, perhaps. The whole night could even have flown away and Tempest would not have noticed at all. However much time it was, she was only awakened from her trance as she saw the boy who lived running towards her. Her eyes flew open as she fell backwards, back out of view. The very last thing she saw of him that evening was his hand shooting out towards the deceased boy's arm, and they both disappeared abruptly.

And it was all done.

At least, all that concerned the previous battle.

Without warning of either sight or sound, there sounded a loud crack throughout the grounds, and Tempest was forced down flat against the ground, covering her head. Someone had set a curse on the tombstone she was hiding behind. Before there was a single chance to scream for mercy or to proclaim her name, Tempest was tossed into the air and thrown roughly into a tree trunk by an invisible force. She hit the floor again, and stared up at a ratty looking man who held a wand pointed directly towards her.

"Don't kill me!" she said breathily as the man's mouth opened to speak the curse.

"Wait," sounded a soft, high pitched voice, the one she knew to be Lord Voldemort's. Tempest took a sharp intake of breathe as she saw him push his way though the crowd of men in the cemetery and stood above her. His slit like nostrils flared in anger, his red eyes ablaze. "So I was right," he continued, his voice louder now. "We have a spy in our midst."

"No!" she cried out, desperate. "No, I'm not spy." She looked around quickly, until her eyes rested upon one man. "I'm his!" she said erratically, pointing towards Lucius. "I'm his ward, that's all!"

Lord Voldemort spun on his heel, his eyes a more fiery red than before.

"Come here," he hissed, and with more fervour than she had ever seen him possess before, Lucius marched to his master's feet and bent on one knee. Like a man awaiting death.

"My Lord," he said immediately, his voice low and respectful. "Do forgive me, I did not purposefully bring her. She followed me."

"I needn't remind you that she seems far too young to be able to Apparate herself, Lucius, but how she came here is not the question I asked. The question is instead who is she?" In Tempest's mind, his voice had been far too calm to be at all forgiving. A slight fear came upon her at the idea of the punishment to be exacted.

"She clung onto my robes, my Lord," Lucius continued, as if desperate to make his point known. With a flick of Voldemort's wand, a thin scratch appeared on Lucius's cheek- he winced as blood began to trickle slightly.

"Do not lie to me," was the only reply to be made. "Who is she?" Lucius looked up daringly into those red eyes, his jaw set firmly.

"He was not the only one to survive," Lucius said finally.

Tempest stared up at them both, a wand still pointed at her. There was silence. Pure silence. It is very rare that such silence can take place, where one can almost hear the thoughts of others. Not that she could, but Tempest was sure that if her own heart beat wasn't drowning out any other sound, she would have heard someone's thoughts.

Suddenly, there was a strange noise. A few men jumped, one even looked around, startled. No one quite knew what the sound was until a moment later, when all eyes turned to Lord Voldemort.

He was laughing.

It was a high pitched laughter that did not sound as if it had properly been used in many a year. At least, not properly. It was broken, and it was haunting, but it was definitely laughter.

"The girl who lived?" His laughter echoed now, it was almost deafening. "Of course, perhaps not in those words, perhaps instead the girl who survived. How foolish of me, I should have known better to leave the weakest until last-"

"I am not weak," Tempest said suddenly and very firmly indeed. If there was one thing she could not stand, it certainly was the belittling of her talents.

"Of course not," the Dark Lord laughed, shaking his head, his smile less of a smile, and more a hungry bloodlust. "If you were weak, you would be even lower to the ground than my servants. You would have a wand at your throat, ready to kill you. But wait," he added musingly, still laughing. With a sudden change of mood, the laughter ceased, and in a swift movement Lord Voldemort had pushed the portly rat man aside and held his own wand towards her. "You already are!" he shrieked.

"Expelliarmus!," Tempest cried out firmly, and in a flash of scarlet light the wand was thrown from Voldemort's hand.

Again, that deathly silence.

There was no laughter to break it, however maniacal that laughter might have been. A few of the men pondered the idea to mutter between each other, but expected in this state that their Lord would kill them the moment they uttered a sound. They had expected to be murdered some way or another when the infamous Harry Potter had defeated him. They did not dare imagine what could happen to them now that a girl, without aid of a wand, had disarmed him.

Though there was no laughter accompanying the movement, Lord Voldemort stood tall, not allowing his eyes to leave the girl. He seemed curious, to say the least, rather than murderous. Everyone seemed to have taken a good step backwards, so Tempest was sitting alone now in the grass, not sure whether to rise or not.

"So a blood traitor and a mudblood bring me this," Voldemort finally said, his high pitched voice quite a shock after the quiet. "I must say, even I am impressed."

"My Lord, I must object-" started Lucius, but he was quickly silenced.

"She is powerful, why did you not tell me?"

"I would, had I known she was of interest to you, my Lord."

"You believe at all that I am not in want of numbers, Lucius. You disappoint me." Lucius bowed his head, his chest heaving in anticipation. The Dark Lord seemed to lose interest in him quickly, though, and turned again to Tempest, who had long lost any fear. She smiled knowingly. Her power was enough to impress even the Dark Lord Voldemort. Though she had shown no interest in his cause, she had to admit that she enjoyed the knowledge that he approved of her.

"What're you going to do with me?" she asked quietly, although there was still a lack of respect and fear in her tone.

"Oh, I do think you know exactly what will happen to you," the Dark Lord said, his eyes lowered. He turned, and in a swirl of his robes, he had disappeared. All but one of the other men disappeared at the very same moment. All but one.

"Tempest?" Lucius said quietly, yet still in the tone he had always addressed her. Tempest turned to him, and rose to her feet quickly.

"You didn't tell me," she whispered, her previous smile now gone without a trace.

"What interest would it have been to you?"

"Plenty enough if you had told me, I should think."

"Then surely you could have asked." Tempest gritted her teeth, and a branch from a tree fell to the ground not too far from them.

"I could have asked?" she said, shaking slightly. "I could have asked the most random of questions of all, asked you a question that never would even have occurred to me. Would Draco have had to ask?"

"Draco didn't have to ask," Lucius replied before he could help himself.

He barely even took a breath before the fallen tree branch came flying towards him.

"You idiot!" she screeched as she watched Lucius crash to the floor again, rubbing his head. "That's supposed to explain anything? You absolute idiot!"

She could not stand it any more.

"Take me back," she muttered mutinously after a long pause.

A/N- Sorry if this chapter seemed kind of rushed in places, I couldn't help it.

What I really want to say is I'm glad that I have so many readers out there, I keep getting all these Story Alert notices and Favourite Story notices, so I know there are loads of you reading. Just one problem. I'm only getting one regular reviewer! They're great reviews, but I would like to hear from more of you. Please? I'd so love to hear from you all!