Light Shines Brightest in the Darkness

by DaughterofHadesandNyx

Rewritten (for what seems like the fifteenth time) as of 06/11/17. FemHarry. AU, Fourth Year. Tempest really hadn't signed up for this shit.

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six-

The fuss around the Witch Weekly article did die down as predicted in the following weeks. That was a relief, though Tempest forgave nothing. She poured herself into research with a Hermione-like zeal, trying to discover how Skeeter was getting her information. There had to be something that Skeeter was doing that she could be charged for, that Tempest could use against her, to wipe the smug look off her painted face.

Muggle spy technology was out because of magical interference, Skeeter couldn't have informants everywhere, because there had been no one around on that platform on the Black Lake. Invisibility then. Except Tempest had swallowed her ill feelings and went to Moody after a DADA class, asking if his eye could see through walls, could it then see through invisibility cloaks.

"Yes," he said, the eye in question spinning madly around in its socket. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering if you'd seen anyone sneaking around the castle," said Tempest cautiously, wondering if it sounded as suspicious to him as it did to her.

Clearly it did, because his normal eye widened and his hand made an involuntary movement towards his wand. Of course, it wasn't the best idea to air paranoid theories around an ex-auror as jumpy as Moody.

"This journalist," clarified Tempest quickly. "Rita Skeeter. I was wondering if you'd seen her anywhere on the night of the Yule Ball, or the Second Task."

Moody relaxed minutely. "Ah, that'd be a no. Causing trouble for you, is she?"

"She knows things she couldn't possibly have been around to hear," said Tempest, scowling. "I dunno. Unless she polyjuiced as Hermione- no that's impossible- doesn't add up. I've run through the possibilities, but nothing seems to stick."

Moody had tensed again, and Tempest wondered what had triggered him that time.

"You would make a fine auror, Miss Potter," he said gruffly. "Your mind works the right way."

"Cheers," said Tempest, "wish it'd solve this for me, though."

Ultimately her inquires were proving fruitless. All of the options were improbable and quickly dismissed, and Tempest was left with no new leads.

Two days later, Malfoy, passing by in Potions, slipped a piece of parchment beneath Tempest's mortar and pestle. Tempest unfortunately, did not notice until she had nudged items around her workspace enough for the parchment to near the flame beneath her cauldron and catch fire.

What Tempest could salvage of the scrap read: She[ ]animag[ ]. Unsu[ ]at for[ ]as yet –[ ]afloy

It took her a rather embarrassing amount of time to decipher the message, and when she did, she looked over at where Malfoy had his back to her, working on his own potion. She had not spoken to Malfoy since her outburst. She didn't know what there was to say. It didn't matter.

Animagus.

After fighting back her initial fear that Malfoy had discovered her plans to become four-legged, Tempest allowed the first feelings of triumph to appear in her mind. She didn't know how Malfoy had found out- didn't know why he was helping her after she had snapped at him, but now she knew. Skeeter was animagus.

It made so much sense.

Sirius had spent the last year sneaking into the castle in his animagus form undetected. For Skeeter to have been on that platform at the second task she had to be something small and innocuous. She could've been a fish?

Tempest quickly dismissed that. If she were a fish she wouldn't have been able to be on land to hear Hagrid and Maxime's conversation at the Yule Ball.

How had Malfoy had discovered Skeeter's secret?

Perhaps his information was meant as a peace offering.

Tempest wasn't sure why. For once, he hadn't actually done anything unreasonable. Still, they didn't know Skeeter's animagus form, and the knowledge by itself wasn't enough proof yet. How to get proof?

It seemed that unregistered animagi were running amuck. Tempest had had small success with her own illegal venture. Since meeting Sirius, she felt finally as though she was going somewhere. More and more when she mediated, the silver eyes returned, patchy fur speckled with grey, and feet that padded lightly on loose dirt.

So the months passed and Tempest made no headway on finding out Skeeter's form. Two more Hogsmeade trips came and went, and Tempest visited Sirius in his mountain cave. She found herself excited to go, reluctant to leave, and the pure truth of the matter was that Sirius was excellent company. They could speak for hours of the past, the present and the future, of the pressing, and of the nonsensical.

It was finally in May, when the glimpses that Tempest caught of her animagus form solidified into something tangible.

Tempest had locked herself in an empty Transfiguration room to mediate, and Tempest had gotten closer to the web of magic that was woven snugly about her skin than ever before. The burning, prickling sensation had then overwhelmed her, and when she came to her senses, Tempest had, tight and uncomfortable, a long, bushy tail sprouted from her tailbone and wedged unnaturally down the leg of her trousers.

She had made her way up to her dormitory, panicking and attempting to hide her mincing gait by arranging her robes about her. She could feel the tail itself, every twitch and protest at its rough treatment. Finally, locked in the bathroom and undressing, Tempest stared with no small amount of horror at the magnificent plume of a tail that swept behind her as she turned.

It was downward facing, yet enthusiastic in its motions. Tempest discovered this as she accidentally knocked Lavender's makeup kit from a shelf.

She showered quickly and efficiently, unsure of what product to use for her tail, eventually lathering it up in shampoo. Done, she dried quickly and put on her loosest pajamas. She went straight to bed, praying the tail would be gone come morning.

It wasn't.

Tempest rose in the early hours to write Sirius frantically, describing her situation as briefly as she could. She could already picture him laughing as he read the letter, and with little else to do, she went down to lessons.

The day dragged by. The tail made it difficult to concentrate, sit, walk, stand and even make conversation. It tickled. The fur, which was soft and thick, rubbed against the back of her thigh and had Tempest twitching uncomfortably throughout the day. She was attracting strange looks.

She spent transfiguration in a terrible state, watching Minnie warily from behind a curtain of hair to see if she suspected anything. Tempest had given some thought to what Minnie's reaction might be if she were ever to find out what Tempest was planning; would she be angry, proud? It had done Tempest's head in, playing out the different scenarios, and she gave up quickly. Still, the lesson passed without issue, and Tempest was packing her books away in relief. Then Minnie called for her to stay back, and she almost suffered heart failure.

"Yes?" said Tempest edgily.

Minnie gave her a strange look. "You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock," she said. "Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."

"Oh," said Tempest, relieved. "That's fine then, everything's fine."

Minnie continued to look at Tempest oddly. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, definitely. Fine. Thank you." said Tempest, and left before she could give herself away any further.

At half past eight that night, she left the common room, changed into slacks and a cloak to ease up on her tail, which was numb and prickling after a day of abuse. As she ran lightly down the steps into the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" he asked Tempest. They went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure."

"A niffler might help in a pinch," said Tempest idly, recalling the fuzzy critters fondly.

"Sorry what?" asked Cedric.

Tempest looked at him in surprise. "Haven't you had that lesson? A shame, they're on the friendlier side of most magical creatures."

"I might've come across them in Scamander's book, way back in first year," said Cedric as they walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium. "It's been a while."

They turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" he said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"Hedges," said Tempest dully, bending to twist a leaf through her fingers.

"Hello there!" called a cheery voice.

Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Tempest and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges.

"Well, what d'you think?" said Bagman happily as Tempest and Cedric reached them. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Tempest and Cedric's faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then- "Maze," grunted Krum.

"That's right!" said Bagman. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"We seemply 'ave to get through the maze?" said Fleur.

"There will be obstacles," said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures... then there will be spells that must be broken… all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze. Therefore, Mr Krum, then Miss Potter, Mr Diggory and Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

The champions nodded politely, and Bagman clapped his hands together.

"Very well... if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."

Bagman hurried alongside Tempest as they began to wind their way out of the growing maze. Tempest eyed Bagman with trepidation, but just then, Krum tapped Tempest on the shoulder.

"Could I haff a vord?"

"Sure," said Tempest, nonplussed.

"Vill you valk vith me?"

"Okay," she said.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed. "I'll wait for you, Tempest, shall I?"

"I think I can manage," said Tempest dryly, "the castle isn't going anywhere, thanks."

Tempest and Krum left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

"Any reason we're going this way?" asked Tempest as they walked along. Their breath was misting in the air, and she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her cloak.

"Don't vant to be overheard," said Krum shortly.

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses' paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Tempest.

"I vant to know," he said, flowering, "vot there is between your friend and Hermy-own-ninny."

Tempest, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much more serious, stared at Krum dumbfounded.

"Ron and Hermione?" she said, "nothing."

But Krum glowered at her, and Tempest elaborated. "They're good friends, is all, they've known each other for years."

"After the ball," said Krum, "Herm-own-ninny vas upset."

"That was a misunderstanding," said Tempest, unwilling to betray Ron, "a few overreactions."

"She talks about him very often," said Krum, looking suspicious.

Tempest couldn't quite believe that Krum, the International Quidditch player was in knots about a potential rivalry with Ron. Ron would be right chuffed- not that Tempest would tell him of this encounter. It'd cause more problems than it was worth.

"And I imagine she talks of many people that she knows," said Tempest, "they're friends, that's all."

"They haff never… they haff not…"

"No," said Tempest.

Krum looked happier. He stared at Tempest, then off into the woods as though searching for a different topic. "You are very brave. I vos votching at the first task."

"Ah, thanks," said Tempest, feeling her face heat. "I think most of it was sheer circumstance. Your transfiguration was impressive, I'd never-"

But something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Tempest, overly familiar with the haunts of the forest, grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him around. Her wand was in her hand a moment later, and she braced herself.

"Vot is it?"

Tempest shook her head. Suddenly a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Tempest didn't recognize him… then she realized it was Mr Crouch. He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion. His usually neat hair and mustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see.

"Vosn't he a judge?" asked Krum, frowning at Crouch. "Isn't he with your Ministry?"

Tempest didn't reply, taking a cautious step forwards, then receiving no visible reaction, took another. "Mr Crouch?" Crouch did not look at her, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

"…and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve, and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen… do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will..."

Crouch's eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees. It was disconcerting to see a man Sirius had described as cruel and powerful, reduced to a ragged tramp.

"Mr Crouch," said Tempest loudly, snapping her fingers before his rolling eyes. "Are you here with us, sir?"

Krum had moved forwards, nearer Tempest and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.

"Vot is wrong with him?"

"No idea," Tempest muttered. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone-"

"Dumbledore!" gasped Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Tempest's robes, dragging her closer, though his eyes were staring over Tempest's head. "I need... see... Dumbledore..."

Tempest flinched badly, struggling away from Crouch's grasp. "Let me go, Mr Crouch, I'll take you to Dumbledore, just get up, and-"

"I've done... stupid... thing…" Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. "Must... tell... Dumbledore..."

"I'm sure he'll be all ears," said Tempest, finally wrenching herself free, she straightened at a safe distance, and said loudly; "but you'll have to get up to go to him."

Crouch's eyes rolled forward onto Tempest. "Who... you?" he whispered.

"Tempestas Potter," said Tempest, looking around at Krum helplessly. He had retreated and was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not… his?" whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.

"No," said Tempest, without the faintest idea what Crouch was talking about.

"Dumbledore's?"

"Student, yes," said Tempest, "we're at Hogwarts now, Mr Crouch."

"Warn… Dumbledore..."

"I will-"

"Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge."

Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completely unaware that Tempest was there, or that his wife and son were long deceased.

"Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.s, most satisfactory, yes, thank you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the Andorran Minister of Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response..."

Tempest glanced at Krum, who was now eyeing Crouch's back warily.

"You stay here," she said, sliding her wand back into its holster, "I'll go get Dumbledore- it'll be quicker-"

"But he is mad," Krum said doubtfully to Tempest, glancing at Crouch.

"I'll run," said Tempest, turning to go, but her movement seemed to have triggered another abrupt change in Crouch, who whirled around and grabbed Tempest around the knees, sending her crashing to the ground.

"Don't… leave… me!" he whispered, his eyes bulging again. "I… escaped… must warn… must tell… see Dumbledore… my fault… all my fault… Bertha… dead… all my fault… my son… my fault… tell Dumbledore… Tempestas Potter… the Dark Lord… stronger-"

Tempest, in the process of trying to kick Crouch off, stopped. "What?"

Crouch continued to mutter, and she managed to get free, hauling herself to her feet, where she stood panting. "Fine, I'll stay. I'll send a patronus- I know the theory to sending messages…" She drew her wand, and said, "Expecto Patronum!"

A large silver shape burst out of Tempest's wand tip and shot across the grass and off towards the castle. Tempest took a breath, and looked down at Crouch again. "Krum, help me stand him up, we can try get him up to the castle- meet Dumbledore halfway-"

Krum neared Crouch reluctantly, while Tempest shifted the still babbling Crouch's arm so that it was around her shoulders and she was supporting half his weight. She was just turning to coordinate with Krum when there was the sound of a twig snapping.

Tempest tried to look; there was a flash of red light, and the world vanished.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Tempest groaned and opened her eyes blearily. Consciousness had returned like a blow to the head, and for the second time that term, she found Snape's face sneering down at her.

"Tempest, my dear, are you all right?"

Tempest dragged a sleeve across her face and sat up. She became aware of two things all at once: Dumbledore was crouched beside her, just stowing away his wand, while Snape stood between her and Krum's unconscious form. The second, her tail was gone.

"I… yes, what happened?"

"I was hoping, Tempest, that you might tell us that," said Dumbledore, seriously, "your patronus said little, only to come here at once."

Snape gave a visible start, which Tempest ignored in favour of trying to stand. Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from rising. "Lie still a moment, Tempest."

"I'm fine," said Tempest, brushing him off and staggering to her feet. The world swam uneasily before her eyes. "I remember… Krum wanted to talk privately, so we came here, then Mr Crouch emerged from the woods and demanded to see you, he seemed quite desperate. He wouldn't let me leave, so I sent the patronus instead-"

Dumbledore nodded, eyes fixed on hers, "And what events do you recall up until you were stunned?"

"Stunned?" repeated Tempest. This would be the second time this term she had been cursed- at this rate, the likelihood of her demise lying outside of the Triwizard Tournament was steadily increasing.

"We arrived here no more than a minute ago to find you and Mr Krum lying stunned on the ground," said Snape, "There was no Mr Crouch in sight." He pointed his wand at Krum. "Finite incantatem."

Krum sat up groaning. He seemed dazed for a moment, then he looked around furiously, his eyes falling on Tempest. "Potter!" he said urgently, "It vos the man, Crouch- he attacked you! I vos looking around to see vare you had sent your- patro-nis, and vhen I turned back, I saw him standing over you, and then I vos stunned as vell!"

The sound of thunderous footfalls reached them, and Hagrid came panting into sight with Fang at his heels. He was carrying his crossbow. Moody followed a few meters behind, limping heavily with his clawed foot.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid said, his eyes widening. "Tempest- wha'-?"

"I met Hagrid when going down to the greenhouses," Moody cut in, stepping forwards, "He said something about a patronus-"

"Yes, Alastor, this is very serious," said Dumbledore, "Hagrid, I need you to fetch Professor Karkaroff. His student has been attacked."

Hagrid's eyes widened, and he set off in the direction of the Black Lake, Fang at his side.

"Barty Crouch is on the grounds," Dumbledore told Moody, "we do not know where, but it is essential that we find him."

"I'm onto it," growled Moody with the barest hint of surprise, and he pulled out his wand and limped off into the forest.

No one spoke until they heard the unmistakable sounds of Hagrid and Fang returning. Karkaroff was hurrying along behind them. He was wearing his sleek silver furs, and he looked pale and agitated. "What is this?" he cried when he saw Krum on the ground and Dumbledore and Tempest beside him. He looked at Snape. "What's going on?"

"I vos attacked!" said Krum, rubbing his head. "Mr. Crouch or votever his name-"

"Crouch attacked you? Crouch attacked you? The Triwizard judge?"

"Igor," Dumbledore began, but Karkaroff had drawn himself up, clutching his furs around him, looking livid.

"Treachery!" he bellowed, pointing at Dumbledore. "It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretenses, Dumbledore! This is not an equal competition! First you sneak Potter into the tournament, though she is underage! Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put my champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in this whole affair-"

"Restrain yourself Igor," sneered Snape, "You are making a spectacle of yourself. There is no ulterior motive, nor would Dumbledore authorize an attack on his own student-" he glanced at Tempest, "this is obviously work of a third party, perhaps even the one we discussed before."

Karkaroff fell silent, cowed, and looking about the small gathering Tempest, she saw that Hagrid and Krum seemed as out of the loop as she.

"Come Viktor," Karkaroff said finally, beckoning coldly to Krum. "I will be having words with your Ministry tomorrow Dumbledore, and further discuss this topic in greater detail."

He threw a final furious glance at Dumbledore, and then something that looked like a betrayed look at Snape, before storming off, a hand on Krum's shoulder.

Hagrid glared after Karkaroff. "Blasted man," he cursed, "If yeh like, Professor, sir, I could set Fang on 'im if yeh wan'."

"No, thank you Hagrid," Dumbledore said sternly, though Tempest detected a hint of a smile playing about his lips. "Now, if you would escort Tempest back up to the castle, Severus and I will join Alastor to scan the forest for any sign of the assailant… Ah, Tempest-"

"Yes?" Tempest asked, pausing.

"I was interested to see your new Patronus," said Dumbledore, "I didn't know it had changed."

"Sorry, what?" said Tempest, utterly confused. "Changed? It's not a doe?"

"No. It happens, on rare occasion," said Dumbledore, chuckling at the look on Tempest's face. "Not to worry you, nothing is wrong, I was merely surprised."

"Surprised," said Tempest dumbly.

"Yes," he said, maddeningly slowly. His eyes twinkled. "Something to look into, I suggest."

The next day, Tempest received Sirius's reply, which true to form, was a rambling and messy letter, clearly written by a hand that was still shaking with laughter. He had suggested Finite Incantatem, which Dumbledore had used, and Tempest had to thank for the removal of her tail. He did offer acongratulations on her progress, before he descended into further mockery. Still, he wrote consolingly near the end; he had once been stuck with one foot as a paw, and her father had sported magnificent antlers on one side of his head. It was how they had come up with their names. Buck up, Sirius had written, I've just found your name.

Tempest wrote him back, stating that Buck was the noble and resilient protagonist in Call of the Wild and she would bear the name proudly. She informed him her tail was now gone, thanks, and outlined the third task, along with the strange happenings of the previous night.

She told George of the night over breakfast. She briefly considered Ron and Hermione, but given the subject matter of what Krum had taken her aside to discuss, she decided against it.

"What were you doing wandering about with that Durmstrang pillock?" asked George as they dug in together. "He could've stuffed your head in a bush and you'd have been none the wiser."

"The point is someone else just as well did," Tempest said impatiently, "Crouch, as Krum says. Though from what I figure, it's odd that Crouch managed to curse us then vanish, he didn't seem in the right state of mind. I'll have to ask Moody if he found anything, but there's been no uproar that I've heard of, so he must be gone."

"Percy'll do his nut when he hears," George muttered, "So what was he saying exactly?"

"Some nonsense about his job, his family, only months and years ago, his family's dead you see," she shook her head in confusion, "he was talking about them as though he'd be seeing them soon, and he spoke as though the Tournament hadn't begun yet. Quite insane," she added pointedly, around a mouthful of toast, "of course, when he seemed most aware he could barely speak, choking and such. It doesn't add up."

"Someone's playing with you," said George, brow furrowed. "I know the Tournament's all about trying to get you killed, but outside of it someone's clearly messing with you, trying to put you off. Distract you? It'd be incredibly suspicious if you were killed outside of the Tournament, which explains why you haven't ended up dead yet- you give everyone ample opportunity as it is."

Tempest grunted in acknowledgement.

She sat through History of Magic in a stupor, waiting for the bell and when it rang, she joined the mad rush for the door and hurried through the corridors until she reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, just in time to see Moody leaving it.

He looked exhausted, his head ducked and his walk more dragging than usual.

"Professor?" Tempest called over the heads of the group of Hufflepuffs in the corridor.

"Potter," Moody growled in reply. His magical eye following a couple of passing first years who sped up, looking nervous; the eye rolled into the back of Moody's head and watched them around the corner. "You'll be wanting to know about last night," he grunted, "come in here."

Tempest stepped into Moody's empty classroom and he limped in after her, closing the door.

She turned to him and asked quite bluntly, reluctant to stay for long; "Did you find him? Mr Crouch?"

Moody looked disgusted, "no." He moved over to his desk, sat down, stretched out his wooden leg with a slight groan, and pulled out his hip flask.

"Do you have any theories as to how he disappeared then?" asked Tempest, "or why he seemed so deranged?"

"Stress can wreck a man," said Moody, taking a swig from his flask and grimacing at the taste. Tempest wondered absentmindedly at the contents. Whether it was right for him drink so much on the job was one thing, but Tempest had never smelt liquor on his breath. "As to how he left the grounds, there are any numbers of possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. He is a powerful wizard, resourceful too."

"I'm not sure if I believe he was capable of making himself a cup of tea when I saw him," Tempest said doubtfully, "much less escaping the grounds. Suppose there was a third party in all of this. Who would want to stun Krum and I and drag Crouch off?" A thought occurred to her. "And what if we're looking at this wrong, and Crouch was the target all along?"

Moody said nothing for a moment, looking at Tempest very intently as she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, he said: "As I've said before. You would make a fine auror, Miss Potter. You have the right mind for it." He shrugged then, his scarred face creasing into even more lines. "We cannot rule out kidnap, but the main point is that you is safe-" he fixed his magical eye on Tempest, "and the Ministry has been notified; they'll be looking for him now. Your priority now, should be to keep your mind on the third task."

Tempest grimaced. "Third Task. Right."

Moody almost smiled, a horrible sight on his disfigured face. "I heard you've had some experience in that area- first year, you had to get through a set of challenges to the Sorcerer's Stone?"

Tempest's own mouth twisted slightly. It had hardly been simple. "I had help."

"Well practice hard for this one- and I'll expect you to do well and win," said Moody. "In the meantime… constant vigilance, Miss Potter. Constant vigilance."

Tempest left his room knowing little more than she had going in, and she spent the rest of the day feeling discomfited. It was not until Sirius's reply came at dinnertime that Tempest felt progress. Direction.

The letter was concerned and speculative in turn, ending with a list of spells that Sirius recommended learning. Tempest copied out the list of spells and spent the next few days in the library researching them. It was an extensive list and reading on what they could do had Tempest itching to try them out.

What she needed next was a sparring partner.

Exams were coming up for Ron and Hermione, and OWLS for George- not that he seemed very concerned for them. Technically everyone was meant to be studying for exams, and as irreverent as Tempest was, she wasn't about to impede anyone's grades.

Well.

"Malfoy, could I have a word?"

They were in the library. Malfoy looked up from his book.

"If you like," he said, sliding out a chair for her.

"You're not studying?" asked Tempest, sitting.

Malfoy snorted and closed his book. "I'm not studying. I… don't."

"Neither," replied Tempest, "of course I don't currently have exams on… what I wanted to say was… er, I'm trying out some new spells for the third task and I was wondering if you'd like to practice with me?"

"Yes, fine," said Malfoy, getting up from the table. "Now?"

"Oh," said Tempest, surprised, "you're free?"

"I've got nothing better to spend time on," said Malfoy, "unless you'd rather I did a bit more soul-searching."

Tempest swallowed. "About that. I was out of order. I shouldn't have said all of that stuff."

"It's fine," shrugged Malfoy, a bland expression on his face. "Not saying it wouldn't have stopped you from thinking any of it."

"I don't think it though," blurted Tempest, "I really- okay, let's sit back down."

She snagged his sleeve and dragged them both back to the table. "You were right. It is difficult for me when people go on about their families. That's my own problem. Sorry. I'll deal with that. "

"I'm sorry too," said Malfoy quietly. "I've had a chance to think about it, and most of what you said wasn't untrue."

Tempest felt a bit like she was being suffocated. The conversation had taken a far more personal tone than she had been prepared for. "Let's just go set some things on fire," she said roughly. "After that, there's a really interesting spell I want to try. It throws lightning."

Minnie had left a Transfiguration classroom unlocked for Tempest to practice in. She had told Tempest to 'try, if at all possible, to not destroy the entire room,' and Tempest had nodded empathetically, giving no promises.

It was a good thing she hadn't.

Tempest's first attempt at one of the spells sent it ricocheting around the room, bouncing off the walls and leaving scorch marks, until it finally hit a desk and exploded. Malfoy, who had thankfully been standing out of the line of fire, arched an eyebrow at her. "And what was that spell meant to do?"

Tempest shook her head in shock. "That was an impedimenta."

"Right…" Malfoy plucked Tempest's wand from her hand and put it on a nearby desk. "Why don't I go next, and let's practice shield charms."

Tempest stared at his hand, the one that had touched her wand. Then she stared at him.

"What?" he asked.

Tempest blinked and cleared her throat. "Nothing. Go on, impress me."

The shield charms were far less explosive. Tempest did end up sending several desks flying with the force of her shield charm though. When she attempted the lightning spell, the entire chalkboard and wall behind it exploded, sending shards of wood and stone flying.

Malfoy examined the crumbling wall of the room and looked askance at Tempest. "I'd never noticed before, but has your magic always been this violent?"

"I prefer the word temperamental," said Tempest, "but no, not usually. It's probably just the new spells."

They had all but torn up the floor. Tempest could see the castle stone beneath splintered floorboards. Smoke hung hazy in the air along with the scent of ozone that fizzled with her and Malfoy's combined magic.

Malfoy looked amused. "It's almost dinner. We should probably fix this. Reparo." Several chairs reassembled themselves.

Tempest unlatched the large windows to the classroom before retreating to the opposite wall and sending a gust of wind tearing around the room and whipping the smoke and dust out of the room. She then set about reconstructing the wall and chalkboard. She finished a bit before Malfoy and perched on a desktop to watch him smooth out the wooden grain of the floor.

"You're very good at this," she said idly.

"I like to keep my stuff in good nick," Malfoy said absentmindedly. "And... I'm clumsier than I might let on."

"That is a surprise," said Tempest, "I thought you were brushed silver."

"Silver does tarnish," said Malfoy dryly.

Tempest gasped. "Does it really? Your silver was left that way long enough for you to notice? I'm scandalized."

"Someone did steal the help a couple of years ago," Malfoy said dryly.

Tempest threw a duster at Malfoy, who caught it easily and lobbed it back. This went on for a while before Malfoy realized it was fruitless, and set the duster down.

They left the room together, closing the door carefully and setting off.

"Thanks for practicing with me," said Tempest just outside of the entrance hall, "Of course, I'm not sure how well it'll work in my favour if we ever duel in the future."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't appreciate the challenge more," said Malfoy with a hint of a smile. "So… tomorrow? Same time and place?"

"I'll ask Professor McGonagall for the room again," grinned Tempest. "I'll see you then, Malfoy."

"Potter."

The sparring sessions were very good fun. After a while, Tempest's spells stopped being so explosive, and their mastery on some of the spells was enough for them to have a few mock duels with each other.

Malfoy was very fond of Lapsus, a spell that made a person lose all control of their limbs, while Tempest favoured Lynfir, the lightning spell.

Monday afternoon, Tempest was thinking of ways to make lightning arc around solid objects- for instance if someone ducked behind a desk, when Ron jostled her elbow.

"Mate, this is the third time in two days you've completely ignored me and Hermione," he said, "I was asking about the Divination homework."

"Oh?" said Tempest surprised, "Haven't done it. Hermione isn't here anyway, what're you on about?"

"She was here," said Ron impatiently, "we're going to Divination right now, if you needed a refresher."

"I did know that," said Tempest mildly.

"Well what were you thinking about?" asked Ron. "You've never exactly been… with us, but not this distracted."

Tempest arched an eyebrow. "Thanks mate. If you must know, I was thinking of the third task. It's the last one in the Tournament- if someone is out for my neck, this'd be their last shot."

Ron seemed to accept the weak lie and he grimaced in sympathy. "You've got this, Tempest. Every time you're in a fix, you always manage to get out of it. You've got that sort of luck."

Tempest gave Ron a grateful smile, and he changed the topic. "It's going to be boiling in Trelawney's room, she never puts out that fire," he said as they started up the staircase toward the silver ladder and the trapdoor.

"Maybe one day she'll get heatstroke," Tempest muttered.

"That'd teach her," said Ron savagely.

The divination room was dreadfully hot. Tempest almost took a step back off the ladder when the trapdoor swung open and cloud of hot air and cloying incense wafted down. She could barely breathe in the room, and headed towards the nearest window, which she opened wide and stuck her out of.

"My dears," said Trelawney, sitting down in her winged armchair in front of the class and peering around at them all with her strangely enlarged eyes. "We have almost finished our work on planetary division. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is placed most interestingly at the present time. If you will all look this way, I will dim the lights…"

The lights went down and by the light of the fire Trelawney began pointing out things on a model of the solar system.

It was incredibly dull, and the room was stuffy. Tempest felt her attention slipping further away. She rested her head very carefully against the edge of the window and relished in the cool breeze that wafted in. Tempest idly followed the movements of a beetle on the windowsill. It was so very comfortable, and she was tired after last night's sparring session.

Slowly and gradually, Tempest's eyelids began to droop…

She was riding on the back of an eagle owl; the ground was flying by beneath her and the wind a soft caress against her face. She was headed for an old ivy covered house set high on a hillside. They reached a broken window and entered, flying along a gloomy passageway to a room at the very end… through the door they went into a dark room whose windows were boarded up.

It must have been a nice house in its prime, now it was broken and rundown, perfect for squatters…

She had left the owl and was standing in the room… there was a chair with its back to her and two dark shapes on the floor beside. One was a snake- a giant snake, enormous, as thick as a grown man and fifteen feet long… the other…

Peter Pettigrew was the short, balding man with watery eyes and a pointed nose, sobbing on the hearthrug.

"You are in luck, Wormtail," a cold voice said from the depths of the chair. "You are very fortunate indeed. Your blunder has not ruined everything. He is dead."

"My Lord!" gasped Pettigrew, "My Lord, I am… I am so pleased… and so sorry…"

"Nagini," the voice continued over Pettigrew, "you are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you after all… but never mind, never mind… there is still dear Tempestas."

The snake hissed. Somewhere, somewhere far away, there were the beginnings of a chill of fear.

"Now, Wormtail," said the voice, "perhaps one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you…"

"My Lord… no… I beg you…"

"Crucio!"

Pettigrew screamed, screamed as though every nerve in his body were on fire, the screaming filled Tempest's ears as the scar on her face seared with pain. Distantly she was aware of falling, of banging her arm on the windowsill. She was in pain, but she could not cry out, for then Voldemort would know- Voldemort would-

"Tempest! Tempest!"

Tempest opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor of Trelawney's room, her fists clenched and eyes watering.

Ron was kneeling beside her, looking terrified. "You alright?"

"Of course she isn't!" said Trelawney, looking thoroughly excited. Her eyes loomed over Tempest, gazing at her. "What was it Miss Potter? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?"

Tempest unclenched her fists slowly, pushing herself upright. "Nothing."

"You fainted!" announced Trelawney, "you fell out of your chair and lay there convulsing- come now, Miss Potter, I have experience in these matters!"

"I'm perfectly fine," said Tempest hoarsely, "it must be the incense in the air. I'm not sure how any of you breathe. This room is clearly bad for my health. I should go throw up in a bathroom somewhere, excuse me-"

"My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room! If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever-"

"I don't mean to be rude Professor," said Tempest loudly, "but I simply can't spend another moment in this room. Excuse me." Tempest reached around Ron to pick up her bag and headed for the trapdoor, the class melting away before her.

Still, when she reached the bottom of the ladder, she did not go to the bathroom, nor the Hospital Wing, which might have been wise, as her head was still aching. Her feet her led in the direction of the Owlery, then, halfway, she turned and went back downstairs.

Sirius had advised her to speak to Dumbledore if her scar hurt- for this was Voldemort, clearly and obviously.

The dream had been so fluid and vivid, identical in clarity to the one she'd had earlier that year at Minnie's. She couldn't see how they could be realities; how she could witness things she wasn't there for. But for both dreams to be fake, that seemed even more far fetched

Pettigrew must have found Voldemort, in whatever form he existed in, and there was a snake that Tempest would be fed to… from the sound of things, she would be fed to it soon.

She had walked right past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office without noticing. She blinked, looked around, realized what she had done, and retraced her steps, stopping in front of it. Then she realized she didn't know the password.

"Sherbet lemon?" she tried tentatively.

The gargoyle did not move.

"I don't suppose it'd help that I have a half a bag of them somewhere in my trunk?" Upon receiving no acknowledgement, Tempest shrugged, "right then, er, Pear Drop. Sugar Quill, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum… Harrogate toffee? Just toffee? Fine, Licorice Wand, Chocolate Limes, Jelly Slugs, Raspberry Bonbons- look, could you do me a favour and just open? Pretend I'm the Minister of Magic or something?"

The gargoyle remained immovable.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Chocolate Frog, Cockroach Cluster!"

The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Tempest blinked.

"Really?" she said, amazed, "I was only joking. Dumbledore needs better security." Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind her, taking her up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker.

She could hear voices from inside the office. She stepped off the moving staircase and had raised a hand to knock, when she hesitated.

"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"

"And what do you thinks happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" said Moody's growling voice.

"I see two possibilities, Alastor," said Fudge. "Either Crouch has finally cracked- more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history- lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere-"

"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Or else- well..." Fudge sounded embarrassed. "Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?"

"I consider her to be a very able headmistress- and an excellent dancer," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Dumbledore, come!" said Fudge angrily. "Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless- if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got-"

"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid," said Dumbledore, just as calmly. "I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius."

"Can we wrap up this discussion?" growled Moody.

"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then," said Fudge impatiently.

"No, it's not that," said Moody, "it's just that Miss Potter wants a word with you, Dumbledore. She's just outside the door."

The door of the office opened.

"Hello, Potter," said Moody. "Come in, then."

Tempest hurriedly put her hand down and walked inside. She had been inside Dumbledore's office once before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently.

Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

"Tempest!" said Fudge jovially, moving forward. "How are you?"

"Peachy," said Tempest. She felt quite foolish standing there now. She was not, as she had toyed with the idea, the Minister of Magic, and she had come running to Dumbledore for what? For a bad dream?

"We were just talking about the night when Mr Crouch turned up on the grounds," said Fudge. "You were there weren't you?"

"Yes," said Tempest, "and I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere. And she'd have a job hiding- she's taller than most trees isn't she?"

Dumbledore smiled at Tempest behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, well," said Fudge, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Tempest, if you'll excuse us… perhaps if you just go back to your class-"

"I wanted to talk to you, Professor," Tempest said hurriedly, glancing at Dumbledore, who gave her a swift, searching look.

"You may wait here, Tempest," he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

They trooped out in silence past him and closed the door. After a minute or so, Tempest heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below.

She looked around.

"Hello, Fawkes,"

Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Tempest.

Tempest sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. For several minutes, she sat and watched the old headmasters and headmistresses snoozing in their frames, considering meditating. However, after the event of her tail, Tempest was limiting herself to meditating in private.

Unable to sit still any further, Tempest got to her feet and paced around her chair, glancing around the room. Behind Dumbledore's desk, the patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt, which Tempest recognized as the sword of Godric Gryffindor, the sword that Tempest had pulled from the Sorting Hat in her second year. After dithering for a minute or so, she strode around the desk and grasped the Hat. She put it on.

Though she had grown a substantial amount since first year, the Hat still slipped well down past her eyes and rested on the bridge of her nose. She stood in darkness for a moment before:

Ah, Tempestas. Unable to stay away?

"Bored is all," replied Tempest, "how's life on the shelf?"

Your words injure me; The Hat said dryly, what do you want?

"I thought you could read minds," Tempest said, "I just said I was bored."

The hat seemed to sigh. Tempestas Potter… always so entertaining to talk to. How are you finding life in Gryffindor?

"Very well," said Tempest, "thank you, again for that."

It is an odd thing, the Hat mused, you would have done exceptionally well in any of the houses. Loyal to the death and honest to a fault, inquisitive and intelligent, manipulative too, with a wicked wit…

Tempest grinned. "How, oh how did you ever manage to sort me?"

You chose for yourself if you recall, said the Hat. In the millennia this school has stood, only a few students have ever chosen. The choice is open for all who place me on their head, they need only ask… but they do not. It is easier, they think, for the choice to be made for them. Of the tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands over the years- only seven chose their own path.

"How did things work out for them?"

The houses mean little, the Hat said, nothing more than a name and a colour.

"Then why do they exist?"

But the Hat did not reply, and after waiting for a while, Tempest slipped it off her head and placed it back on the shelf. The paintings were all still snoozing, and Dumbledore had not yet returned. Tempest circled the office, inspecting a black cabinet, from which silver-white light shone through a gap between the ajar doors.

A shallow stone basin lay inside the cabinet when Tempest pulled the door further open. It had odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that Tempest did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing Tempest had ever seen before. She could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid- or like wind made solid- and Tempest desperately wanted to touch it.

She drew her wand and prodded at the substance in the basin.

The surface of the silvery stuff began to swirl very fast until it settled and became transparent; it looked like glass. She looked into it, expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin- and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which she seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit; she thought it might even be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Tempest saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave Tempest an ominous feeling. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually chained to it.

Where was this place? It surely wasn't Hogwarts; she had never seen a room like the one in the basin in the castle. Moreover, the crowd in the mysterious room at the bottom of the basin was comprised of adults, and Tempest would have heard if there was a meeting of such size at Hogwarts.

From the basin, she could hear strains of sound. Of Dumbledore's voice, announcing: '…evidence on this matter…. Snape was indeed a Death Eater… turned spy…. No more a Death Eater than I am…'

Then a voice that sounded like Crouch was speaking faintly, and Tempest wanted to hear more- she prodded the substance with her wand again, and the substance swirled and settled, this time to reveal the same room on a different day.

She cursed and jabbed at the substance with her wand- it swirled and resettled.

This time Crouch's voice that floated upwards was harsh and cold, and Tempest, peering down through the surface could see four people, flanked by dementors, seated in chained chairs.

The room must have been a courtroom, and the people… 'brought before the Council of Magical Law, for a crime so heinous…'

There was a thickset man, beside him a more nervous-looking man whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne, and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white.

Tempest did not recognize any of them, except for the woman.

The hair. The face. The way she sat; the way she held herself… Her haughty features…

Bellatrix Lestrange looked a lot like her sister, and to Tempest's horror, a lot like Sirius.

Sirius had said: My dear insane cousin, Bella- tortured your godmother and her husband till they lost their minds. I had a cell in the same block as her… the dementors and the demented… a perfect match.

'…stand accused of capturing an Auror- Frank Longbottom– and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse… …present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…' Crouch was speaking loudly, and someone- his son, Tempest realized in a shock- was crying out in protest, and she had seen enough.

She grasped her wand and broke the surface of the substance. "Show me something that matters, here, now."

Faces and images flickered across and amongst the swirling depths, too fast and chaotic for Tempest to catch anything, yet more and more she saw the same face, a young man with tousled blonde locks. He was laughing, scowling, laughing again… growing clearer and clearer-

"I think Tempest, that is enough," said a quiet voice.

Tempest whirled around guiltily and came face to face with Dumbledore. She had not heard him return.

She stuffed her wand back in her sleeve hurriedly. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I saw the cabinet open and I thought… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been prying."

"Quite understandable," said Dumbledore. He motioned Tempest out of the way and lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He gestured for Tempest to sit down opposite him.

She sank down into the chair slowly..

The silvery contents of the basin were swirling and rippling around, and Tempest stared at it. "What is that?" she asked.

"This? It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. At these times I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."

"So those are your thoughts?" said Tempest, staring at the swirling white mass in the basin.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me show you."

Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve trailed from it. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Tempest saw her own face swimming around the surface of the bowl.

Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold... and Tempest saw her own face change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

"It's coming back... Karkaroff's too… stronger and clearer than ever..."

"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore sighed, "but never mind." He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Tempest, who stared at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. "I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention. You did not go inside?"

Go inside? "No," said Tempest, "I just saw… and heard some things. That… er, Professor Snape was a Death Eater… you vouched for him, sir-"

"I did," said Dumbledore. He did not elaborate, nor did he seem displeased, yet there was finality in his tone that dissuaded Tempest from pursuing the subject. Nor did she think it was wise to ask about the young man in the Pensieve: the way these things were, there was probably a tragic tale and the man was likely dead.

"And… I uh, I heard about the Longbottoms," said Tempest, realizing it was hardly a better topic to turn to. "The Lestranges and Crouch's son."

Dumbledore gave Tempest a very sharp look. "Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?" he said.

"No," said Tempest. She had thought to leave well enough alone. Now she made the links. "Sirius mentioned my godmother had been tortured into insanity by the Lestranges. It was Frank Longbottoms wife, wasn't it?"

"Alice," said Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness Tempest had never heard there before. "The both of them are in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

Tempest sat there, a hollow feeling squirming in her chest.

"The Longbottoms were very popular," said Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was- given their condition- none too reliable."

How many lives had Voldemort destroyed? Even after his defeat, when by rights the world should be a better place…

…and Crouch's son. What if the boy had been innocent? What if he too had been wrongfully imprisoned like Sirius, wasting away to death?

"But Tempest," said Dumbledore, his voice returning to more of his usual tone, "you wished to speak to me?"

"I did." It took Tempest a moment though, to remember why it was she had needed to speak to him so pressingly. The dream in Divination seemed very far away now. She began to outline the dream and the aftereffects, beginning haltingly, but speeding up towards the end and her subsequent collapse. "And that's about the shape of it," she finished, a tad awkwardly.

"I see," said Dumbledore quietly. "Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"

"No, although I have been having headaches- but that's quite common-" she paused, realizing something. "Did Sirius or Minnie tell you about how it burnt over the summer? "

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "The both of them- which was impressive, given Sirius at that point I believe was somewhere south of the equator. We have been in contact: it was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay."

Dumbledore got up and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Tempest couldn't make out anything clearly. It was a blur of color.

She couldn't imagine possibly wanting to revisit so many of her thoughts. She could appreciate the sentimental value, the clarity, but she couldn't say she had any desire to extract thoughts and relive parts of her life.

"Professor?" said Tempest quietly after several minutes had elapsed.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Tempest. "My apologies," he said, and sat back down at his desk.

"So… about the dreams," said Tempest, "do you know why I'm having them? Or if they're real?"

Dumbledore looked very intently at her for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that... It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"For what reason?"

"Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."

"Say I carved out that side of my face," said Tempest cheerily, to mask the fact that she felt quite ill, "would that have any effect?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Unfortunately Tempest, not all scars run skin deep."

Tempest laughed. "I had to ask." Then: "So… what I saw… these dreams I've had… they really happened?"

"It is possible," said Dumbledore. "I would say- probable. Tempest- did you see Voldemort?"

"No," said Tempest. "Just the back of his chair. But… without a body… he should be some ethereal mass, shouldn't he? He wouldn't have been able to hold his wand to curse Pettigrew. Unless he was using wandless magic."

Dumbledore was watching Tempest very steadily, and every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple and added another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

Tempest shifted uneasily beneath his gaze, and finally said; "He's getting stronger then, Voldemort?"

The look changed from contemplative to the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given her on other occasions, a look which always made Tempest feel as though Dumbledore were seeing right through her in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not. "I can only give you my suspicions."

Dumbledore sighed, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared... within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Tempest.

"These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees- as you may have heard, while outside my office."

Tempest nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Tempest felt it was time to go.

"Thank you for your time, Professor," she said, rising to go.

Dumbledore did not look up, his face illuminated by the shifting lights of his thoughts.

Tempest was at the door when she heard his voice say softly- "Tempest?"

"Yes?"

Dumbledore was looking at her, his face older than she had ever seen it. He held her gaze for a moment, and then said, "Good luck for the third task."

Exams were set to end on the day of the third task. Though Tempest was exempt from them, Malfoy was not, and as much as he insisted he didn't need to study, Tempest insisted on cancelling that evening's practice session.

"It's nonsensical," she said, "brilliant as you may be, even I see the merits of brushing up a little. I can practice by myself, you know."

Malfoy said that he did know; yet the next day he turned up in the Transfiguration classroom and was almost hit with a Thanus curse that Tempest was practicing. Unable to convince him to leave, Tempest had ended up opening her potions' books and settling down to study herself.

Malfoy had joined her, and the pair had spent the evening studying together. Afterward, Tempest was left with the distinct feeling of having been manipulated, yet was ultimately too confused about the how to be irritated.

Entering June, Sirius was making the most of his proximity to Hogwarts to send daily letters, letters which listed further spell suggestions, constant warnings and reassurances, and the more mundane aspects of his daily life. His reply to Tempest's letter about the dream and what Dumbledore had said had been the most cautionary, with another reminder to focus on the third task, something Tempest was hardly going to ignore.

The weeks leading to the third task flew by quicker than Tempest could catch them, until finally the twenty-fourth of June arrived. The days leading up to it, Tempest had maintained a steady and what she hoped was a levelheaded approach to the coming task. She was more prepared for this third task than the other two, and she figured if she treated it as the other two tasks, she would be out and free later that day. Still, this task was the last- the last opportunity for whomever it was who wished her dead to make a move.

Breakfast was a noisy affair that morning. There was a buzz in the air. The post owls appeared, bringing Tempest her daily letter from Sirius, this time a good-luck card, a piece of parchment folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front. Tempest bit back a smile, tucking the parchment into a pocket and digging into her omelet. She had finished several cups of tea when she noticed the commotion over at the Slytherin table.

They seemed uncommonly pleased with themselves. They were throwing not-so covert glances over at her, sneering.

"Something has them riled up," noted Tempest, glancing over at Ron and Hermione, who were immersed in her copy of the Daily Prophet.

"What?" Hermione said, looking up, and quickly folding the Prophet, "oh don't mind them, Tempest, they're trying to put you off."

"Obviously," said Tempest, eying the newspaper. "And what exactly is the news today?"

Ron tried to shove the newspaper beneath the table hurriedly, and Tempest snagged it from him easily. "It can't be all that bad, Ron-"

She unfolded the newspaper and found herself staring at her own picture, beneath the banner headline.

TEMPESTAS POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS"

The girl who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Tempestas Potter's strange behavior, which casts doubts upon her suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.

Miss Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on the left side of her face (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill her). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Miss Potter collapsing on the ground, then claiming to merely have been affected by the 'incense in the air.'

It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Miss Potter's brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon her by You-Know-Who, and that her insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of her deep-seated confusion.

"She might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention."

The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Tempestas Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public.

"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Pansy Parkinson, a fellow Hogwarts fourth year. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought she was behind them after they saw her lose her temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another student. She tried to make excuses I suppose, and Dumbledore believed her and covered it all up. But she's made friends with werewolves and giants too. I suppose she'd do anything for a bit of power."

Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard or witch who could speak Parseltongue as worthy of investigation. "Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence."

Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a girl such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Miss Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in her desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening.

"Well I've made the front page again," said Tempest mildly, folding the paper neatly, and placing it to the side. "I should really start collecting cuttings."

Over at the Slytherin table, Parkinson's laughter had reached a new pitch, while Crabbe and Goyle were tapping their heads with their fingers and making grotesquely mad faces.

Ron gapped as Tempest. "How can you not be furious?" He asked incredulously, "I don't believe a word in it- they're making you out to sound unhinged."

Tempest shrugged. "In all honesty, Skeeter as it is now, is not a priority. I do have a death maze to get through today, so…"

It was almost enough for Tempest to wish she had written to Skeeter, threatening to reveal her unregistered animagus status- enough to guarantee a ticket to Azkaban. But the article had given Tempest the information she needed. Because there had been no animals that Tempest had seen around that day, except…

"But how could she have known?" said Ron, "we were way up at the top of the North Tower, and she said she witnessed you."

"Hermione," said Tempest, "that day, on the Black lake, did you see a beetle anywhere?"

Hermione looked at Tempest strangely. "No, why- wait. Victor found a water beetle in my hair."

Tempest felt a triumphant grin stretching across her face. "And she must have been perched as a bug in any of the bushes at Christmas. I've got her now, oh this is brilliant!"

"What are you on about?" demanded Ron, looking very confused.

"She's an animaugs," said Tempest, "She's a beetle animagus. That's how she's been able to get into the school, buzz around and spy on people without being noticed. Think about it- it makes perfect sense. She could've been anywhere at the Ball without us knowing, she was a beetle in Hermione's hair to eavesdrop on us, and I remember seeing a beetle on the windowsill in Divination! We can use this against her!"

Slowly, Ron and Hermione were beginning to grin with her.

"You mean this article will be the last horrid one she writes?" said Hermione in relief, "Merlin, if only we'd figured it out sooner!"

"Miss Potter!"

Tempest turned to look at Minnie, who was walking alongside the Gryffindor table towards her. "Miss Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," she said.

"Oh?" said Tempest. She hadn't been aware of any other changes to the day.

"Yes," said Minnie, "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

Tempest sat very still. "Ah," she said quietly. "Shall I… see you there then?"

Minnie shook her head as she moved away. She was smiling in an odd sort of way. "Hardly, Miss Potter."

Tempest stared after her as she left. Ron and Hermione soon followed to go to their History of Magic exam, and Tempest was left sitting alone at the table. She saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward.

Tempest remained where she was. Who, if anyone would be coming to see her? If not Minnie… Tempest got to her feet and was about to leave the hall, when Cedric stuck his head out from the door to the side chamber.

"Tempest, come on, there's someone waiting for you!"

Tempest walked across the Hall slowly. It couldn't possibly be the Dursleys- Dumbledore couldn't have allowed it… she opened the door into the chamber.

Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand.

And the only person left in the room was…

"Remus!" exclaimed Tempest, hurtling across the room to stop inches from the man. She looked up at him, beaming. He looked much the same as the last time she had seen him, the same tired amber eyes and worn lines of his face.

"Tempest!" said Remus, sounding relieved. "I wasn't sure if you were glad I had come-"

Tempest was hugging him before he could say another word. "I'm always glad to see you," she said, her voice muffled by the front of his robes. "Merlin, it's been an age." She leant back to stare up at him. "How have you been?"

"Not bad," said Remus, laughing. It eased the tired expression on his face and he freed an arm to ruffle a hand through Tempest's hair. "It's strange to be here again. Your friend over there was very welcoming."

He nodded towards Diggory. Tempest grinned. "You were the best DADA professor, Moony, we all still remember it."

Remus gave a self-depreciating smile, "It'd be nice to think so," he said. "But- I have an opportunity here to view Hogwarts from a fresh perspective. Fancy giving me a tour?"

"I'll show you my favorite spot," said Tempest, and they made their way back toward the door into the Great Hall.

She spent a very enjoyable morning with Remus, first leading him up to the Owlery so the pair of them could perch on the roof precariously, the narrow ledge only just fitting the both of them. Tempest was rarely there in the daytime, and they watched the rest of the Hogwarts population bustle about between exams beneath them.

With no one around, Remus reminisced freely, spouting long tales of the Marauder years, which if true, accounted for the majority of Minnie's grey hairs.

"And these stories are mostly those I was witness to," said Remus wryly, finishing an account of a night when the Marauders had set off a spectacular fireworks display, shooting up rude words and images into the night sky, making the caretaker of those days- Apollyon Pringle- run to and fro attempting to extinguish them. "Merlin knows what else Sirius and James got up to behind my back."

They went down for lunch, where Remus was mobbed by many enthusiastic students who shook his hand heartily and thanked him for a great year. Tempest sat back and grinned as Remus looked quite overwhelmed by the appreciation.

When the stream of students had run out, he turned to Tempest, "I can't quite believe I was missed this much," he said, "Professor Moody is an excellent auror."

"He may have the intensity," said Tempest, "but Moony, he's simply not you."

Ron and Hermione arrived in the hall, and they saw Remus. They looked astounded, sitting down and staring at him. "Professor Lupin," said Hermione, "what're you doing here?"

"Came to see Tempest," said Remus, "how have you two been? How are your exams?"

They talked of exams for a good while, then the conversation changed to the third task. Tempest stated she felt as prepared as she was ever going to be. After lunch, Tempest and Remus walked across the grounds to the Whomping Willow, where they perched on a rock a good distance away and watched the tree toy with a squirrel between it's branches.

"There was a full moon about a week ago," Tempest said quietly after a lull in their conversation.

"Ah." Remus rubbed at the back of his neck. "Don't worry about me, Tempest, I'm used to it."

Tempest remained silent. Getting used to suffering didn't mean everything was fine. She should know. Instead, she relayed her story of sprouting a tail, to which Remus had a difficult time holding back laughter.

The rest of the afternoon passed delightfully, and they only returned to the Great Hall when it was time for the evening feast. Remus sat beside Tempest with a glance up at the staff table. "It's odd to be over at the Gryffindor table again," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Dear old Snape doesn't seem best pleased I'm back."

Tempest cast her eyes over the staff table, and indeed, Snape was just looking away, a scowl fixed on his face. Along with the usual staff, Tempest saw Bagman and instead of Percy Weasley, Cornelius Fudge.

"He's under investigation from what I've heard," said Remus when Tempest pointed this out. "With his boss missing, he's fallen under suspicion. Crouch was sending instructions via owl when he was supposedly ill, and it's believed they may have been forged. He's a suspect- trying to take over his bosses' position."

"Percy'd never," said Tempest in surprise. "He's never put a foot wrong from what I can tell, and not to mention he adores Crouch- if you'd heard him go on about the man…"

"It must be tough on the boy," said Remus, "and for now, he won't be representing Crouch anywhere."

Dinner had more courses than usual, though Tempest ate lightly, only indulging near the end with a giant piece of an absolutely gorgeous black forest gateau. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."

Tempest looked sideways at Remus, who gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. She got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding her. Ron and Hermione wished her good luck, and the twins came over to shake her hand vigorously. Tempest grinned nervously, and walked off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor.

"Feeling alright, Tempest?" Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds. "Confident?"

"Not bad," said Tempest coolly. It had been almost a year, and Bagman had yet to repay Fred and George.

They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the thundering of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Moody, Flitwick and Minnie came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," said Minnie to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

The champions nodded.

"Off you go, then!" said Bagman brightly to the four patrollers.

"Good luck Tempest," Hagrid whispered, and as Minnie passed her, she briefly placed a reassuring hand on Tempest's shoulder. Then the four of them walked away in different directions to station themselves around the maze.

Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus." His magically magnified voice echoed into the stands. "Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eighty-six points- Mr. Viktor Krum of Durmstrang Institute! And in second place, Miss Tempestas Potter, of Hogwarts School with eighty-four points!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In third place, with eighty points- Mr. Cedric Diggory, also of Hogwarts School!" More thunderous applause. "And in fourth place- Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"

Tempest looked to the stands. She could see Remus there, seated with the twins and Ron and Hermione. Beside Remus sat a massive black dog. Tempest felt a grin stretch across her face. Padfoot's mouth fell open into a smile, and his tail wagged furiously behind him.

"So… on my whistle, Mr Krum, if you please," Bagman counted down, "Three- two- one-"

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Krum strode forwards into the maze.

Tempest's eyes dropped from Padfoot and Remus, only to catch on a blonde head, seated several rows forward. Malfoy was looking straight at her.

"Tempest, on my whistle- if you would-"

Tempest snapped Malfoy a salute, a motion that could've been directed at anyone on the stands, and moved to the entrance of the maze. Bagman blew a short blast of his whistle, and Tempest walked forward, into the hedges.

The sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment Tempest entered the maze. Towering hedge walls cast black shadows across the path, and they must have been enchanted, because Tempest felt almost as though she were underwater again. She pulled out her wand, muttered, "Lumos."

Krum was already out of sight, and after about fifty yards, she reached a fork. She went left. North-west was the center of the maze, she knew, and she cast the 'Point me' spell to direct her as she turned through the twisting hedges. She heard Bagman's whistle blow twice more, and knew that all the champions were now inside.

A prickling feeling at the nape of her neck had Tempest checking behind her constantly. The darkness was muffling, and more and more she found herself increasing the brightness of her wand. The paths before her were empty, and Tempest became suspicious. She had been in the maze a good while now- surely she should have run into some obstacle?

Her grip was tight on her wand, every sense on high alert as she went on. Then there was the sound of movement behind her, and she whirled around, wand raised, ready to curse whatever it was to oblivion. "Lyn-"

Cedric stumbled out of a path to the right side of her, the sleeve of his robes smoking. "Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts," he hissed, glancing behind him, "They're enormous- I only just got away!"

He shook his head and dived out of sight, along another path.

Tempest let out a harsh breath, lowering her wand, only then realizing how frayed her nerves were. She shook her head violently and turned a corner to see a dementor gliding towards her.

Twelve feet tall, it's face hidden by its hood, it's rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing it's way blindly in her direction… Tempest could hear it's rattling breath, and the temperature turned frigid around her.

Tempest stumbled backwards. She knew what she had to do, though the dementor's presence was numbing. She thought of Sirius and Remus, waiting on the stands, here, for her.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silver stallion, sixteen hands high and made of pure light, burst from Tempest's wand and thundered toward the dementor, which made an odd screechy sound and fell backwards, tripping over the hem of his robes.

Tempest had never seen a dementor be so clumsy. "Boggart?" said Tempest, advancing on the creature, patronus before her. "Thank you, Professor Lupin- Riddikulus."

The boggart screamed and vanished in a cloud of mist, dissipating into the air. The stallion began to fade.

"Hey," said Tempest abruptly, "stay."

The stallion solidified once more, and Tempest advanced once more, her patronus by her side. It shone brighter than her wand, and though immaterial, the stallion felt reassuring. For a few precious moments, the maze seemed less oppressive.

Several more minutes passed with nothing in her path, until she rounded a corner and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of her.

Tempest approached carefully, wary for sudden movement. She pointed her wand at the mist. "Tempestas!"

The force of the spell tore leaves from the surrounding hedges, sending them swirling upwards in a vortex of twigs and dirt. The golden mist remained unchanged. The spell had blown straight through it as though it were not there at all.

Perhaps it was an illusion? An enchantment, undoubtedly, and most probably harmful.

Tempest glanced behind her, then back at the mist. Should she chance it and go through? Or should she-

She was still deliberating when a scream shattered the silence.

"Fleur?" Tempest yelled.

Her voice sounded in the silence. She stared all around her. Something must have happened to Fleur, and the scream sounded like it had come from ahead.

Tempest's patronus shifted by her side, and then trotted before her, through the mist. He turned around when he was through, pawing impatiently at the ground with an insubstantial hoof.

Tempest sucked in a deep breath, and ran through the mist.

The world flipped over. She was hanging upside down, her feet on the ground above her, and the endless sky beneath her. Her hair was tumbling down over her face and her robes were hanging over her head. Her feet seemed glued to the grass, which was now the ceiling, and if she fell- she'd fall forever.

There wasn't a single spell that Tempest had learnt that would help her now. When the world turned upside down, it really did turn upside-down.

Tempest twisted cautiously, trying to see past her robes to where her patronus was. But the grass stretched in all directions, and the hedges seemed strangely flat. Was it all in her head?

Tempest gritted her teeth and yanked her left foot from the ground.

The world fell past her, the ground a green blur, the sky an endless blue. She was thrown backwards and pulled upwards until she landed flat on her back, grass beneath her, the stars twinkling above. Tempest lay there, eyes wide, trembling.

The stallion trotted up to her and bent his muzzle down towards her.

"Fleur… right." Tempest scrambled to her feet and staggered along after the stallion.

They wound deeper and deeper into the maze, Tempest's nerves fraying further and further as they went on. And then, all of a sudden, the horse vanished, the glow with him, and she was plunged into pitch-blackness. Tempest was so surprised, she continued walking, and ran straight into something, knocking her to the ground.

She scrambled backwards automatically, wand raised in the darkness. "Lumos!" Her wand tip ignited, casting light on a monstrous sight. Tempest yelled in shock as a Blast-ended Skrewt, enormous just as Cedric had said, scuttled toward her. It was ten feet long with its long sting curled over its back and its horrible many legs which scrabbled over grass as it advanced.

"Incendio!" she yelled. A blast of flame roared at the Skrewt, tongues of flame licking over the edges of its shell, making it chitter and squeal in pain. To her horror though, once the flames had died out, the Skrewt was left unharmed. It was advancing on her again.

"Stupefy!" Tempest yelled, then ducked as the jet of red light rebounded off the Skrewt's back and shot back towards her.

"Impedimenta!" Tempest shouted, "Stupefy! Reducto! Lapsus!" All of the spells ricocheted off the Skrewt's armour, and she had to leap to the side to narrowly avoid being hit by her own spells.

"Thanus!" The curse hit the Skrewt on its fleshy underside, and it was blasted backwards. Its flesh burned and shriveled, crumbling into dust.

Tempest wasted no time. She whirled around and ran, as fast as her legs could push her, in the opposite direction. She ran until her chest felt like it was tearing in two, and then ran some more. Finally, Tempest slowed to a fast paced walk, stumbling occasionally into the tall hedges. She knew she was hopelessly lost… but who cared if she came in last? So long as she escaped unscathed... it couldn't hurt to take a moment to recover.

Tempest sat down, still gripping her wand, and allowed herself to calm slightly. It was nerve-wracking, the unknown.

Her stitch was only just fading when she heard the sound of distant footfalls, and then suddenly Cedric came into view, stumbling backwards around the corner.

"What are you doing?" he yelled to someone Tempest couldn't see. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

Tempest rose, wand once again raised. "Cedric?"

"Crucio!"

The jet of red light hit Cedric just as he was turning towards Tempest. And then, right before Tempest's eyes, he was on the ground, screaming and yelling in pain. And it was Krum rounding the corner, his wand pointing at Cedric.

"Krum!" Tempest yelled, "What the fuck- get away from him! Stop- Impedimenta!"

The spell knocked Viktor backwards, but he recovered quickly, whirled around, and began to run away, just as Tempest yelled; "Stupefy!"

The spell hit him in the back, and he fell forwards, lying motionless, facedown in the grass. Tempest rushed forwards. She grasped Cedric's shoulder and attempted to turn him over. He had stopped screaming, and was lying there panting, his eyes wide and pupils dilated even in the near darkness.

Tempest hauled him to his feet and propped him up against a hedge. "Hey, are you all right?"

"Fine," Cedric said breathlessly, "He started advancing on me… I don't believe it… he had his wand on me…"

They looked over at where Krum lay, and stared at him.

"This will be great for international cooperation," said Tempest eventually. "Hermione'll be so pleased."

Cedric shook his head. "I can't believe it. I thought he was all right, thought he was decent..."

"Did you hear Fleur scream before?" asked Tempest. At Cedric's grimace, she looked back at Krum. "He must have gotten her too."

Cedric shuddered. "An unforgiveable though?" he whispered. "For this competition?"

Tempest looked sideways at Cedric, and offered him an hand. He clasped it, pulling himself off from the hedge. Tempest glanced around and raised her arm, shooting red sparks into the air. "He'll come to and be questioned soon enough," she said, "I just want to get out of here."

Cedric nodded slowly, and began to walk away.

Wordlessly, Tempest followed. They reached a fork, and Tempest took the left. It was the pair of them left now, just like third year.

Tempest turned left, then right, then left again. The increasing darkness led her to believe that she was nearing the centre of the maze, and the dead ends were popping up every meter or so, causing Tempest to change direction more than once. Then, as she rounded a corner, the light from her wand fell upon a creature that she had only once seen in a picture in her Monster Book of Monsters.

A sphinx.

It had the head of a woman, the body of an over-large lion, complete with great-clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending with a brown tuft. The sphinx turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Tempest as she walked closer. She was blocking the path. Then as Tempest neared, she spoke in a deep hoarse voice.

"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me."

Tempest sucked in a breath. "Will you let me pass?"

"No." The sphinx began to pace. "Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess- I let you pass. Answer wrongly- I attack. Remain silent- I will let you walk away from me unscathed."

Tempest adjusted her grip on her wand. "Could I hear the riddle?"

The sphinx sat down upon her hind legs, in the very middle of the path, and recited:

"First think of the person who lives in disguise,

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,

The middle of middle and end of the end?

And finally give me the sound often heard

During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together, and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"

Tempest stared at her. "Is it possible for you to repeat that?"

The sphinx blinked at her, smiled, and repeated the poem.

Tempest paced quickly before the woman, trying to think. She also considered if she could outrun the monster should she answer incorrectly. A trickster told naught but lies, but hardly dealt in secrets, that was more of the work of a spy… and if this were one of those phonetic riddles, then at the end of mend and end was 'd,' which left the rest of the word to quite simply be 'spider.'

Tempest stopped pacing to announce this, a brief moment of doubt crossing her mind at her assuredness. However, the sphinx rose to her feet and moved aside. Tempest let out a relived breath. "Thanks," she said, and hurried past. She was close now, she had been told so, and her wand, after another 'Point me' told her she was heading in the right direction.

If Cedric had gotten to the cup already, she would have heard some sign, but she hadn't so she must still be in this, closer than he- surely. The knowledge seemed to crash down upon her, so that she did not see or feel a breath of wind or the murmur of a spell. No, there was a sense of urgency about her now. It was a need. She had to get the cup first. To be this close and to have it taken from beneath her very nose…

Tempest broke into a run. She tore down the path, turned a corner, and saw a light ahead.

The Triwizard Cup was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away.

She broke into a sprint, forcing her feet to push her faster… She was so close- forty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty feet- and then something slammed into her from the side and she hit the ground with a muffled yell, kicking out at whatever it was.

"Ow!" yelled Cedric. Tempest twisted in his grip, fingers scrabbling in the grass for her dropped wand.

"Get off!" she yelled. Her fingers closed around her wand, and then she was panting, standing and facing a disheveled Cedric, her wand pointed inches from his forehead. Blood was pounding in her ears and an ocean of rage roared in her head, the waves crashing against the walls of her skull. How dare he attempt to stop her, she should do it, she should curse him-

"Tempest! Tempest, snap out of it!"

Cedric was staring at her, undisguised fear flickering in his eyes as he remained still, sprawled awkwardly on the ground- he was wandless- Tempest must have disarmed him somehow…

The anger was fading, but her head was still foggy; "What… Merlin, I-" Her eyes cleared. "Cedric- look out! Reducto!"

The spell slammed Cedric backwards in the grass, just as a gigantic, monstrous shape lunged through a path that intersected with the one they were in. Tempest, who hadn't had time to move, was seized by the front legs of the spider.

It was no enchantment this time. Tempest hung upside down, her eyes staring into the eight beady ones of the giant spider that was holding her up. Dangling by her left leg, Tempest could barely aim. Her first spell, "Thanus!" missed, and "Stupefy" was ineffective. It only made the spider lift her higher. Tempest struggled, feeling the pincers clamp harder around her leg. Blood was rushing to her head; she could hear Cedric yelling "Stupefy!", but his spell was no better than Tempest's, and the spider was opening its mandibles.

"Lynfir!" Tempest yelled, and the snap of crackling lightning filled her ears as forks of jagged lightning struck the eight black, gleaming eyes of the spider.

The spider gave a high pitched squeal of pain, releasing Tempest and sending her falling twelve feet until she hit the ground, her left shoulder impacting with the dirt with a dull crack. Pain lanced through her, and she barely managed to roll over, only to see the underbelly of the spider looming over her.

Without pausing to think, Tempest aimed her wand at the abdomen of the spider and yelled "Stupefy!" at the same time that Cedric did.

The two spells hit the spider at the same time, and they combined did what one alone did not. The spider kneeled over sideways, flattening a nearby hedge, and strewing the path with a tangle of hairy legs. Tempest choked in pain as one of the heavy legs fell across her. The smell of burning spider flesh filled her nostrils.

"Tempest!" she heard Cedric shouting from a few meters away, "Are you alright? Did it fall on you?"

Tempest cursed, and tried to shove the leg off her with her good arm, but fell back with a gasp as her other shoulder sent stabs of pain lancing up her back and chest. "A bit… could you give me a hand?"

Cedric appeared around the giant heap that was the stunned spider, and he grasped the hairy joint of the spider's leg, managing to lift it enough for Tempest to roll out from beneath.

Tempest sagged against a nearby hedge. She chanced a glance at her left shoulder. It had cracked when she hit the ground, not popped- so it was probably a break, not a dislocation. Either way, it hurt like hell.

Cedric stood beside her, half his face illuminated by the glow of the cup. He was closer to the cup than Tempest was, and she was in no shape to scuffle over it. She wasn't even sure she wanted to anymore- all she wanted was to get out of there. The urgency from before had faded as quickly as it had come, and she felt tired, drained.

"Take it," said Tempest, gesturing with her head at the cup wearily. "Quit standing around and get us out of here."

But Cedric didn't move. He didn't walk the final few steps and take the cup, effectively winning the competition and escaping the miserable maze. He only stood there, staring at Tempest. Then he turned to look at the cup, and in the golden light, Tempest could see the longing expression on his face. Then he looked back at Tempest, who was leaning heavily on the hedge to support herself, and he took a step back. Closer to Tempest, further away from the cup.

He sucked in a deep breath. "You should take it. You deserve to win. That's what- twice you've saved my life in this maze."

Tempest stared at him in bemusement, then gave an exasperated sigh, "Cedric, there's no need to be gallant about all this, you reached the cup first. Take it!"

Cedric was shaking his head. "It's not fair, you told me about the dragons, I would have frozen if you hadn't told me what was coming."

"I was told myself," snorted Tempest, wincing as she tried to stand up straighter. The pain in her shoulder was lancing up and down her body, and the constant stabs of pain arcing along her chest made Tempest wonder whether or not she had cracked a rib too. "You helped me on the egg anyway, so we're square."

"I had help on my egg in the first place," said Cedric.

"Does it matter?" snapped Tempest irritably. "Now take the damned cup before I curse you."

"Maybe that's why I'm not taking the cup," said Cedric mulishly. "You're stepping aside. You saved my neck with Krum, then saved it again with the spider-"

"I almost cursed you moments before that!"

"You weren't thinking clearly," said Cedric stubbornly. "It's not your fault."

"Just take it, Diggory," sighed Tempest, "I have a reunion to get to, and I'm sure your house and parents will be over the moon for you to appear from the maze, triumphant and heroic. I'm not even meant to be here."

"Together."

"What?"

Cedric was looking at Tempest with a very odd expression, but his voice was firm. "We should take the cup together. It's a Hogwarts victory. We take it together."

Tempest was speechless. She stared at him for a long moment, then pushed herself off the hedge. "Alright then you bloody idiot."

Cedric smiled crookedly and extended his arm for Tempest to steady herself on as she clambered over the spider's legs towards the cup.

"I'll take it as a compliment."

The two positioned themselves on opposite sides of the cup, both extending a hand towards one of the gleaming handles.

"I meant it was one."

And together they each grasped the cup. Instantly, Tempest felt a jerk somewhere behind her navel. Her feet had left the ground. She could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup; it was pulling her onward in a howl of wind and swirling color. And then they were gone, the maze left dark and empty and silent.

Tempest hit the ground, losing her grip on the Triwizard cup. The force of the impact made her lose balance, and she caught herself on what she quickly realized was a headstone. Tempest let go immediately and backed off.

Looking around nervously, she appeared to be standing in an overgrown graveyard.

"Tempest?"

"Over here," said Tempest, her voice strained.

Cedric appeared by her shoulder, eyeing the cup lying in the grass where they both dropped it. "Did anyone tell you it was a portkey?" he asked.

"No," replied Tempest. "Well. I was told it would take the person who touched it back to the stands… but as far as I can tell- these aren't the stands. The spectators seem rather… dead. Wands out?"

Cedric nodded, and he pulled out his wand, while Tempest adjusted her grip on hers. They must have travelled for hundreds of miles with the Portkey, because even the mountains that surrounded the castle were gone- there wasn't even the faint outline of them in the distance. Looking around more carefully, Tempest noted that there was a yew tree to their right, and a small church was beyond that. There was a hill to their left that rose above them with what looked like the outline of a fine house on the hillside.

"Where'd you suppose we are?" Cedric asked.

"No idea."

She rotated, craning her neck around the statues and stones rimming the graveyard. There was a tingling feeling running down her spine that had nothing to do with her shoulder. "I think…" Tempest said finally, pitching her voice so that it would not carry, "I think someone's watching us."

Cedric said nothing in reply, but Tempest could see his hand clenching nervously around his wand. Unconsciously, the two shifted closer together, so that they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

"There," Cedric said, and Tempest, following his gaze, saw a figure drawing nearer, walking towards them between the graves.

It looked like a man- a short man wearing a hooded cloak. If not for the height and the lack of supernatural chill in the air, Tempest might have been worried about dementors. He was carrying something, noticed Tempest as the man drew closer. Either a bundle of rags or a seriously neglected child; he was holding the pile-of-whatever-it-was so gingerly it may have been a pile of shattered glass.

Tempest shifted so that she was in a more defensive position, and raised her wand slightly. "Don't suppose you know how to apparate?" she muttered.

"Not without splinching," Cedric replied, equally quietly.

"It might be worth the risk," said Tempest. She grasped his arm firmly. "Hogsmeade's our best bet."

But the figure had stopped by a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them, and his hood fell back enough for Tempest to see his features. She couldn't have reigned in the shocked gasp that left her lips had she tried.

"Pettigrew?"

The pale watery blue eyes met hers.

Her head exploded in pain.

Her scar was searing. It felt like a white-hot branding iron was being pressed to her face. A thousand splinters were being driven into her skull. She was on the ground without realizing her legs had given way. Her vision blurred and she was barely managing to keep her eyes open, she could only see dim shapes- Cedric had stooped over her, was yelling somewhere in the distance…

Her wand slipped out of unresponsive fingers, falling to the grass, and from far away above her, she heard a cold voice say, "Kill the spare."

Fear tore through the all-consuming pain. Dimly, Tempest was aware of Cedric above her. Tempest concentrated every once of her willpower to topple him.

"Avada Kevadra!"

Green flashed through the air, and when Tempest managed to focus through streaming eyes, she saw Cedric hit the ground.

The side of his head collided with edge of a gravestone. He lay still.

Tempest stared numbly at Cedric's form. Then she was being pulled to her feet by her injured arm and dragged toward the marble headstone.

Pettigrew had lit his wand, and in the light, the words TOM RIDDLE were visible, etched into the stone on the grave. She was forced around and slammed against the headstone.

Tempest's head lolled as ropes were conjured around her, tying her to the headstone. Pettigrew was breathing shallow fast breaths, and he checked the tightness of the cords biding Tempest. His fingers were trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Tempest couldn't move an inch, he drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak, and stuffed it roughly into Tempest's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Tempest and hurried away.

Once he was out of sight, Tempest managed to get her tongue beneath the cloth and spat it out, where it fell to the ground. Drawing in thick breaths, Tempest craned her neck, straining fruitlessly against the ropes. She could not turn her head. She could see only what was right in front of her.

Cedric's body was lying some twenty-feet away. The cup was not too far past him, her wand was at his feet.

Tempest stared at Cedric's form, unable to look away. Pettigrew must have thought that he had hit Cedric with his spell- Tempest didn't know either way. She didn't know if she was looking at Cedric's body, or Cedric's corpse.

The bundle of robes that Pettigrew had been carrying, that he had left at the foot of the headstone, were moving. A giant snake circled the headstone; it's scales brushing against her shoes. Tempest's stomach turned over.

It was the snake. Nagini. The snake that Voldemort had said she would be fed to.

Tempest strained against the ropes again. She fixed her eyes on Cedric, pulling for all she was worth. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Tempest's range of vision, and she saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water and it was larger than any cauldron Tempest had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.

The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, like it was trying to free itself.

Tempest herself was now breathing very quickly. She stopped straining. Her shoulder and chest hurt too much, nor did it seem to be doing much good. She focused on her right hand; it was held tight against the stone, pressed flat and bound by what felt like three lengths of rope.

Pettigrew was doing something with the cauldron. He had lit a fire beneath it, and the liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Pettigrew. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Tempest heard the same high, cold voice that had demanded Cedric's death.

"Hurry!"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

"It is ready, Master."

"Now..." said the cold voice.

Pettigrew pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Tempest stared in horror.

It was as though Pettigrew had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind- but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Pettigrew had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Tempest had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face- no child alive ever had a face like that- flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Pettigrew's neck, and Pettigrew lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell fully back, and Tempest saw the look of revulsion on his weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron.

For one moment, Tempest saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Pettigrew lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; she heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

Tempest's scar was burning past endurance now. She focused still more on her right hand, trying to twist it free. Pettigrew was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave at Tempest's feet cracked. Horrified, Tempest watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Pettigrew's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.

"Flesh- of the servant- w-willingly given- you will- revive- your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him- the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

Tempest realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened- she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, but she could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through her as though she had been stabbed with the dagger too. She heard something fall to the ground, heard Pettigrew's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Tempest couldn't open her eyes, wouldn't, but the light of the potion which had turned a burning red, shone through her closed eyelids.

Pettigrew was gasping and moaning with agony. Her eyes shut and still mindlessly trying to twist her right hand, Tempest did not know that Pettigrew was right in front of her until she felt his breath on her face.

"B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken... you will... resurrect your foe."

Tempest found her voice.

"Pettigrew, please," she said hoarsely, "Pettigrew-"

She could do nothing to prevent it, she was tied too tightly. She could not get herself free, and her struggle was useless as the shining silver dagger shaking in Pettigrew's remaining hand pierced the crook of her right arm. Blood seeped down the sleeve of her torn robes. Pettigrew, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and collected her blood.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Tempest's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, blinding silver. Pettigrew, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness.

Tempest refused to look any longer. She looked to Cedric's body instead, Cedric who lay so still. The cut in her arm was stinging badly, but Tempest wrenched at her right hand until she felt her skin burn with pain.

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Tempest, so that she couldn't see Cedric anymore.

Let it have gone wrong, pleaded Tempest, let it have died. Let it not be what I know it is…

But then, through the mist in front of her, she saw, with a surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Pettigrew, 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 Tempest... and Tempest stared back into the face that had haunted her nightmares for three years. 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.

Voldemort looked away from Tempest and began examining his own body. 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. He took not the slightest notice of Pettigrew, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Tempest again, hissing.

Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Pettigrew, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Tempest was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Tempest, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Tempest found herself voiceless.

Pettigrew's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

"My Lord…" he choked, "my Lord... you promised... you did promise..."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh Master... thank you, Master..."

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again. "The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master, please... please..."

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Pettigrew's left arm; he forced the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow, and Tempest saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo- a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth- the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Pettigrew's uncontrollable weeping.

"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know..."

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Pettigrew's arm.

The scar on Tempest's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Pettigrew let out a fresh howl. Voldemort removed his fingers from Pettigrew mark, and Tempest saw that it had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He then turned to Tempest, who stood frozen, pinned beneath his gaze.

"Tempestas Potter," he said, his voice a hiss, "welcome, to my rebirthing ceremony."

Tempest stared at him.

She was unsure if he expected an answer, unsure of her capacity to speak. She said, through numb lips; "Am I to be fed to your snake?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed in amusement. "All in good time," he said. "Had I my way, you would never have lived past infancy, to be nothing more than rotted flesh and decaying bones by now."

Tempest could feel her heart beating very fast in her chest. She hurt everywhere, and with the pain, came a strange sort of brashness. "You may be assured," she managed, "I likely won't make it to fifteen."

Pettigrew's sobbing was the only sound in the silence that followed her words. Tempest looked down at him; the Marauder who would witness her death. She looked at Cedric's body again. How long would it take for news of their demise to spread? Who would tell his family?

Tempest thought of the audience in the stands back at Hogwarts, waiting for their triumphant return.

"I hear you are being raised by muggles," said Voldemort, who had paced a distance away, eyes sweeping the graveyard. "My own father was a muggle and a fool- very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child… and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…"

Voldemort laughed again.

A heat ignited in Tempest's chest, chasing away some of the cold that had gripped her. Her mother had died for her to live. So too had her father. They had both fought, in their own ways. And who would she be if she did nothing in the face of it?

Tempest flexed her right hand. Twisted it against the ropes until she felt the skin split. She held back a shout of pain; blood now ran down her fingers and was coating the ropes, making them slippery and slick. Voldemort was speaking of his muggle father, and he did not seem to notice.

Tempest twisted her hand, each motion agony. But she had freed her fingers of two loops of rope, and the third was now loose enough for her to extend a few fingers, and with a great effort, Tempest reached for magic.

Accio.

Her wand did not fly to her hand. Voldemort continued to pace before her.

Tempest swallowed back the pain and concentrated harder. Her arm was free enough that all she needed was a single yank she could reach out and catch her wand if it chose to soar toward her. If it would just move… Tempest couldn't remember how she had managed to summon wandless magic, didn't know if her increasingly frantic state helped at all. All she knew is that she needed it now.

A massive explosion broke her concentration.

It was not her magic, surging to her aid. Nor was it Pettigrew, for he was oblivious to the world, still sobbing. It was Cedric.

"Tempest!" yelled Cedric, Cedric who was not dead, but with blood pouring down the side of his face, gloriously, wonderfully and beautifully alive.

Voldemort whirled around, wand raised, his curses already flying in Cedric's direction; slamming against the headstone he was crouched behind. The stone was shattering and crumbling, forcing Cedric to abandon it and dodge behind another. He was sending an array of curses and hexes at Voldemort, all missing wildly, and Voldemort was returning the attack with full fury.

Only barely deflecting the onslaught Voldemort was sending his way, Cedric was diving behind headstones, moving closer to where Tempest was tied…

And narrowly missing one of Voldemort's curses, he leapt up behind his shelter and threw something at Tempest- a slim shaft of wood that arced through the air… Tempest wrenched at her hand.

She felt a flap of skin tear loose; bile rose in her throat; but she had freed her arm, and she snagged her wand from the air.

Tempest split the ropes holding her and pointed her wand at Nagini, who slithered through the grass, rearing to attack. She yelled: "Lapsus!"

The spell caught Nagini straight in the mouth, passing through her fangs and hitting the back of her throat. The snake dropped- a spell that would fell a human for several hours would likely not last a minute.

Tempest turned her wand on Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!"

The spell flew straight at Voldemort's back, then, a meter away, curved abruptly and hit a headstone near him, showering him with rubble- he turned, red eyes burning, and Tempest faltered.

"Stupefy! Incendio! Lapsus!"

Voldemort advanced, deflecting her spells with ease, retaliating with a brutal force. Tempest was barely holding her own; her shield charms were shattering, she tripped every time she ducked, the onslaught was too fast and powerful for her to counter the spells, she couldn't see straight-

Smoke was in the air now, and Tempest was scrambling backwards, past the marble headstone and further into the graveyard. She could not see Cedric any longer, but the continued jets of light she could see in his direction meant he was still fighting… trying to distract Voldemort…

She had to make it back in his direction. The Triwizard Cup had been close to where he was, a portkey that had taken them to the graveyard. It had been intended to take them to the stands, and the original enchantment might still be in place.

Voldemort's spells hailed down on the headstones between them and Tempest dove sideways, dodging spells and shards of stone as she sprinted between the gravestones to where she could hear Cedric yelling.

"Cedric!" Tempest screamed; she could see him now, not ten meters away, the Triwizard Cup not far from where he was crouched. "Take the cup! It's a portkey! Tell-"

The force of Voldemort's next spell was sent too fast and too powerfully for her to deflect; she was driven backwards, staggering.

"Take it back!" she yelled. Through the magic-induced haze, Tempest could see Voldemort's face contort into a snarl.

She was sent flying backwards. She crashed into a headstone and fell stunned to the ground.

"Tempest!"

She could hear Cedric yelling in the distance.

Tempest rolled onto her side. She had no sense of where anything was. "Get out of here!" she strained, "Get to the fucking cup!"

"Tempest!"

The next spell sent from Voldemort caught her directly in the chest.

She screamed.

She screamed and then she was writhing on the ground. She had dropped her wand; her fingers were clawing furrows in the dirt. There were feet stomping down on them, snapping them like twigs. There was an iron poker being twisted into her stomach. Her teeth were each being removed with pliers and rusty iron pegs were being driven into the soles of her feet. She was burning and freezing and being torn apart. She was screaming, screaming till her throat was raw and lungs tearing…

…then it was over.

Tempest slumped against the ground- every muscle, every nerve, previously tensed and taunt with pain was now slack and wracked with tremors from the aftereffects of the curse. Tempest was unaware that she had screwed her eyes shut -white spots were drifting beneath her eyelids- except her eyes were in fact open, and the white spots were the blurred outlines of stars, far, far away...

There were still sounds of a fight, muffled, and someone was calling her name, very far away…

Tempest raised her head, and through a gap in the graves, she saw Cedric running, his wand nowhere to be seen. He threw himself forwards, and Tempest saw there, glinting in the grass, the Triwizard Cup.

And Tempest heard Voldemort roar: "Avada Kevadra!"

"CEDRIC!"

The world lit in green.

Before Tempest's horrified gaze, she watched Cedric fall. His outstretched hand met the handle of the cup. And then they were both gone.

Voldemort's face swam into view above her, contorted into a snarl. He seized her arm- her injured arm- dragging her upright. Tempest couldn't help the strangled moan that escaped her lips. It was hard to concentrate; hard to focus, the world was swimming in and out of view, while white noise filled her ears.

Through it, she could hear Voldemort talking, spitting out words as he dragged her back towards the broken marble headstone. "Your friend is dead, girl," he spat, "you have sent his dead body back to Dumbledore, and he cannot come for you. Is that what you think will happen? That he will swoop by at the last moment to save you? By the time he arrives, you will be dead, and we, long gone."

Voldemort threw Tempest away roughly when they reached his father's grave, where Pettigrew and a recovered Nagini still were. But they were no longer alone.

Masked and cloaked figures stood silent and unmoving in a loose circle about them. They must have arrived at some point when Tempest was being tortured… they must have watched Cedric die… and they watched on as Voldemort fisted a hand in her hair, pulling her upwards by the roots just for him to backhand her, the force of which snapped her head to the side and made red flash before her eyes.

"My apologies," Tempest heard Voldemort say mildly. He was speaking to his assembled death eaters, who all waited, as though for a blow of their own. "Thirteen years since last we met… I had hoped our reunion would begin in a more civilized manner."

Tempest felt the hand in her hair clench tighter; then she was thrown to the ground once more. She landed on her side and pushed herself up into a sitting position, breath coming in short, pained wheezes.

"Yet perhaps it is fitting," Voldemort went on, dragging her up to her knees, "for you to see the girl who you all believed to be my downfall, my defeat, brought low."

Tempest hurt. She hurt, and she was surrounded by dark wizards who had watched her scream herself raw. They had watched Cedric die, they would watch her die.

Voldemort walked away, still talking, talking of disappointment, and one of the men in the circle suddenly flung himself forward. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Tempest had flinched violently, but it was not she that was the target this time, and still unable to control the trembling that wracked her limbs, she found herself hatefully grateful.

Back at Hogwarts, they would know something was wrong. The assembled crowd, hundreds of students and teachers would have watched Cedric's body appear. They might've cheered, applauded… until they realised the body wasn't moving. And when they realised he was dead, the screams would begin.

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

He looked down at Pettigrew, who was still sobbing.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail, "please, Master... please…"

"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Pettigrew sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers..."

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Pettigrew's bleeding wrist.

Pettigrew sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

He thanked Voldemort, kissing the hem of his robes and joining the circle of death eaters. Voldemort now approached the man on Pettigrew's right.

"Lucius," he greeted the man, halting before him.

Tempest looked up.

She looked up at the death eater whom she should have recognized from the start- whose long blonde hair had escaped the hood of his cloak, and whose eyes were visible through the mask, the same blue as his son's, the son which Tempest had spent hours training with, laughing with, preparing for this night.

It was strange, to find such familiarity there, in the moment. It seemed the rest of the world was so very, very far away.

Voldemort continued around the circle of his followers, greeting some, naming the absent, passing over others. Lucius Malfoy, the Lestranges, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, the Rosiers and Avery- When he reached the largest cap in the circle, he spoke again. "And here we have six missing Death Eaters… three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return… he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course… and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service… He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…"

All eyes turned to Tempest.

Tempest, who swayed on the spot, knowing she must have looked like death warmed over. Voldemort's words faded into the background as she stared forwards blankly. She kept her eyes on the one death eater with the familiar blue eyes, and she kept her gaze fixed, until she felt a hand, long and pale, press against her face.

Her scar seared with so much pain, she felt as though her head would split in two. Voldemort bent to laugh softly in her ear then removed his hand.

"I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it," said Voldemort. "My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal- to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand...

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist… I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body… but I waited in vain..."

A shiver ran around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing. As he went on about his possession of animals, his eventual possession of Quirrell in her first year, Tempest stared unseeingly at Lucius Malfoy and drew in a shaky breath.

While Voldemort was talking, this was likely her last chance. To make some sort of stand, to die fighting, not kneeling here on the ground, resigned to her fate. Voldemort would stand above her corpse before the night was out; she was hopelessly outmatched, there was little doubt of that, yet it was her choice, her decision in what manner she would leave this world.

And it would not be on her knees.

She let her eyes slip shut.

Though she still shook from the Cruciatus Curse, and though her shoulder was broken, her hand mangled and every other part of her aching, Tempest cast her mind back to one afternoon in a cave with Sirius's arm around her shoulders, and a voice that had told her that he believed in her. A voice that had coaxed brilliance from her.

Tempest felt for the magic. For her magic, which pulsed weakly about her in fluttering beats, and for the dark magic that seethed around Voldemort, and to a lesser extent, his death eaters. Tempest's bruised fingers twitched.

"…but his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail?" Voldemort was still speaking. "For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food... and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic…"

Tempest focused on the magic. It was there, yet it escaped her grasp. Tempest gritted her teeth. She was not attempting to transform herself into an animagus in this moment, it should be easier…

"…and Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams... for- with a little persuasion- she became a veritable mine of information. She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things... but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Wormtail's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth... a spell or two of my own invention... a little help from my dear Nagini," Voldemort's red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, "a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided… I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.

"There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer's Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower... I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength.

"I knew that to achieve this- it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight- I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant…

"My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe... Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me… as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Tempestas Potter's blood."

Tempest's eyes jolted open, and she lost any grip at all she had on the magic, which slipped away to remain dormant at the edges of her mind.

"…but how to get at Tempestas Potter? For she has been better protected than I think even she knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the girl's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the girl's protection as long as she is in her relations' care…"

It occurred to Tempest, in the haze of the shifting reality her mind seemed to have placed her in, that Voldemort had gone to the trouble of luring her away from Dumbledore because he thought she lived with the Dursleys…

"…so how could I take her? Why... by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the girl's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the girl won the tournament- that she touched the Triwizard Cup first- the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring her here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here she is... the girl you all believed had been my downfall..."

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Tempest. He raised his wand.

And Tempest threw herself to the side, narrowly missing Voldemort's Cruciatus. She rolled, and flung out a hand toward Voldemort.

A torrent of blistering flames poured from her open palm, shielding her from view. The flames barely lasted a moment before Voldemort had dissipated them, but it was enough. Tempest ducked behind the cracked marble headstone and summoned her wand to her hand. She stood, back pressed against the stone, panting hard.

Tempest didn't have time to dwell on her achievement- she could hear Voldemort's laughter. She focused on her wand, held tight in her bleeding fist.

"Impressive!" shouted Voldemort, and she heard him walking closer to her headstone. "The girl who lived indeed!"

Blood pounded in her ears, and Tempest looked frantically around at the grass near her feet in case Voldemort sent Nagini to attack. From here, there were few headstones large enough for her to shelter behind, and the gate to exit the graveyard was far out of sight. Thoughts raced through her mind, and one caught. Voldemort had mentioned a death eater at Hogwarts… but instead of confirming it was Karkaroff, a memory was surfacing in Tempest's mind, like a forgotten dream… of a name on the Marauder's map…

"Come out, Tempest," crooned Voldemort, his footsteps growing ever closer. "Come out to play!"

Tempest twisted to send a blasting curse past the headstone, narrowly avoiding the jet of green light that Voldemort had sent at her.

"Amusing is she not?" she heard Voldemort say to the group at large. "Perhaps I should keep her on a chain…"

"Fuck you," said Tempest hoarsely, a sort of recklessness coming over her.

"I really am quite tempted," Voldemort said musingly. "You did grow to be quite… delectable… a pity. If only we had the time."

Ice slid down Tempest's spine. The thick marble between her and Voldemort seemed as thin as paper. She sent another blasting curse past the headstone again, this time only barely managing to yank her hand back to safety to avoid Voldemort's curse.

"But you amuse me," said Voldemort, greatly unconcerned as Tempest sent several more spells his way, to be deflected; she heard them crack headstones behind her. Her final spell was a hail of searing lightning, which crackled and exploded to no avail. "Such defiance!" Voldemort laughed, high and cold. "It would be a shame to deprive the world of such a refreshing spirit..." A pause, where Tempest waited, pulse pounding. "Therefore, Tempestas Potter… I offer you a choice. Die here, now, tonight. Or join us. Take the dark mark, and I will allow you to live. Return to Dumbledore, spin the tale I will give you, and serve me as my spy."

A spy?

Tempest sat frozen in shock.

If Tempest was dumbfounded, the death eaters were no less so; she could hear the mutterings and the unrest of the circle until Voldemort silenced them.

Tempest slid down the headstone and sat there, slumped and completely and utterly without a plan. She had known she was sport for Voldemort's 'rebirthing party,' she knew he wanted her dead…

"I await my answer, girl," called Voldemort from behind the headstone. He seemed to have stopped advancing.

Tempest swallowed hard. "Why such a sudden change of heart?"

She could hear amusement in Voldemort's voice when he answered. "As it is, I have several vacancies," he said, "and you would make a worthy addition to my inner circle. Obviously spirited and magically powerful, with the… correct training, you would become… a marvel."

Another shiver of mutterings around the circle of death eaters. Tempest felt a chill run down her spine.

"You are indeed Dumbledore's favorite, and world sees the golden lion of light. Having met you… I disagree."

Tempest was silent. She felt the throbbing pain of her hand holding her wand, the jagged pain in her shoulder, and the ache of her ribs. It would be easy to pledge false allegiance to Voldemort, to live. This miserable graveyard wouldn't be the last place she'd see in her life, these people wouldn't be those she'd die amongst.

"If I say yes," she called, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her chest, "if I said yes, what would you do with the people I care about?"

"Nothing," said Voldemort. He was losing patience; Tempest could hear it in his voice. This was becoming less fun, tiresome. "Give me names and I shall not touch them. They are irrelevant. Anything else?"

Tempest braced herself and stepped around the edge of the headstone, her wand at the ready. "No that was it."

Voldemort regarded her triumphantly. His red eyes were gleaming. He twisted his wand between his fingers. "Your answer is then yes?"

Tempest smiled very tightly. "Thanks, for such a kind and generous offer," she said. "But I'd rather die."

Voldemort's face contorted into a snarl. "Very well." His voice became very soft. "If you are truly so foolish… I suppose we should end things the way we left them thirteen years ago."

His mouth moved, and Tempest barely avoided being hit by the Cruciatus Curse. She returned with a spell that Voldemort brushed aside as though it were nothing, and before she could react, she had been hit by another Cruciatus.

The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that she lost all sense of where she was… she might have fallen to the ground… White-hot knives were piercing every inch of her skin, she was screaming as though it would save her-

And then it stopped.

Tempest rolled over and shoved herself from the ground. She was shaking very badly, and she staggered as she stood.

"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause... I will allow for feedback… You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

"Lynfir!"

The lightning gouged burning furrows in the dirt as Voldemort batted the spell aside, and the next few that followed. Tempest backed away, back behind the headstone of Voldemort's father. Her breath was loud and harsh in her ears, the rain of curses that Voldemort was sending her way made it difficult for her to think, much less keep her balance.

The death eaters were silent spectators, clearly under silent orders to not interfere…

And then Voldemort stopped, the slew of curses he had been sending at her faded away, and they stood facing each other in the circle of death eaters. He was looking straight into her eyes.

"Goodbye, Tempest Potter," he said.

His cry was hers.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The world lit up green.

The spells met in midair- and suddenly Tempest's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it; her hand seized up around it. She couldn't have released it if she'd wanted to- and a narrow beam of light connected the two wands; a bright, deep gold. Tempest, following the beam, saw that Voldemort's long white fingers too were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating.

And then she felt her feet lift from the ground. She and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the tombstone of Voldemort's father and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves... The Death Eaters were shouting; they were asking Voldemort for instructions; they were closing in, reforming the circle around Tempest and Voldemort, the snake slithering at their heels, some of them drawing their wands-

The golden thread connecting Tempest and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected. A thousand more beams arced high over Tempest and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now…

"Do nothing!" Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Tempest saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting his wand with Tempest.

Tempest's injured hand was screaming in pain, but she gripped her wand more tightly, with both hands now, and the golden thread remained unbroken.

"Do nothing unless I command you! She is mine!" Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters. The red eyes that burnt at her from across the light promised a horrible and painful death.

And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air... It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Tempest and Voldemort. It was a sound Tempest recognized, though she had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song.

It was the sound of hope to Tempest. She felt as though the song were inside her rather than around her. It spoke of running through the woods beneath a silvery moon, the sound of freedom. It was as though a friend were speaking in her ear…

Don't break the connection.

Tempest wasn't intending to, but no sooner had she thought it, that the thing became much harder to do. Her wand was shaking much more powerfully in her grasp than before, beads of light sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands… slowly and steadily moving down towards her. The closer they slid, the more her wand vibrated, and the hilt of her wand heated up until it was almost burning into her hand.

The vibrations were shaking her, and her wand was humming beneath her fingertips. It felt as though it were about to shatter in her grip.

And Tempest focused. Willing, ordering, pleading, demanding for the beads to reverse, to move back down along the thread, towards Voldemort. Phoenix song was in her ears, her eyes were furious and fixed. And with a vicious sort of victory, Tempest watched a bead of light connect with his wand.

At once, Voldemort's wand began to emit echoing screams of pain… then- Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock- a dense smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished… then there were more shouts of pain… and then something much larger began to blossom from Riddle's wand tip, a great greyish something, something that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke…it was a head… now a chest and arms… it was the torso of Cedric Diggory.

If ever Tempest might have released her wand from shock, it would have been then, but her grip remained rigid, and she stared at the thick grey shade of Diggory that was emerging from Voldemort's wand, like it was squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel… and this shadow stood up, and looked down the golden thread of light and spoke.

"Hold on, Tempest," it said.

The voice was distant and echoing. Tempest looked at Voldemort, his face contorted, yet eyes wide with shock. Neither of them had known this would happen…

More screams of pain from the wand… and then something else emerged from its tip… the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso… an old man that Tempest had seen only in a dream was following just as Cedric had done… and his ghost, or shadow, or shade, surveyed the scene with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick…

"So he was a real wizard then?" the man said to her, "Killed me he did… he's no lord, I tell you- you fight him girl…"

Now another head was emerging, and this head was a woman's… Tempest's arms were shaking now as she fought to keep her wand still.

Bertha Jorkins dropped to the ground and straightened up, surveying the scene before her with wide eyes. "Don't let go, now!" she cried, voice echoing too, as though from far, far away. "Don't let him get you, Tempest– don't let go!"

She and the man began to pace around the inner walls of the golden web; the death eaters paced outside.

Tempest looked desperately at Cedric's shade. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking from the strain, "I'm so sorry."

But Cedric only shook his head with a sad smile, and joined the other two shades. They circled the golden web, whispered to Tempest, and hissed to Voldemort…

Another person was forming, a smoky head and shoulders… and Tempest knew when she saw it who it would be… she knew as though she had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appeared from his wand… knew because how could she not…

The smoky shadow of a young woman with long hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at her... and Tempest, her arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of her mother.

"Your father's coming…" she said quietly. "Hold on for your father… it will be all right… hold on…"

And he came… first his head, then his body… tall and untidy-haired just like Tempest, the smoky, shadowy form of James Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like his wife.

He walked close to Tempest, looking down at her, and he spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear…

"Hello Tempest," he said softly, and Tempest choked out a laugh, her arms shaking madly now. "When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments... but we will give you time... you must get out of this graveyard, do you understand? You must apparate."

"Okay," gasped Tempest, fighting now to keep a hold on her wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath her fingers. She hadn't the faintest idea how to. "Okay."

The ghostly form of Lily Potter drifted towards Tempest. "Your patronus will lead you on," she said. "Trust in us."

"Tempest…" whispered the figure of Cedric, "tell my parents, will you? Tell my parents how I died…"

Tempest could have promised Cedric anything. "I will."

And James reached out a hand, as though to place on her shoulder, but his shadowy fingers faded to mist. "Do it now," he whispered, "be ready to run... do it now..."

Tempest drank in the sight before her; her parents, wreathed in golden light. And she tore her wand away with an almighty wrench. The golden thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died- but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear- they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Tempest from his gaze-

And Tempest ran as she had never run in her life, slamming into two stunned death eaters as she passed; she dove between headstones, feeling their curses following her, hearing them hit the headstones- she was pelting towards the edge of the graveyard, which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence-

"Stun her!" she heard Voldemort scream.

The tall metal spiked fence surrounding the perimeter of the graveyard loomed a few dozen feet away, the gates standing open. Tempest sprinted across the flat stretch of empty grass to the gates. She chanced a backwards glance; sending blasting curses at the following death eaters.

She was fifteen feet from the gate, and she slashed her wand through the air. "Expecto Patronum!" Her patronus burst into existence, galloping before her, and then Tempest tripped.

Nagini was on her instantly.

Tempest kicked against the snake, yelling, "Reducto! Thanus! Stupefy!" the spells glanced off her scales, and Nagini began coiling around Tempest's torso and legs, slowly constricting- "Lapsus! Stupefy!" Her ribs were screaming, so was she- "Tempestas!"

The spell affected the snake unlike all the others, and Nagini was knocked backwards.

Gasping with pain, Tempest surged to her feet. She could see Voldemort now- he was some distance behind his death eaters, and his eyes flamed in the darkness. She saw him raise his wand.

Tempest whirled around and ran. She threw a stream of curses behind her and sprinted. The gate was so close…

A spell hit Tempest in the square of her back.

Tempest barely slowed, whipping around, wand raised, lips already forming a curse-

-standing feet away, mask gone, hood collapsed around his shoulders was a man with disheveled silver hair, cold blue eyes.

"Stupefy!"

Lucius Malfoy fell backwards; Tempest threw herself out of the gates, and her stallion charged straight through her. Tempest turned. She vanished in a blur of colour and a violent snap, the screams of Voldemort echoing after her.