Light Shines Brightest in the Darkness

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12644133.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Character: Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Draco Malfoy, George Weasley, Remus
Lupin
Additional Tags: Female Harry Potter, Alternate Universe, mostly canon, Tempest Is Not
Happy
Series: Part 1 of I'm Really Tired
Stats: Published: 2017-11-06 Completed: 2017-11-08 Chapters: 7/7 Words:
106805

Light Shines Brightest in the Darkness

by SBA001

Summary

Fourth Year. Female Harry. Tempest really hadn't signed up for this shit.

Notes

Originally posted under a different penname on Fanfiction.net.

 In Which There Are Letters

Light Shines Brightest in the Darkness

Chapter One-

Dear Sirius.

I’m not sure what to say. That's a good opener as any, isn't it? I’ve never written to a fugitive mass
murder before. What’s that like? Being a fugitive mass murderer? I never did ask. If I am being
insensitive, feel free to ignore that. I tend to kick the gift horse in the mouth fairly often.

With writing being the only medium we have to communicate, I suppose I should give a better
impression of myself, better than the last at least. I swear not to commit any spelling mistakes in
our correspondence.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what you said, and I’ve started researching Animagi.

How is Buckbeak? By now you’ve probably realized his incredible fondness for dead ferrets, and if
he likes you, he’ll drop picked bones on your head. He likes sugarcubes by the dozen if you can get
them. I hope you two have become firm friends by now. I have a lot of fond memories with that
hippogriff.

I don’t know exactly where you’re heading, and don’t tell me, but if you’d accept my humble
recommendation: go someplace with sun. Unless you’re morbidly attached to overcast skies as I
am, you deserve the sun-drenched mornings kipping under trees, to go somewhere with less
miserable weather.

Holidays started two days ago, and I’ve been outdoors a lot, flying, swimming- there’s a beach
right by where Minnie lives. The weather might not be the best, but I’ve never been able to stand
being cooped up for long. I'm sure you understand. I wonder if my parents ever felt the same.
Moony was always the calm one from what I’ve heard. If you’d like to regale me with tales from
the past, please do.

If there’s anything you need, just ask. I am at your disposal, only an owl away.

The truth is, I know very little about you. I don’t know you. I’d like to.

–Best, Tempest.

******
 Six weeks later

Minnie was packing Tempest’s trunk when she stumbled through the door, tracking mud and grass
in her wake.

“Boots outside,” reprimanded Minnie, flicking her wand in Tempest’s direction, the dirt
vanishing from the wood. “How was your walk?”

“Almost fell off a cliff,” said Tempest cheerfully, now sock-clad and padding towards
Minnie. “Is there anything to eat? What’s that?”

She was indicating a small wrapped package, roughly the length of her forearm, but
very flat. She poked it for good measure, only to be swatted away by Minnie.

“Nothing that would interest you,” said Minnie, “or at least it didn’t when I said I was
going to buy it for you, so any say you had in the matter is gone. There’s bread on the table and
ham in the pantry, dinner will be at six, so don’t eat too much.”

“Not to worry,” said Tempest, shooting the mystery package another look as she made
her way into the kitchen. She called over her shoulder: “Did any letters come for me while I was
out?”

Back in the living room, Minnie was rolling Tempest’s clothes, muggle shirts with no
sleeves, jeans in blue, black and grey, and socks a poisonous green, to fit at the bottom of the
trunk. Her school robes were folded neatly on top. “No- and I was watching. I’m waiting for a
letter from Albus myself.”

“Oh?”

Tempest reappeared, talking around a mouthful of bread and ham, plate balanced in one
hand, the other clutching a mug of steaming tea.

“Yes, security this year for the tournament.”

Tempest arched an eyebrow. “Is it really that dangerous?”

The scotswoman paused to glance at Tempest. “I should say so. Thank the heavens you
won’t be able to compete, the past three years have already taken ten times that off of my life,
thank you very much.”

Tempest laughed, “well let’s hope for a quieter year for me this year.” A beat passed
where she stared very hard at the trunk Minnie was now slotting textbooks in, beside neatly
wrapped quills and inkbottles. “Didn’t I pack that last night?”

Minnie sniffed. “Terribly. The buckles were about to burst, and you hadn’t folded a single thing.
How you meant to get your textbooks inside when it could barely close before is beyond me.”

“Sheer force of will,” grinned Tempest. “Thanks though- oh!”

The fireplace set in the wall, previously only flickering enough to send the occasional
spark upwards, had leapt up in dancing flames, and there was a voice emitting from the embers.
“Minerva? It’s Amos.”

Minnie turned to Tempest, “Would you mind-”

Tempest, accustomed to such calls, was already retreating with food and drink, very
unconcerned.

“Amos!” She heard as she made her way upstairs and to her room, “Is Alastor alright?”

When Tempest reached her room, she set her plate on top of a stack of books, greeted
Nyx, who curled around her ankles purring in welcome, and settled down in her cozy nook by the
window.

She cradled her mug of tea in her hands, and Nyx curled up on Tempest’s feet,
luminescent eyes focused on the steam twisting upwards.

“Hogwarts tomorrow Nyx,” Tempest told the feline. “Hogwarts, where I can use my
wand. And Hagrid will be there, the twins, Ron and Hermione… and Snape… and whoever’s
taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position this year.” She paused. “No one will top
Remus though, that’s for sure. Triwizard Tournament will be interesting too, if only they hadn’t
cancelled all the Quidditch games. Guess it means they won’t pick team captain this year, even
though Wood’s gone. There wouldn’t be much point.”

Tempest looked over at her Firebolt resting on its stand. “Still, there’s lots of potential
for some games with the Weasleys, just no beating Diggory or Slytherin and Malfoy this year.”
She lifted her mug to her lips. “A shame that.”

*****

Tempest rose on the morning of September 1st to an empty cottage. Minnie always rose early on
the first day of term to apparate to Hogwarts. Tempest took her time getting up. Stretching
languidly, mimicked by Nyx, she dressed sloppily in clothes hanging over the back of a chair, and
headed to the bathroom.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror leaving the bathroom, and doubled back to wet
her hands and run fingers through her hair, flattening and taming the unruly strands. Hermione had
suggested growing her hair out till its weight would keep it from tangling, but Tempest hadn’t the
patience to wait through months of broken combs to reach that hallowed point.

Breakfast was eggs on toast along with a mug of tea and a second that Tempest took with her as she
made her way around the cottage, tidying idly and picking up odds and ends she’d forgotten to
pack.

On review of her trunk, Minnie had done a far better job than Tempest had, which wasn’t exactly
hard, though now there were a few spaces that Tempest quickly filled, whether with Nyx’s
favourite toys or her swimsuit. Minnie never packed it herself, despairing of Tempest’s laps in the
Black Lake, citing dangers like mermaids and the Giant Squid.

It took a while to coax Nyx into her carrier, a half-hour that ended only when Tempest abandoned
nicety, grabbed Nyx by the scruff of her neck and bundled the hissing and spitting cat into the
container.
“I really am sorry,” winced Tempest, as Nyx’s betrayed eyes glared out at her, “I’ll let you out the
moment I get to the dorms, alright? I’d let you ride on my shoulders, I would, only last time I rather
got in trouble when you attacked Neville’s toad.”

Nyx glowered out at her.

Once at Hogwarts, Minnie returned home only rarely, so there were stasis charms already in place
around the cottage, ready to be left undisturbed when Tempest set out for the train. They had been
cast that morning, and Tempest could feel the spells, like a slight pressure behind her ears, a low
humming that Tempest felt rather than heard.

Finally set to go and twenty minutes before the train was due to leave, Tempest shrugged on her
coat and shoes, wedged Nyx’s carrier beneath one arm and grasped her trunk on the same side.

The sickle on the sideboard began to glow blue.

Tempest picked it up and held it tight. There was a jerk from behind her navel, and she felt her feet
lift from the ground.

She landed unsteadily and swallowing back nausea in the middle of torrential rain.

Water soaked her hair instantly, sheeting off her trunk and coat, making Nyx hiss in
displeasure inside her carrier. Cursing, Tempest made her way out from behind the pair of bins
she’d appeared by. She tucked the sickle into her pocket and made her way through the parking lot
and into the Kings Cross terminal, shaking the water from her hair.

London weather. Identical to the weather in the corner of Scotland that Minnie lived,
but the city-folk didn’t have the same sunsets.

Tempest didn’t bother with a trolley, unwilling to force herself past hundreds of other
damp commuters to fetch one, instead heading straight for platform nine and three-quarters. She
waited for a sudden rush of people disembarking from platform ten, and then in the bustle and
distraction of their crowd, slipped easily through the seemingly solid stone barrier.

Platform nine and three-quarters materialized before her.

The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, billowed clouds of steam in
every direction. A haze of white mist drifted down on the heads of students and parents alike,
appearing like ghosts as she drew closer. Nyx shifted irritably in her carrier, and Tempest
abandoned any thought of finding anyone she knew on the platform. The Weasleys usually arrived
fairly late, travelling from the Burrow, and the best she could do was save them an empty
compartment.

She found one fairly quickly, though she had to elbow a girl from Ravenclaw who made
for the door as she did. She stowed her trunk overhead and sat Nyx’s carrier down on a seat beside
her. The steam outside her window had settled enough between puffs for her to catch a clearer
glimpse of students and their parents. She could see Lee Jordan and his mother, Neville saying his
goodbyes his grandmother, and… right on the far end of the platform, furthest away from the
hubbub of other students, she caught sight of three blonde heads.

Tempest had last seen the Malfoy family with near identical sneers at the Quidditch
World Cup. It seemed no different on the platform. Narcissa Malfoy was bidding her son goodbye,
while Lucius Malfoy stood by haughtily. He said something that made Malfoy nod and Malfoy the
senior’s expression became approving. He clasped his son’s shoulder briefly before turning to go.
 Another cloud of white smoke descended, and Tempest turned away from the window
to wait for Hermione and the Weasleys.

They tripped in a minute before the train was set to leave, the hissing of the pistons and
screech of releasing brakes almost drowning out their enthusiastic greetings.

“Sorry about dripping water everywhere-” Fred and George sat heavily on either side of Tempest,
making her dive to save Nyx and resettle the container on her lap, “Merlin, the weather’s awful.”

Hermione, settled down opposite Tempest and fussed about with Ron’s luggage. She made a noise
of assent. “How was the weather up north, Tempest?”

“Better,” said Tempest, going to greet Crookshanks in her own carrier, then Pigwidegon, Ron’s
owl, who hooted so shrilly in excitement, that Ron swore and dropped a horrendous frilled robe
over his cage.

“The bloody bird wouldn’t stop making a racket in the taxi here,” he said, “the driver must’ve
thought we were mental.” He shot the twins a filthy look, “you two didn’t help, going on about
your ton-tongue toffees and whatnot.”

“How are those coming along?” Tempest said interestedly, “last I heard the recipe was just about
perfect, part from the bit where there was the danger of suffocation-”

Hermione choked, her eyebrows narrowed disapprovingly.

Fred grinned, “just that mild setback- and mum had to confiscate most of our stock, but they should
be ready for the market within the month if we can get the right resources in time.”

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north, the storm clouds moving
with purpose alongside them. The sky became so dark and the windows so steamy it was difficult
to see outside, and the lanterns were lit by midday. The chatter was idle and familiar; they had
already caught up during the holidays. When the lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor,
Tempest bought a bunch of assorted snacks for them to share, settling on a sugar quill and a pile of
chocolate frogs for herself.

The afternoon went by with the twins, Ron and Tempest reliving the Quidditch World Cup match,
Ron digging out his miniature Krum figurine to have him walk along the floor of the compartment.
Hermione grew tired of the talk, burying herself in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, a book
whose spine was already creased from use.

The twins went off to find Lee Jordan after a while, Ron watched Krum pace around, bumping into
his shoe and scowling upwards while Tempest started aimlessly at the opaque window.
Somewhere out in the world, there was a post owl winging its way towards her, carrying a letter
from Sirius. Remus she had written a few days afterward, and the thought warmed her as she
gazed beyond her blurred reflection in the glass.

“You know,” she said, Ron and Hermione looking up, “I have a feeling this year will be a good
one.”

“I must have missed something,” drawled a voice from the compartment door. “What would give
you that idea?”

Draco Malfoy had slid the door open. He was as blonde and pointy-faced as ever, though up close,
Tempest could see he had grown many inches in height over the summer. He was not alone either,
behind him, the figures of Crabbe and Goyle loomed. They’d grown a foot at least, becoming even
more heavyset and thuggish.

“Need something Malfoy?” she said coolly, “or were you looking for company more stimulating
than those apes?”

Crabbe’s dull face contorted into a sleepy sneer, his piggy eyes narrowing.

Malfoy smirked. “Avoiding the question Potter? I imagine you’ll be entering this year. Never miss
a chance to show off, do you?”

“Enter what?” said Ron suspiciously.

“There’s an age limit, Malfoy,” said Tempest calmly. “Not something your father told you?”
Evidently not, as Malfoy’s face fell a fraction, and Tempest pressed home. “I suppose you were
thinking of entering? Amazes me. I wouldn’t have thought it’d be your thing. Too… hands on.”

“And what exactly are you implying?” said Malfoy dangerously.

In the background, she could hear Ron hiss to Hermione: “What are they talking about?”

“That you’re an entitled prick who couldn’t take on a simple challenge let alone three death-
defying ones? Not at all.”

Malfoy’s face reddened, potentially memories of a duel that never came about, that night in the
Forbidden Forest, of a bludger whipping towards him, and a hippogriff attack crossing his mind.
His eyes slid sideways, and caught on something.

“Weasley… what is that?” said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwideon’s cage. A sleeve of Ron’s horrible
robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very
obvious. Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the
sleeve and pulled.

“Look at this!” said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron’s robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle,
“Weasley, you weren’t thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean- they were very fashionable in
about eighteen ninety...”

“Eat dung, Malfoy!” said Ron, the same ghastly shade as the robes as he snatched them back out of
Malfoy’s grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

“It’s a shame you can’t enter then, Weasley, you could’ve tried to bring a bit of glory to the family
name. There’s money involved as well, you know... could’ve been able to afford some decent
robes-”

“They’re mine actually,” interrupted Tempest, glancing at the dreadful robes. “I happen to like the
colour.”

Malfoy looked at her incredulously. “They’re your dress robes.” His face contorted as though
about to break into another laughing fit.

“Yeah they’re mine,” said Tempest, she stood quite suddenly, finding herself face to face with
Malfoy. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so insecure I need my robes custom made every time. And I
don’t need to run others down for a laugh.” With a tight smile, she slid the compartment door
firmly closed, forcing Malfoy to jerk his fingers back hastily.

For one moment, it looked as though he was tempted to go for his wand, and Tempest’s own
fingers twitched in anticipation.

Then Malfoy jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle, and stalked off down the corridor.

Tempest settled back down, with a short exhale. “You know somehow every time I see him, I think
he’ll finally have gotten his head screwed on right.”

“I think he came like that,” said Hermione critically. “But Tempest, more importantly-”

“What were you two talking about?” Ron demanded. “Entering what? This is the same stuff mum
and Charlie were going on about, isn’t it? They kept saying something was happening this year,
and you and Malfoy know!”

Tempest grinned. “Well I wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for Minnie. She wouldn’t have told me
if she could have avoided it, but it’s a bit difficult to plan for a massive secret project when you
have a live in student. Malfoy probably found out from his father-”

“But what is it?”

“Triwizard Tournament,” said Tempest.

Hermione continued to look confused, while Ron’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“No,” he breathed, “wicked!”

“It’s this inter-school competition,” Tempest informed Hermione, “three wizarding schools, this
year it’s Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, have one of their students compete in three
challenges for the Triwizard Cup and a bunch of money. It means we won’t be having any
Quidditch matches this year, but I suppose it’ll be fun to watch-”

“It’s wicked,” repeated Ron, “the last games were ages ago. I heard they made a lava pit last time
and the champions had to make their way across it to fight a banshee-” his eyes lit up. “The twins
don’t know yet! Oh I will lord it over them-”

Ron’s enthusiasm lasted through the rest of the journey, still bouncing when the Hogwarts Express
slowed down and finally stopped in the pitch-blackness of the Hogsmeade station.

It seemed the skies had taken it upon themselves to dampen Ron’s mood, as there was the rumble
of thunder overhead. Tempest bundled Nyx’s carrier into her cloak, Hermione mirroring her
actions, while Ron left his lace-frilled robes over Pigwideon’s cage, and the three made their way
out into the night, heads bent against the downpour. The rain came down in buckets of ice water,
instantly plastering her hair to her head and soaking through her robes.

“Hagrid! Hi!” Tempest yelled above the rain, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the
platform and waved with her free arm.

“All righ’, Tempest?” Hagrid bellowed back, “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!”

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. Tempest
could still remember her first view of the castle, glowing against the sky as the lights reflected in
the lake like a sea of stars.

“Oooh, I wouldn’t fancy crossing the lake in this weather,” said Hermione fervently, shivering as
they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd.
“Dunno,” said Tempest, setting her jaw against the chatter, “I’d say it adds to the adventure. A
little taste of the near death experiences to come…”

“Mate, you realize not everyone almost dies each year?” Ron said, losing the battle with his own
teeth, enamel clacking together inbetween words, “It’s not actually normal, you know?”

“Well I wish someone would tell whoever wrote my life,” said Tempest.

A hundred carriages drafted to individual thestrals stood waiting outside the station, the rain
sluicing off the skeletal backs of the beasts. Tempest, Ron and Hermione climbed into one, door
shutting with a snap and leaving the inhabitants to wring their sodden clothing out onto the floor.
The carriage lurched upwards, rumbling and splashing their way up the track towards Hogwarts
Castle.

The ride was a damp shivering one, though the sight of Hogwarts steadily approaching through the
downpour eased the discomfort somewhat. The carriages swayed dangerously in what was fast
becoming a gale, and lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the
great oak front doors.

Those in the carriages in front of theirs were already hurrying up the stone steps towards the Great
Hall. Tempest, Ron and Hermione followed suit, dashing up the steps, only slowing when they
were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

“Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up, the lake’s
going to overflow. I’m soak- ARRGH!”

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron’s head and
exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Tempest, who lost her balance,
looking up for the source.

A second water bomb dropped, narrowly missing Hermione. It exploded at Tempest’s feet, sending
a wave of cold water over her boots. They had held up against the deluge outside, but now her
socks were soaked, and she squelched, following the shrieking people around them to get out of the
line of fire.

It was Peeves the Poltergeist, floating twenty feet above them, a little man in a bell-covered hat and
orange bow tie, his wide malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

“PEEVES!” yelled a familiar and angry voice, “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!”

Minnie, here and now, Transfiguration Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of
Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and
grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

“Ouch- sorry, Miss Granger-”

“That’s all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

“Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked Minnie, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward
through her square-rimmed spectacles.

“Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who
screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeee!” And
he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.
“I shall call the headmaster!” shouted Minnie, “I’m warning you, Peeves-”

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the
marble staircase, cackling insanely.

“Well, move along, then!” said Minnie sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall,
come on!”

Tempest, Ron and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors
on the right. They were still trying to wipe water out of their eyes with equally wet sleeves when
they seated themselves at the Gryffindor table beside Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor Ghost.

“Good evening,” he said, beaming at them, his partially severed head this night held in place with a
particularly large ruff.

“Isn’t it?” muttered Tempest, setting about unlacing her boots and withdrawing her wand from her
sleeve. She emptied the water out of them, and waggled her wand in a complicated twist, “Siccus
Calidus.” A blast of hot wind emitted from her wand, making the long heavy oak table shake
dangerously, and the robes of those nearest to her flare out in sheets of cloth.

“Tempest!”

“Sorry,” said Tempest sheepishly, but unapologetically, slipping her feet back into now toasty
shoes.

Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table. “Hiya, Tempest!”

It was Colin Creevey, a third year who had been infatuated with Tempest since he’d first heard of
her existence in the Wizarding Community.

“Hey,” said Tempest warily, slipping her wand back into her arm holster.

“Guess what? Guess what, Tempest? My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis.”

“Ah, great,” said Tempest. Another Creevey. She could only hope the second would be less prone
to shoving a camera beneath her chin and blinding her with the flash.

“He’s really excited!” said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. “I just hope he’s in
Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Tempest?”

“Yeah, all right,” assured Tempest. She leant back out of his line of sight to look up at the staff
table. Remus was not present, and she knew she wouldn’t be, but the disappointment resettled in
her gut as though it were the first time she had heard he was leaving. There were other empty seats
as well; Hagrid was probably still fighting his way across the lake with the first years, while
Minnie was still in the entrance hall.

“Where’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Hermione urgently, nudging
Tempest.

“Late?” she suggested. “Held up in the face of their sheer incompetence when faced with Professor
Lupin last year?”

Hermione laughed before sobering quickly. “I liked him a lot too Tempest, but if they couldn’t get
anyone for the position this year, then that’ll leave a massive gap in our learning, and there are
OWLs next year!”
Tempest glanced back up at the staff table. All the other teachers were in their usual places,
Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Sinistra, Dumbledore and Snape. Tempest’s gaze lingered on
him, heated and vicious. He was the reason for Remus’s resignation.

It was fair to say though, that Snape despised her as much as she he. She had helped Sirius escape
at the last minute, less than three months ago from right under his nose- Snape and Sirius whose
dislike for each other ran back to their own school days.

“Oh hurry up,” moaned Ron, beside Tempest, “I could eat a hippogriff.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence
fell. Minnie led a long line of first years up to the top of the hall. Sopping wet and dripping, they
appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. Tempest noticed a small mousy-haired
boy draped in Hagrid’s moleskin overcoat, so large it looked as though a furry black circus tent had
collapsed upon him. He looked painfully excited, mouthing I fell in the lake! to Colin Creevey.

Minnie now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years, and on top of it, an
extremely old, and dirty, patched wizard’s hat. The sorting hat lay still for one long moment where
all eyes in the hall rested on it. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the
hat broke into song:

A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

 Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide

Their favorites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I’ve never yet been wrong,

I’ll have a look inside your mind

And tell where you belong!

After the song, the sorting proceeded, with Dennis Creevey being sorted into Gryffindor, joining
his brother with much enthusiasm. After the last first year was sorted into Hufflepuff, the sorting
ended, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. He smiled around at the students and his arms
opened in welcome. “I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his voice echoing around
the Hall. “Tuck in.”

“Hear, hear!” said Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

Tempest loaded her plate with potatoes, thick slices of chicken and ham, and dug into her portion
heartily, the buzz of conversation filling her ears comfortably. Hermione got into some tiff or other
about House Elves at Hogwarts, and refused to eat a bite more, even as Ron wafted plate after plate
of dessert beneath her nose.

“You can’t support this,” insisted Hermione to Tempest, who looked at her past the large mouthful
of banoffee pie she was devouring.

Tempest swallowed hard. “I’m sure Dumbledore treats them better than the Malfoy’s treated
Dobby,” she said, and nudged a tart towards Hermione, “come on, what are you going to do-
starve?”

Hermione huffed.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs faded off their plates, leaving
them sparking clean (“At least the elves don’t need to do the washing up,” said Tempest)
Dumbledore got to his feet again to give his opening speech. He announced the cancellation of the
Quidditch Cup matches to the expected disappointment and appalled faces of those on the teams,
and was about to announce the Triwizard Tournament when the doors of the Great Hall banged
open.

All heads turned to the man standing in the doorway. He leant upon a long staff, shrouded in a
black traveling cloak. A convenient flash of lighting brightly illuminated the figure, who lowered
his hood, shaking out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, beginning to limp heavily towards
the teachers table, dull clunks sounding with every other step. Another flash of lighting threw his
face into sharp relief, revealing a face that looked to be carved out of weathered wood by someone
who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too
skilled with their knife. The scars crisscrossing his face made Tempest’s own, snaking down the
left side of her face, look pale in comparison. The man’s mouth was a diagonal gash, a large chunk
of his nose missing, and his mismatched eyes were unnerving.

One was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue.
The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, rolling up, down and from side to side,
quite independently of the normal eye.

On reaching Dumbledore, the two shook hands, muttering an exchange unheard by the rest of the
hall. The stranger sat down then, shook his hair out of his face, speared a sausage from a plate, and
began to eat, his blue eye continuing to spin widely around the Hall.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into
the silence. “Professor Moody.”

The applause was limp and lackluster, and Dumbledore moved on to introduce the Triwizard
Tournament, to a flurry of whispers around the hall. The mention of a death toll had Hermione
spinning to look at Tempest, “death toll?” she whispered, looking alarmed.

She was the only one though, many others seemed far more excited than concerned, Tempest
amongst them. It would be nice to take a sideline to danger for once. George caught her attention,
leaning down across the table to hiss at her: “Fred and I are going for it! Are you with us?”

Tempest opened her mouth to deliver the bad news, but Dumbledore beat her, announcing the
seventeen-years-or-older rule, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked directly at the furious faces of
the twins.

After Dumbledore’s dismissal, there was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to
their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

“It’s fucking outrageous,” growled George, who had stood, but was not joining the crowd, glaring
darkly in Dumbledore’s direction instead. “We’ll be seventeen in April anyway.”

“Hard luck, mate,” Tempest said, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed, “c’mon, we’ll get
stuck behind this lot if we don’t move-”
“They’re not stopping me from entering,” said Fred, who followed them with a final glare in
Dumbledore’s direction, “the champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do
normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

Ron seemed most interested with the latter aspect, while Hermione tried fruitlessly to convince the
twins that glory versus mortality should lean very much in one direction.

“Give it up, Hermione,” said Tempest as they split off from the boys to head towards their
dormitory, “when’s threat to life ever held up those two?”

Hermione gave Tempest a suspicious look. “You aren’t thinking of trying to trick this judge, are
you?”

Tempest scoffed. “Of course not. I’m having a nice, quiet year of neither safe nor sane mischief
making...” She paused as they reached their dormitory, where Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel
were chattering as they changed into their pajamas. Tempest set about unpacking a few items from
her trunk, which had been deposited at the end of her bed, and letting Nyx out of her carrier. “I’m
not saying the perks aren’t tempting,” she added, watching Nyx leap onto her bed and claim half
the pillow, “but to be honest, I get into enough trouble on my own.”

*****

The following morning was gloomy, with clouds hanging so heavy in the sky, Tempest felt as
though she could reach up and touch them. She considered going for a flight later that day as she,
Ron and Hermione examined their new course schedules at breakfast. They were not joined by the
twins, who with Lee Jordan, were plotting their bluff into the Triwizard Tournament.

The first day back at school began with copious amounts of pus (Herbology) followed by Hagrid’s
new pet project, crates of Blast-Ended Skrewts, lunch, then Divination, a surefire way to set
Tempest’s eyes stinging and mind to sleep.

The incense in the air was cloying when she and Ron emerged through the circular trapdoor to the
room where Professor Trelawney lived and taught. Checking Divination in third year had been a
mistake of Tempest’s, one she was constantly bemused by. Why had she taken it again? She felt
sure it had been for a laugh; only Trelawney had proved to be mentally exhausting.

She and Ron sat down at the same circular table, ignoring all of the chintz chairs and poufs that
cluttered the room.

“Good day,” said Trelawney, her voice coming from right behind Tempest, making her jump.

Trelawney circled around, peering down at Tempest with the same tragic expression she always
adopted when she saw her.

“You are preoccupied, my dear,” she said mournfully to Tempest. “My inner eye sees past your
brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see
difficult times ahead for you, alas… most difficult… I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to
pass… and perhaps sooner than you think…”

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Tempest, who rolled hers back.
The lesson began, with the deciphering of stars as farce-like as anything else they’d ever done in
the class.

Yet against her will, Trelawney’s words echoed in Tempest’s ears. “’the thing you dread will
indeed come to pass…’” What did she fear to come to pass? She couldn’t think of anything she
was dreading particularly at the moment. Not unless you counted Sirius being caught, but he was
resourceful and Trelawney was, after all, a fraud… save for that one time-

“-take Tempest, here, her life rife with despair. She was clearly born under the baleful influence of
Saturn.”

Tempest redirected her attention to Trelawney, who stared down at her expectantly.

“Born… under Saturn.” Tempest said blankly. “The planet.”

“Yes dear, Saturn,” said Trelawney, a note of annoyance entering her voice, clearly irritated by
Tempest’s lack of concern. “Clearly Saturn was in a position of power in the heavens at the
moment of your birth… your dark hair… your stunted growth-” here Tempest mouthed ‘stunted
growth?’ over to Ron, who appeared to be choking back snickers. “-tragic losses so young in life…
I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?”

“No,” said Tempest, “I was born late July.”

Half an hour later, they were assigned the dull task of finding the position of the planets at their
birth. It was tedious, and poring over star charts and planetary positions, Tempest was looking at
several intersecting planets, still ruffled by Trelawney’s comment. She finally broke the stupor
they had fallen into.

“What did she mean ‘stunted growth?’” she snorted, regretting it shortly afterward as Trelawney’s
perfume made her sneeze. “I’m taller than you are.”

“Probably meant you’re a beanpole,” said Ron, “and I’m going to get taller.”

“That why the twins fondly refer to you as a midget?”

Ron shoved at Tempest, who crowed, and brandished her parchment beneath his nose. Ron, as it
turned out, was born under the influence of Uranus.

They headed down to dinner, still bickering, joined by Hermione halfway down the staircase. They
had just reached the end of the line of people queuing for dinner, when a loud voice rang out
behind them.

“Weasley! Hey, Potter!”

Tempest, Ron and Hermione turned. Malfoy was brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet at them,
Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. They all looked thoroughly pleased.

“What’s in that?” said Tempest shortly.

Malfoy shot her a malicious look, and turned to Ron. “Your dad’s in the paper, listen to this!”

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

 It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter,
Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup,
and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged
into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle
Artifacts Office.”

Here Malfoy paused in his reading. “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It’s
almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?” Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish
and read on:

Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday
involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (“policemen”) over a number of highly
aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the
aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a
handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr.
Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley
was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to
answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and
potentially embarrassing scene.

“And there’s a picture, Weasley!” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it
up. “A picture of your parents outside their house- if you can call it a house! Your mother could do
with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?”

Ron was shaking with fury. The line had fallen silent and everyone was watching them.

Tempest grabbed Ron’s arm. “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Oh yeah, you stayed with them this summer, didn’t you, Potter?” sneered Malfoy. “Tell me, is his
mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?”

Tempest tightened her grip on Ron’s arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “His
mum’s lovely,” she said through a tight jaw, “much less can be said for yours. C’mon Ron, ignore
him.”

Malfoy’s expression became jeering. “Got your girlfriend to fight your battles for you
now, Weasley?”

Now that was new.

Tempest’s grip on Ron’s arm became as grounding for her as she meant it for him. Ron
was saying “she’s not my-” while Tempest stared fixedly at Malfoy. “If you want to talk about
mothers, Malfoy, yours? That look she has, like she’d expected better- is that a result of all the
inbreeding, or was it just because you were with her?”

Malfoy’s pale face went slightly pink.

“Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.”

“I was insulting you both really,” said Tempest, turning away.

BANG!

Several people screamed- Tempest felt something white-hot graze the side of her face,
the smell of burning hair caught in her nostrils- she slid her wand out of her sleeve, but before
she’d even turned with a curse of her own on her lips, she heard a second loud BANG, and a roar
that echoed throughout the entrance hall.

“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”

Tempest spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His
wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-
flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.

Tempest’s mouth fell open. There was silence in the entrance hall, nobody but Moody
was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Tempest- at least, his normal eye looked at
Tempest, the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

“Did he get you?” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

“No,” said Tempest, swallowing. “He missed, look, thanks, but isn’t this a bit mu-”

“LEAVE IT?” Moody shouted.

“What?”

“Not you- him!” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who
had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody’s rolling eye was magical
and could see out the back of his head. Moody started to limp towards Crabbe and the ferret, which
gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

“I don’t think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again- it flew ten feet
up in the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,” growled Moody
as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to
do…”

Moody advanced on the ferret, which flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing
helplessly. Tempest found herself drawing nearer, even as all the other students backed away.

“Professor,” said Tempest, coming up behind Moody, her eyes fixed on the ferret, “and
hell I don’t like Malfoy, but uh, I think this is a bit inappropiate-”

Moody however, seemed unable to hear her, and the ferret continued to bounce, hitting
the stone floor repeatedly as Moody schooled, “Never- do- that- again-”

Tempest wondered how to intervene- if she should intervene, because even as she
winced when the ferret smacked against the ground, she couldn’t say that Malfoy’s comeuppance
didn’t leave her a tad satisfied. She was saved from having to.

“Professor Moody!” said a shocked voice.

 Minnie was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

“What- what are you doing?” said Minnie, her eyes following the bouncing ferret’s
progress through the air.

“Teaching,” said Moody.

“Teach- Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Minnie, the books spilling out of her arms.

“Yep,” said Moody.

“No!” cried Minnie, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later,
with a loud popping noise, Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond
hair all over his now all over his flushed face. He got to his feet wincing, his eyes watering with
pain and humiliation.

“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Minnie, her voice

sounding as though she were amazed the words needed to be said, “surely Professor Dumbledore
told you that?”

“Might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I
thought a good sharp shock-”

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”

“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

When Moody had dragged Malfoy off to the dungeons to speak with Snape, the rest of
the line returned to their conversations, an excited babble about what had just happened. Tempest
slid out of it however, and went to speak to Minnie, who was just magiking her fallen books back
into her arms.

“Professor McGonagall,” said Tempest.

“Miss Potter,” Minnie returned, “what can I do for you?”

Tempest glanced in the direction that Moody and Malfoy had went and grimaced.
“Moody- Professor Moody… He’s not… unhinged, is he?”

Minnie sighed. “Alastor was an auror for a long time under Crouch, back when the
Ministry of Magic was using extreme force to bring death eaters in.” She shook her head. “Some
aurors afterward became less restrained, and Alastor… well, he wears his history on his face,
doesn’t he?”

*****

The next two days passed without great incident, other than a few mishaps with Neville
and Snape, Snape whom was in a foul mood, more so than usual.

The cause of his mood was easily traced back to Moody. Snape had disliked all their
past Dark Arts teachers, (Tempest really couldn’t blame him for Quirrell or Lockhart) particularly
Remus, and shown it- but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity for Moody.
Indeed, whenever Tempest chanced to see the two of them together- at mealtimes, or when they
passed in the corridors- she got the impression that Snape was avoiding Moody’s eye, whether
magical or normal.

The two people at Hogwarts who Tempest disliked most, Snape and Malfoy, had been
taken down a peg by Moody. Tempest should have admired Moody. It was odd though, when her
first lesson with him rolled around on Thursday, she could only feel an uneasy rolling sensation in
her gut.

Most of the Gryffindors were in awe of Moody now, his reputation from other classes
filtering down to them, and the story of him and Malfoy-the-ferret quickly spreading. They arrived
early to his class after lunchtime on Thursday, and waited expectantly for Moody to arrive.

They didn’t have to wait long before they could hear his distinctive clunking footsteps
coming down the corridor. Tempest could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from
underneath his robes. He took the register first, his normal eye moving down the list, while his
magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

It seemed that this year they would not be dealing with Dark creatures. Moody began
the lesson discussing curses. Fred and George, who had had Moody earlier that week, had gone on
at length about how he had known what it was like to be out there, and Tempest understood now
entirely. Moody spoke to prepare for the worst, that a wizard about to use an illegal curse wouldn’t
announce themselves- and Tempest knew that. She’d lived that.

“So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”
Moody was asking.

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron’s and Hermione’s. Moody
pointed at Ron.

“Er,” said Ron slowly, “my dad told me about one… Is it called the Imperius Curse or
something?”

“Ah, yes,” said Moody appreciatively. “Your father would know that one. Gave the
Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” Moody got heavily to his mismatched
feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling
around inside it. Tempest felt Ron recoil slightly next to her. Moody reached into the jar, caught
one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed
his wand at it and muttered, “Imperio!”

The spider leapt from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and
forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the
thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and
the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing- everyone except Tempest and Moody.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” he growled. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?”

The laughter died away almost instantly.

“Total control,” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I
could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats… Years
back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for
the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free
will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of
character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT
VIGILANCE!” he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. “Anyone else know one?
Another illegal curse?”

Hermione’s hand flew into the air again and so did Neville’s. That was unusual in itself. The only
class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology, which was easily his best
subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

“Yes?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

“There’s one- the Cruciatus Curse,” said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

“Your name’s Longbottom?” he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large,
he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained
motionless, apparently too scared to move.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said,
pointing his wand at the spider. “Engorgio!” The spider swelled. It was now larger than a
tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody’s
desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, “ Crucio!”

At once, the spider’s legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking
from side to side. It made no sound, but given a voice, Tempest could hear the screams
reverberating around her head. She felt rather nauseous, a similar feeling to when she had seen
Moody tormenting the Malfoy-ferret. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to
shudder and jerk more violently-

“Stop it!” Hermione said shrilly.

Hermione did not seem concerned with the spider; she was looking at Neville. Neville, whose
hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider’s legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

“Reducio,” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the
jar. “Pain,” said Moody softly. “You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you
can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too. Right… anyone know any
others?”

Tempest felt justified in her ill feelings now. She looked at the spider in the last jar, and knew the
spell that Moody was asking for. Tempest saw Hermione’s hand rise into the air, but Moody’s
normal eye was fixed unwavering on her. The three unforgivable curses. Imperio. Crucio.
“Miss Potter?”

Tempest met his gaze. “Avada Kedavra.”

Moody nodded. A slight smile twisted his lopsided mouth as he reached for the last, frantically
scrambling spider. It tried to evade Moody’s fingers, but he trapped it and placed it upon the
desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. Moody raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something
was soaring through the air- instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked but
unmistakably dead.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk and onto the floor.

“Not nice,” he said calmly, “Not pleasant. The killing curse. There’s no countercurse, no blocking
it. Only one person has ever survived it, and she’s sitting right in front of me.”

Tempest was sure she had become very pale as she stared straight forward. She could feel
everyone else looking at her, just as Moody’s eyes were fixed on her face. Avada Kedavra. Her
first memory, her first certainty. Even now she could hear the echo of the words from across the
past, she could still remember that light, the blinding green that had washed over and through her
like a wave.

It was the light that had taken her parents. When she had lived with the Dursleys, believing they
had died in a car crash, she had assumed the light had been from a traffic signal, amplified a
thousandfold. When she had learnt they had been murdered…

She could picture it now, James and Lily Potter falling to the ground like marionettes with their
strings cut. They would’ve been standing, Tempest thought. James, in the hallway beyond the
bedroom, trying to delay Voldemort, to defend his family, alive and shouting to Lily to run… Lily
would have been before Tempest’s crib, shielding her from harm, pleading for him to kill her
instead, knowing James was lying dead outside. Before the same flash of green light faded, she too
would lie dead on the floor.

What was it that had saved Tempest? What was it that had turned the spell against Voldemort
when he had used it again and again without consequence? She didn’t know. She didn’t think
she’d ever know.

With great effort, Tempest pulled herself back to the present, sitting in her chair and listening to
Moody.

“Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it- you could all get your
wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I’d get so much as a
nosebleed. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there’s no
countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you’ve got to know. You’ve got to appreciate what
the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. CONSTANT
VIGILANCE!” he roared. “Now... those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus-
are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is
enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to
teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice
constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills... copy this down…”
When the bell rang and they were dismissed, Tempest rose to leave with the rest, silent amongst
the torrent of chatter that burst forth. People were discussing the curses in awed voices, as though it
had been some sort of show, fantastic and entertaining.

“Are you alright?” asked Hermione.

“Peachy.”

Tempest felt very disconnected, her limbs moving automatically. She caught sight of someone in a
side passage.

“Better than Neville at least.”

Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the
same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

“Neville?” Hermione said gently.

Neville looked around. “Oh hello,” he said, his voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson,
wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for dinner, I’m- I’m starving, aren’t you?”

“Neville, are you all right?” said Hermione.

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner- I
mean lesson- what’s for eating?”

Ron gave Tempest a startled look. “Neville, what-?” But an odd clunking noise sounded behind
them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All four of them fell silent,
watching him, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than they had yet
heard.

“It’s all right, sonny,” he said to Neville. “Why don’t you come up to my office? Come on… we
can have a cup of tea...”

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor
spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Tempest.

“You all right, are you, Potter?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Tempest in a hard sort of voice.

Moody’s blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed her. Then he said, “You’ve got to
know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you’ve got to know. No point pretending… well... come on,
Longbottom, I’ve got some books that might interest you.”

Neville looked pleadingly at Tempest, Ron, and Hermione, but they didn’t say anything, so Neville
had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody’s gnarled hands on his
shoulder.

“What was that about?” said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, looking pensive.

Tempest said nothing. She could hardly be the only one with a difficult past.

She drifted through the rest of the day in a sort of haze, an odd sort of in-between feeling, where
she felt both very heavy yet in danger of coming loose. She… she felt very tired, like she wanted to
do nothing but curl up with Nyx as a soothing weight on her stomach. She didn’t want to talk, but
she wanted to sit, preferably close to a fireplace and simply be. Tempest missed Remus incredibly
in that moment, and she considered going to find Minnie in her office, but decided against it at the
last minute. Hell, she wanted Sirius. Sirius who she really only knew through the half-a-dozen
letters they’d exchanged throughout the holidays.

Tempest ran into Neville later that night. He was heading up to his dormitory with a book tucked
under his arm.

“All right, Neville?” asked Tempest.

He looked calmer, though his eyes were rather red, and he nodded jerkily.

“I’m fine, thanks. Professor Moody just let me this book-” He held up the book: Magical Water
Plants of the Mediterranean. “Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I’m really good
at Herbology,” Neville said. There was a faint note of pride in his voice that Tempest had rarely
heard before. “He thought I’d like it.”

It was a very tactful way of cheering Neville up, Tempest thought, he needed to know he had his
strengths. It was the sort of thing that Remus might have done, and in that, Tempest wondered why
Moody still unnerved her so much.

“You are great at Herbology,” Tempest said instead, “those times we’ve partnered in class are the
best marks I’ve ever gotten.” It was no lie. Even with Hermione’s supervision, plants withered and
died beneath Tempest’s touch.

“Thanks,” said Neville, looking happier, and Tempest bid him a good night.

Tempest sat and screwed around with her Divination homework with Ron for a good while, then
left to join the twins. Ron had made a shit joke about learning his parents had been in a terrible
accident. Tempest had laughed it off, and then spent a minute feeling like she had been hit over the
head with a broomstick.

She joined the twins, who welcomed her with easy smiles and much shuffling of a piece of
parchment they had been poring over.

“What’s that?”

Fred hesitated, and George smacked him over the shoulder. “It’s Tempest!” he said, as though that
were all the argument needed, and he turned to Tempest.

“Remember that bet we made with Bagman?”

“Yeah?”

“That Krum would catch the snitch but Ireland would win-”

“Oh,” Tempest saw where this was going. “He didn’t pay you back.”

“He paid us back alright,” scowled Fred, “in leprechaun gold.”

“It disappears at midnight,” George informed at Tempest’s blank look. “Anyway, now the scum is
trying to get out of paying us back, and we’ve sent him letter after letter trying to get him to pay
up…”
“This is meant to be the last polite letter we send,” said Fred, “we don’t want to sound like we’re
accusing him of taking our money, only… he’s an official in the Ministry, you know? If he had the
money, why isn’t he paying it?”

“That was all our savings,” said George darkly. “Without them, it’s a massive setback. We can still
make stuff like… our Canary Creams, but Headless Hats, the fireworks…”

“If you guys need an investor,” suggested Tempest, “I could invest. Give you a bit of a boost-”

George shifted uncomfortably, though Fred opened his mouth as though to agree. They shared a
look.

“We’ll keep trying Bagman,” said Fred eventually, “he’s got to give.”

Tempest shrugged unconcernedly, and the talk turned to the Triwizard Tournament. The twins
were trying to get their hands on an aging potion: “It wouldn’t have to be much, just enough to age
us up a few months.” George turned to Tempest, “I don’t suppose-?”

Tempest was the brewer. It was a shame really about Potions at Hogwarts. It would easily have
been her best subject, were it not for Snape. Transfiguration may have been her favourite subject,
but Potions had come easily to Tempest.

“That I can do for you boys.”

By the time Hermione came through the portrait door after her latest stint in the library, Tempest
had rejoined Ron and they were just finishing up their predictions for Divination. Hermione joined
them, looking very pleased with herself. She set down a sheaf of parchment and a box that rattled
beside Tempest, and pulled their homework towards her.

“Not going to have a very good month, are you?” she said sardonically to Ron, before glancing
over to Tempest’s. “Either of you.”

Tempest shrugged, while Ron yawned, “ah well, at least I’m forewarned.”

“Right, well what’s this all about?” Tempest motioned at the box, and began to read the top piece
of parchment upside-down. It was covered in Hermione’s neat print, and seemed to be a summary
of House Elves’ standing in Wizarding society for the past millennium. And written in large letters
above above: “Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” read out Tempest, “Hermione?”

“S.P.E.W, for short,” said Hermione brightly, “I made badges-” she opened the box on top and
shook about fifty badges, all different colours and bearing the letters S.P.E.W beneath Tempest’s
nose.

“Spew,” said Ron skeptically, leaning over Tempest’s shoulder and picking one up for inspection.
“Who’s going to go around wearing badges saying ‘spew’?”

Hermione’s look was telling. Ron groaned. “Hermione, tell me you aren’t still banging on about
House Elves. They. Like. It. They like being told what to do!”

Hermione redirected her attention to Tempest. “I’ve been researching it thoroughly in the library.
Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can’t believe no one’s done anything about it before now.
Our short term aims are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term
aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for
the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they’re shockingly underrepresented.”
“Right,” said Tempest, “but don’t you think that to achieve all of that you should really start
working on the very last bit first?” She looked around at Ron, “Ron’s right really, I mean I know
you mean well, but ultimately the house elves know best how they want to be treated.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “But they’ve been conditioned-”

But Tempest was no longer listening.

There was a soft tap, tap on the window of the common room. There, across the empty common
room and illuminated by the moonlight, a tawny brown barn owl perched on the windowsill.
Tempest launched herself across the room to pull open the window, uncaring of the gust of chill air
that surged into the room. “Finally!”

The owl hooted gratefully, fluttering to land on Tempest’s proffered forearm, it’s clawed feet
sinking into her sleeve. Tempest stroked down its head and neck with a finger, her eyes fixed on
the roll of parchment tied to the owl’s leg with twine.

“I think I’ll have an early night,” said Tempest, already walking towards the girls’ dormitories,
“gnight Ron, Hermione.”

Once in her dorm, Tempest hastily got ready for bed, then drawing the curtains around her bed and
spelling them to remain closed. It was always best to stay on the better side of post owls, so
Tempest fed the owl some of Nyx’s tidbits before she went to unknot the parchment.

It was the same letter she had last sent Sirius right before she left to stay with the Weasleys for the
Quidditch World Cup.

Her letter read:

Dear Sirius- Your letter was hilarious, thanks! I really needed that: earlier I’d just broken my arm:
I hit a rock swimming. Minnie fixed it eventually, so it just aches a fair amount now. Your letter
arrived just in time to save me from moping about for an afternoon.

I have no idea where you find these birds, but this last one is the size of a small boulder. Useful
though: you should expect a parcel delivered by boulder-bird not too long after this letter arrives, I
doubt he’ll be flying very quickly with the weight I’m strapping to his legs. I’d feel bad, but he isn’t
the one running around the world in threadbare rags.

I did manage to broach the subject of animagi with Minnie and I don’t think she suspected
anything. What I understood ultimately is the Ministry places a lot of scrutiny and checkpoints in
place for people applying to become registered animagi, and it really slows the whole process
down. So it took her five years to shift into her cat form as opposed to you and James, where it only
took about two. Do you suppose, with all of the resources and research available to me, and your
help, I could do it in about a year? I know it sounds ambitious, but it’s all for Remus.

I’ve tried these few weeks to make the Wolfsbane but it’s an immensely complex potion. I’ll keep
working on it of course, but it’s hardly as though I could ask Snape for help. Merlin.

Wishing you well, as always. Has Buckbeak stopped moulting yet? I hope he’s less irritable now, I
really had no idea, and we studied them for a good while in Magical Creatures. I wrote Hagrid,
said it was for curiosity’s sake, and he says giving a hippogriff a good brushing down will make
him feel better.
I’m about to leave Minnie’s and stay with the Weasleys for the Quidditch World Cup, but I’ll be
back before the end of the holidays so I can get some more reading on the whole animagi business
done. I must say from what I’ve read so far, it’s far less spell casting and more meditation that
takes place. I wonder what I’ll turn into. You can hardly choose after all. Some sort of bird would
be quite cool, though something large and four-legged would be useful around Moony.

What do you think the odds are of my turning into a doe?

On a side note, something odd happened last night: I had a really vivid dream, one I only vaguely
remember now. It was Voldemort and Pettigrew plotting to kill me. Hardly inspiring I know, except
my scar hurt. Last time that happened was second year at Hogwarts when I came in contact with a
shadow of Voldemort living in a journal. I checked but he wasn’t anywhere near. No one knows the
exact location of where I live anyway, save for Minnie and Dumbledore. Is it normal then, for
curse scars to hurt afterward?

It probably is just coincidence, I might have hit my head when I broke my arm, and that’s all it is, I
thought I might as well ask though.

My best to Buckbeak. Stay safe.

-Best, Tempest

Sirius’s reply was scrawled hastily out in pen on the back. It read:

Tempest- Your misadventures never cease to amaze- sorry amuse. At some point you’ll become
little but scar-tissue held together by magic and sheer force of will. Now who does that remind me
of? Thanks for the clothes, and the food. The underwear was a highlight, and the socks. One never
really considers socks do they? Not until you don’t have any: then they become priceless. The
bloody bird is fine- by virtue of rubbing all of his feathers over me: I spent a whole afternoon
hacking up his down when he chose to moult all over where I was sleeping. He’s a menace and if
we weren’t friends, I’d pluck him and stuff a pillow. I’d say your odds are pretty good- your
patronus is one, right? Does are useful too, bloody good at running. Of course, contrary as you
are, you could very well be a flamingo for all we know. The meditation was what really held James
and I up, we couldn’t seem to get into the right headspace for whatever reason. I’m flying back
north right now. Even where I was, there have been a string of strange rumors, and your tale of
your scar hurting caps it all. Curses don’t usually leave scars, you see, not unless they’re meant to.
We can talk more as I get closer: if anything else unusual happens go straight to Dumbledore.
You’ll hear from me soon I promise. –Sirius.

Nyx leapt up onto Tempest’s bed, curling up on her ankles with a greeting purr, then focusing
narrowed eyes on the owl that perched innocently on Tempest’s coverlet, cleaning its feathers.

Tempest reached for a piece of parchment, quill and ink from her bedside dresser, setting about
writing a reply. Thoughts of what to write first sprung to mind, thoughts such as: ‘What do you
think you’re doing?’ ‘You just escaped Azkaban, are you really so eager to return?’ ‘Sirius, forget
my paranoid ramblings: I’m fine, you just stay safe and. Out. Of. Britain.’

Settled, she set quill to parchment.

Sirius- I suppose it’s futile to tell you to stay put? To stay safe and out of Britain? The initial
excitement might have died down, but I still see your face on a wanted poster every now and then.
Don’t jeopardize your freedom for some paranoid inkling of mine. Whatever rumors you’ve heard,
I’m sure Dumbledore’s heard as well. Take your own advice and leave it to him. Please. In the
event that you don’t listen to me, which is incredibly likely, be careful. If you need anything, owl
me. Stay under the radar. Also, I think you’re an idiot. –Best, Tempest.

After watching the owl wing its way across the moonlit sky, Tempest returned to bed. She
flattened and smoothed out the creases in Sirius’ letter, before folding it neatly into a quarter of its
previous side and fishing around in her trunk to withdraw a thick stack of letters held together by
elastic. She added the last letter to the pile, slipping it in under the elastic and returning the bundle
of letters to the bottom of her trunk.
 And Predictably Things Take a Turn for the Worse

Chapter Two-

Sirius remained at the forefront of Tempest’s mind for the next couple of weeks. She kept an eye
on the Daily Prophet, knowing if the Wizarding World had any hint of Sirius’s whereabouts, his
name would be plastered all over the headlines. She had not received a reply from him, but she
could only be grateful that no-one had sighted him yet.

Hogwarts was doing it’s best to keep her occupied in the meanwhile. There was a significant
increase in workload from all of her subjects, which led to a prioritization of her subjects and her
grades in Astronomy, History of Magic, Herbology and Divination taking a dive.

Transfiguration, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures and Charms she managed to stay on top of,
while Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to be…

There was no mistaking that Professor Moody knew what he was talking about. His lessons were
engaging and informative, he could hold the entire class spellbound. Tempest found herself
enjoying his classes as much as she did Charms or Transfiguration. If she could tamp down on the
sense of wrongness that permeated the air whenever she was around him. It was nothing like what
she had felt around Quirrell, and she tried to ignore it. It was likely a side effect of having been
around so much dark magic, and Tempest could hardly hold that against the man.

It didn’t make being around him easy though.

It certainly didn’t help when Moody had lessons where he was actively cursing the class, to see if
they could resist the effects.

“But- but you said it’s illegal to use the Imperius Curse, Professor,” said Hermione uncertainly as
Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle
of the room. “You said- to use it against another human was-”

“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto
Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you’d rather learn the hard way- when
someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely- fine by me. You’re excused. Off
you go.”

He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something
about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and
put the Imperius Curse upon them. Tempest watched queasily as, one by one, her classmates did
the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the
room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series
of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state.
Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when
Moody had removed it.

“Potter,” Moody growled, “you next.”

Tempest battered down the squirming of her gut and moved into the space cleared of desks. Moody
raised his wand, pointed it at Tempest, and said, “Imperio!”
It was delightful. Tempest was surrounded by clouds, floating blissfully. She hadn’t noticed how
tense and stressed she had been till her mind was wiped clean. She felt… happy. Happy in a very
vague, contented way. She was only dimly aware of the class standing around and watching her.

And then she heard Moody’s voice, echoing in some distant chamber of her brain: Jump onto the
desk… jump onto the desk…

A desk wavered into clarity before Tempest’s eyes and she prepared to leap on top of it.

Jump onto the desk…

But. A thread of doubt wormed its way into the contented haze of her mind. This wasn’t right. She
couldn’t recall being this at ease- ever, it was downright unnatural was what this was, and the
voice that presumed to tell her what to do-

Jump onto the desk…

No, actually. Fuck you, Tempest’s mind retorted firmly. And by the way, get out of my head-

Jump! NOW!

The next thing Tempest felt was a stabbing pain lancing up through her foot. She had overturned
the desk in question, her enthusiastic serving to have the desk crash down on her foot, crushing
what seemed to be all of her toes.

“Now, that’s more like it!” growled Moody’s voice, and suddenly, the clouds were blown away
and reality crashed down upon Tempest hard enough to make her stagger. Or perhaps that was her
foot, which seemed to have doubled in pain.

“Look at that, you lot! Potter fought! She fought it, and she beat it! Overturned the desk rather than
jumped onto it- We’ll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention- watch her eyes,
that’s where you see it- very good Miss Potter, very good indeed! They’ll have trouble controlling
you!”

“Merlin, I could do with a cup of tea,” groaned Tempest as she limped out of the DADA class an
hour later (She had been subjected to the Imperius Curse four more times before she could throw
off the curse without any additional, unintended actions). “And a block of chocolate. Mind you, I
might not drink that tea, just cradle it and groan some more. Christ.”

Ron was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than
Tempest, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunchtime. When they reached
the steps down to the entrance hall, she had to save him from breaking his neck as they descended
the stairs.

“What’s going on?”

The entrance hall was crowded with a large amount of students milling around a large sign that had
been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Tempest and Ron, being the tallest, craned their
necks and stood on tiptoe to read the sign to Hermione.

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30th
of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their
dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

“Only a week away!” said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd,
his eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I’ll go and tell him...”

“Cedric?” said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off.

“Diggory,” said Tempest. “I’m hardly surprised he’s interested in entering.”

“That idiot, Hogwarts champion?” said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd
toward the staircase.

“He’s not an idiot. You just don’t like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch,” said
Hermione. “I’ve heard he’s a really good student- and he’s a prefect.” She spoke as though this
settled the matter.

“You only like him because he’s handsome,” said Ron scathingly.

“Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!” said Hermione indignantly. Ron
gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like “Lockhart!” and looked to Tempest for
confirmation.

Tempest shrugged. “He’s a decent enough from what I know, his dad’s a bit of a prick though,
remember? We bumped into them at the Quidditch Cup.”

“I really don’t like people just because they’re handsome,” Hermione hissed to Tempest, who
spread her hands in a placating manner.

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the
castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter
where Tempest went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like
highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament
would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

Tempest noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several
grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in
their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were
suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving
so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year
girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too. “Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you
can’t even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!” Minnie barked
at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted
his own ears onto a cactus.

“And you, Miss Potter, stop smirking!”

Tempest blinked and occupied herself, sucking on the end of a sugar quill as she surveyed her own
cactus. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own things to think about. The aging potion she was
brewing for the twins was about done, and she still hadn’t heard back from Sirius.
 *****

When Tempest went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, she found that
the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of
them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle
for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for
Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion,
eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

“Morning,” said Tempest, walking towards where the twins were sitting separate from the others at
Gryffindor table and slipping a small vial out from her sleeve and dropping it into George’s palm,
before sliding onto the bench beside him. “A delivery for Mr Weasley?”

“Genius,” grinned George, “thanks Hedgy.”

“No problem. It’s one drop each about ten minutes before whenever you approach the judge- Hey,
have you two heard from Bagman yet?”

“No,” scowled Fred, “but if he won’t talk to us in person, we’ll have to send him the letter after all.
Or we’ll stuff it into his hand. With the Tournament he can’t avoid us forever.”

“Who’s avoiding you?”

Ron and Hermione had arrived, and they settled down opposite them.

“Malfoy, with any luck,” said Tempest smoothly, beginning to mix sugar into her tea. “Have you
noticed he’s gone a bit quiet recently?”

This distracted Ron immediately.

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes closing briefly as he munched on a piece of bacon. “Ever since the
ferret incident. Oh I’m reliving it now…”

Tempest left him to his reminiscing and set about slathering a slice of toast in honey. The twins
began to discuss the judging of the tournament with Tempest commenting inbetween bites of toast
and sipping of tea. Of course, all of that immediately became sidelined when the rush of post owls
arrived, and she noticed one angling down towards her.

The post owl swooped down to land wearily in the space between Tempest’s plate and the rack of
toast. It busied itself eating the bacon off Ron’s plate as Tempest pulled off Sirius’s reply.

Tempest- Resistance is futile- I’m back in the country and well hidden, so stop your worrying. I feel
as though you spend an awful lot of time looking out for me as opposed to thinking about your own
wellbeing. I’m fine, could you please ensure that you remain fine as well? A storm is brewing,
Tempest. Keep your eyes open, and if you need me, I’m close. –Yours. Sirius

Tempest folded the letter into quarters and slipped it into her pocket.
The rest of the day passed fairly quickly, either by virtue of the shorter classes, or the happy
presence that sat at the back of Tempest’s mind. Sirius was still safe and closer now. She didn’t
know how close exactly, but it was enough to know she wouldn’t have to wait weeks for a reply
between letters.

When the bell rang early, Tempest, Ron, and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited
their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back
downstairs into the entrance hall.

The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.

“Miss Potter, comb that ragged mess! Weasley, straighten your hat,” Minne snapped at them both.
“Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.”

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. Tempest ran
fingers through her hair in an effort to make the tufts sit flat. The look on Hermione’s face told her
she was unsuccessful.

“Follow me, please,” said Minnie. “First years in front... no pushing...”

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was
falling and a pale, transparent- looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.
Tempest, standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis
Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years.

“Nearly six,” said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front
gates. “How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?”

“I doubt it,” said Hermione.

“How many are coming anyway?” asked Tempest. “To come from France and… er… where’s
Durmstrang again?”

“Somewhere further north,” said Hermione, “they’ve got fur cloaks as part of their uniform so it
must be freezing year-round.”

“Well isn’t that typical,” scowled Ron, who was clearly beginning to feel the cold very keenly,
“trust the Finnish-”

Tempest laughed, “Ron, I really don’t think the Finnish would choose a name so Germanic.”

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers. “Aha!
Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

“Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

“There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large and shadowy was swooping across the sky, growing steadily larger as it
approached, hurtling at an immense speed. It skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest,
and the lights shining from the castle windows revealed it to be a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-
drawn carriage, the size of a large house. It was pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses,
all palominos and each the size of an elephant.

Buckbeak would have looked like a foal beside any one of them.
The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to
land at a tremendous speed- then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a
Slytherin fifth year’s foot, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second
later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their
enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

The carriage had just settled when the door bearing a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands,
each emitting three stars) to it opened. A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage,
bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of
golden steps. He sprang back respectfully.

Then emerged the largest woman she had ever seen. Tempest did not mean large in the sense of
someone like… Vernon say, but she was incredibly tall, perhaps Hagrid’s height. Now in contrast
to the first years she stood before, she seemed to tower even larger. As she stepped into the light
flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large,
black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at
the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals
gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them
standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.

Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a
glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it. “My dear Madame
Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ’ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.

“My pupils,” said Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

Tempest eyed the dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, who had
emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Maxime. They were shivering, which
was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were
wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. They were all staring
up at Hogwarts with apprehensive eyes. Tempest felt herself with the urge to drape her cloak over
one particularly frail looking girl, who was shaking so much, if a breath of wind ghosted from over
the Black Lake she was likely to keel over.

“’As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Maxime asked.

“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or
would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” said Maxime. “But ze ’orses-”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore,
“the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his
other- er- charges.”

“Skrewts,” Ron muttered to Tempest, grinning.

“My steeds require- er- forceful ’andling,” said Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether
any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong…”
“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

“Very well,” said Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink
only single-malt whiskey?”

“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.

“Come,” said Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and
her students to pass up the stone steps.

“How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?” Seamus Finnigan said, leaning
around Lavender and Parvati to address Tempest and Ron.

“Who knows if they’ll be coming the same way,” said Tempest, watching the horses snort at each
other, massive gusts of steam emitting from their flared nostrils. She wondered if Hagrid might let
her handle one of them at some later date. “They might come in riding dragons. That’d make
Hagrid’s day.”

They stood now waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully at
the sky. But then-

“Can you hear something?” said Ron suddenly.

A loud and eerie noise was drifting to them out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking
sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed…

“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!”

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the
smooth black surface of the water- except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some
disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves
were now washing over the muddy banks- and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool
appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor. What seemed to be a long,
black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool… and then Tempest saw the
rigging.

“It’s a mast,” she breathed.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a skeletal
look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its
portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely,
bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they
heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being
lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s
portholes. All of them, Tempest noticed were wearing heavy cloaks, made out of some shaggy,
matted fur. Their height and stature however, suggested they were far more suited to Hogwarts’
climate than the Beauxbatons’ group. The man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing
furs of a different sort: sleek and silver like his hair.

“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how
are you?”

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors
of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and
his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached
Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

“Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow,
and Tempest noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd.
“How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don’t mind,
Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold...”

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Tempest caught a glimpse of a
prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. The punch on the arm Ron gave her was greatly
unnecessary, and given the want to show off as demonstrated by the schools so far, Tempest
understood Karkaroff’s desire to place ‘Viktor’ so prominently. For, as Ron now missed in her ear
urgently, it was Viktor Krum.

“I don’t believe it!” Ron said in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps
behind the party from Durmstrang. “Krum, Tempest! Viktor Krum!”

“For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a Quidditch player,” said Hermione.

“Only a Quidditch Player?” Ron both rounded on Hermione. “Mate, he plays internationally- he
played at the Cup, you saw him!”

Tempest was patting herself down and cursed her lack of quill. “D’you think they’ll hang around
the school often while they’re here? If I could get him sign my copy of Quidditch International
that’d be something, but I’d just like to discuss his technique-”

“Really,” said Hermione, “Tempest, I didn’t think you the type-”

“For people like Lockhart, hardly,” scoffed Tempest, “but Krum’s actually talented.”

They reentered the entrance hall, and went into the Great Hall, where they sat at the Gryffindor
table facing the Durmstrang party that hovered near the doorway, unsure of where to sit. The
Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall
with glum expressions on their faces. Personally, Tempest would like to see what sort of
surroundings the Beauxbatons students were accustomed to look at the magnificent Hogwarts
castle with such distain. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

“It’s not that cold,” said Hermione defensively. “Why didn’t they bring cloaks?”

“Over here! Come and sit over here!” Ron hissed. “Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a
space-”

“What?”

“Too late,” said Ron bitterly. Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at
the Slytherin table. Tempest could see many Slytherins looking very smug about this. As she
watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum.

“Yeah, that’s right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly. “I bet Krum can see right
through him, though... bet he gets people fawning over him all the time... Where d’you reckon
they’re going to sleep? I could offer him a space in my dormitory... I wouldn’t mind giving him my
bed, I could kip on a camp bed.”
Hermione snorted and Tempest raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps a tad further than I might go,” she
said dryly. “I imagine they’ll sleep back on their ship.” She couldn’t image the idea appealed to the
Durmstrang students though, as they were shrugging off their heavy furs with expressions of relief
and looking around in interest.

Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat
in honor of the occasion. When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their
House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were
Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from
Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party
appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Maxime had sat down
on Dumbledore’s left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great
Hall.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and- most particularly- guests,” said Dumbledore,
beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I
hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be
officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at
home!”

He sat down, and Tempest saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have
pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Tempest had ever
seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

“What’s that?” said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a
large steak-and-kidney pudding.

“Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione.

“Bless you,” said Ron.

“It’s French,” said Hermione, “I had it on holiday summer before last. It’s very nice.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Ron, helping himself to black pudding. Tempest served herself her
favoured Yorkshire pudding dripping in gravy. The Great Hall seemed somehow much more
crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students. Perhaps it was their
differently colored uniforms that stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts’ robes.
Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes
of a deep blood red.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of
the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Tempest with a very heavily bandaged hand.

“Skrewts aren’t treating him well, are they?” Hermione commented.

At that moment, a voice said, “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?”

It was a girl from Beauxbatons who had been bundled up in sheets of scarves. She had finally
removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large,
deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a
faint gurgling noise.
“Yeah, have it,” said Tempest, sliding the dish forwards and handing it to the girl.

“You ’ave finished wiz it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.”

The girl took the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at
the girl as though he had never seen one before. Tempest laughed at him. The sound seemed to jog
Ron back to his senses.

“She’s a veela!” he said hoarsely to Tempest.

“Of course she isn’t!” said Hermione tartly. “I don’t see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!”

But she wasn’t entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many heads turned, and some
of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron. Tempest herself found her
eyes following the motion of the shining blonde hair.

“I’m telling you, that’s not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear
view of her. “They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts!”

“Thanks,” said Hermione tartly, glancing sideways at Tempest, who greatly unconcerned, finally
looked away from the simply magnificent hair, and up to the staff table, where Ludo Bagman and
Mr Crouch- Percy Weasley’s boss were now seated.

“They must be here about the Triwizard Tournament,” said Hermione. “They organized it after all,
I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.”

When the second course arrived they noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined
an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it
would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to
have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant tension
seemed to fill the Hall now. Several seats down from them, Fred and George were leaning forward,
staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The
Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we
bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me
introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of
International Magical Cooperation” -there was a smattering of polite applause- “and Mr. Ludo
Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his
fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a
jovial wave of his hand. Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.
Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Tempest thought he looked strange
in wizard’s robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to
Dumbledore’s long white hair and beard. Perhaps she was biased. Tempest thought a suit was a far
more practical and aesthetically pleasing dress than robes.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements
for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor
Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts. The casket,
then, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore
carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited
interest rose from the watching students.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by
Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table
before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be
three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different
ways... their magical prowess- their daring- their powers of deduction- and, of course, their ability
to cope with danger.”

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one
from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the
Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard
Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid
creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden
cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-
white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it
would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly
upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have
twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet
will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet
will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to
compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line
around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of
seventeen will be able to cross this line.

“Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be
entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged
to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a
binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion.
Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your
name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

“An Age Line!” Fred said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors
into the entrance hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn’t it? And once
your name’s in that goblet, you’re laughing- it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!”

“But I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione, “we just haven’t
learned enough...”

“Speak for yourself,” said George shortly. “You’ll try and get in, won’t you, Tempest?”

Tempest laughed, “Hardly, I have enough on my plate. I’ll leave you boys to it.” She glanced
backwards briefly at the cup. “Mind you, even with your names in there, it’s all chance isn’t it?”
Her jovial tone was forced. Because this year, perhaps it was the bustle, but she had almost
forgotten what tomorrow was. It hadn’t been until Dumbledore had said ‘halloween’ that Tempest
had remembered… and how could she have forgotten?

“Where is he?” said Ron, who wasn’t listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through
the crowd to see what had become of Krum.

Hermione nodded towards the direction of Karkaroff’s voice, which was saying: “Back to the ship,
then. Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from
the kitchens?”

Tempest saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on.

“Professor, I vood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

“I wasn’t offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an
instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy-”

Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment
as Tempest, Ron, and Hermione. Tempest stopped to let him walk through first.

“Thank you,” said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at her.

And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Tempest and stared at her as though he
couldn’t believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt
too. Karkaroff’s eyes moved slowly across Tempest’s face and fixed upon her scar. The
Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Tempest too. Tempest swallowed, with the sudden
urge to duck, so her hair would obscure the scar, which snaked like forks of pale lightning down
the left side of her face. Comprehension was dawning on the faces of the Durmstrang students, and
Tempest waited, ill at ease.

“Yeah, that’s Tempestas Potter,” said a growling voice from behind them.

Karkaroff spun around. Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye
glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster. The color drained from Karkaroff’s. A terrible
look of mingled fury and fear came over him.

“You!” he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.

“Me,” said Moody grimly. “And unless you’ve got anything to say to Miss Potter, Karkaroff, you
might want to move. You’re blocking the doorway.”

It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind them, looking over one another’s
shoulders to see what was causing the holdup.

Without another word, Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he
was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated
face.

“What was that about?” hissed Ron.

Tempest said nothing, and strode off quickly, aiming for the Gryffindor Common room.

She ignored the calls of her name as she took the steps leading up from the entrance hall two at a
time. Thirteen years ago tomorrow, Voldemort had murdered her parents, and she had been given
the scar that tonight had been a source of attention and wide-eyed gaping.

And on the eve of the anniversary of her parent’s death, Tempest lay in bed, stroking Nyx
rhythmically. Shared grief may have been hailed as a great coping mechanism, but historically,
Tempest had weathered the storm alone.

*****

Sunday dawned, much the same as any other day, if it weren’t for the heavy feeling in Tempest’s
gut. She fixed a grin on her face though when she ran into the twins, on their way to put their
names in the cup.

It had turned into quite the affair, as other students gathered around to watch the twins balance at
the edge of the age line, clutching pieces of parchment with their name and school written on it.
Fred was going first. He stood right at the edge of the line, rocking on his toes like a diver,
preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with great presence, he took a great breath and stepped over
the line.

For a second, triumphant grins stretched across her, Fred and George’s faces, and George leapt
after his twin. But the next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled
out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible slingshot. They landed
painfully, crashing to the ground not a foot from where Tempest stood. Then to add insult to injury,
there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.

Tempest had to laugh, doubling over, the entrance hall ringing with the audience’s mirth as well.
Fred and George joined in too, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each
other’s beards.

“I did warn you,” said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Dumbledore coming out
of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. “I suggest you both go up to
Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of
Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of
their beards is anything like as fine as yours.”

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee Jordan, who was howling with
laughter, and Tempest, Ron, and Hermione went in to breakfast.

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. A cloud of live bats was fluttering
around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner.

The talk at the table centered around who was putting their name in the cup. All of the Durmstrang
students had already done so, and from Hogwarts Diggory was a favourite to be chosen by the
Hufflepuffs, Angelina Johnson for Gryffindor, and Warrington for Slytherin. Tempest remained
rather quiet, focused on her tea and toast.

“What’re we going to do today then?” Ron asked Tempest and Hermione when they had finished
breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall.

Tempest shrugged, while Hermione perked up. “We could see Hagrid,” she said, “I haven’t asked
him to join S.P.E.W yet!” And she rushed upstairs to grab the badges and collection tin.
“What is it with her?” said Ron, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase. His
attention was quickly overtaken however, by the students from Beauxbatons who were coming
through the front doors from the grounds. Amongst them was the veela-girl.

Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the
Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the
blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks.

“What d’you reckon’ll happen to the ones who aren’t chosen?” Ron muttered to Tempest as the
veela-girl dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. “Reckon they’ll go back to school, or
hang around to watch the tournament?”

“Probably hang around?” Tempest watched Ron watching the Beauxbaton girls, decided he was
being a bit of a creep and glanced again at the girls to see if there was something she had missed.
Her eyes couldn’t help following the sheet of shifting silver that was the veela girl’s hair, but other
than that, she put Ron’s infatuation down to males.

When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Maxime led them back out of the
hall and out onto the grounds again.

“Where are they sleeping, then?” said Ron, moving toward the front doors and staring after them.

“Say that louder then, why don’t you?” Tempest said.

A loud rattling noise behind them announced Hermione’s reappearance with the box of S.P.E.W.
badges.

“Oh good, hurry up,” said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back
of the veela-girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Maxime.

As they neared Hagrid’s cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the
Beauxbatons’ sleeping quarters was solved. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they had
arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid’s front door, and the students were
climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now
grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside.

Tempest knocked on Hagrid’s door, and Fang’s booming barks answered instantly.

“’Bout time!” said Hagrid, when he’d flung open the door. “Thought you lot’d forgotten where I
live!”

“We’ve been really busy, Hag-” Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at
Hagrid, apparently lost for words.

Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-
orange tie. This wasn’t the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large
quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches- perhaps
he had tried a ponytail like Bill’s, but found he had too much hair.

“Special occasion?” asked Tempest, nodding at his attire. “It’s… charming.”

Hagrid beamed, then straightening his blazer. “Yeh like it, Tempest?”

“Sure,” said Tempest, “any reason for the change though?”

Hagrid’s smile turned slightly shifty, and he shuffled for a bit, before letting the three of them into
his cabin. “Jus’ somethin’ I’m tryin’ out.”

Tempest decided to disregard the blatant lie. She had a strange feeling she already knew.

Hagrid’s cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a
patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath
the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. They sat down at the table
while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard
Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as Ron was.

“You wait,” he said, grinning. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh’ve never seen
before. Firs’ task... ah, but I’m not supposed ter say.”

“Go on, Hagrid!” Ron urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning.

“I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh,” said Hagrid. “But it’s gonna be spectacular, I’ll tell yeh that.
Them champions’re going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I’d live ter see the Triwizard
Tournament played again!”

They ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though they didn’t eat much- Hagrid had made what he
said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she, Tempest, and
Ron rather lost their appetites. However, they enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid tell them
what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to
be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet.

A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the
gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with
Hermione about house-elves- for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her
badges.

“It’d be doin’ ’em an unkindness, Hermione,” he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle
with thick yellow yarn. “It’s in their nature ter look after humans, that’s what they like, see? Yeh’d
be makin’ ’em unhappy ter take away their work, an’ insultin’ ’em if yeh tried ter pay ’em.”

“But Tempest set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!” said Hermione. “And we heard
he’s asking for wages now!”

“Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I’m not sayin’ there isn’t the odd elf who’d take
freedom, but yeh’ll never persuade most of ’em ter do it- no, nothin’ doin’, Hermione.”

Hermione looked very cross indeed, glaring at Tempest after she shot her a ‘told you so’ look and
stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket.

By half past five it was growing dark, and Ron, Tempest, and Hermione decided it was time to get
back up to the castle for the Halloween feast- and the announcement of the school champions.

“I’ll come with yeh,” said Hagrid, putting away his darning. “Jus’ give us a sec.”

Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for
something inside it. They didn’t pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached their
nostrils. Coughing, Ron said, “Hagrid, what’s that?”

“Eh?” said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. “Don’ yeh like it?”
“Is that aftershave?” said Hermione in a slightly choked voice.

“Er- eau de cologne,” Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. “Maybe it’s a bit much,” he said gruffly.
“I’ll go take it off, hang on…” He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself
vigorously in the water barrel outside the window.

“Eau de cologne?” said Hermione in amazement. “Hagrid?”

“Maxime,” said Tempest, staring out of the window.

Hagrid had just straightened up and turned around. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing
to what he was doing now. Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their
carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. They couldn’t hear what Hagrid was saying, but
he was talking to Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression Tempest had only ever seen him
direct towards his one-time baby dragon, Norbert.

“He’s going up to the castle with her!” said Hermione indignantly. “I thought he was waiting for
us!”

Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with
Maxime, the Beauxbatons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous
strides.

“He fancies her!” said Ron incredulously. “Well, if they end up having children, they’ll be setting
a world record- bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton.”

They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. It was surprisingly dark
outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves, they set off up the sloping lawns.

“Ooh it’s them, look!” Hermione whispered.

The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking
side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them.
Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around.

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved;
it was now standing in front of Dumbledore’s empty chair at the teachers’ table. Fred and George-
clean-shaven again- seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well. Tempest clapped them
both on the shoulders before she sat down “Hard luck, boys.”

“We can only hope its Angelina now,” said Fred.

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual, which was an achievement, as it had
always dragged for Tempest. She should have been hungry from their not-lunch at Hagrid’s, yet
the extravagantly prepared food before her failed to tempt her appetite. She only grudgingly ate a
slice of treacle tart after George slid the plate before her. At this point, she merely wanted to know
who the champions were going to be, then return to her bed, where she could lie and stare at
pictures of her parents while smothering her sorrows in her stash of chocolate she kept for the
nights when she succumbed to melancholy.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in
the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet.
On either side of him, Karkaroff and Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Bagman
was beaming and winking at various students. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost
bored.
“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it
requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to
come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” -
he indicated the door behind the staff table- “where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those
inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The
Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright,
bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment,
a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it- the whole room
gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by
the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

“No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Tempest saw
Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked
along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the
applause. “Knew you had it in you!”

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet,
which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled
by the flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

It was the girl who so resembled a veela. She got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of
silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

“Oh look, they’re all disappointed,” Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder
of the Beauxbatons party. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and
were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it
was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. And the Goblet of Fire turned red
once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip
Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

“No!” said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Tempest; the uproar from the next table was
too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric
made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the
teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before
Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our
three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from
Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By
cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-”

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted
him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. Tempest, who had
begun shifting to stand, to leave, stopped. She watched with the rest of the hall as a long flame shot
suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held
it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore
stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then
Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out-

“Tempestas Potter.”

*****

Tempest sat there, the Great Hall obscured by a ringing that filled her ears. It was
utterly silent after Dumbledore’s announcement. It faded only for the buzzing of angry whispers to
grow and fill the hall. She kept her eyes very fixedly on her plate, and wondered if she were stuck
in a dream.

All she had wanted was to go to bed. All she had wanted was a quiet-ish year, in terms
of near death experiences at least. They hadn’t seemed like huge asks.

Tempest turned her head, her neck feeling very stiff, to look at Dumbledore. Perhaps it
was the old man’s idea of a joke, perhaps he knew it was she that had brewed the aging potion for
the twins and this was his odd way of calling her out…

Minnie was at Dumbledore’s side, whispering urgently to him. He straightened up,

nodding to Minnie.

“Tempestas Potter!” he called again. “Tempest! Up here, if you please!”

Tempest remained seated. Until George prodded her in the ribs, and she got to her feet,
tripping over her own ankles in the process and stumbling. She set off down the gap between the
Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, her gaze fixed on Dumbledore. And Minnie. Minnie, who wore a
somber expression, and would not meet Tempest’s eyes.

Tempest stopped right before Dumbledore.

“Well… through the door, Tempest,” said Dumbledore. He wasn’t smiling.

“This is ridiculous.” Tempest said quietly. “You know that.”

Dumbledore motioned towards the door.

Tempest swallowed, and moved towards and through the door. She found herself in a smaller
room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace
opposite her. The faces in the portraits turned to look at her when she entered. She noted they
stared for a moment, then flitted out of their frames to whisper to one another.

Krum, Diggory and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. Fleur looked around when
Tempest walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair. Tempest was with a sense of
familiarity. “What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

Tempest opened her mouth to say she wasn’t the messenger, she really wasn’t sure what was
happening- then shut it. She’d simply wait for someone else to come along and explain it all.

That someone arrived in the form of Ludo Bagman, who entered the room and seized Tempest’s
arm. She shook it free, none too subtly.

“Absolutely extraordinary,” Bagman muttered, undeterred, “Gentlemen… lady,” he added,

approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce- incredible though it may
seem- the fourth Triwizard champion?”

Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Tempest. She postponed her hopes
of an autograph. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Tempest and back again as
though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur, however, tossed her hair,
smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.”

“Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Tempest’s name just came out of the
Goblet of Fire!”

Fleur frowned. “But evidently zair ’as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “She
cannot compete. She is too young.”

“Well... it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Tempest. “But,
as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her
name’s come out of the goblet... I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage...
It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged... Tempest will just have to do the best-”

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Dumbledore, followed
closely by Crouch, Karkaroff, Maxime, Minnie, and Snape. Tempest heard the commotion with the
hundreds of students on the other side of the wall before Minnie closed the door.

“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis
little girl is to compete also!”

Maxime drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head
brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled. “What is ze
meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she said imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile,
and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone
telling me the host school is allowed two champions- or have I not read the rules carefully
enough?” He gave a short and nasty laugh.

“C’est impossible,” said Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting
upon Fleur’s shoulder. “ ’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two champions. It is most injust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants,
Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever.
“Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own
schools.”

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with
malice. “Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. She has never
failed to step over a single line-”

“Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted
malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.

Dumbledore was now looking down at Tempest, who looked right back at him, frustration and
indignation warring in her eyes.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Tempest?” he asked calmly.

“No,” said Tempest. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” said Dumbledore, ignoring
Snape.

“No,” said Tempest.

“Ah, but of course she is lying!” cried Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

“She could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Minnie sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on
that-”

“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Maxime, shrugging.

“It is possible, of course,” said Dumbledore politely.

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said Minnie angrily. “Really,
what nonsense! Tempest could not have crossed the line herself, and as Professor Dumbledore
believes that she did not persuade an older student to do it for her, I’m sure that should be good
enough for everybody else!” She shot a very angry look at Snape.

“Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our- er-
objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Crouch, who was
standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie,
the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When
he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state
clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the
tournament.”

“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to
Karkaroff and Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

“No,” Tempest said quietly but distinctly. Perhaps there was an odd note to her voice, for the
adults all quieted. “I didn’t put my name in the cup, nor did I ask anyone else to, because I didn’t
want my name in there. That all being said, I refuse to compete, I forfeit, and we can all put this
behind us.”

The briefest of silences, then:

“Take it back!” Minnie all but yelled at her, “you cannot forfeit-”

Tempest stared at her, taken aback by the reaction. “Why not?”

"Binding magical contract," Dumbledore said, his voice not as loud as Minnie's but it still held an
uncharacteristic note of urgency. "If you break such a contract- one that you made the moment
your name came out of that cup- you will lose your magic."

“I- cup- what?” It took Tempest the barest of seconds for the sudden fear coursing through her
veins to jolt her jaw into gabbing out, “I take it back, I rescind my forfeiture, I- ” She ran out of
breath as her chest became very tight, and she struggled to breathe for a moment.

When she regained her faculties, Karkaroff was saying: “-I did not expect something of this nature
to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Then you had better listen to the other half of your mind Karkaroff, empty threat," growled a
voice from the door. "Or did you just become deaf too in the past few minutes? Would you risk
your champion's magic? I believe forcing that choice upon someone and causing them to lose their
magic gains you a spell in Azkaban… something I suppose you are quite familiar with."

Moody stumped into the room. Karkaroff clamped his mouth shut, and his hands clenched into
fists at his sides as he stared at Moody, Tempest apparently forgotten for the time being.

"But then again, that is not the only thing that can land you in Azkaban these days,” Moody said,
staring at Karkaroff with both mismatched eyes. "Trying to get someone killed might just do it
too…"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Karkaroff said with an air of forced calm.
Tempest could see his hands shaking.

"Don't you? It's very simple Karkaroff, someone put Miss Potter's name in that goblet- as it is clear
she did not do it herself- and they knew she would have to compete if it came out."

"Clearly someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" burst out Maxime.

Tempest wasn't so sure that was the case, and then again, she wasn't so sure that Karkaroff had put
her name in the cup either. Moody seemed to be implying so, yet Karkaroff was clearly against her
inclusion.

“I hardly think I would be the best competition,” said Tempest with an air of forced calm, “is there
really no loophole to exploit here? Surely there are rules enforcing the… er, exclusivity?” She
looked to Crouch. “No? Could we at least talk about how someone got my name into that cup, and
why it was my name specifically that came out?”

"It was most likely an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm." Moody growled almost at once.
"Only a powerful caster could hoodwink a magical object that powerful into forgetting that only
three schools compete in the tournament… it would be my guess that they submitted Miss Potter's
name under a fourth school, to make sure she was the only one in the category."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very
ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your
birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before
realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously…"

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing
voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember…"

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Moody fell silent, still surveying Karkaroff with
satisfaction- Karkaroff's face was burning.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in
the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and
Tempest have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do… If there
are any other alternatives- as my mind has provided me none- please speak now."

Dumbledore glanced around serenely, as Karkaroff glared, and Maxine didn't look pleased, but
resigned. Bagman seemed rather excited.

"Well, shall we crack on then?" Bagman asked, rubbing his hands together. "We've got to give our
champions the instructions, Barty, want to do the honours?"

Mr Crouch, who to Tempest seemed to come out of a deep reverie, began. "Yes, instructions… the
first task. The first task is designed to test your daring so we are not going to tell you what it is.
Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… Very important.

The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the
panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for, or accept help of any kind from their
teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament." Tempest saw Crouch's eyes flicker slightly to
Karkaroff, before he continued. "The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their
wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the
demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-
of-year tests.” Mr Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. "I think that is all, is it Albus?"

"I think so." said Dumbledore, and taking note of how tired Crouch looked, he continued, looking
at Mr Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight,
Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Crouch, "It is a very busy, very difficult
time at the moment… I've left young Weatherby in charge… Very enthusiastic… a little
overenthusiastic, if truth be told…"

Dumbledore attempted further pleasantries with the others, who left not long after, Karkaroff and
Maxime with their students, Minnie, giving Tempest a last worried look.

"Tempest, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at them both. "I am sure
Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive
them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Tempest turned and left.

She was halfway across the deserted Great Hall when Diggory caught up with her. “Hey, Tempest,
so we’re playing against each other again!”

“Not really what I had in mind,” said Tempest.

Diggory laughed. “Me either.”

They reached the entrance hall and the marble staircase. “Goodnight,” muttered Tempest,
beginning to ascend.
“Hey.” Cedric called her back, and Tempest turned reluctantly. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t
think you put your name in that cup.”

“Thanks.”

Cedric grinned, and he headed for a door to his right.

*****

Tempest didn’t go to the Gryffindor common room. Dumbledore’s words rung true. Regardless of
the initial reaction, the twins would doubtless have thrown a bash up in the common room, and if
Tempest wanted quiet, she would not find it in that direction.

Instead, she headed for the Owlrey.

She fished out a convenient roll of parchment, quill and ink from behind a loose stone in the tower
wall, standing out on the battlements for the moonlight to illuminate the scrawling words across
parchment.

Sirius- Someone’s entered my name into the Goblet of Fire and now I’m competing in the
Triwizard Tournament. I wanted to let you know first. Given my track record, it can’t be good, can
it? - Best, Tempest.

Tempest coaxed down a sleepy barn owl from the rafters and tied the letter to it’s leg. She watched
the bird soar off, wobbling in the air, travelling towards Sirius.

Tempest put the parchment, quill and ink back. She approached the battlements and hoisted herself
up till she was standing on top of the thick ridged wall, a several hundred feet drop falling away to
her right side.

She balanced on the wall for a moment, closing her eyes against the swooping sensation that filled
her stomach when she looked down. This was different to being on a broom. If she fell there was
no Wronski Feint which could save her from an unpleasant end.

Tempest walked across the battlements to where the roof of the Owlrey slanted down to meet the
wall. It wasn’t much of a jump to land on the roof, but if she slipped or lost her footing, there was
precious little to cling on to.

Tempest jumped, with the surety of someone who was echoing motions made many times before.
She climbed up the slanting stone till she reached a small ledge, where there was just enough room
for one person to sprawl out, or two to squeeze every tightly together. She settled down, shivering
slightly.

The view from up there was phenomenal. The Black Lake glimmered and shifted beneath the
moonlight, while the Forbidden Forest stretched on and on to the base of the mountain range that
stood in its jagged silhouette against the starry sky.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A shimmering silver doe formed out of sparkling white light at the tip of Tempest’s wand and
frolicked around on the rooftop. She tossed her head back to look at Tempest with eyes of pure
white.

“Join me, won’t you?”

The doe bowed its head and trotted over air to settle down beside Tempest. For something that
shone so brightly, it emitted no warmth.

“If ever there was a night for self pity, eh?” Tempest watched her breath mist in front of her and
rested her chin on her knees. She wondered if there would be a time when the seemingly relentless
cycle of universal battering would end. Tempest didn’t look at the doe beside her. The eyes would
be blank, and lacking sentience, and Tempest didn’t need reminding. “I wonder if there’ll ever be a
time when it doesn’t feel like this.”

A voice said: “Talking to yourself Potter?”

A flick of Tempest’s wand had the doe dissolving into nothing within a second, and she pointed it
at Draco Malfoy, the last person she wanted to see, rising above the lip of the roof, floating astride
his Nimbus 2001.

“What- the hell- are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same, Potter. What- are the rest of your housemates too lowly for even your
presence?”

“That sounds more like something you’d think, Malfoy, and I wouldn’t fault you there.”

Malfoy’s upper lip curled, “So. Triwizard champion. You thought you’d be covered in more
adoring fans, and when you realized that wasn’t going to happen, I’m guessing you came up here
to feel above it all.”

“I didn’t put my name in that cup, Malfoy.”

“Probably thought you didn’t have enough going for you,” Malfoy sneered, “no Lockhart or mass
murderer out for your neck this year. I bet you’re loving it, precious Potter, in the spotlight again.
You’d think someone who got famous off their parents snuffing it would be-”

The anger that had been building in Tempest’s chest had a bolt of red light scorching across the
space between her and Malfoy, making him jerk violently to the side to avoid it.

“I would trade lives with you in a heartbeat.” Tempest said.

Malfoy stared at her, unable, or perhaps unwilling to reach for his wand, when she had hers trained
on him, and he was balanced on his broomstick.

Tempest lowered her wand slowly, the anger draining from her. It was strange. The doe was gone,
and Malfoy was the last person she would speak openly to, but the words came tumbling out
regardless. “I don’t like the person I am- hell, I don’t like the person you are, but you have so
much- your father, the one you mention so much, the one who’s tried to kill me in the past… he
genuinely cares about you. What I’d give-”
She came to her senses and stood. Malfoy had said nothing since her outburst. “Goodnight
Malfoy,” Tempest said, and made her way off the roof.

It was only when she was in the Owlrey and descending the winding stairs that it occurred to
Tempest that Malfoy had never said why he had been flying about the Hogwarts towers at night.
To be fair, she hadn’t answered his question either. It was hardly as though they would’ve been up
there for the same reasons.
 In Which There is a Dragon

Chapter Three-

Tempest woke on Sunday morning, tired and irritable.

She’d managed to avoid the party in the common room by kipping against a wall in a hidden
corridor behind a tapestry. It hadn’t been the original plan. Tempest had sat crosslegged on her
cloak and attempted to meditate, thinking to return to her dormitory in the early hours of the
morning. She ended up dozing off.

Groaning and attempting to get the crick out of her neck, Tempest stood. It was just past seven, her
watch informed her, early enough that she could probably sneak into her dormitory for a quick
shower, avoiding too much fuss.

Goal in mind, Tempest set off, still bleary eyed and stiff-limbed. Sunday mornings usually left the
long halls empty and the castle silent, so her trek to the common room was undisturbed until she
closed the portrait-door behind her and almost ran into a dour-faced Ron.

“What were you doing?” he asked.

“Kipped in a hallway,” said Tempest, “I’m heading up for a shower now- is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” muttered Ron, whose face had become outright surly. “Only you could’ve said if you
were entering the tournament. Thought we were best mates, is all.”

“Ron- we are,” said Tempest, “I didn’t put my name in that cup.”

Ron’s eyebrows were curiously competing to vanish into his hair. “It’s okay, you know, you can
tell me the truth,” he said. “If you don’t want everyone else to know, fine, but I don’t know why
you’re bothering to lie, you didn’t get into trouble for it, did you?”

“It’s been termed a death competition,” Tempest said flatly.

“So someone just put your name in for- what? A laugh?”

“I wouldn’t know! Moody thinks it’s someone trying to get me killed-”

Ron snorted loudly.

Tempest stared at him.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said eventually. “When you do get your head removed from
wherever you’ve stuffed it, I’ll be around.”

She stepped around Ron; disappointment settling in her stomach as she passed one of the people
she had been sure would be with her.

“Don’t bet on it!” called Ron, behind her.

Tempest bit back a snapping retort. “I won’t.”

 *****

It was perhaps, less of a surprise than it should have been, that in the next few days it
became clear that most of the school population excepting Gryffindor but excluding Ron had
turned against her.

Tempest couldn’t summon charisma on command like Diggory, and hardly went out of
her way to endear herself to people. It was easy therefore, for Tempest to become the subject of
dark glares, angry whispers, and in some cases, outright hostility (primarily with the Hufflepuffs).

And Tempest went about unconcernedly.

If she spent much more of her time with the twins, laughing uproariously at the table in the Great
Hall while Ron picked sullenly at his food a ways down, it had been at their invitation. If she
ignored Hermione’s attempts to broker a peace between her and Ron, well, Tempest had never
been one to let a grudge slip by lightly. If someone had been to point out the tightness of Tempest’s
jaw as she moved between classes, more often than not, alone, Tempest might have cited the
weather, which had become truly bitter as November reared its head.

Tempest after all, was not repressing any particular emotion, other than perhaps a worry that Sirius
had not yet replied to her latest letter.

She would however admit to a pressing irritation with the ‘SUPPORT CEDRIC
DIGGORY/POTTER STINKS’ badges that some were sporting. The bright luminescence of the
badges that burnt into Tempest’s retinas only fueled the headache she’d been suffering for a day
now.

It was not, however, the reason that Tempest found herself instigating the failed duel between
herself and Malfoy, which resulted in Tempest chasing down a sobbing Hermione to escort her to
the Hospital Wing.

Hermione’s face was blotchy and she had her hair down, trying to hide the incisors, now halfway
down her chest. She sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes. By the time they
reached the Hospital Wing, Tempest had thoroughly abused Snape and Malfoy’s names and
Hermione needed Tempest’s help to hold her head up against the weight of the teeth.

“So who did this?” asked Madam Pomfrey, fussing over Hermione after casting a brief stasis spell
and Finite Incantatum to stop the growing teeth. Hermione gave an incoherent reply past the teeth
and Tempest replied.

“I accept exactly half of the blame,” said Tempest. “Draco Malfoy and I… had a disagreement.”

“Reckless,” tutted Pomfrey, “I already see you in this Hospital wing far too often, Miss Potter, and
this time it is not yourself that is injured.”

Tempest shot Hermione an apologetic grimace.

“I would hazard to say that you and those Weasley twins account for half of all the injuries I have
come through here. Now, Miss Granger, stay very still and hold this.” She gave Hermione a palm-
sized mirror and began reducing the size of Hermione’s teeth. “Let me know when your teeth are
back to their regular size, dear, and I’ll stop.”

Hermione’s eyes moved to Tempest and she mumbled something. Tempest shook her
head. “I’m not too worried about missing out on Potions. It’s not actually possible for either of us
to fall behind.”

Hermione mumbled something else.

“Hermione, you have seen us in class yes? My cockiness is justified.”

“You are very adept at deciphering her,” said Pomfrey idly. Hermione’s teeth were steadily
shrinking.

Tempest laughed, bending her head to knead at her temples. “Remember the week
George Weasley’s jaw was shattered by a bulger? Again I accept responsibility; though Fred was
also to blame- his jaw was slack for the next few weeks. I grew accustomed to deciphering the
indecipherable.”

Pomfrey turned her gaze on Tempest. “Another headache?”

Tempest paused in her abusive massage of her temples and gave a short nod. “It’s no
worse than any of the other times, but they’re-”

“Increasing in frequency,” finished Pomfrey. “I’ll prescribe you a potion for the pain
once this is done. Experimental theoretical magic,” she scoffed.

Tempest shrugged. She had been young and blinded by the impossibilities of magic
when she had gotten her eyes fixed. She had been lucky the process had worked at all, and the
occasional headache in the long run seemed to be an acceptable exchange for perfect eyesight.

Hermione said something. Her teeth were now above collar level, but now Tempest
couldn’t understand. “Crab cakes?” she tried, “corked crepes?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned with her free hand to behind Tempest. Tempest turned.
“Colin Creevy?” she said. “Hullo.”

Creevy tripped towards them, beaming with enthusiasm and slightly breathless. “I’ve been sent to
tell you the champions are wanted- Mr Bagman said they were taking photos-”

Tempest groaned, slumping forwards, “’mione save me, I’d rather be in Potions-”

“Actually I just came from there,” said Creevy brightly, “Professor Snape said you were likely here
after I told him why you were wanted for the photographs-”

“Oh brilliant,” said Tempest, getting to her feet roughly, “more fodder. What are we, dancing
monkeys? You’ll be alright?” Hermione gave a slight nod and a sympathetic head tilt. “I’ll see you
then. L’aers.”

Creevy bounced beside her, struggling to keep pace with her longer strides, till they reached a
small classroom. Most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large
space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard
and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks,
and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch wearing magenta robes.
Krum was standing in a corner with Diggory and Delacour. Fleur and Cedric were talking quietly
while Krum glowered at the floor. Tempest dithered for a moment, but it was not long before
Bagman bounded forwards to greet her.

“There she is! Champion number four! In you come Tempest, in you come- nothing to worry
about- just a wand weighing ceremony; the rest of the judges will be here in a moment. We have to
ensure that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most
important tools in the tasks ahead. The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And there’s going
to be a little photo-shoot.” Tempest noted the fat man holding a smoking camera. “This is Rita
Skeeter-” he gestured at the woman. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily
Prophet.”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Skeeter, her glasses glinting when she turned on Tempest. “I
wonder if I could have a little word with Tempest before we start?” Her eyes were fixed
unwaveringly on Tempest. “The youngest champion, you know, to add a little bit of colour?”

“Certainly,” cried Bagman, “that is of course, if Tempest has no objection?”

Tempest’s mouth opened in protest, had her arm seized and was hauled sideways. It was outside
that Tempest wrenched her arm free and said mildly, “I wasn’t too keen on the interview.”

“Nonsense,” declared Skeeter, “the public wants to know you! Ah, this is cozy!”

Tempest had been shunted sideways into a broom cupboard. She said so.

“Is it?” Skeeter beamed, and perched precariously on an upturned bucket. “Won’t you take a seat?”

Tempest perched grudgingly on a narrow ledge, more so she wouldn’t have to stoop awkwardly to
avoid the slanting roof. Skeeter unsnapped her green handbag and withdrew a large quill that flew
out of her hand and poised itself over a pad of parchment, quivering in the air. “You won’t mind,
Tempest- can I call you Tempest? Lovely-” Tempest had shrugged, “-if I use a Quick-Quotes
Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

“Yeah, if you like-”

The quill distracted Tempest, already scribbling across the parchment even though the interview
had barely begun. An ugly scar, a souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise striking face
of Tempestas (Tempest) Potter, whose eyes-

“Ignore the quill, Tempest,” said Skeeter firmly.

Tempest lifted her eyes.

“Excellent… Now you say that you didn’t enter your name, but come now, there’s no need to be
scared of getting into trouble- we all know you shouldn’t really have entered at all, but don’t worry
about that. Our readers love a rebel.”

“I’ll be a disappointment. I didn’t enter.”

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” Skeeter said, bypassing her words. “Excited? Nervous?”

“Yes,” said Tempest vaguely.

“Champions have died in the past, haven’t they?” said Skeeter briskly, “have you thought about
that at all?”
“A fair amount.”

“Though of course, you have looked death in the face before, haven’t you?” said Skeeter, watching
Tempest closely, “How would you say that’s affected you?”

“It’s not ideal.”

“Do you think the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to
your name? Do you think perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because of
the age restriction?”

Here, Tempest wasn’t listening to Skeeter anymore, and her attention instead had drifted back to
the parchment where the Quick Quotes Quill was scribbling very fast: -reluctant to seem over-
eager, Tempest plays coy, and dismisses claims that her traumatic past has left her emotionally
unstable-

“Is this exactly good journalism?” asked Tempest, only to have Skeeter talk over her.

“Can you remember your parents at all?”

“What?”

“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament?
Proud? Worried? Angry?”

“Haven’t the faintest- actually, I’ve just realized don’t have to be here-”

Tempest got to her feet and was shoving aside a broom when the door to the broom cupboard was
pulled open. Blinking against the bright light, Tempest saw Dumbledore standing there, looking at
the pair of them.

“Sir,” said Tempest, her eyes flickering back to where she noted the quill and parchment had
vanished and Skeeter’s fingers were hastily snapping closed the clasp of her handbag. “I was just
leaving- do they want us back? Photos- they were doing photos, yes?”

“Yes, Tempest, if you could hurry- the Weighing of the Wands is about to begin-”

“Thanks,” said Tempest, skirting around him and reentering the classroom.

The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and Tempest sat down next to
Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting.
Skeeter entered the room and settled herself down in a corner; Tempest saw her slip the parchment
out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it
once more on the parchment.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ table and
talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good
condition before the tournament.”

Tempest looked around and saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the
window. She had only met the man once; when she was first purchasing her wand.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Ollivander, stepping into the
empty space in the middle of the room.
Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

“Hmmm…” he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold
sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. “Yes,” he said quietly, “nine
and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing... dear me...”

“An ’air from ze ’ead of a veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for
rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you...” Ollivander ran his
fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered,
“Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. “Very well, very well, it’s in fine
working order,” said Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her
wand. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” said. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric
handed over his wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a
particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn
after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash... pleasantly springy. It’s in fine
condition… You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning.

Of course Cedric polished his wand. Tempest herself preferred fire cleansing; it left her wand fresh
and humming in her hands.

Ollivander finished up with Cedric and called Krum forwards. Krum got up and slouched, round-
shouldered and duck- footed toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with
his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“Hmm,” said Ollivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine
wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however...” He lifted the wand and
examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. “Yes... hornbeam and dragon
heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid...
ten and a quarter inches... Avis!”

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of
the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

“Good,” said. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves... Miss Potter.”

Tempest approached the man, slipping her wand out of her sleeve and handing it to him. Her wand
had always been temperamental, but Olivander’s withered hands grasped her wand, and Tempest
supposed he had makers’ rights. Ron and Hermione both had made the mistake of picking up
Tempest’s wand in the past. Ron had been thrown across the room, while it took a while for
Hermione to recover from burns after being set alight.

Ollivander turned the slim shaft of holly around in his hands. “Aaaah, yes,” he said, his pale eyes
suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.”

Tempest could remember too. Four years on, she was looking down at Ollivander in the way that
he had loomed above her, taking measurements and handing her wand after wand as her heart sank
and she had thought it had all been a mistake. Then her fingers had closed around the wand, her
wand, and the world had lit in fire.

Ollivander spent much longer examining Tempest’s wand than anyone else’s. Eventually,
however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Tempest, announcing
that it was still in perfect condition.

“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your
lessons now- or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end-”

Tempest got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do
you think, Rita?”

“Er- yes, let’s do those first,” said Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Tempest again. “And then
perhaps some individual shots.”

Tempest was itching to leave. She had Hermione to check up on, and any extra time spent around
Skeeter only made Tempest feel more irritable. Her headache intensified throughout the
photographs, which stretched on for longer than Tempest thought was reasonable. Maxime was
part of the problem- she cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer
couldn’t stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone
else stood around her.

Krum, whom Tempest would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked,
half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front,
and shunted Tempest off beside Krum, shooting disdainful looks at Tempest’s hair, but Skeeter
kept hurrying forward and dragging Tempest into greater prominence. Then she insisted on
separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

Tempest went down to the Great Hall, but unable to see Hermione, she headed to the hospital wing,
where she found Hermione lying on one of the beds, her teeth thankfully not visible outside of her
mouth.

“Tempest,” said Hermione sitting up, “Madam Pomfrey says I’m not to eat anything for a few
hours yet. She left that for you-” she motioned to a vial of lavender coloured potion on the dresser
by her head. “For your headaches. How did the photos go?”

“As well as you might expect,” said Tempest, drawing up a chair to Hermione’s bedside and
pocketing the potion. “There was this witch there though, a reporter- Rita Skeeter. Dreadful
woman.”

“Oh?”

Tempest spent about an hour with Hermione, eventually leaving her to head up to her dormitory.
Pomfrey had recommended Hermione spend the night in the wing.

An owl must have come while she was out, for as Tempest prepared for bed, she spied a letter on
her dresser.

Tempest- There is much that I need to say, and am unable to in a letter. We need to talk face-to-
face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o’clock in the
morning on the 22nd of November? Let me know. I know better than anyone that you can look after
yourself, and I’m thinking of you. –Sirius.

*****

Tempest’s reply had been short, a confirmation and an enthusiastic ‘look forward to seeing you.’
Even writing the words had seemed like impossibility, for she was going to see Sirius. Not soon,
but closer in time than she had dared hope.

She clung to that knowledge as two weeks passed, and it eased the hard knot of anger that had
nestled in her chest ever since Skeeter had published her article.

If Tempest had thought that things like decency, accuracy and truth would have prevented Skeeter
from writing the article she had, if anyone had thought that she had a shred of journalistic integrity,
they were wrong.

The article was published and read:

As the interview begins, I am struck by the misfortune of the girl sitting before me. An ugly scar,
souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Tempestas (Tempest) Potter,
whose stunning green eyes as many have said, are remnants of her mother. She speaks to me of
trying to live up to her parents’ great names, to fill the giant shoes before her and the
acknowledgement of the tremendous tasks ahead. “But somehow… I know I’ll be all right. I know I
get my strength from my parents, and I’m sure they’d be very proud of me proving myself if they
could see me now… sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it… but
with all the extra precautions taken this year, I’m not afraid of what is coming in the tournament. I
know nothing can hurt me because they’re watching over me…” Even now, tears fill her eyes as
her thoughts turn to her parents who she can barely remember. Yet even from tragedy, Tempest has
at last found love at Hogwarts. Her close friend, Colin Creevy, says that Tempest is rarely seen out
of the company of one George Weasley, a handsome young man, two years ahead. She is said to
spend much of her time around his family, attending the Quidditch World Cup earlier this year
with them.

George roared with laughter when Tempest read the article out in disgusted tones.

“It’s drivel,” she said, and proceeded to spend the next ten days stalking around Hogwarts
with a scowl etched onto her face.

The Saturday before the first Triwizard task was open for a Hogsmeade trip, and Tempest
wasn’t about to skip that.

“C’mon darling,” teased George as they made their way through the entrance hall and
began the walk down to the village. “If we’re not seen together, people might think we’ve had a
lovers spat.”

Tempest glared daggers into his laughing face.

The day wasn’t dreadful- it was difficult for any day with George to be truly dreadful
truthfully. The Weasley emitted enthusiasm and humor as though the world had a shortage. They
wandered around their usual haunts, in and out of Honeydukes, into Zonko’s to scope out the future
competition, and they eventually wound up in the Three Broomsticks sipping on Butterbeers.

Out of the bitter wind howling outside, Tempest unwound her scarf and hunched around
her drink. She could see Hermione and Ron seated at the bar, and she looked away.

“Diggory looks quite chipper,” said George, nodding towards Cedric, who was crammed
in a corner of the room, surrounded by his friends, laughing at some joke.

“Makes one of us,” said Tempest.

“Oh cheer up, Hedgy,” said George, “look on the bright side- there was an actual reason
people wanted to enter, why Fred and I wanted to enter. Glory and money and no exams,” he
waggled his eyebrows at Tempest. “Even if you don’t get the first two, there’s still the last.”

Tempest grunted, “I’ll be sure to use the extra time to train up and try not to die. It’d be a
bit easier if I actually knew what I’d have to do for the first task… I’m going to make a prat of
myself in front of the whole school.”

George toasted her. “No more than usual.”

Tempest snorted and touched her glass to his. “I’m touched, dear heart.”

They ran into Hagrid and Moody when they left the Three Broomsticks, and Hagrid acted
mysterious, telling her to meet him at midnight with her invisibility cloak. Tempest turned the time
over and over in her mind as the day went on. Hagrid had never asked to meet that late before, so it
had to be serious, yet midnight was cutting it very close to her meeting with Sirius.

Eventually, Tempest decided to meet Hagrid, hear or see whatever he had to show her, and
leave with enough time to meet Sirius. She told George to guard the fire from twelve thirty
onwards as a precaution, and left the common room at half past eleven under her invisibility cloak.

The grounds were very dark as Tempest walked down the lawn and towards the lights
shining in Hagrid’s cabin. From where the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was parked, she could
hear the booming voice of Maxime inside. Tempest knocked on Hagrid’s front door.

“Tempest? You there?” asked Hagrid, glancing straight through Tempest as he opened the
door a crack.

“Right here,” Tempest slid by Hagrid and pulled off the cloak. “What did you want to see
me for?”

“Got summat ter show yeh,” Hagrid said. He seemed excited and Tempest noticed with no
small amount of trepidation he was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his
buttonhole. He had also tried to comb his hair. (Tempest could see the broken teeth of a comb
tangled in it.)

“What do you want to show me?” Tempest asked warily, wondering whether or not Hagrid
had come across another dragon’s egg, or if the number of Blast Ended Skrewts had doubled
overnight, and if he had dressed up for her.

None of those possibilities sat very well with Tempest.

“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak, we won’ take Fang,
he won’ like it…” Hagrid seemed very distracted, which didn’t bode well for Tempest, who had
hoped it wouldn’t take long.

“Listen Hagrid, I can’t be here for long, I need to go and get back to the castle at one….”

But Hagrid, who usually listened, wasn’t. He was opening the cabin door and walking off
into the night. Tempest quickly ducked back under her cloak and followed. Hagrid was walking
straight towards the Beauxbatons carriage.

“Hagrid, if this isn’t important then-”

“Shhh!” said Hagrid, and he knocked on the door.

Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders.
She smiled when she saw Hagrid. "Ah, 'Agrid… it is time?"

Hagrid seemed speechless, beaming at her, but he held out a hand to help her down the
golden steps. Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off
around the edge of the paddock containing Maxime's giant winged horses.

Tempest, dumbfounded, had to run to keep up. Was Hagrid wanting her to chaperone their
date invisibly? It seemed Maxime was also missing information.

"Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"

"Yeh'll enjoy this," said Hagrid gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y - don' go tellin'
anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know."

"Of course not," said Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

Tempest became more and more irritated as she jogged along in their wake, going further
and further around the edge of the forest. She glanced down at her watch. Hagrid had some hair-
brained scheme in hand, which might make her miss Sirius. If she didn't get there soon, she was
going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll
with Maxime.

But suddenly after they had walked so far Tempest was almost sure she was lost, she
heard something. There were people shouting up ahead, and there was a deafening ear splitting
roar. Hagrid and Maxime walked around a clump of trees and then stopped, making Tempest
almost run into Hagrid’s broad back.

The sudden light of the clearing blinded Tempest for a moment, and then her eyes focused,
and she gapped at the sight.

Dragons. Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their
hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting. Torrents of
fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground.
There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the
ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one
with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into
the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard like than the others, which was nearest to Tempest.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them,
pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized,
Tempest looked up, high above them, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils
like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage… It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching
scream.

"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, who sounded oddly familiar,
straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know!
I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.

Tempest, who had once nursed the idea of becoming a dragon rider, could see what he
meant.

“It’s no good!” another wizard yelled, pulling out his wand. “Stunning spells, on the count
of three!”

Tempest saw all of the other wizards pull out wands just as the chains holding the Horntail
snapped. The Horntail lunged forward towards the closest wizard just as all of the keepers yelled
“Stupefy!”

The Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars
on the dragons' scaly hides. Tempest watched the dragon nearest to her teeter dangerously on its
back legs. It’s jaws stretched wide in a silent howl and its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame,
though still smoking. Then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly black dragon hit the
ground with a thud that made Tempest almost lose her balance on the level ground.

The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each
of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to
iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to
the fence, and Tempest followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer
turned, and Tempest realised it was Charlie Weasley.

"All right, Hagrid?" he panted, walking over to them. "They should be okay now- we put
them out with a Sleeping Draught on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up
in the dark and the quiet- but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all-"

"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black
one, with something chose to reverence. Its eyes were still open. Tempest could see a strip of
gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

"This is a Hungarian Horntail," said Charlie. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there,
the smaller one- a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-grey- and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."
Charlie looked around; Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the
stunned dragons.

"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning. "The champions
aren't supposed to know what's coming- she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the
dragons.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head.

Tempest snorted quietly.

 "Four…" said Hagrid, "so it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do-
fight 'em?"

Tempest choked. Fight one of those things?

"Just get past them, I think," said Charlie. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing
Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why… but I tell you this, I don't
envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look."

Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Tempest saw long, bronze-coloured spikes
protruding along it every few inches.

Tempest could see herself very clearly impaled on the spikes.

Five of Charlie’s fellow keepers staggered forwards to the collapsed Horntail then,
carrying a blanket with around a dozen huge dragon eggs in it. They placed them carefully by the
Horntail’s side while Hagrid let out a moan of longing, which Tempest grinned at.

“I’ve got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie sternly. Then he said, “How’s Tempest?”

“Fine,” said Hagrid still staring at the eggs.

“Just hope she’s still fine after she’s faced this lot,” said Charlie darkly, looking at the
dragon’s enclosure. “I didn’t dare tell mum what she’s got to do for the first task, she’s already
having kittens about her…” Charlie imitated his mother’s anxious voice. “How could they let
Tempest enter that tournament, she’s much too young! I thought they were all safe! I thought there
was going to be an age limit! She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about her. ‘She still
cries about her parents! Oh bless her, I never knew!’ And when she got to the part about Georgie…
warn Tempest for me, will you? Mum was picking out lace patterns last I saw her.”

Tempest was mortified. Trusting the fact that with the combined distraction of Maxime
and the four dragons Hagrid wouldn’t miss her, Tempest turned and began to walk away back to
the castle.

Tempest wasn’t sure whether or not she was glad that she now knew what was coming.
Maybe it was better this way- the first shock was over now, and maybe if on Tuesday she had seen
the dragons for the first time she would have been frozen and roasted all in the same moment. Now
she had gotten over it…. And what? She was going to be armed with her wand- which, just now,
felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood- against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden,
fire-breathing dragon. Tempest’s original plan, if you could call it that, had been improvisation, but
now that didn’t seem like the best idea.

Tempest sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; she had just under fifteen minutes to get
back to the fire and talk to Sirius, and Tempest couldn’t remember ever, wanting to talk to anyone
this much- when, without warning, she ran into something very solid.

Tempest fell backwards, clutching the cloak to her. Her foot was exposed, and she tucked
it under the cloak hurriedly.

“Ouch! Who’s there?”

Tempest lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard she had hit. She
recognized the goatee and the tenor of the voice: it was Karkaroff.

"Who's there?" said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness.
Tempest remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit
some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then
he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the
dragons were.

Very slowly and very carefully, Tempest got to her feet, and set off again as fast as she
could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts.

Karkaroff had doubtless sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was
going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Maxime heading off around the forest
together- they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance… and now all Karkaroff had to do was
follow the sound of voices, and he, like Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions.
By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric.

Tempest slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; she was
out of breath and her chest was hurting, but she only had five minutes left, and she needed to
hurry….

“Balderdash!” Tempest gasped at the Fat Lady, who was half asleep in her frame.

“If you say so,” she muttered, and the portrait swung forward without her even opening
her eyes.

Tempest climbed inside and pulled off the cloak.

“Is- he-”

George turned from his slumped position in an armchair facing the fire. He yawned. “Not
a peep,” he said, “plenty of crackles though.” He chuckled at his joke. “What did Hagrid want?”

Tempest sat cross-legged before the fire, puddling the invisibility cloak in her lap and
watching parts of her leg wink from sight. “I’m so fucked, George,” she sighed, rubbing at her
eyes. “I saw Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

Tempest leaned backwards against the edge of George’s armchair and looked pointedly at
him.

The realization that crawled ever so slowly across George’s face would have been
amusing if Tempest wasn’t feeling so doomed.

“No.”

“Dragons, yeah,” Tempest gave a short laugh. “I-”

Sirius’s head had appeared in the fire.

Distantly she was aware of George saying he’d speak to her tomorrow, and give the two of
them a bit of space.

Tempest beamed at Sirius. “Hello,” she said.

Sirius’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Hello again.”

After a moment, Tempest wrested control back from her wayward jaw and cleared the
foolish grin from her face till it only lingered at the edges of her mouth.

“How’ve you been?”

Sirius looked good, well, better, though that wasn’t exactly hard. Last Tempest had seen
him, his face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black matted hair and
rough stubble that only made his face look thinner. But the hair was clipped shorter and clean now,
Sirius’s face was fuller, and he looked younger, far too young to have spent twelve years in
Azkaban.

“I don’t care about me, how’re you?”

Tempest shook her head; “I-” she had to swallow several times. “I just-”

She was leaning so close to the fire she could feel her knuckles drying and heating
dangerously. She had to make an effort to move back a shade. And then she was talking, talking
more than she had talked to anyone since she had decided to trust Remus in the past year. Her
voice wasn’t particularly steady, and her words ran together and split off in broken sentences. Yet
as much as she said, there was much that she couldn’t. Because at this fireside, in this stolen
moment, she knew they didn’t have time for a conversation suited to a long night and the assurance
of being able to speak freely.

So she spoke of the recent days, of the Triwizard Tournament, of the dragons, and Sirius
watched her the whole while, let her speak until the words dried, and looked as though he too were
holding back a dam.

“I want to tell you it’ll all be all right,” he said. “And I believe that at some point, it will.
A year from now, Merlin knows what’ll have happened, but you’ll be on top of it all- I believe that.
I believe in your ability to get through this. I believe in you.” He sucked in a breath, then coughed,
ash puffing up in a cloud amongst the embers of the fire. “I don’t have much time though. I’ve
broken into a wizarding house to use the fire- I need to be quite quick. There are things I need to
warn you of.”

“More?” said Tempest weakly.

“Karkaroff,” said Sirius. “Tempest, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters
are, don’t you?”

“Of course- he- what?”

“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I’d bet everything that’s
why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year- to keep an eye on him. Moody caught
Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.”

“Why was Karkaroff released?” said Tempest slowly. How did someone as like Karkaroff
get released yet Sirius-

“He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” said Sirius bitterly. “He said he’d seen the
error of his ways, and then he named names... he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his
place... He’s not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell,
he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch
out for the Durmstrang champion as well.”

“Right,” said Tempest. There was the potential of Krum being a death eater in training,
simply brilliant.
 “And reading between the lines of the Prophet-” Tempest tensed for the dreaded article to
come up, but Sirius bypassed it. “it seems like Moody was attacked the night before he started at
Hogwarts, and they said it was a false alarm, yet I don’t think so, somehow. I don’t want to alarm
you, but I do think someone is hoping for the tournament to distract or badly injure you. I think
someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look
into it too closely; Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still
spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.”

“Are you saying Karkaroff’s out to off me?” said Tempest. “It seems like a lot of effort to
go to because he once followed Voldemort.”

Sirius hesitated.

“I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to
be more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t
they? Someone set off the Dark Mark... and then- did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch
who’s gone missing?”

“Jorkins?”

“Exactly… she disappeared in Albania, and that’s definitely where Voldemort was
rumored to be last… and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up,
wouldn’t she?”

“Probability of her stumbling onto Voldemort?” said Tempest dryly.

“I knew Bertha Jorkins,” said Sirius grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few
years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a
good combination, Tempest. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“But… it still seems so excessive,” said Tempest, “to enter me into this competition and
let the tasks do the dirty work for them. Why not just attack me in some darkened corridor? I go
wandering down enough of them.”

“I don’t know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don’t know... But whoever put your name in
that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way
to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

“I’m almost flattered at the effort,” laughed Tempest. “This first task… dragons… I
suppose, of the ways to go… Dragons are more grandiose than a quick spell in a hallway.”

“You’re not going to die,” Sirius said very firmly. His face shifted amongst the embers,
moving upwards almost as though he could surge through the fireplace and be standing right
before her. But he settled, and Tempest burnt her fingers on the edge of the grate again.

“For these dragons, don’t try a stunner, they’re too big, you can do it alone though.” Sirius
was speaking quite quickly now, “there is a way, a very simple spell-”

But Tempest had leaned away from the edge, shoving a hand into the fire to silence him.
She could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind her.

“Go,” she hissed to Sirius, her hand was burning and she pulled it free, eyes flashing to
Sirius’s whose were creased with concern. “Go, there’s someone coming.”

She scrambled to her feet, threw the invisibility cloak over herself, and watched as Sirius’s
face pulled backwards from the fireplace and was gone. She relaxed ever so slightly. If Sirius had
been seen, it would have raise a massive uproar, and she would have been questioned about where
Sirius was-

Ron came down the final steps, dressed in maroon paisley pajamas and looked around the
room. Tempest stayed very still, watching him as he shuffled for a moment, looked towards the
door to the girls’ dormitory, then turned and walked back up the way he had come.

Tempest sat with a hard thump.

If Ron hadn’t come down the stairs, Sirius could have told her the way to get past the
dragon. If Ron hadn’t made Tempest fear for Sirius’s freedom and his life, they could have had
several minutes more.

If Ron hadn’t-

Tempest got roughly to her feet and left the common room. She had a roof to visit.

*****

Sunday passed with Tempest making little progress on finding this ‘simple spell,’ and
Monday she woke mildly nauseous.

She ate breakfast quickly and burnt her throat drinking her tea too hot.

George looked sideways at her. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“I’m attempting to beat my gag reflex,” said Tempest dryly, “I’m about to face a dragon
tomorrow, and I feel quite ill.”

George grimaced, “is your cloak not an option?”

Tempest shook her head. “Even if it were within the rules, the cloak isn’t exactly
dragonproof,” she said, a sudden image springing to mind of an enraged dragon chasing her as she
ran, failing about, her cloak trailing fire.

Tempest was about to head off to Herbology when she saw Cedric stand from the
Hufflepuff table. Cedric didn’t know about the dragons. In fact, he was the only champion who
didn’t as far as Tempest knew; the other Headmasters/mistresses had doubtless told their own
champions by now.

Tempest stared at Cedric’s retreating back very hard.

“Sod it,” she said.

She hurried after Diggory.

By the time Tempest reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He
was surrounded by a pack other sixth-years. Tempest hardly wanted to speak to him before the
others, and she almost turned to go. But when one was faced with a dragon…

She muttered a spell, and with a flick of her wrist, the seam to Cedric’s bag split, spilling
books, parchment and quills down the stairs.

“Don’t bother,” said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him.
“Tell Flitwick I’m coming, go on...”

Tempest waited till his friends had disappeared into their classroom, and ran up the stairs.
“Hey, Cedric.”

“Hi,” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was
now splattered with ink. “My bag just split… brand-new and all...”

“Reparo,” said Tempest. The bag began to knit itself back together; stiches looping
messily back into place. “The first task is getting past a dragon. Thought you should know.”

“What?” said Cedric, looking up sharply.

“Dragons,” emphasized Tempest. “Fire, fangs, spikes, the lot. They have one for the each
of us, and we have to get past them.”

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his newly
mended bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Tempest, and there was a puzzled, almost
suspicious look in his eyes. “Why are you telling me?” he asked.

Tempest rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a trick. Krum and Delacour already know, so this is us
on a level playing field, yeah?” The skin at the back of her neck prickled. “I’ve got to go, alright?
Have a good one.”

She left Cedric, still looking slightly stunned, and skirted around Moody, who had just
appeared, stumping around a corner. Tempest ducked by him, avoiding eye contact. Sirius may
have said Dumbledore wanted him around because of Karkaroff, yet it was undeniable that Moody
set her on edge beyond anything Karkaroff had yet done.

*****

Tuesday passed in a blur.

Tempest spent the day attempting to drag every second out to measure as an eternity. There was a
coil of snakes writhing in her stomach, and time had obviously rejected all of Tempest’s offers of
friendship as one moment she was at breakfast, downing cups of tea, the next, she was seated at the
Gryffindor table again for lunch.

There was a great excitement in the hall, and Tempest felt very separate from everyone around her-
more than usual at least. Classes had ended at midday to let the students arrive at the dragon
enclosure in time- of course, they didn’t know what they’d find there, and now Tempest wished
she could share in that ignorance.

She remained planless, only slightly reassured that all the other times she’d faced danger, she had
been similarly prepared.

“Miss Potter!”
 Tempest looked up to see Minnie hurrying to her. Lots of people were watching.

“Miss Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now… you have to get ready for
your first task.”

“Oh.” Tempest stood, setting aside her half-finished tea.

George leaned over from his seat at the table to grasp at her hand briefly. “Don’t fuck up,”
he said, quite seriously. “That would be bad.”

Tempest nodded jerkily. “Really bad.” She carefully avoided eye contact with everyone
else and left the Great Hall with Minnie.

Minnie didn’t seem like herself as they walked down the steps of the castle. She looked
quite anxious. As they walked out into the cold November afternoon, she laid her hand on
Tempest’s shoulder.

“Are you…” Minnie seemed at a loss for words. “Are you all right, Tempest?”

Tempest laughed once. “I’m always all right, Minnie.”

Minnie was silent for a moment.

“Now, don’t panic,” she said eventually, “just keep a cool head... We’ve got wizards
standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is just to do your best,
and nobody will think any the worse of you if-”

Tempest raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Minnie fell back into silence.

They were walking towards the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the
forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly
visible, Tempest saw a tent had been erected, it’s entrance facing them, screening the dragons from
view.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions and wait your turn. Mr Bagman is in there,
he’ll be telling you the procedure…” Minnie paused for a moment, staring at Tempest. “Good
luck.”

Tempest’s lips tugged upwards into a mirthless smile. “Thank you.”

She went inside.

Delacour was sitting in the corner on a wooden stool, not smiling or looking nearly as
composed as usual, but rather pale. Krum looked surlier than usual, which Tempest assumed was
his way of showing stress, and Cedric was pacing. All three looked up as Tempest entered, Cedric
managing a small rather forced smile, which Tempest returned, her jaw feeling quite stiff.

“Tempest! Good-o!” said Bagman happily, looking around at her. “Come in, come in,
make yourself at home!”

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the
pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

“Well, now we’re all here- time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience
has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag” -he held up a small sack of purple
silk and shook it at them- “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are
about to face! There are different- er- varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too...
ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!”

Cedric nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing
around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all. Tempest
went to lean against the center tent pole.

In no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent,
their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. And then Bagman was opening the neck of the
purple silk sack.

“Ladies first,” he said, offering it to Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon- a
Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a
determined resignation, and then the bag was before Tempest.

She dipped her hand into the bag and winced as she came in contact with something sharp.
She gripped it, feeling it squirm, and pulled it out, her heart sinking as she saw what she held.

“The Hungarian Horntail,” Bagman whispered and Tempest watched as the miniature
dragon paced two and fro on her hand, releasing a short burst of flame. There was a tag with a
number four written on it tied around the dragon’s neck. Krum went next, withdrawing the Chinese
Fireball with a number three and didn’t react at all, merely stood there with the dragon winding its
way around his fingers and stared moodily at the wall opposite. Cedric was last. He pulled out the
bluish-grey Swedish Short-Snout, with a number one.

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face,
and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m
going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr. Diggory, you’re first, just
go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now... Tempest… could I have a
quick word? Outside?”

“Sure,” said Tempest, and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked her a short
distance away, into the trees, and then turned to her with a fatherly expression on his face.

“Feeling all right, Tempest? Anything I can get you?”

“What?” said Tempest, “no, not at this point-”

“Got a plan?” said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Because I don’t mind
sharing a few pointers, if you’d like them, you know. I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his
voice still further, “you’re at a disadvantage here, Tempest… Anything I can do to help...”

“No,” said Tempest, glancing at Bagman, who shifted from foot to foot with a frantic sort
of energy. “I, er… appreciate the thought.”

“Nobody would know, Tempest,” said Bagman, winking at her.

No one would know.

And Tempest didn’t have a plan. Not a shadow of one.

I believe in you. Sirius had said. You’re not going to die.

 “All the same,” said Tempest, “no.”

A whistle blew somewhere.

“Good lord, I’ve got to run!” said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off.

Tempest walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever.
Wordlessly, Tempest clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past, and went back inside the tent
to Fleur and Krum.

What followed was the tensest half an hour of Tempest’s life. Cedric finished after much
nerve-wracking commentary by Bagman and Fleur followed him, then Krum- then Krum had
finished and it would be her turn.

She stood by the flap of the tent. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved that the
moment was finally here. There would be no more dreadful waiting, and soon this would all be
over. The whistle blew, and she walked out of the tent, sure she was paler than paper.

Before, the world had seemed to be in black and white, but as she reached the enclosure,
colour returned with a vividness that almost blinded her.

There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring at her from the stands, and there was
the Horntail. It seemed even more bigger and vicious than the last time Tempest had saw it, and it
was crouched low over her clutch of eggs at the other side of the enclosure, her wings half-furled,
and her yellow eyes on Tempest. Tempest’s eyes were drawn to the Horntail’s tail, which the
Horntail was thrashing against the ground, leaving huge deep scrape marks in the rock.

Tempest’s grip on her wand was clammy.

Her only weapon and her only defense, and right now, it felt very much just like a stick.

The crowd was yelling, but Tempest didn’t know whether it was in her favour or not,
because her ears seemed to have been stuffed with cotton wool. She didn’t realize that the Horntail
was swinging its tail towards her, until her brain registered the screams from the crowd and the fact
that there was a potentially fatal object sailing through the air in her direction and she wasn’t
moving…

Tempest dove to the side as her muscles unfroze, feeling the tail miss her by inches,
slamming into the ground mere inches from where she lay. She could hear the voice of Bagman
booming around the pitch, but indistinguishable with the roaring of the dragon.

Tempest rolled to her back, eyes wide as she saw the dragon, larger than life, loom above
her. She was forced to execute a clumsy roll to the side as the Horntail’s teeth snapped just about
her head. Tempest rolled to the side as the tail slammed down by her again, and suddenly the
dragon seemed to be right on top of her. The teeth were snapping at her, while the tail kept missing
her by inches… Tempest couldn’t see the egg, raw instinct telling her to get away from the
dragon…

Tempest lunged forwards through two of the Horntail’s legs, managing to find an empty
pocket of space, just as the tail whistled towards her. She ducked, and the next moment there was
an intake of breath from the dragon, and suddenly a torrent of fire was sent straight to where
Tempest was standing.

It was in this moment, that Tempest realized, she had dropped her wand.
 There was a chorus of gasps and screams as Tempest reacted without thinking.
“Aguamenti!” she yelled, brining her hand up in a sweeping motion, and a wave of water
materialized from the air.

A blast of steam exploded as the fire met the water, blinding Tempest and knocking her
backwards.

The tail swung again at Tempest, and she dove forwards again. Where was her wand?

Grey rocks swam before her eyes as she frantically scanned for any glimpse of brown.

She barely had time to duck behind a clump of rocks as the dragon breathed fire again, heating up
the rocks until they were cherry red.

The sky went dark, and Tempest bit back a scream as she saw the Horntail pounce. She flung
herself to the side, landing heavily on the rocks, the sharp edges digging into her skin. The breath
was knocked from her lungs and she lay there stunned.

Her fingers scrabbled at the ground as she tried to push herself upright, and they came in contact
with a slim shaft of wood.

She barely had time to whirl around as the dragon lunged for her; Tempest made a slashing motion
with her wand, “Tempestas!”

The blast of wind caught the dragon’s half-extended wings, sending the dragon slamming
backwards into the wall of the enclosure.

Tempest scrambled to her feet, glancing over at the pile of eggs. They were too far away, and she
had already run out of time. The dragon had recovered, lunging for Tempest again, forcing her to
flatten against the ground. She was sweating now- well she had been before, only now it was
drenching her shirt, and she hadn’t a hope of getting past the dragon, she could barely keep her feet.

The dragon’s paw with claws extended stretched out for her, and Tempest threw herself to
the side, bruising her ribs, but managing to find her feet, staggering upright. And then, out of the
corner of her eye she saw the Horntail’s tail curving through the air, coming right for her…

Tempest shoved her wand up her sleeve and ran straight for the dragon.

The Horntail roared, the crowd screamed, and there was a ringing in her ears as she
planted a foot on the dragon’s scaly hind leg and vaulted upward onto it’s back. The dragon surged
up as Tempest hit, grasping at one of the spines that ridged the Horntail’s back. She could feel the
heat of the dragon, burning through her clothes. Her feet scrabbled as she tried to hang on.

The dragon screamed. Fire washed the air as the Horntail thrashed, trying to fling Tempest
off. It’s wings spread and dazedly, Tempest felt muscle shift beneath the scales. She could find no
purchase for her feet, and her grip was slipping- she strained to reach for the next nearest spike. If
she could just reach the neck…

She had reached the shoulder-joint of the Horntail when the chain holding the Horntail’s
hind leg snapped.

The situation degraded very quickly.

Jets of red light flew from the stands, stunners sent to subdue the dragon, but they missed
their mark or glanced harmlessly off its scales. The crowd was on its feet, a sea of faceless colour
that was obscured from Tempest’s vision as the dragon reared and brought its wings down in an
ear-numbing thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Tempest hauled herself up and managed to sling a leg over the neck of the dragon.

She sat there, nestled between two spikes, heaving in breath after breath as she tried to
regain her senses.

It was then that she noticed they were in the air. The arena grew smaller beneath them, the
dragon surging straight upward, each downward stroke of its wings jarring Tempest’s entire frame.
She was riding a dragon.

The laugh tore through Tempest’s body, and she might have cried, but she couldn’t savor
the moment. Every time the dragon beat its wings, they climbed higher into the sky, and with every
wing beat, she noticed the shift and bunch of scales along its neck.

She laid a hand flat against the neck of the dragon and slid her wand out from her sleeve.

Three.

Two.

One.

Tempest jammed the tip of her wand beneath a ridge of scales that had shifted upwards. “Sorry
mate,” she said.

“Stupefy.”

*****

There was one moment of absolute and utter stillness.

The Horntail hung in the air. Tempest’s breath was caught in her throat. The scales lit a blood-red
beneath her hands.

And they plummeted like a stone.

The dragon fell from the sky, wings and smoke from its nostrils trailing behind it. Tempest clung
on for dear life. She hadn’t planned this very well, and she knew their impact with the ground
would be brutal.

It was.

The dragon crashed into the ground, the shock travelling through Tempest and she may have lost
consciousness for a moment, because when she came to, she was lying on her front several meters
away from the motionless dragon.
 Tempest pushed herself to her feet.

The nest of eggs laid several steps away. Amongst the black and brown speckled eggs, the
golden one glinted invitingly.

Sound returned to Tempest in a sudden rush.

The crowd was yelling and cheering, and Tempest’s ears were ringing as she staggered
forwards to pick up the egg.

Over by the entrance to the enclosure, she could see dragon keepers flooding out to
examine the dragon, and behind them, Minnie, Moody and Hagrid were hurrying towards her.

The world swam alarmingly, and Tempest had to sit abruptly, watching the adults run
towards her.

“Tempest!” yelled Minnie, drawing closer. Her face was flushed and her hair was coming
out of its bun as she reached her. “Tempest… that was-”

“Bloody brilliant!” said Hagrid hoarsely, “yeh did it! Yeh…” he seemed to become
speechless and merely stared at Tempest through watery eyes. Moody looked very pleased too; his
magical eye was dancing in its socket.

“Well done, Potter,” he said gruffly.

“Thanks,” Tempest said breathlessly. She looked to Minnie. “Professor McGonagall- I’m
a dragon rider.”

Minnie stared at Tempest, and her laugh sounded like a sob. “Yes you are, Miss Potter.
Come on. To the First Aid tent now, please.”

Tempest walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Pomfrey standing at the mouth
of a second tent, looking worried.

“Dragons!” she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling Tempest inside. The tent was divided into
cubicles; she could make out Cedric’s shadow through the canvas, but he didn’t seem to be badly
injured; he was sitting up, at least. Pomfrey waved her wand about Tempest and other than
suffering from some bruises that would look and feel delightful the next day, declared Tempest
fine.

She forced some Pepper Up potion into Tempest’s hand though- to ‘stop the shaking.’
Tempest hadn’t even noticed, but now that she had, her hands were trembling violently and her legs
wouldn’t stop jiggling in place.

“Now, just sit quietly for a minute- sit! And then you can go and get your score.”

She bustled out of the tent and he heard her go next door and say, “How does it feel now,
Diggory?”

Tempest drank the potion, and it eased her somewhat, but she had to stand after a while,
unable to remain stationary. She was about to exit the tent when the flap opened and two people
entered: Hermione, followed closely by Ron.

“Tempest, you were brilliant!” Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on
her face where she had been clutching it in fear. “You were amazing! You really were!”
 Tempest grinned, “I rode a fucking dragon.”

Ron, who stood awkwardly behind Hermione, was as white as a ghost and staring at
Tempest like she was announcing the second coming.

“Tempest,” he said, very seriously, “whoever put your name in that goblet- I- I reckon
they’re trying to do you in!”

Tempest scoffed, her smile fading. “Bit delayed, don’t you think?”

Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his
mouth uncertainly. He was about to apologize, and suddenly it was the last thing Tempest wanted
to hear.

“Don’t bother,” said Tempest abruptly. “You don’t need to-” she grinned all of a sudden.
“Ron, I rode a fucking dragon.”

Ron grinned nervously back at Tempest. “Yeah, mate, you did. It was bloody fantastic.”

Hermione burst into tears.

“Why’re you crying?” asked Tempest, bewildered.

“You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing
down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and
dashed away, now positively howling.

“Barking mad,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Tempest, c’mon, they’ll be putting up your
scores...”

They ran into George as they left the tent, who dragged Tempest into a headlock embrace,
and proceeded to seize her hand and shake it vigorously. “You,” he declared, “were brilliant. I
thought you’d get maimed so many times, and you brought down that dragon all by yourself! I
won fifteen galleons betting on you!”

“Happy to help,” said Tempest, “oi- only fifteen?”

“Nah, I bet thirty- the other fifteen are for if you come first in this task-”

“Enough with the betting,” Ron cut in, “you were fantastic, Tempest- Cedric took a pretty
nasty gash to his shoulder, and Krum almost got trampled by his dragon, so really, you were the
best! None of the rest managed to knock the dragon out!”

“You should have seen everyone when the dragon took off,” said George, “the handlers
were scrambling everywhere- Charlie was out of his mind with worry and I thought McGonagall
was going to do a nut-”

They reached the edge of the enclosure. The horntail had been taken away, and so had the
eggs, and Tempest could see where the five judges were sitting- right at the other end, in raised
seats draped in gold.

“It’s marks out of ten from each one,” Ron said, and Tempest saw the first judge-
Maxime- raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which
twisted itself into a large figure eight.
 “Not bad!” said Ron as the crowd applauded. “I suppose she took marks off how much
the dragon cornered you.”

Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

“Looking good!” Ron yelled, thumping Tempest on the back. Next, Dumbledore. He too
put up a nine. Ludo Bagman- ten. Ron was bouncing on his heels, and Tempest blinked dazedly up
at the judges. And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number
shot out of his wand too- five.

“What?” Ron bellowed furiously. “five? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!”

Tempest laughed, clapping Ron on the shoulder and dragging him out of the enclosure. “I
don’t care Ron, I rode a fucking dragon.”

It turned out she was in first place by one point. It really put Karkaroff’s number into
perspective; it must have been killing him not to give her a four, or a three. Bagman gave them the
clue for the next task, which was on February the twenty-fourth and she and Ron began to walk
back to school together.

Ron was just describing Krum’s use of what sounded like the Conjunctivitis Curse when
from the trees, Skeeter jumped out at them. She was wearing acid-green robes against which her
Quick Quotes Quill blended perfectly.

“Congragulations, Tempest!” she said, beaming at her. “I wonder if you could give me a
quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? Holding your own against the older-and more
experienced- champions?”

Tempest stared at the woman.

“How about a picture?” she suggested suddenly. “I heard they’re worth a thousand
words.”

Sticking up two fingers, she grasped Ron’s arm firmly, and the pair of them continued on
to the castle.

*****

Sirius- I rode a dragon! For all of about thirty seconds, I was a fucking dragon rider- I’m
so stoked. And alive, that’s important too, and slightly unbelievable. I went into that arena without
the faintest idea what to do, just ‘don’t die’ echoing in my ears, do I thank you for that? I will
regardless. I’m in first place in the Tournament now, Merlin knows how that happened- I have
Karkaroff to thank for that actually. If he is trying to kill me in this Tournament, perhaps this has
thrown a wrench in his plans. I’ve decided I’m not just going to survive this thing, I’m going to do
my darnest to win it.

It really was great to see you, however briefly- let me know if there’s any potential for
speaking in the future, but Merlin please don’t put yourself at risk to do so. There is so much we
need to talk about, and thankfully, my head is off the chopping block till the end of February.
 Sirius, I rode a dragon! -Best, Tempest.

Fred and George had thrown a party in the Gryffindor common room to celebrate. They
must have been down to the kitchen, because there were mountains of cakes and flagons of
pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface. Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster’s Fireworks,
some of the ones that they had in reserve, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks. Dean
Thomas, who was excellent at drawing, had put up some impressive banners, most of which
depicted Tempest looking decidedly heroic, soaring on the back of the Horntail. She grinned dopily
at one that had her face contorted in concentration, leaning over the Horntail’s neck, then laughed
at another, which showed Cedric with his head on fire.

George elbowed his way through the crowd to stand before Tempest, a platter in hand
bearing a large pot of tea and a mug.

“M’lady wished for tea?”

“George, you gorgeous thing,” said Tempest, setting her golden egg to a side and grabbing
for the tea.

They collapsed down onto a couch that was designated Tempest’s own, and she breathed
in the scent of bergamot, allowing herself to finally relax. She was starting to ache now, adrenaline
long since faded, and she felt floppy with tiredness.

“Hello,” she said to George’s chin, melting further into the couch.

“Your elbow’s in my stomach.” He replied, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Tempest said, shifting her arm, then yawning. “Great party. The fireworks- how
long do they last?”

George shrugged, “About an hour or so, we’ve got a whole crate though, so that’ll last us
as long as we like.”

“I wonder if Minnie would let me set off some in the cottage,” said Tempest. “Remind me
to talk to your supplier?”

“After deducting an intermediary fee?” George smirked. “I’d never forget.”

“Thanks mate,” Tempest sighed, wiggling further into the couch. “Has this couch always
been this comfortable?”

“Blimey, this is heavy!” called a voice, and Tempest lifted her head to see Lee Jordan
picking up her golden egg. “Open it Tempest, go on! Let’s see what’s inside!”

He threw it across the room- Tempest’s hands shot up to catch it before it could smash
into her face- and laughing, she sat up, settling the egg in her lap so she had a good grip.

“Tempest, you’re meant to figure out the clue on your own!” interrupted Hermione.

There was a loud groan from the surrounding Gryffindors.

Tempest smirked. “I’m meant to do a lot of things, Hermione.” And she dug her nails into
the grove that ran all the way around it, and pried it open.
 The egg was completely empty and hollow- but the moment the two sides of the egg
separated, a horrible noise, loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it
Tempest had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party, who
had all been playing the musical saw.

“SHUT IT!” Fred bellowed, his hands clamped over his ears.

The egg had fallen to the floor from when Tempest had automatically shoved it away, and
she had to scramble for a moment before she regained her grip on the sides of the egg to slam it
shut.

The sound cut off as abruptly as it had begun, and Tempest slumped against the side of the
couch, dropping the egg onto the table in front of her, panting as though she had run a race. Her
ears were ringing from the horrible noise and she could have gotten a hammer and smashed the egg
right there and then.

“What was that?” asked Seamus, “It sounded like a banshee… Only worse! Maybe you’ve
got to get past one of those next Tempest!”

Neville cut in, face white with terror. “It was someone being tortured! You’re going to
have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!”

“Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus
Curse on the champions. It sounded a lot like Percy singing…” George continued, “maybe you’ve
got to attack him while he’s in the shower Hedgy!”

Tempest laughed, the mood lightening once more, and the Gryffindors filed off to find
more food. Tempest plucked a custard cream from the plate that George offered her, took a bite,
and turned into a bird.

The room howled with laughter, and Tempest looked around, chirping at the new turn of
events. A moment later she felt like she was being squeezed through a spaghetti strainer, and she
flopped back down into her seat blinking rapidly. “What was that?”

“The Canary Creams,” George choked out through hysterical tears. “Oh you make an
adorable canary! Your face-”

Tempest began laughing too- then tackled George over the side of the couch.

“Canary Creams!” Fred beamed, appearing out of the crowd to peer down at the two
wrestling on the ground. “Seven sickles each- great to prank your friends with… We’re trying to
charm then so they last longer… Jam tart anyone?”

He produced a platter of tarts from thin air and waved it around.

It was almost three in the morning when Tempest went up to the dormitory with Hermione
(Lavender and Pravati had already gone up,) and collapsed on her bed, relishing the fact that the
mattress hugged her aching muscles like a reward.

Tempest let her eyes slip closed.

But now that she was alone…

Tempest opened her eyes and eyed the thick material of the curtains that hung around her
bed. She looked at her wand, resting beside her pillow. She held her hands up, palms toward her
face, and whispered, “Lumos.”

Nothing happened. Not a flicker of light. She tried again, flexing her fingers: “Lumos.”

“Lumos,” said Tempest, more insistently. Still nothing.

Tempest braced herself; “Aguamenti.”

To her mixed relief, water did not spring forth and soak the bed.

Tempest lowered her hands and tugged the blankets up over her, blinking up into the
blackness. It must have been a fluke.

“Lumos.”

For the briefest of moments, a bright ball of light appeared, hovering in the air, before it
winked out of existence.
 Significantly More Dancing

Chapter Four-

My dearest Dragon Rider- No maimings, no deaths- I knew of course you would emerge
successful but your performance was astounding. Unplanned works very well for you. The spell I
had in mind would hardly have resulted in such heroic images as I have managed to get my hands
on. An image of you hanging off of a spike from the spine with your eyes tightly screwed up in
terror is one amongst many. I’m so proud, tears come to my eyes: you, little Prongslet, are the first
Marauder to ride a dragon. James’ stint on the Giant Squid’s back cannot compare. First place in
the tournament? Excellent. If someone fucks with your life, Tempest, unleash hell. You’ll win this
thing and come out stronger than ever.

I’m closer now, but I’ll be keeping a low profile for a while, so it might be some time
before we can talk again. We do have a lot to talk about, and I’m working on plan that’ll allow us
so much more time to catch up on that. More to come. –Yours. Sirius.

Tempest told no one of her sporadic ability to wield wandless magic.

By some miracle, no one had noticed her feat in the arena, and after that night, Tempest
couldn’t summon a spark of magic without her wand. So as November went by and December
began, Tempest began to think of her apparent ability to use wandless magic as a one-two time
thing, barely worth mentioning.

Still, it didn’t stop her from flicking her fingers at her cup of tea in an attempt to re-heat it,
or to stare very hard at particular greasy-haired bat in an attempt to make his hair catch fire.

December found Tempest to be immensely grateful for Hogwarts thick walls, even drafty
as the castle was during winter months. Tempest found herself tugging her cloak tighter around
herself as she watched the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the rough winds, it’s
black sails billowing against the dark skies. She imagined the Beauxbatons caravan wasn’t likely to
be very warm either, and she noticed that Hagrid was keeping Maxime's horses well provided with
their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the comer of
their paddock were enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This
was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible Skrewts and needed their wits about them.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy
pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an see if they fancied a kip… we'll jus' settle
'em down in these boxes…"

There were now only ten Skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another had not
been exercised out of them. Each of them were huge- now approaching six feet in length.

The class looked almost resignedly at the horrible things as Hagrid continued, “We’ll jus’
leave ‘em in here,” Hagrid said, “an’ put the lids on, and we’ll see what happens.”

But the Skrewts, as it transpired, did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes
and nailed in. A few seconds passed (if even that) and then the class was screaming and running
for the relative safety of Hagrid’s cabin as the Skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, the
blazing and smoking wreckage of the crates strewn everywhere.

Hagrid, Tempest, Ron and Hermione were the only people that remained outside- and, to
Tempest’s irritation- Malfoy.

In the initial scramble, he’d tripped over Tempest’s foot and the pair were now cornered
together as three Skrewts advanced them. Tempest barely gave him a thought as they shot sparks
and flames together at the creatures, forcing them back into the crates.

After blanketing the last Skrewt before them with a wave of water, Malfoy stepped in and
conjured ropes around the Skrewt, which lasted just long enough for Tempest to stuff it into a crate.

They were advancing on the last Skrewt when the only person who could have made the
situation worse, arrived.

“Well, well, well… this does look like fun.” Skeeter said, leaning over Hagrid’s garden
fence, watching the mayhem with barely concealed contempt. She was again in glaringly bright
colours, a magenta cloak with a fuzzy purple collar.

Hagrid leapt at the last Skrewt, he flattened it, a blast of fire shooting out of the end and
withering the pumpkin plants nearby. “Who’re you?” asked Hagrid, standing with a rope around
the Skrewt.

“Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,” Rita replied, beaming at him, her gold teeth
glinting.

“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore,” said Hagrid,
frowning slightly as he began tugging the slightly squashed Skrewt over to the others.

“Did he?” Tempest turned to grin over her shoulder- before realizing it was Malfoy who
shot her a strange look, and she redirected her smile inwards.

Skeeter acted as though she hadn’t heard a word. “What are these fascinating creatures
called?” she asked, beaming so widely Tempest could count all of her teeth.

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” grunted Hagrid.

“Really?” Skeeter said, apparently full of interest. “I’ve never heard of them before…
where do they come from?”

Tempest saw Hagrid flush a dull red, and she gritted her teeth. Were the Skrewts legal?
Where had he gotten them?

“They’re fascinating though, aren’t they Hermione?” said Tempest loudly, directing her
words in the right direction this time.

Hermione jumped, startled, but managed to shoot a Skrewt a look that wasn’t disgusted.
“Yes! They’re really… they have amazing… qualities.”

“Oh, you’re here Tempest!” said Skeeter, “So do you like Care of Magical Creatures do
you? One of your favourite subjects?”

“Even more so than Divination,” replied Tempest.

 “Lovely,” said Skeeter, “really lovely. Been teaching long?”

Tempest failed to warn Hagrid, which led to his agreeing to an interview where he would
doubtless be manipulated into trouble.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Hermione, looking quite desperate as they walked back up to the
castle. “I’ll give him some tips on what not to say…”

Tempest scowled. “Believe you me, Skeeter doesn’t need you to actually say anything to
write utter filth the world will soak up.”

The day was not over. Divination was awful, filled with Trelawney’s declarations of death
and tragedy, while Hermione, had still not abandoned SPEW, and her quest to liberate the elves
had stretched to her going down to the very kitchens to speak to them herself.

Tempest wondered which idiot had told Hermione how to get to the kitchens- she
certainly hadn’t, nor would the twins have. In the aftermath, Tempest headed down to the kitchens
herself to see what damage had been done.

“Miss Tempest!” squeaked a voice the moment Tempest stepped through the fruitbowl
portrait.

“Dobby, hi,” said Tempest. She gave the massive high-ceilinged kitchen a cursory once
over for any signs of chaos. It looked fine; at least the elves were bustling about as per their usual
post-dinner routine looking as cheerful as ever.

“Dobby has been hopping for to see Tempest Potter for months now, miss, and Tempest
Potter has come to see him!” Dobby beamed up at Tempest, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-
shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness.

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t come to see you in a while-”

“Miss must not apologize!” exclaimed Dobby, “the house elves hear things, miss, and
miss is very brave!”

Tempest gave an uneasy smile at that. “How’ve you been?”

To her absentminded guilt, Tempest had forgotten Dobby, only visiting him on the rare
occasion when she and he happened to be in the kitchen at the same time. It didn’t exactly ease her
soul when Dobby was so overjoyed to see her.

“Very well, Miss Tempest, very well indeed!” squeaked Dobby, bouncing on the balls of
his socked feet. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright
badges, a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, and a pair of what looked like children’s
soccer shorts. “Mr Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, has been very good to Dobby, very kind
indeed!”

“That’s great,” said Tempest, deciding to cut straight to the point, “look, er, Dobby, how
are the rest of the elves? I know my friend Hermione Granger came to visit just today… ”

Hermione’s damage was, as it transpired, extensive. She had sent Winky, Crouch’s
dismissed house elf into hysterics and had offended a great many other house elves by discussing
pay and sick leave.

Tempest tried to soothe ruffled feathers, though she couldn’t seem to get through to
Winky, who stood scrubbing a pot with tears dripping down her nose. Tempest left eventually,
feeling the best thing she had done was to accept the piles of food that the house elves piled upon
her. The beams on the house elves’ faces spoke volumes, and Tempest asked if they could wrap it
all up for her.

After a detour to her dormitory, Tempest mounted the stairs to the Owlrey with the
massive parcel of food beneath her arm. Sirius was on her mind. She didn’t know where he was or
where he was staying, but he was likely sleeping rough, and Tempest could remember all too well
what that had been like.

Tempest tied the food parcel to the largest of the school owls, and bundled the invisibility
cloak into a separate parcel. She tied it to the leg of a smaller owl and attached a short note she
scrawled.

Sirius- you need the cloak more than I do. It won’t hide Buckbeak, but I’d say it makes
hiding your mass-murdering mug a tad easier. I’ve sent you some food as well, do let me know if
you’re allergic to anything for future reference. – Supreme Overlord Tempestas, Rider of Dragons.

*****

“Miss Potter! Will you pay attention?”

Minnie’s voice cracked like a whip through Tempest’s ears, and she jerked her eyes open
to see Minnie glaring across desks at her.

Tempest blinked. She had finished transfiguring her guinea fowl into a guinea pig, already
finished the homework on the blackboard (“Describe, with examples, the ways in which
Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches”) and had taken the
last ten minutes of the class to attempt to meditate.

Of course, these days, meditation for Tempest was predominately sitting with her eyes
shut, attempting to feel intangible magic. Sirius had described it as a blind man, stumbling in the
dark, searching for colour. He’d also said that after finding the colour it didn’t get much easier.

So Tempest opened her eyes unresentfully and blinked at Minnie. More and more, the
meditation felt pointless.

“Now that you have seen fit to grace me with your attention,” snapped Minnie, “the Yule
Ball is approaching, a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to
socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above-
although you may invite a younger student if you wish.”

Lavender and Paravati gave shrill giggles, and began whispering furiously to each other.

“Dress robes will be worn, and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day,
finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then-” Minnie stared deliberately around the class.
“The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to –er –let our hair down,” she said in a
disapproving voice.

Lavender giggled harder than ever, and Tempest rolled her eyes. Difficult as it was to
believe, Minnie did have a life outside of her job.

“But that does NOT mean,” continued Minnie, “that we will be relaxing the standards of
behaviour we expect from Hogwarts’s students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor
student embarrasses the school in any way.”

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and
swung them onto their shoulders.

Minnie called above the noise, “Miss Potter- a word if you please.”

Hoping it wasn’t about the mediation, Tempest walked around to Minnie’s desk. If anyone
would know the purpose, it would be Minnie. Unlikely as it was that Minnie would turn Tempest
over to be locked in Azkaban, the fewer people who knew her plans, the better.

Minnie waited until the rest of the class had gone, then began. “Miss Potter, the
champions and their partners-”

“I don’t have a partner,” said Tempest.

Minnie looked at her strangely. “Your partner for the Yule Ball, your dance partner.”

Tempest stared at Minnie. “I don’t have that either.”

Minnie sighed as though Tempest was being intentionally difficult. “It is customary for
the Yule Ball to be opened by the champions and their partners with a beginning dance. I suggest
you find yourself a partner. It should not be difficult.”

Tempest looked at Minnie askance. “Dancing. Even if I ignored that last part, I don’t
dance, Minnie. I was just thinking of sitting this one out, or if I were to go, to occupy some dark
corner, blend in with the shadows-”

“You cannot ‘sit this one out,’ Tempest!”

Tempest laughed nervously. “I don’t dance.”

Minnie’s eyebrows formed a severe line. “For this you do, Tempest.”

“Minnie!” Tempest rephrased, “I can’t dance.”

“It is traditional,” Minnie said with tone that could have frozen an avalanche in its tracks.
“You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the
school.”

Tempest glared at her.

Finally, she said, “well, you mentioned dress robes, and I don’t have anything to wear,
so-”

“We have actually spoken about this,” said Minnie, “I bought and packed your dress robes
for you at the start of this term.”
 That night, Tempest upended her trunk and dug through the mess to find a flat brown
package she had overlooked. Tearing into it, she found dress robes of a deep blue, in her size and
with a silver trim. Tempest spent many minutes staring at it resignedly before Hermione came up
to their dormitory and found her there.

“Don’t worry so much,” said Hermione, “it won’t be that bad.”

“’mione, this is very much not anything close to comforting,” said Tempest, “it’s going to
be dreadful. And I have to find a partner.”

“Well who would you want to go to the ball with?” asked Hermione, “you might end up
having a good time with them if nothing else.”

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone, that’s the point,” said Tempest, “nor would I be prime
company for anyone else.”

“Tempest, as you’re so fond of recalling, you rode a dragon. You’re currently in the lead
in the Triwizard Tournament. People will be queuing up to go with you.”

“That sounds nightmarish.” said Tempest. “Who would you want to go with?”

Hermione buried her face in Crookshanks fur, conveniently obscuring her expression. “I
don’t need to go with anyone,” she said, “so it really doesn’t matter.”

Ron, the next day, did not share the sentiment.

“It’s just a bit miserable isn’t it?” he said around a mouthful of bacon the next day.
“Turning up alone.” He stared around the hall speculatively, gaze alighting on the Beauxbatons
girls at the Ravenclaw table. “I wonder…”

“It’s not an occasion to show up on someone’s arm,” said Hermione huffily, “it’s as
Professor McGonagall said- an opportunity to socialize with our foreign peers.”

Ron was staring very hard at Fleur’s back. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “socialize.”

Tempest scoffed and downed her tea hurriedly. “This is madness.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Never had there been so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for
Christmas. She always had because Minnie, as head of Gryffindor house had to stay, and unless
Tempest fancied going back to the cottage by the Scottish coast by herself, she stayed at Hogwarts.

This year it seemed almost everyone from fourth year and up were staying.

All of which led up to the blaring point that Hermione had been right.

It wasn’t a queue so much as an overwhelming wave of blokes, many of whom Tempest

had never met much less registered before in her life. Now, they were flocking to Tempest like
vultures to carrion.

She couldn’t hide behind her mop of hair and slope the corridors to be mostly looked over,
it was as though the smell of her rotting flesh had been scented and on came the scavengers.

It had been a fifth year Hufflepuff first, who approached with all of the subtlety of a
steaming train, planted himself before Tempest and asked loudly and boisterously if she’d go to the
ball with him. He stood a good head taller than her, and twice as wide, thick arms barely contained
by his school robes. Tempest had stared up at him in incredible confusion and said no.

‘No,’ became a common phrase she dropped during the next few days. She was asked to
the ball by a seventh year of an unknown house, a still squeaking second year, a sixth year
Slytherin who had his wand out as if he would jinx Tempest if she refused.

She refused regardless and endured Ron’s snickering. Realistically, not all of her options
had been terrible, she could’ve chosen any one of them- save the second year- but it was a matter of
principle.

The ball business aside, life had been improving after the first task. The dreadful Skeeter
article had lost steam, while the headache inducing ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ badges had vanished,
and Malfoy had gone strangely silent.

She still saw him around of course, his silvery blonde head passing by between classes,
accompanied less and less by his thuggish friends, Crabbe and Goyle. It was Pansy Parkinson
who was truly irritating these days; her sneering piggish features trying to resurrect the anti-
Tempest movement of earlier in the year.

So, the invitations aside, Tempest was feeling quite positive. And to cap it all off, Skeeter
hadn’t published any article regarding Hagrid.

“She didn’ seem very int’rested in magical creatures, ter tell yeh the truth,” Hagrid said,
when Tempest, Ron and Hermione went to ask him how his interview with Skeeter had gone. They
were gathered behind Hagrid’s cabin, cutting up food for the Skrewts. Thankfully Hagrid had
given up on direct contact with the Skrewts in event of another disastrous lesson.

“She jus’ wanted me ter talk about you, Tempest,” said Hagrid in a low voice, “Well, I
told her we’d been friends since your first year. ‘Never had to tell her off in four years?’ she said,
“Never played you up in lessons, has she?” I told her no, an’ you were a great student, but she didn’
seem happy at all… Yeh’d think she wanted to say yeh were horrible Tempest.”

“Of course she did,” Tempest said, throwing lumps of chopped liver into a metal bowl and
picking up her knife to cut some more. “She can’t keep writing about how tragic and heroic I am,
it’ll get boring.”

“She wants a new angle Hagrid,” Ron said wisely, “You were meant to say Tempest’s a
mad hag.”

“But she isn’t!” said Hagrid, looking genuinely shocked.

Tempest winked, “Cheers. If she had interviewed Snape, she’d have gotten his weight in
gold. ‘She has never failed to step over a single line-’”

“Said that, did he?” said Hagrid while Ron and Hermione snickered. “Well, yeh might’ve
bent a few rules Tempest, bu’ yeh’re all righ’ really, aren’ you?”

“Aren’t I?”

“You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?” said Ron.

“Though’ I might look in on it, yeah,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Should be a good do, I reckon.
You’ll be openin’ the dancin’, won’ yeh, Tempest? Who’re you goin’ with?”
 “No one, yet,” said Tempest curtly. Hagrid didn’t pursue the subject.

The last week of term became increasingly boisterous. Rumors about the Yule Ball were
flying everywhere, though Tempest didn’t believe half of them- for instance, that Dumbledore had
bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he
had booked the Weird Sisters. Tempest had heard them several times on the WWN (Wizarding
Wireless Network,) and they were quite good, though she lacked the nostalgia for their music that
those growing up listening to their songs held.

Some of the teachers like Flitwick, gave up teaching them when they were so distracted
that more things ended up blown up in one hour than usually did in a whole year. He let them play
games instead in his lesson on Wednesday. He spent most of the time speaking to Tempest about
her use of elemental charms in the arena.

Other teachers were not so forgiving. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns from
plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions- as Binns hadn’t let his own death stand in the
way of continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn’t going to put him off.
He truly had an unparalleled talent for making bloody and vicious wars and riots as dull as Ancient
Runes.

Minnie and Moody kept them working until the last second of their classes too, though
Tempest hardly minded for those subjects. Snape too would no sooner let them play games in class
than adopt Tempest.

Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on
poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

“Evil, he is,” Ron said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. “Springing a
test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying.”

“Mmm… you’re not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?” said Hermione, looking
at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding
Snap pack- a much more interesting pastime than with Muggle cards.

“Leave off him, Hermione,” said Tempest idly, lying sprawled out on her signature couch
in the Gryffindor common room with Nyx on her stomach. “It’s Christmas.”

“I would have thought that you’d be doing something constructive too Tempest, even if
you don’t need to study!”

“Like?” asked Tempest, more distracted by Nyx’s tail, which was flicking to and fro as the
cat stared a feather which was floating down from the ceiling.

“Figuring out that egg!” Hermione hissed.

Tempest sighed, reluctant to come out of the warm haze her mind had drifted off into.
“Hermione, I’ve more than two months.”

“But it might take weeks to work it out!” said Hermione. “You’re going to look a real idiot
if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don’t!”

Tempest sighed. She had put her egg in her trunk up in the girl’s dormitories after the
horrible incident in the common room, and she had no desire to open it again. “Fine,” she sighed,
nudging Nyx off her lap and making to stand. “I’ll… go to the library or something.”
 “Leave her alone, Hermione, she’s earned a bit of a break,” said Ron, and he placed the
last two cards on top of the castle. The whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows.

“Nice look, Ron... go well with your dress robes, that will.”

It was Fred and George. They sat down at the table with them as Ron felt for how much
damage had been done.

“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?” George asked.

“Yeah sure,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” said Fred sarcastically.

“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” said George. He caught
Tempest’s eye, and gave a resigned grimnace. Still no luck with Bagman then.

“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” said Ron.

“Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly.
He gave George a quick glance then looked around at them. “So... you lot got dates for the ball
yet?”

“Nope,” said Ron.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred.

“Who’re you going with, then?” said Ron.

“Angelina,” said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.

“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”

“Good point,” said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi!
Angelina!” Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

“What?” she called back.

“Want to come to the ball with me?”

Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look. “All right, then,” she said, and she turned
back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

“There you go,” said Fred to Ron, “piece of cake.” He seemed to give George another hard
look, and added; “easy as pie.”

“Yeah, I’ll be off then,” Tempest said, getting to her feet.

George’s head snapped up. “Oh, you’re going? I was wondering if I could have a word.”

“Yes?” Tempest paused, looking at George expectantly. He said nothing, and Tempest
wondered if it was about Bagman. “I’m off to see what I can find out about my egg, as per
Hermione’s wishes,” she shot the girl a dark look. “We can talk later if you like- is it important?”

George seemed to struggle for a moment, then in an abrupt change he shrugged casually.
“Yeah, I’ll see you when you get back.”
 Tempest clapped George on the shoulder and exited the common room.

She did not head in the direction of the library. The idea that she was actually going to do
some decent and good research was laughable. She instead headed for the Owlery, thinking she
could probably get a couple of hours of meditation in on the roof.

The narrow winding stone staircase was incredibly drafty as Tempest climbed the steps,
and she was about halfway up when the sudden sound of footsteps descending echoed down to her,
and with her head ducked, Tempest didn’t see who it was that passed and continued down the
tower steps.

“Hey! Hey- Potter-”

It was Malfoy’s voice. Tempest paused and turned to see him coming back around the
curve of the tower.

He stopped just a step below her, so that they were level. He had his hands shoved deep
into his pockets, and he stared very hard at Tempest. “Could I have a word?”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

She and Malfoy hadn’t clashed recently, and in those some weeks of lack of contact,
Tempest found herself feeling far less hostile toward him. He was frowning now, his forehead
creased while Tempest waited expectantly.

Malfoy’s jaw worked for a few seconds like he had forgotten how to form words, then he
spoke chokedly, but quite clearly; “Would you like to go to the ball with me?”

Tempest thought perhaps she had misheard. “I… ah… I beg your pardon?”

Malfoy shook his head, cleared his throat. “That is to say, I am asking if you would go to
the ball with me.”

“The Yule Ball,” confirmed Tempest.

Malfoy’s head jerked down in a nod. “That one.”

“Right.” A thought sprung to Tempest’s mind. She gave a quick, short laugh. “Do you
feel quite all right? You aren’t feeling delirious, are you?”

Malfoy blinked, startled. “What? No-” He did look a bit disoriented now, and Tempest
grimaced in sympathy.

“No, Potter,” Malfoy was scowling, a far more familiar expression. “I feel fine. I am
actually asking you to the ball. If you are already going with someone else-”

“I’m not,” said Tempest in bemusement.

There was a pause.

“I am aware others have asked,” said Malfoy, “I simply wasn’t aware if you’d decided to
go with someone yet, or if you were considering-”

“No, and I haven’t,” said Tempest.

Malfoy let out a breath and fell silent.

 “I- look-” Tempest was beginning to feel quite flustered. “I’m just a bit… surprised. You
do understand why I am having some trouble believing this isn’t a prank-”

“It’s not,” said Malfoy.

“Wouldn’t be a very good one if it was,” said Tempest.

“Right,” said Malfoy impatiently. “Look, it was a simple yes or no question, so-”

“What question?”

“This is the fourth time I’ve asked if you would go to the ball with me, Potter, it’s getting
a bit-”

“Yes,” said Tempest.

“What?”

“My answer was simpler than your question,” said Tempest with a hint of a laugh. “That sorted… I
hope you can dance.”

“I can,” said Malfoy. “That’s not a problem.”

“Brilliant,” said Tempest. “I suppose I’ll see you on the day then.”

And they both turned and walked away.

****

“How was the library?”

Tempest scoffed, seating herself beside George and making sure Hermione wasn’t around.
“I was never going there. I went to the Owlrey instead,” she said, “what’s up with Ron?”

She nodded over at Ron’s despondent expression. George laughed. “He’s bemoaning the
fact that he still doesn’t have a date for the ball. I think he pissed off Hermione though, something
about not realizing she was available.”

“A bit dense, our Ron,” said Tempest laughing. “It’d be ideal if he and Hermione went
together- with me out of the equation, they have the perfect excuse.”

“You’re out of the equation?” asked George.

“Yeah, I’m going with someone…” Tempest had to pause to remind herself she wasn’t
hallucinating. She was going to the ball with Malfoy. “Sorry, I remember you wanted to talk about
something? Was it Bagman?”

George took a long time in replying. “No… yes, it was… doesn’t matter now though,
things have changed.”

Tempest looked around at him. “Oh?”

 George shook his head. “Fred and I chose to take a different approach. I thought my
timing would be perfect, but… I guess not.”

Tempest thought George sounded rather resentful, but there was little she could do. She
shrugged and let it go.

Christmas continued to approach at a sedate pace, and the Hogwarts staff continued to
demonstrate a desire to impress their visitors, determined to show the castle at its best this
Christmas. When the decorations went up, Tempest noticed that they were the most stunning she
had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles were attached to the banisters of the marble
staircase, and the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything
from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls.

Hermione and Ron had had a falling out, though Ron remained oblivious to why, and
Hermione refused to talk about it.

In the unusual place of being the mediator, Tempest went about as usual, well, as much as
she could while still being approached with requests to go to the ball. It meant word hadn’t gotten
out of who she was going with, which meant Malfoy too was keeping his trap shut.

Tempest had taken to watching him lately. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t puzzle out
why he had asked her to the ball, was quite confused about her own response. Staring at the back
of his blonde head didn’t help much, but it did make her feel as though she were making some
effort to reason it out.

The thing was, Tempest had no obligation to go to the ball with Malfoy. She could
approach him at any time and call it all off. It wasn’t as though she was starved for other, more
arguably appealing options.

Cedric Diggory had approached her after a History of Magic class, and Tempest, who was
still in a daze, hadn’t realized he was talking to her until he waved a hand in front of her face.

“Hi Tempest.”

Cedric was wearing an easy smile, and Tempest offered him a quirk of her lips in return.

“Oh, hi,” she replied, “sorry, just… History of Magic, you know-”

He laughed, white teeth flashing. “I do. If it were anyone but Binns… you’re doing goblin
revolutions at the moment, aren’t you?”

“The arguably tragic sudden death of General Blago, who could’ve single-handedly won
the revolution had he lived a week longer-” Tempest trailed off, “Merlin preserve me.”

Cedric laughed again and as the crowd of people passing between lessons thinned, he
looked back down at Tempest, “I did want to talk to you about something,” he said, “I’ve been
thinking for a while, and recently I was wondering if you’d go to the ball with me?”

Ah.

Tempest opened her mouth, frowned, and closed it again.

This was a bit awkward.

For Tempest would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted. Cedric was good enough
company, he got along with everyone, and it made sense to go together. They were both champions
and it would be a good show of inter-house unity. Nor did he come with all of inconvenient
confusion that Malfoy caused.

A sudden flood of students coming out late from a class jostled her and Cedric enough that
they had to flatten against a wall, and it broke the too-long pause that had stretched past his
question.

“Thanks,” said Tempest, when she could, “thanks for thinking of me, but uh, I’m already
going with someone else.”

“Oh!” said Cedric, his anticipatory look clearing. He didn’t look put out, instead, curious.
“Right, I didn’t know.”

“No,” agreed Tempest. “But I do, er, appreciate you asking me… it was really nice.”

“No worries,” said Cedric easily, and he gave Tempest a quick smile, “hey, I’ll see you
around then, Tempest.”

Tempest said goodbye and Cedric strode off. Tempest stared after him for a bit, then
turned and slammed into someone else.

“Ah, sorry,” said Tempest, straightening herself and the girl.

It was Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker she had flown against in third year. She combed
hair out of her face, apologizing the whole while.

“It’s fine,” said Tempest, giving the contents of her bag a quick check to ensure none of
her inkbottles had smashed. “In a hurry?”

“A bit,” said Cho, seeming a bit flustered, “I was… have you seen Cedric around?”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, he just left- did you want him for something?”

“He said he wanted to talk this morning,” said Cho, “I got held up by Flitwick though, and
I missed seeing him. I don’t want him to think I left him hanging, so I just thought I’d see-”

“He just rounded that corner,” said Tempest, “if you run, you’ll catch him.”

Cho said a hasty thank you, and rushed off.

Tempest went to dinner, where Ron was mysteriously absent, and she settled down next to
Hermione. Throughout dinner, Tempest found her gaze drifting over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy
sat on his own, reading a letter propped up against his goblet. Further down the table, Crabbe and
Goyle sat together, talking boisterously.

Tempest hadn’t seen Malfoy with his cronies lately, and she wondered who he spent time
with these days. Himself? Perhaps he was going through a period of self-discovery. Who was she
to judge?

Cedric and Cho came in to dinner together, both sitting down at the Ravenclaw table,
though Tempest’s view was temporarily blocked by Fleur Delacour, who swept by them to sit
further up the table.

Again Tempest found her attention captured by the movement of Fleur’s shining hair. It
reminded her of…

“You done?”

Hermione was getting to her feet, looking at Tempest expectantly.

“Yeah,” Tempest downed the dregs of her tea and the pair of them walked up to the
common room together. Upon entering, they saw, to their surprise, that Ron was sitting ashen-
faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in a low, soothing voice.

“You weren’t at dinner,” said Hermione, entering through the portrait hole after Tempest.

“Ron asked Fleur Delacour to the ball,” said Ginny in a very restrained voice, patting Ron
sympathetically on the arm. She was fighting back a smile.

“I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped. “What was I playing at? There were
people- all around- I’d gone mad- everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance
hall- she was standing there talking to Diggory- and it sort of came over me- and I asked her!” Ron
moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely
understandable. “She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn’t even answer. And
then- I dunno- I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it.”

“Ah.” Tempest crossed the room to give Ron a sympathetic pat on the leg. “Well… er, if
it helps… er…” She paused and grimaced. “She’s likely turned down a lot of other guys?”

“This is mad,” said Ron. “We’re the only ones left who haven’t got anyone- well, expect
Neville.” He looked up at Hermione, “he asked you earlier today, didn’t he?”

Hermione had been making to walk past them to go to bed, but she stopped and set her bag
down. “Yes, he was perfectly lovely,” she began, turning red, “but I’m already going with
someone.”

This was news to Tempest.

“No you’re not!” scoffed Ron loudly, “you just said it to get rid of Neville!”

“Oh did I?” said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Just because it’s taken you
three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!”

Ron stared at her. Then he grinned. “Neville was right- Hermione, you can go with me!”

“No I can’t,” said Hermione, very angrily, “I’ve already told you, I’m going with someone
else, Ron!” And she stormed off toward the girls’ dormitories.

“She’s lying,” said Ron flatly, watching her go.

“She’s not,” said Ginny quietly.

“Who is it then?” said Ron sharply.

“I’m not telling you, it’s her business,” said Ginny.

“Right,” said Ron, who looked extremely irritated, “this is getting stupid. Tempest, we’ll
just go together, it’ll be all right, we can have a laugh-”

Tempest rolled back on the balls of her feet. “Thing is Ron,” she said, unable to mask the
feeling that Hermione was completely justified in her anger, “I’m already going with someone
too.”

Ron looked even more put out. “Oh of course, you’re going with George. He might’ve
said-”

“It’s not George,” said Tempest quietly.

“Who then?” demanded Ron.

Tempest looked at Ron and attempted to envision a world where she said the word
‘Malfoy,’ and Ron didn’t have a fit. She couldn’t.

“I think I’ll join Hermione, actually,” said Tempest, sidestepping Ron. “G’night, Ginny.”

Up in their dormitory, the curtains around Hermione’s bed were already drawn, and the
entire room was silent save for the crackle of the fire in the grate. Unlike Ron, Tempest knew how
to take a hint.

*****

On Christmas morning when Tempest woke up, she became very aware of someone
standing on her back. With a garbled exclamation Tempest rolled over, shoving whatever was on
her back off and coming face to face with a pair of huge luminous eyes which belonged to…

“Dobby!” Tempest yelled, as Nyx (who had been curled up comfortably on Tempest’s
feet) hissed, and Tempest grabbed handfuls of her blankets, drawing them up around her against the
morning chill. “These are the girl’s dorms!”

Dobby blinked at Tempest, looking appropriately penitent. “Dobby is sorry, miss!”

Dobby squeaked, hopping backwards, his long fingers clutching at something behind his back.
“Dobby only was wanting to wish Tempest Potter a ‘Merry Christmas’ and give her a present
miss!”

Tempest swallowed, her eyes adjusting to the near pitch darkness. “Urgh, Dobby it’s
fine… Just, poke me or something, don’t stand on my back.”

She pulled open the curtains around her four-poster and saw Hermione, Lavender and
Pravati sitting up and rubbing at their eyes, having been woken at her yell. They peered at her and
Dobby through their own hangings around their beds.

“You all right Tempest?” asked Hermione, “Hello Dobby.”

“I’m fine Hermione, you can go back to sleep,” muttered Tempest.

Lavender mumbled something and fell facedown into her pillow, while Hermione and
Pravati decided to get up and start opening presents.

Tempest turned back to Dobby, who was still standing awkwardly on Tempest’s bed,
looking worried that he had upset her. “Can Dobby give Tempest Potter her present?” he squeaked
tentatively.
 “’Course,” said Tempest, “you really didn’t have to, I wasn’t expecting anything-”

“It is Dobby’s pleasure, miss!”

“Mmm… hey, I got you something too… uh…” Tempest hung over the edge of her bed,
fishing about in her trunk. Finally, she emerged triumphant with a mismatched pair of socks- one a
fluffy purple caterpillar and the other knitted with thick black and yellow stripes. “Sorry- I didn’t
wrap them, but-”

“No, no, Dobby is loving them, miss- the mere thought that miss would think of Dobby-”

Tempest’s eyes widened, horrified as Dobby’s eyes began to well up with giant tears.
“Don’t- it was really no trouble and I knew you liked socks most-”

“Dobby does miss, thank you!” He pulled off his own socks and pulled on the new ones,
beaming tearfully.

“Wow- Tempest! This is amazing!”

Tempest looked over to Hermione, who had just opened Tempest’s present. It was a small
picture frame with a blank canvas, but as Hermione held it, ink spilled across the white until
figures formed. A much younger Hermione was bundled up in a thick coat and mittens, skating on
ice before it morphed into a sketch of an evening in the common room.

“How did you manage to charm the memories to appear?”

Tempest grinned at her. “That would be telling. I’m glad you like it.”

When Hermione had returned to unwrapping presents, Dobby handed Tempest a small
package, which she tore open to reveal… socks. “Dobby is making them himself, miss!” the elf
said happily. “He is buying the wool out of his wages miss!”

Tempest was touched that Dobby had used his money and time to make her socks. She
pulled them on (they were very warm and comfortable). The left sock had an image of a large
dragon, and the right sock had a patched cat stitched onto it.

“Thanks Dobby, they’re great!” said Tempest, causing Dobby’s eyes to leak with
happiness.

“Dobby must go now, miss, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens!” said
Dobby, and he hurried out of the girl’s dormitory, waving goodbye to Hermione and the others as
he passed.

Tempest decided to unwrap her other presents and was surprised to see the size of that
year’s pile. She had gotten a huge bag of Zonko’s products from Fred and George, along with some
of their joke shop prototypes. Amongst her haul was a beautiful snow-globe with a miniature
model of Hogsmeade inside, a book on Quidditch throughout the ages, a huge box of Honeydukes
sweets from Hagrid. Minnie had gifted Tempest a massive tin of her favourite blend of Earl Grey.
Hermione had bought her a new pair of dragon-skin gloves and a book on dragons, while Mrs.
Weasley’s usual package held a new knitted sweater and a large amount of homemade mince pies.

The last two packages Tempest set aside. They were both accompanied by letters, which
Tempest flipped open to read first. Remus wrote briefly about Tempest’s performance in the First
Task, wished her a happy Christmas, and a mysterious line at the end, mentioning how they would
be seeing each other soon. He had sent her a golden snitch, threaded through a slim silver chain.
 ‘I was hunting around my flat, and I found this. James stole it in our fifth year and I
thought you might like it.’

Tempest slung the chain around her neck and held the snitch up to the light, watching the
tiny wings flutter slightly.

Sirius’ letter expressed similar sentiments, and his gift was a pocketknife with hundreds of
attachments that could open any lock to undo any knot.

Tempest went down to breakfast with Hermione and George proceeded to steal her toast.
They spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, after which lunch was magnificent, including
at least a hundred turkeys, Christmas puddings and large piles of Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers.

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon. The snow was untouched except for the
deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle.
Hermione chose to watch Tempest and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in, and at five
o’clock waded through the battlefield to seize Tempest’s arm and announce they were going back
upstairs to get ready for the ball.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at them incredulously and paying for his
lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the
head. “Who’re you going with?” he yelled after them both, but Hermione just waved and left,
towing Tempest behind her.

“Honestly, Hermione,” protested Tempest, “I don’t need three hours to get ready. It’d take
me two minutes to get changed into my dress robes-”

Tempest was wrong.

Apparently there were many aspects to her appearance that required alteration. Hermione
had enlisted Lavender’s talents to help them prepare, and Tempest, who had no earthly idea what
was happening, allowed herself to be maneuvered into a chair to endure while Lavender tugged at
her hair and flapped about with brushes and paste.

Tempest had no idea what she looked like after an hour of the fussing, nor did she care
anymore- as long as she looked half-way presentable, she would deem it a success.

“Okay!” Hermione said cheerfully, startling Tempest out of her stupor. “All done with
your hair!”

“Hmmm?” Tempest looked up and glanced around. “Where’d Lavender go?”

“She finished getting ready and left a while ago to meet Dean,” Hermione filled in, “now
stand up- you’ve got to put on your dress robes.”

“Right, thanks.” Tempest got to her feet stiffly and grabbed at the dress robes lying on her
bed. She ducked into the bathroom and changed quickly. It was the first time she’d put on the dress
that Minnie had bought her. Unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly. The dress fell to Tempest’s feet, loose
and light enough that she wouldn’t trip. The blue was an inoffensive shade, and Tempest had
always liked silver.

She wasn’t comfortable, but, thought Tempest, as she tugged at the length of the dress, it
wasn’t half bad.

Feeling quite unlike herself, Tempest inspected herself in the bathroom mirror.
 Whatever Lavender and Hermione had done… they had done it well. Her hair had been
tamed, sleeked down so it moved and shifted around her face in graceful waves, held back with a
twist of silver cord. They’d done a fine job of masking her scar, and after a minute of scrutiny,
Tempest decided she didn’t dislike it.

She emerged from the bathroom to find Hermione’s appearance similarly altered. Her hair
was twisted up into an elegant knot.

“Ready?” asked Tempest, eying Hermione’s pale blue dress and the shoes that she was
balancing precariously in. Her eyes alighted on the second pair of shoes dangling from Hermione’s
hand.

“You didn’t think you could go barefoot, did you?”

Tempest groaned.

They were two of the first ready, and the common room only held Lavender and Dean,
who were talking quietly in a corner. Lavender looked very pretty in robes of a pale green.

“I’ve got to meet someone,” said Hermione, turning to Tempest and looking suddenly
nervous. “I’ll see you in the Great Hall?”

“Sure,” said Tempest, and watched as Hermione hurried off.

Now this was a problem.

She hadn’t spoken to Malfoy since he’d asked her to the ball, and she had no idea where
they would meet. Hell, she hadn’t the faintest idea what had been crossing his mind when he
asked, and what if he had had second thoughts and she would be left partnerless?

Tempest set off for the Slytherin common room. The walk to the dungeons took longer
than it would have in normal, reasonable shoes, but every step she took in these shoes had her
wobbling precariously. They were borrowed from Lavender, and Tempest appreciated the gesture,
but her feet were mostly hidden beneath her dress, so why had her boots been deemed
unacceptable?

She felt increasingly foolish as she hurried along, a nervous feeling twisting in her gut.
This was stupid. She shouldn't have said yes to Malfoy- what had she been thinking? Gods, if he
had lied about pranking her, jolly well done, because she had no alternative... she thought quite
wildly of George and wondered if he'd found a partner- why had she not thought of him sooner?
He would've been ideal- Cedric too-

Tempest founded a corner and almost ran into Malfoy.

She tripped on the hem of her dress and had to clutch at the wall for balance.

"Potter," said Malfoy. He sounded shocked.

"Malfoy," greeted Tempest, righting herself.

He was dressed in velvet dress robes with a high collar and looked rather like a vicar. His
blonde hair was arranged neatly though.

"You look-"
 "Ridiculous, I know," said Tempest, "I can't hardly stand-"

"-very nice."

"Ah." Tempest shuffled, wobbled, and regretted it.

"Flattered," she said, feeling her cheeks heat. "I was heading to... er-" She paused, staring
at Malfoy. "You're here."

"Yes," he said, "I was just going to your common room." When Tempest failed to reply,
he cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure where to meet, so-"

"Here is fine," said Tempest, glancing down the Charms corridor. She felt more absurd
than ever.

"Well then… Shall we?"

Tempest glanced at the arm Malfoy offered her and hooked her arm through his. It felt
incredibly strange. She could feel the faint warmth of his body against her bare arm through the
fabric. On their walk to the entrance hall, Tempest had to grip his arm tighter than she would have
liked, for balance.

Malfoy said nothing the whole walk there and neither did Tempest. They were about to
step past the doors that would lead into the entrance hall when Malfoy said suddenly, "I'd like it if
we could be... if we could get along. Even if it's just for tonight."

Tempest looked up at his profile, which stared rigidly off at some point ahead of him.
"Sure," she said. "If you think we can manage it."

"I'll do my best," said Malfoy.

Tempest nodded and sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Same. In we go then."

They walked into the entrance hall.

The mass of students crowded in the hall and the general excitement meant that no one
noticed Tempest and Malfoy at first. It was a change from the usual sea of black robes to find
students clothed in every shade imaginable. The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to
look as the Durmstrang students entered with Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party,
accompanied by… Tempest blinked after the pair as they passed. It was Hermione, who caught
Tempest’s eye and gave a nervous smile.

Tempest felt an incredulous grin spreading across her face.

Minnie’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Tempest and Malfoy made their way towards Minnie, the chattering crowd parting to let
them through, and Tempest could tell the exact moment they realized whom exactly she was with.
The chatter didn’t die down, if anything, it amplified, and she caught a great many comments- “Is
that Potter and Malfoy?” and, “but I thought they hated each other!”

Minnie was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a wreath of thistles around
the brim of her hat. She told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside.
They were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur
was with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, and they stationed themselves nearest
the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could
hardly take his eyes off her. Cho Chang accompanied Cedric, and Tempest nodded to them in
greeting. Krum and Hermione were standing closest to her and Malfoy, and Hermione beamed at
Tempest.

“Hi, Tempest!” she said, her eyes then falling immediately to Malfoy. “Er… Draco?”

“Granger,” replied Malfoy.

Hermione seemed unable to find further words. When Malfoy looked away, Hermione
stared very hard at Tempest and mouthed- “what?”

Tempest shrugged.

The eight of them waited there by the doors as the rest of the school filed through into the
Great Hall, and during that time, both Hermione and Tempest were subject to looks of both
disbelief and loathing- mostly on Hermione’s part. She was the one who was going with the
Quidditch star. In the face of that, Tempest seemed to go unnoticed, other than by Pansy Parkinson
who stared outright at her and Malfoy as she passed, gaping and dumbstruck.

Ron walked straight by them without looking at Tempest or Hermione once.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Minnie told the champions and their partners
to get in line in pairs and to follow her. Putting one heeled foot unsteadily before the other,
Tempest began to do so.

“I’d suggest you smile,” said Malfoy, very quietly.

“Why?” said Tempest. She noticed Malfoy was smiling, a faint thing that she’d never seen
on his face before. She attempted to replicate the expression on her own.

“You looked like a block of ice,” said Malfoy.

Tempest gave a short, restrained laugh. “Yeah, thanks, I feel a bit like one.” She
concentrated very hard on not stumbling. Malfoy was tall enough that her grip on his arm looked
natural. Her bare shoulder brushed against his clothed upper arm, and Tempest continued to focus
on her steps.

Everyone in the Great Hall had applauded as they entered and continued to do so as they
walked up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of
garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished;
instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table. His eyes lingered
on Malfoy and Tempest and strangely, his expression became more satisfied. When Tempest
looked again, Dumbledore had turned his gaze on Hermione and Krum. Karkaroff did not share his
sentiments. He wore an expression of mild distaste as Krum and Hermione drew nearer. Bagman,
tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of
the students; and Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown
of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. Mr. Crouch was absent, Tempest noted. In his
place sat Percy Weasley.

When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside
him, staring pointedly at Tempest.

“Percy,” greeted Tempest as she sat. She unslung her arm from Malfoy’s, very aware of his
presence as he sat at her side, unfolding his napkin and straightening his cuffs.

“Hello Tempest,” said Percy, who was dressed in new navy blue dress robes and wearing a smug
smile that only wavered when his gaze crossed Malfoy. “…Malfoy.”

“Weasley,” said Malfoy without inflection.

Percy, after shooting Malfoy a wary look, turned to Tempest. “I’ve been promoted!” he said, which
explained the smug look, “I’m now Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing
him.”

“He still calling you Weatherby?” asked Tempest.

Percy glared at her. “Mr Crouch is a very important man, and he has a lot on his mind.”

“That why he isn’t here tonight?” Tempest asked.

Percy stiffened haughtily, “I’m afraid to say Mr Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. He hasn’t been
right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising: overwork. He’s not as young as he was- though still
quite brilliant, of course; the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World cup was a fiasco
for the whole Ministry-” Tempest decided to ignore the pointed look Percy shot Malfoy, and kept
her eyes on the third Weasley boy. “-and then Mr Crouch suffered a great personal shock with the
misbehaviour of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called.”

“Winky,” sighed Tempest.

“Yes, that… In any case, he dismissed her afterward of course, but- well, as I say, he’s getting on,
needs looking after and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And
then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with- that revolting
Skeeter woman buzzing around- no, poor man, he’s having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I’m
glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

As Percy turned to talk to Maxime- something about safety regulations of her flying horses and
gigantic carriage, Tempest looked up and saw Hermione in an animated conversation with Krum.
They were getting along very well, as were Cedric and Cho, much less than could be said for Fleur
and Roger Davis, who merely watched her with a dazed expression and failed basic hand-mouth
coordination.

After selecting Yorkshire pudding with a side of roast potatoes from the menu, Tempest dug in,
while Malfoy cut into some delicate fish dish.

“So,” said Tempest, using her knife and fork very carefully beside Malfoy’s easy handling of his
own cutlery. Malfoy had likely been trained since childhood to sit tidily and look polished at all
times. He did a good job of it. “How’s your Christmas been so far?”

“Good.” replied Malfoy. “A bit different. I’m usually at home for Christmas. How has yours
been?”

“Quite good,” said Tempest, “I usually spend Christmas at Hogwarts, so it’s about the same…
Professor Lupin sent me this-” Tempest nodded downwards at the snitch she was still wearing. It
went well with her dress; far more suited to her than the things other students had draped
themselves with. “We’ve stayed in touch,” she answered Malfoy’s unspoken question. “It used to
be my dad’s apparently… Did you get anything particularly special?”

“A firebolt,” said Malfoy, “amongst other things. A bit belated perhaps-”

“It’s not a competition,” said Tempest disbelievingly. “I did beat you last year-” she smirked,
unable to keep the expression from her face, “I like to chalk that up to skill though. Brooms aside,
you did come close to catching the snitch yourself.”

Perhaps Malfoy recognized the concession for what it was for the look he shot her over his plate
was almost teasing. “Hardly the advertisement Spudmore would use for his shining glory,” he said
drolly. “Barely enough to bridge the gap between talents.”

“Implying-”

“Implying exactly what you think.”

Tempest found herself grinning over at Malfoy. “Just so we know where we stand.”

“Of course,” said Malfoy, “those positions have never been clearer.”

“Clear as mud.”

They continued to eat in silence for a fair while, until Tempest was done and Malfoy was just
about. He felt very different from the Malfoy she was familiar with, and altogether unfamiliar
territory. He seemed… comfortable. While Tempest felt clumsy and on display, Malfoy looked
utterly unconcerned. She made an active effort to stop hunching and stopped fiddling with her fork.
Her leg began bouncing instead.

“So, the uh… Weird Sisters,” said Tempest, “have you heard much of their stuff?”

“A bit,” Malfoy said, setting his knife down. “Mother isn’t as much of a admirer of theirs- she
prefers French singers… Edith Paif is one of her favorites-”

“Oh of course,” said Tempest, completely unsurprised. “I’ve heard some of her stuff, er, non, je ne
regret re?”

“Non, Je ne regrette rien,” corrected Malfoy, wincing at Tempest’s mangling of the title. “Do you
speak French?”

“Not in the slightest,” replied Tempest, “if that wasn’t immediately obvious- I just like the sound of
the French turning the ‘r’ sound into a dictionary length recital. You speak it, don’t you?”

“Un peu, pas assez pour faire quelque chose,” said Malfoy smoothly.

“Mon dieu.”

“Seigneur,” corrected Malfoy.

Tempest snorted and leant back in her chair. “I’ve always thought the French were smug frogs, I
see the proof here before me.”

“I wouldn’t say all the French,” protested Malfoy, “just the Parisians. A side effect of living in
Paris.”

“And where in France do you vacation?”

Malfoy fell damningly silent.

Tempest laughed, and was caught off guard by Dumbledore standing up, motioning for the
students to do the same. As she and Malfoy stood, Dumbledore waved his wand and all the tables
zoomed back along the walls, leaving the floor clear. He then conjured a raised platform into
existence along the right wall.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all
extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up
their instruments, and Tempest noticed that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and
the other champions and their partners were moving forwards.

“Potter,” hissed Malfoy, “you might want to move.”

Malfoy’s hand caught around her wrist, and they walked onto the brightly lit dance floor while the
Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune. Tempest wound up facing Malfoy, standing very
close to each other, and the next moment, Malfoy had slung one of her arms over his neck, clasped
the other in his, and the pair of them began stepping in time.

Tempest blinked downwards as her feet automatically followed his- they were moving around,
covering a small enough area that Tempest wasn’t struggling to keep her footing, and after a
moment, she relaxed minutely.

“So your etiquette classes,” said Tempest quietly, ensuring she kept her eyes fixed on Malfoy.
Outside of their little bubble, there was a hall filled with students watching them. “Learning the
proper use of a full ten set of cutlery... dancing lessons... They take up much of your childhood?”

Malfoy was very much mirroring her, head ducked lower than usual, and eyes unwaveringly on
hers. His hand was resting lightly on her lower back. “Classes sound limited. I suppose it was bred
into me.”

“Who taught you to dance?” asked Tempest, expecting the answer to run along the lines of a
private tutor.

“My father,” said Malfoy.

“Well you’re very good,” said Tempest, “very… accommodating.”

It really wasn’t as bad as Tempest had thought the ball would be. In fact, she would even say that
she was enjoying herself. Other students were now coming onto the dance floor. Tempest could see
Ginny and Neville together, Minnie doing a two-step with a reluctant looking Snape.

“I was thinking,” said Malfoy as they rotated towards the edge of the dance floor, “Paif- the
woman who regrets nothing, your song choice… would you say it called to you for a particular
reason?”

Tempest laughed. “I have regrets Malfoy. I’m hardly going to unburden all to you though. One
dance does not create openness or trust, or confidence.”

The final, quavering note of the bagpipe faded, and the pair of them came to a halt. A new song
began, which was much faster.

“Well then,” said Malfoy. “Another?”

Tempest gave a wry smile. “Yeah, all right.”

She managed for the next few minutes, the pair of them maneuvering around the dance floor,
passing Krum and Hermione at one point, the other pair looking they were enjoying themselves
very much. Fred and Angelina had created a wide space around them that people were giving a
wild berth to avoid being pummeled by failing limbs as they danced.

Eventually the music became such that Tempest couldn’t manage in her shoes anymore, and
perhaps Malfoy noticed her struggle because he nodded without comment when she muttered a
suggestion for a break.

As Tempest went with Malfoy from the dance floor, she passed by George who was twirling a girl
from Beauxbatons.

“All right, mate?” he called.

“Yeah,” said Tempest, “I’m going to get a drink with-” she nodded over at Malfoy.

George’s eyes narrowed at Malfoy, but the Beauxbatons girl reclaimed his attention and Tempest
headed over to the drinks table.

Drinks in hand, Tempest glanced around for a place to sit. She saw Ron alone, brooding at a table
and decided against joining him. Now they were off the dance floor, she and Malfoy were
attracting no fewer stares, and Tempest grimaced. “Want to go outside?”

“Sure.”

It was quite chilly outside, turning Tempest’s skin instantly to gooseflesh, but she welcomed the
change, leaning back against the frigid stone of the castle wall. Snow was falling softly, a slowly
thickening layer coating the grass and dusting the steps that would lead back into the castle. The
bushes in the rose garden were filled with fairies, twinkling brightly.

“Thanks,” said Malfoy after several long minutes had passed. At Tempest’s questioning look, he
elaborated, “for going with me. To this.”

Tempest stared at him. “No problem,” she said slowly. “It’s… it’s not half bad, us getting along.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Tempest looked around at the bushes and the tops of the newly conjured statues that stood above
the shrubbery. “Fancy a walk?”

They set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes. Tempest again had to keep an
arm hooked through Malfoy’s. There were winding paths and interesting statues of magical
creatures throughout. They passed by other people who were sitting on carved benches, and here
and there they would pass by a rosebush, curiously devoid of fairies and quivering suspiciously.

Tempest raised her eyebrows at Malfoy, and bit back a smile at his deadpan expression.

The air was cold, and Tempest wasn’t wearing very much, so it was inevitable that Malfoy would
feel her shiver.

“Do you want to go back inside?”

“No.” Tempest thought of Ron’s sulking and the watchful eyes of the rest of the school. “I will
endure. I fought off a dragon, Malfoy, if you hadn’t noticed. I can stand for it to be a bit chilly.”
“I did notice,” said Malfoy quietly. “Very impressive.”

Tempest attempted not to preen. It was difficult.

“Your dismount was less so.”

Tempest’s eyes narrowed. “I knew enjoying your company was unsustainable.”

The pause that lingered after her words stretched for longer than Tempest expected, and she looked
at Malfoy oddly.

“Would you want to find out if it can?” said Malfoy. “Be sustainable, I mean.”

There were many things Tempest could have said. There were many thoughts that were crossing
her mind. She had questions too, and no small amount.

“Sure,” she said instead. "We could go flying."

She blames the cold for the strange sensation in her gut as Malfoy gives her a tentative smile.

Which is of course the moment that Snape and Karkaroff round the corner, talking in low voices.

“Draco,” barked Snape immediately. “Potter,” he added a moment later. “What are you two
doing?”

“Strolling,” said Tempest defensively. “Not a bad place for it.”

To Snape’s credit, his eyes flickered only once between the pair of them, and he jerked his head
roughly. “Keep strolling then,” he snapped.

“Yessir.”

She slipped by with Malfoy, who she turned back to when she thought they had put enough
distance between them and the professors. “Draco?”

“My given name, yes” said Malfoy mildly. At Tempest’s unimpressed look, he elaborated,
“Severus- I should say, Professor Snape, is my godfather. He and my father are close friends.”

Oh of course. Certainly there were no other options than for the man who had lost Remus his job to
be close with the man who had almost cursed her alone in a corridor. It was as if Tempest hadn’t
enough reminders of the line in the sand and Malfoy’s placement, very firmly, on the other side of
it.

“Sirius Black is my godfather,” she returned instead.

Malfoy’s expression barely changed. “You seem to be less… upset about it than at the start of this
year.”

Tempest’s mouth dried.

“You might want to work on that.”

It seemed to be a day of surprises. “I have a mass murdering psychopathic bastard for a godfather,”
she tried from behind gritted teeth.

“Better,” said Malfoy. “Try it without seeming so pleased though.”

Tempest shivered overdramatically and steered the conversation bodily away from Sirius. “It’s
fucking freezing.”

Malfoy, to his credit, not for the first time that night, made no comment, and the pair of them made
their way back to the castle. They passed by Fleur Delacour and Roger Davis, both of whom were
crowded in a rosebush, very busily aquatinting themselves. They had just reached a large stone
reindeer when they heard raised voices.

“’ow dare you!” shrieked a voice quickly revealed to be Maxime.

Tempest rounded the reindeer to catch a glimpse of Hagrid and Maxime, seized Malfoy’s arm and
wrenched him backwards out of sight.

“I ’ave nevair been more insulted in my life! ’Alf-giant? Moi? I ’ave- I ’ave big bones!”

Tempest continued to retreat, dragging Malfoy behind her. Maxime had likely stormed off. There
were great swarms of disturbed fairies rising from the bushes in her wake.

“Did you know?” said Malfoy, quickly matching Tempest’s rapid pace, a light in his eyes that
Tempest automatically disliked.

“Know what?”

“Know that the pair of them were half giants?”

Hagrid really was an incomprehensible idiot. The gardens were not a private setting. They hadn’t
needed to hear the entire conversation yet the spirit of it was perfectly clear. And of all the people
to overhear, she was with Malfoy.

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” said Tempest sharply. “And neither do you. Are we
clear?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Fine.”

“Good.”

It took them longer to reach the castle, and they spent the walk in a tense silence, Tempest again
questioning her choice of partner for the night. But she had enjoyed herself. Malfoy wasn’t bad
company. If he just wasn’t… most of what he was.

Back in the Great Hall, Hermione and Krum were still dancing; Fred and George were sitting at a
table, though George seemed slightly resentful as Fred had most of his attention focused on
Angelina. He was pelting Fred with nuts in revenge.

Maxime was in the Hall as well, sitting alone at the judges’ table, looking very somber.

When Malfoy offered to dance again, Tempest accepted. They made mild, meaningless talk as they
stayed quite close to each other on the dance floor. Their topics ranged from Quidditch to the
Ministry of Magic’s auror policies to Ilvermorny’s status amongst other wizarding schools. Malfoy
was a great conversation partner, and it made Tempest wonder then, why for so long he persisted
in saying idiotic things.

The rest of the night passed pleasantly, and when the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight,
Tempest found herself wishing the night could stretch on longer.
Still, she bid Malfoy a farewell off to the side of the Great Hall with honest thanks for the night.

“You won’t need my help up those stairs?” asked Malfoy, nodding towards the marble staircase.

Tempest gave his arm a parting pat. “I think I’ll manage.”

Malfoy paused. “I’ll see you around, Potter?”

Tempest smiled briefly. “Merry Christmas, Malfoy.”

She was halfway up the stairway when she heard a voice calling her name.

“Hey- Tempest!”

It was Cedric, and Tempest turned and waited as Cedric ran up the stairs to her.

“Cedric,” said Tempest, “what can I do you for?”

“I’m returning a favour,” said Cedric, stopping a step below Tempest and leaning in closer.
“Listen. You know your golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yes.”

“Well… take a bath, okay?”

Tempest frowned at him. “I’m really more of a shower person to be honest-”

“No,” said Cedric with a breathless laugh, “no, just take a bath, and er- take the egg with you,
and… just mull things over in the hot water. It’ll help you think. Trust me.”

Tempest arched an incredulous eyebrow.

“Tell you what,” Cedric said, “use the prefects’ bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of
Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password’s ‘pine fresh.’ Gotta go... want to say good
night-” He grinned at Tempest and hurried back down the stairs to where Tempest could see Cho
waiting.

Tempest continued her trek back to Gryffindor Tower. Take a bath? And in the prefect’s bathroom
no less? Utterly confused and adding the strange advice to the list of odd happenings in her life,
Tempest reached the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was asleep and Tempest had to rap hard on the
frame and yell ‘Fairy lights’ before she woke up.

She climbed into the common room and found Ron and Hermione in the middle of a blazing row.
Standing ten feet apart, they were bellowing at each other, each scarlet in the face.

“Well, if you don’t like it, you know what the solution is, don’t you?” yelled Hermione; her hair
was coming down out of its elegant bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger.

“Oh yeah?” Ron yelled back. “What’s that?”

“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!”

Ron mouthed soundlessly as Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls’ staircase to
bed. Ron turned to look at Tempest.

“Well,” he sputtered, looking thunderstruck, “well- that just proves- completely missed the point-”
Tempest looked after Hermione, then over at Ron. “And what was your point, precisely?”

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times before spitting out, “Krum!” in a choked sort of
voice.

“I thought you liked Krum,” said Tempest, easing out of her shoes, then mincing over to the fire on
abused feet to stoke the fire.

“I do! Did- but Hermione-” spluttered Ron, “She’s fraternizing with the enemy is what she’s
doing! And you!” He added, “you went with Malfoy!”

“I can see why you’d be against Malfoy,” said Tempest, sinking down before the fire with little
care for her dress. “But putting a pin in that, why are you mad at Hermione?” She shot Ron a sharp
look. “She can do what she likes.”

“She should’ve told me though!”

“Why does she need to?” asked Tempest. “And why would that make you feel better? From where
I’m sitting it looks like you’re upset she went with anyone and you went alone.”

“No- I-” The red slowly faded from Ron’s cheeks, and he came around to sit by Tempest by the
fire. “I did want to go with her, I just didn’t realize she was-”

Available.

The word hung unsaid in the air between them.

“Would you have been pissed off if I had forgotten you were available?” asked Ron.

“Ron, you did forget I was available,” snorted Tempest, “and no I didn’t really care. It means
something different to Hermione though… She’s different.”

They stared at the fire for a long while.

“Why’d you go with Malfoy?” Ron asked eventually.

“He asked me.”

“Lots of people asked you.” Ron said, “why’d you go with him?”

“Dunno,” said Tempest blankly. “Maybe I was curious. And I don’t know why he asked me either,
Ron.”

Ron looked disturbed and mildly disgusted. “What did you two talk about?” He barely gave time
for Tempest to run through their conversations before he had changed his focus. “What did Krum
and Hermione talk about?”

“Haven’t the faintest.” Tempest said. “Hermione looked like she was having fun though. As her
friend, you should be glad.”

“You looked like you were having fun,” said Ron pointedly. “With Malfoy.”

“Well what were the better options?” asked Tempest. “It wasn’t bad. Still, things will probably go
back to normal tomorrow.”
 In Which Tempest Fumbles into Actual Communication

Chapter Five-

Things did return to normal. For the first week following Christmas there were still many
speculative stares cast in her and Malfoy’s direction. In the following weeks the whispers of a
secret relationship slowly died off, until the memory faded into the backs of people’s minds and
they got on with life.

It wasn’t to say that Malfoy had fallen under the radar though; he had attracted attention of his
own. She had seen him in several heated exchanges with Parkinson and some other Slytherins.
After the initial few days of sulking, Parkinson was attempting to reattach herself to his side. Other
than that, Tempest saw him alone most of the time. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to anyone, or
if he was, what he was saying on the matter.

Tempest hadn’t said a word for her part. She hadn’t spoken to Malfoy either.

When the new term began, the snow was still thick on the ground. It crunched beneath her boots as
she walked alongside the path leading down to Hagrid’s cabin. Ron and Hermione were bundled
up in their cloaks, and the three exchanged hopes that over the holidays the Skrewts would have
finished killing each other off.

However, upon reaching the cabin, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and
a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

“Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago,” she barked at them as they struggled toward her
through the snow.

“Who’re you?” said Ron, staring at her. “Where’s Hagrid?”

“My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,” she said briskly. “I am your temporary Care of Magical
Creatures teacher.”

“But where’s Hagrid?”

“He is indisposed,” said Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Unpleasant laughter reached Tempest’s ears. She turned; Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherins
had arrived. Parkinson looked gleeful and not at all surprised to see the new Professor. Malfoy was
there too, looking disdainful. Tempest cast a worried look back in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin
as Grubbly-Plank strode off around the paddock where the Bueaxbatons horses were shivering.

“What’s wrong with Hagrid?” Ron said, hurrying to catch up with Grubbly-Plank.

“Never you mind,” she said.

“We do mind, though, what’s up with him?”

Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn’t hear Ron. She led them past the paddock and toward a
tree on the edge of the forest where a large unicorn was tethered.
Many of the girls ‘ooohed!’ at the sight of the unicorn. It glowing so brightly white it made all the
snow around it look grey. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing
back its horned head.

“Boys keep back!” barked Grubbly-Plank, “they prefer the woman’s touch, unicorns. Girls to the
front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it…”

She and the girls walked slowly forward to the unicorn and Tempest followed, passing by Malfoy.

There had been a good measure of distance between them as she walked by, yet Malfoy staggered,
and for the briefest of moments, he grasped at her shoulder for balance. Tempest felt a something
slipped into the pocket of her robes.

Malfoy let go and stepped away. The entire exchange lasted barely a second. Tempest didn’t react,
reached the unicorn, stroked it, admired it, then moved to the back of the group as Grubbly-Plank
called the boys forward.

She pulled out whatever it was Malfoy had given her from her pocket. The rough feel of ink printed
on poor parchment were tell tale signs of a page of folded newspaper. She straightened it out with
Hermione beside her.

It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking incredibly shifty.

DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has
never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special
Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the notoriously
jinx-happy, ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised
eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anybody who
makes a sudden movement in his presence.

Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human
Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the
position of gamekeeper at the school ever since- a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year
however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post
of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify
the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind
eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being ‘very
frightening.’

“My friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm,” says Pansy Parkinson, a fourth-year
student at Hogwarts. “We all hate Hagrid, but we’re just too scared to say anything.”

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation however. In conversation with a
Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breading creatures he has dubbed “Blast-Ended
Skrewts” highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs.
 The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed
by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however,
considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

"I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject. As if this were not
enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not – as he has always
pretended – a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can
exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently
unknown. Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by
warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of
his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working
against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the
giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical
Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal
nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the girl who brought
around You-Know-Who’s fall from power- thereby driving Hagrid’s own mother, like the rest of
You-Know-Who’s supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Tempestas Potter is unaware of the unpleasant
truth about her large friend- but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Miss Potter,
along with her fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

The paper crumpled beneath Tempest’s fingers and she stuffed the page back in her pocket.
Hermione, who had finished reading several seconds before Tempest grabbed her wrist, as she
made a violent motion forwards, focused on Malfoy.

“That fucking bastard,” said Tempest. “I should’ve fucking known.”

“Known- Tempest, what’re you talking about?”

“Malfoy,” ground out Tempest, “and here he is gloating-”

Hermione started at Tempest, at the utter lack of surprise regarding Hagrid’s bloodlines and the
skip to instant anger. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew,” snapped Tempest, “I guessed years ago. I asked, he answered. This isn’t
important. On the night of the Ball, Hagrid and Maxime were talking in the garden, and he must’ve
made the assumption that she was one as well. She wasn’t too pleased she yelled a bit and stormed
off. The thing is, Malfoy and I were walking close by and we both heard the end of it.” Tempest’s
gaze seared into the back of Malfoy’s blonde head as he stood near the unicorn. “I don’t know
what I was thinking- of course he wouldn’t keep it to himself- I should’ve obliviated him or
something, fuck.”

“Tempest calm down,” said Hermione urgently, tugging at Tempest’s arm. “I don’t like Malfoy
either, but to leak to Skeeter-”

“He must have done,” said Tempest, “unless Skeeter was crouched somewhere in a bush listening,
how would she have known? It’s hardly in Maxime’s interest to go babbling to the press.”
“It’s Parkinson’s name on the paper though,” said Hermione.

“Then he told Parkinson,” said Tempest, shaking her head. “Bad enough.”

“Miss Potter- Miss Granger, are you two listening?” Grubbly-Plank waved them over to join the
rest of the class, before continuing to enumerate the many magical properties of unicorns in a loud
voice. They rejoined the group, and Tempest cast a look over at Malfoy to find her looking at her.
His gaze was expectant. Tempest returned the look stonily. Eventually, he turned his attention back
to the unicorn.

If he was gloating, he was doing it quite soberly.

That evening, after dinner, Tempest and Hermione went down to Hagrid’s hut, but when they
knocked, all they heard was Fang’s barking, with no sound of Hagrid inside.

“Hagrid, it’s me!” Tempest yelled, hammering on the door. “Open up!”

There was no answer, and when Tempest’s hand was bruised from trying to physically destroy the
door, she and Hermione returned to the castle. “Why’s he avoiding us?” Hermione said, “He
doesn’t think we care about him being half-giant!?”

“Apparently so,” said Tempest darkly.

It was indescribably stupid. Hagrid knew that Tempest knew. They’d talked for hours around the
subject, and when they’d finally reached it, Tempest had made it clear that nothing had changed.
Still, if Hagrid wanted his privacy, Tempest wouldn’t intrude.

Only as the days went on, Tempest didn’t see him at all.

The final straw came on the day of the Hogsmeade trip halfway through January. Tempest ignored
Hermione’s confusion that she was going to Hogsmeade when she announced it. In Hermione’s
mind, every spare moment that Tempest had should be spent working on her egg.

But the second task was still a good month and a bit away, and Tempest wasn’t concerned yet. She
threw Hermione off, muttering something about almost having solved it. She did have Cedric’s
bizarre advice to follow if worst came to worst.

The day of the Hogsmeade trip, Tempest went down to the village with Ron and Hermione.
Entering the Three Broomsticks, the pub was as crowded as ever. She went up to the bar and
ordered two butterbeers and an Earl Grey from Madam Rosmerta.

“Doesn’t he ever go into the office?” Hermione whispered suddenly. “Look!”

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Tempest saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting
in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the
goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

It was odd for Bagman to be at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard
event, and therefore no judging to be done. She thought to the last time she’d spoken to the twins
and wondered if they had any headway in getting their money back.

Just then, Bagman glanced over the bar, saw Tempest, and stood up.

“In a moment, in a moment!” Tempest heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and it was too late
for Tempest to turn and pretend to be in conversation with Ron and Hermione. Bagman hurried
through the pub toward Tempest, his boyish grin back in place.

“Tempest!” he said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”

“Peachy,” said Tempest.

“Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Tempest?” said Bagman eagerly. “You couldn’t
give us a moment, you two, could you?”

“Er- okay,” said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table.

Tempest watched them go, and then went reluctantly with Bagman to an end of the bar, which she
noted was quieter and more private than the rest of the room.

“I just thought I’d congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail,
Tempest,” said Bagman. “Really superb.”

Tempest decided to nod. She assumed Bagman was about to get to the point, because he wouldn’t
have taken her aside to just congratulate her would he?

Bagman didn’t seem to be in a hurry to spill though and Tempest saw him glance across the bar at
a table full of goblins nearby- who in turn, were staring at the two of them with flat dark eyes.

“Absolute nightmare,” Bagman said to Tempest in an undertone, noticing Tempest watching the
goblins. “Their English isn't too good… it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch
World Cup… but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep
gabbling in Gobbledegook… and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means
'pickaxe.' I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them.” He gave a short booming
laugh.

Tempest agreed unenthusiastically. Her tea arrived and she took a sip. “So,” she said. “Have you
been having problems with your post lately?”

“My post?” asked Bagman, looking confused.

“Friends of mine have been trying to write to you,” said Tempest, watching Bagman carefully.
“You know them. They’re identical.”

Bagman’s smile faded slightly. It might’ve been the light of the room, but he seemed to pale. “No.
No, I haven’t received any letters from them.”

“Strange,” said Tempest, taking another sip of tea.

Bagman reattached his smile to his face with effort. “Here, Tempest, what I really wanted to ask
you” -he lowered his voice- “how are you getting on with your golden egg?”

A flash of how Bagman had offered to help her before the dragon too put Tempest instantly on
edge. “Fine,” lied Tempest.

Bagman didn’t seem dissuaded. “Listen, Tempest,” he said (still in a very low voice), “I feel very
bad about all this... you were thrown into this tournament, you didn’t volunteer for it... and if…”
(his voice was so quiet now, Tempest could barely hear him) “if I can help at all… a prod in the
right direction... I’ve taken a liking to you... the way you defeated that dragon! …well, just say the
word.”
Tempest stared into Bagman’s round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.

"We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?" Tempest said casually.

Bagman looked at Tempest impatiently, “Well... well, yes-”

“So thank you,” said Tempest, “but I’m fine.”

Bagman looked disappointed, but he couldn’t say anything else as Fred and George appeared by
Tempest’s side suddenly. “Hello Mr Bagman,” Fred said brightly, “Can we buy you a drink?”

“Er... no,” said Bagman, with a disappointed glance at Tempest, “no, thank you, boys, I must
run…”

He hurried out of the pub and Tempest saw the goblins follow him.

Fred and George looked just as disappointed as they looked after Bagman’s disappearing
figure. “How're you doing, Hedgy?” George piped up, bouncing on his heels. "Fancy a drink
yourself?"

Tempest lifted her cup with a shake of her head. “I’m with Ron and Hermione, thanks though. I
don’t think he’ll be paying you two any time soon, sorry. He’s definitely gotten your letter.”

Fred grunted. “Bugger. We’ll have to try something else then.”

They left and Tempest rejoined Ron and Hermione.

“What did he want?” asked Ron.

Tempest relayed their conversation much to Hermione’s annoyance. “He’s a judge, and in the
Ministry to boot,” she complained, “he should better than to offer to help you cheat! And you
know what you’re doing after all, don’t you Tempest?”

Tempest mumbled something from behind the rim of her cup.

“Uh-oh,” said Ron, staring at the door.

Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were
painted shocking pink, and her paunchy photographer accompanied her. She bought drinks, and she
and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. She was talking fast
and looking very satisfied.

“…didn’t seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And
what’s he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights... what nonsense...
he was always a bad liar. Reckon something’s up? Think we should do a bit of digging? ‘Disgraced
Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...’ Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo- we just
need to find a story to fit it-”

“Right,” said Tempest and stood up roughly. “Fancy ruining someone else’s life, do you?”

A few people looked around. Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw
who had spoken.

“Tempest!” she said, beaming. “How lovely! Why don’t you come and join-?”

“I’d join you with a skrewt- what was that article with Hagrid?”
Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows. “Well I would’ve thought it was fairly obvious,
dear-”

“No one cares if Hagrid’s a half-giant,” exploded Tempest, “he’s been one his entire life! Not once
has he ever harmed anyone, and if anyone has a problem with his heritage, they’ll have to go
through me. Hagrid chose to keep the fact quiet for his own peace of mind, so what right do you
have to go writing articles about it?”

The whole pub had gone very quiet. Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, oblivious to
the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.

Skeeter’s smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her
crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, “How about giving me an
interview about the Hagrid you know, Tempest? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely
friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?”

Tempest stood very, very still. A sharp pain in her jaw told her she was clenching her teeth so
tightly they were creaking against each other. “You can go to hell,” she said quietly. “You write
filth unfit for a rag and sold your integrity for your first pair of atrocious nails-”

Skeeter’s face soured, and she said coldly, “I wouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand,
girl.”

Tempest looked down at Skeeter, at her made up face and glittering eyes, and wanted to hurt her.
“You would lead a masterclass in that, wouldn’t you?” said Tempest.

She left; many people staring at her as she went. Ron and Hermione followed her out the door not
too long after, but Tempest had already set off at a run, through the village, up the road, through
the gates flanked by the winged boars and up through the grounds to Hagrid’s cabin.

She arrived at Hagrid’s cabin alone and out of breath.

“Hagrid!” Tempest yelled, pounding on the front door, “stop wallowing and open the door or I’ll
blast it open! If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll hunt Skeeter down and curse her-”

The door opened.

“About bloody time-”

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of her.

“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly, smiling at Tempest.

“Ah… hello,” said Tempest, the wind swept from her sails.

“I assume you are here for Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling brightly. “Why don’t you
come in?”

“Right.”

Fang launched himself at her the moment she stepped through the door, barking madly and licking
her hands, looking for the titbits that Tempest usually snuck him. Hagrid was sitting at his table,
where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked terrible. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen,
and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it
behave, it now looked like a mess of tangled wire. He looked up, bleary eyes focusing on Tempest.
“Lo Tempest.” He said hoarsely.

“No one’s dead or dying,” Tempest stated flatly, “you don’t get to use ‘lo’.”

Hagrid gave what sounded like a watery laugh.

“More tea I think,” Dumbledore said, flicking his wand and making a tray of cakes and another
mug of hot tea appear on the table.

Tempest finished greeting Fang, and went to the table to help herself to a cup. There was a pause in
which Tempest sipped at tea, Hagrid wiped at his eyes, and Dumbledore surveyed the both of
them. Then Dumbledore spoke up mildly. “Did you happen to hear what Tempest was shouting
outside Hagrid?”

Tempest took a too-large gulp and turned red. Dumbledore smiled at her. “Now, while I do not
approve of attacking the journalistic media,” he added, his eyes twinkling ever more brightly, “I
must agree with her. It seems that judging by the way she threated to blow up your hut, that she still
seems to want to know you and I will go out on a limb here and say that the majority of the school
feels the same way.”

“Exactly!” Tempest said, “-and I can’t speak for the whole school, but I will regardless; we all
want you back. It’s like I said to the bitch today- oh, uh, sorry Professor-” Tempest added, glancing
at Dumbledore.

“I have gone temporarily deaf, and haven’t any idea what you said Tempest,” said Dumbledore,
twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

“Right,” continued Tempest, abashed, “What I said is I’ve known for years and it hasn’t made the
slightest bit of difference! Why would you think anyone would care what that woman wrote?”

Hagrid didn’t answer, but two fat tears leaked out of his eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.

“Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at
the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their
own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to
say about it–"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin
for a very long time," said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "Not a
week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl
complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse
to talk to anybody?"

Tempest snorted into her cup of tea, burning herself, causing Dumbledore to give her an indulgent
smile.

“Yeh- yeh’re not half-giant!” said Hagrid croakily.

“Enough with the self-pity!” Tempest snapped, “You are what you choose to be Hagrid. You’re not
automatically a monster just because your mum’s a giant and there’s no cause for you to hide away
just because some prejudiced pricks- sorry Professor, take issue!”

“Well said,” said Dumbledore, his eyes shining brightly behind his spectacles. “Well said. You
should not fear public disapproval. My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing
inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not!
He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can
read, so that may not have been bravery…”

Tempest hadn’t known that Dumbledore had a brother, but she laughed nonetheless.

“Just come back and teach again,” she said, composing herself. “It’s not Care of Magical Creatures
without you.”

Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.

Dumbledore stood up. "I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work
on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses.
Good afternoon to you both."

Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang’s ears. When the door had shut behind
him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Tempest shifted over to pat him on the
arm. Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, "Great man, Dumbledore… great
man…"

“Yeah, he is.”

More tears leaked out of Hagrid’s eyes, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, "Never
shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here…"

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard
with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a
good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless,
young, round, and smooth- he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed … thought
I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum… well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at
magic, really… but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year…

“Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job…
trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances… tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see.
He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay
even if their families weren'… well… all tha' respectable. But some don’ understand that. There's
some who'd always hold it against yeh… there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones
rather than stand up an' say – I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad
used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he
was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones… I'll
give her big bones."

Tempest finished her tea. She looked down at the beaming eleven-year-old Hagrid in the photo.

“Yeh know wha, Tempest?” Hagrid said, looking up from the photo, his eyes bright, “Yeh remind
me o’ me a bit. Mum an’ Dad gone, an’ everyone’s always looking at yeh for one reason or
‘nother, people always callin’ you names… jus’ wanted to say Tempest, yeh show them- you
show everyone that they’re wrong, alrigh? You don’t be ashamed of your choices, and don’ let
anyone else tell yeh different.”
 *****

Tempest kept an eye trained on the Marauders Map as she slipped through the castle hallways lit by
moonlight. It had been a while since she’d had cause enough to go on her nighttime wanderings,
especially without the cover of the Invisibility Cloak.

Still, she was managing well enough, and the Cloak was doing more good with Sirius than her.

She made her way easily with her golden egg and nightwear stuffed into a bag over her shoulder.
Twice she had to take an alternate route to the prefect’s bathroom to avoid Filch, who prowled the
corridors with Mrs Norris.

Finally, she reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost looking wizard with gloves on the
wrong hands and found the right door. She muttered the password ‘Pine fresh,’ and the door
creaked open.

Tempest slipped inside, bolted the door behind her, and looked around.

A splendid candle-filled chandelier filled the room with a soft glow. Everything was made of white
marble, and pools of light glimmered between her and what looked like an empty rectangular
swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. A hundred golden taps stood around the pool’s
edges, each with a differently colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long
white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and
there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast
asleep on a rock, her long hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

Still slightly paranoid, Tempest gave the room a second cursory glance, looking for other
entrances, ensuring there were no other paintings save the slumbering mermaid.

Tempest eyed the pool. It was a thousand times larger than was necessary for a bath, unless the
prefects liked to bathe together. Still, Cedric had said to take a bath, and to take a bath she would.

Setting down her bag and map beside the pool along with a large fluffy towel, Tempest inspected
the many taps. The first tap she turned gushed ice white foam that floated thickly above steaming
hot water, and the second had lavender bubbles. It was evident they all carried different types of
bubble bath, and the pool filled up quickly with dozens of taps gushing all at once.

When it was full, Tempest stripped, folding her clothes down beside her bag and dove sleekly into
the water.

For one who preferred the scalding rush of showers, Tempest found this bath rivaled them. The
pool was deeper than it looked at a first glance; her toes were only able to brush the bottom of the
pool at the deep end.

She swam several laps around the pool, climbing out to use the diving board, and breaking through
the surface of the water in an explosion of bubbles and foam. She shook her head to clear her ears
of product and ducked beneath the surface again. She swam down to the very bottom of the pool
where she twisted around to stare up through the water and bubbles at the ceiling that wavered
above.

It was a gorgeous feeling, but recalling her purpose, Tempest didn’t feel any more enlightened
regarding her egg.
With an sigh, Tempest struck out for the surface, heading to the edge of the pool.

She hauled herself out and taking care not to drip water over her clothes, grabbed her egg and
slipped back down into the pool. Clasping it between her hands, she steeled herself, and yanked it
open.

Though she was anticipating it, Tempest still flinched at the egg’s wailing. The noise amplified by
the echoes flung back by the marble walls and the egg slipped through Tempest’s fingers, and into
the water of the pool.

All of the screeching cut off instantly, and gazing down at the egg through the water, Tempest
could hear muffled, haunting voices.

Tempest ducked under the water and swam after the egg.

“Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this: we’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look, to recover what we took,

But past an hour- the prospect’s black, too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”

She grabbed the egg and kicked for the surface. The instant the egg reached air, the horrific
wailing started again.

“Fuck,” said Tempest, and dropped the egg beneath the water again. “Come and seek us…” She
shook her head and ducked back under. After listening to the song several times, she had the
general gist of it memorized and she floated about, muttering lines of it to herself.

“Slow, aren’t you?”

“Fuck!”

The voice made Tempest whirl around with a curse, bubbles popping with ‘pinging’ noises all
around her as she faced the owner of the voice.

“Shit, Myrtle!” exclaimed Tempest, “what the hell are you doing here?”

Myrtle giggled, swooping down from the celling where she had been lurking for Merlin knew how
long. “I come in here often,” said Myrtle, “but you- you haven’t talked to me in ages. You use my
bathroom, but you never stop to talk.”

Tempest sighed, slipping lower into the water, “It’s a bathroom, Myrtle- I don’t stop often for
talks.”

Myrtle let out a sob, “Insulting my home! Oh! Come along and call insults to the wailing ghost
why don’t you-”

“Sorry,” said Tempest hurriedly, glancing worriedly at the door to the bathroom. Myrtle’s wails
were echoing off the walls. “Could you please just be a bit quieter? I’m sorry okay? Just- shh!”
“You used to come in and stay for hours, and talk to me!” Myrtle sulked.

“Sorry.” Tempest said, for the sake of peace, “But right now I’m not wearing any clothes, and this
isn’t the best time.”

Myrtle’s eyes lit up. “You mean your egg? Oh it took hours and hours for Cedric to figure it out.
It’s quite simple though, isn’t it?”

“Then tell me,” said Tempest, shutting the egg and placing it back beside the pool.

“Oh, well I can’t do that, can I?” said Myrtle smugly.

“That’s a great help, thanks,” said Tempest dryly. “I’m ever so glad you came to talk to me.”

“Me too!” Myrtle said cheerfully.

Tempest huffed impatiently, making sure there were sufficient bubbles in the pool before she swam
a few laps around, thinking.

The song spoke of something she cared about, taking it someplace and giving her an hour to search
for it. The voices sounded underwater, and in a space large enough to need an hour to search for…
Tempest recalled Krum’s swimming routine in the Black Lake. There. The song spoke of a
collective we. A group that lived underwater and sung a sight better than she did. Tempest grabbed
her towel and dragged it into the water, knotting it around herself, then hauling herself out of the
pool, dripping water.

“I don’t suppose it’s sirens?” she asked, looking over at Myrtle, who smirked knowingly.

In the process of swapping her wet towel with a dry one, Tempest’s gaze caught on the mermaid in
the portrait. “Or a mermaid?”

*****

Tempest’s timing for when she finally chose to follow Cedric’s advice had been completely
random. She had been putting off thinking too hard about the egg; save for cracking it open every
now and then to see if the screeching had changed at all. Tempest could’ve chosen any night, and
as it happened, on this one, Bartemius Crouch had decided to come visiting.

In Snape’s office.

And Snape wasn’t there.

Tempest stared at the Marauder’s map very hard. All else was still and quiet. Flich and Mrs
Norris were in their office. Peeves was moving about the trophy room on the floor above, and
Tempest saw herself positioned in her corridor. Crouch’s dot was the only one out of place, and
Tempest watched as his dot moved about Snape’s office, stopping here and there, before moving
on again.

It was curious. Last she had heard, Crouch was ill. So ill he couldn’t make it to Hogwarts. Yet here
he was in the dead of night, in Snape’s office. His health must have greatly improved.

For a moment, Tempest considered ignoring it and going back to bed. She was sure the Ministry
official had good reason to be snooping around as he was. Then, decided, she began making her
way to Snape’s office.

But she had barely closed half the distance when the dot that read Bartemius Crouch began moving
out of Snape’s office, coming towards her, and at the speed that the dot was travelling, he would
soon round the corner and-

Tempest cursed her lack of cloak and turned the corner to slam into a large body.

“Professor Moody?”

Moody stumped out of the shadows, making Tempest stumble backwards. In the dimly lit hallway,
the shadows thrown by his scars were garish. She hadn’t seen his name anywhere near on the map.

“Miss Potter!” Moody growled, surprise showing on his mangled features, “What are you doing
out at this time of night?”

“Fancied a walk,” said Tempest. At Moody’s unimpressed look, she elaborated. “I, er, wanted a
bath.”

“With that egg?” Moody said, nodding towards Tempest’s bag, where the top of the golden egg
was visible, glinting in the dim light.

“It needed polishing,” Tempest deadpanned.

Moody’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Well, in that case, you should be returning to your
dormitory. Gryffindor Tower is in the opposite direction.”

Tempest relaxed slightly, “I was going to, except then I saw that Crouch- that is, Mr Crouch, the
Ministry official, was in Professor Snape’s office and I-”

“Crouch?” Moody barked suddenly, his good eye flashing, while his blue one whizzed madly
around in its socket. He glanced over his shoulder hurriedly, as though Crouch would burst out
from the shadows. “How do you know?”

“Er-” Tempest deliberated for a second before bringing out the map. “I have this map of
Hogwarts… it allows you to see where everyone in the castle is… see, here we are-” Her finger
found the spot in the corridor where there were two dots. One labeled ‘Tempestas Potter’, the
other-

Tempest’s breathing halted. Her arm was still extended, the map still clearly in view. Moody’s face
darkened.

The air rushed into her lungs, and Tempest’s hand flew down to her side, only to have her wand arc
away, clattering to the ground somewhere in the distance behind Moody. Tempest stumbled back a
step. Crouch was in the Ministry, she knew he wasn’t a death eater, and Moody hated anything to
do with death eaters, so whichever one the person in front of her was, they shouldn’t pose a threat
to her… but the expression on the not-Moody’s face was frightening.

“What do you want?” asked Tempest, still backing away while not-Moody advanced on her. “Why
are you polyjuiced as Moody? I thought you were ill.”

Not-Moody laughed darkly. “Barty Crouch is ill, very ill, I’m afraid. He’s unlikely to recover.”

“Right,” said Tempest, her jaw working furiously, while her mind worked even harder to think of
any potential defense she had if he attacked her, “but this map shows where each and every person
in this castle is, even if they’re under an invisibility cloak-” she had Sirius’ penknife in her bag, but
it was unlikely the not-Moody would just let her reach for it… “and I know from a very reliable
source that this map never lies.”

Not-Moody’s own scarred hand was clenched around his wand.

“So why does the map say ‘Bartemius Crouch,’ where you stand, Professor Moody?”

“Your map is mistaken.” His voice was a low growl.

“The way you’re acting right now, I don’t think it is,” said Tempest. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t
reach Sirius’ knife, and she couldn’t yell for help, because she knew no one else was around. The
paintings in the hallway were empty, landscapes and buildings without a single person.

“Why do you care so much?” said Tempest, continuing to stall for time. If she could make it down
to the end of the corridor, she could round the corner and sprint. Not-Moody had a wooden leg, he
mightn’t be able to catch her… “It’s a bit odd, sneaking around wearing someone else’s face at
night, but why would you possibly want to…”

It hit her then, the strange behaviour, the menacing manner, “You’re not Moody or Crouch are
you?”

Not-Moody, Not-Crouch gave a harsh laugh, his wand pointed straight at Tempest. “Smart girl
aren’t you? You’d have a hell of a future ahead of you… if you live that is- and unlikely given the
circumstances.”

“You’re going to murder me right here? In this hallway?” Tempest had the Marauders Map
clutched tightly in her fist and her heart was pounding in her chest. This hadn’t been expected, this
hadn’t been how she had thought she would die…

“No,” said Not-Moody with a dark laugh. “Not yet. The Dark Lord has need of you.”

Voldemort?

Not-Moody’s next word came so quickly Tempest missed it. She was blasted backwards and
slammed against hard stone, crumpling to the ground.

*****

The world returned with a dull throbbing that pressed in against Tempest’s skull.

She was lying face down with the side of her face pressed against cold, cold stone, and her eyes
were level with polished black shoes. She groaned.

“Miss Potter. Miss Potter!”

The tone was urgent, and Tempest blinked blearily. Her arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, and
she groaned as she shoved against the ground to roll over.

“Miss Potter,” the voice repeated, the concern leeching out of it until Tempest was looking up at
Snape, bent over her and dressed in a long grey nightshirt.
“Professor Snape!” Tempest tried to sit up, working against limbs that were moving sluggishly.
“What… how did- what happened? Why am I here?”

Snape straightened, “A question I would like answered as well. Why is it that you are here at ten
past one in the morning?”

“I… but, wait, what? It’s one?” Tempest got to her feet unsteadily. Her hair was wet against her
head and neck. She was dressed in her sleepwear, her dressing gown loosely knotted around her
waist. Her bag was sitting beside her, a golden glint peeking out from the gap of the zip. “I
think…” she tried to focus. She had been talking to Myrtle… “I think I had a bath… that’s right, it
was a great bath…”

Snape’s gaze filled with utter distain, and his voice dripped with his opinion of her. “Fairy dust?”
he sneered.

“I’m not high!” said Tempest defensively. She’d never touched the stuff, though George had
offered once… “It must have been the bath.”

“At one in the morning?” said Snape disbelievingly.

“It was a long bath,” snapped Tempest, just as her skull throbbed again, sending her reeling and
grasping for the wall of the corridor to steady herself.

If Snape had thought she was suffering from the aftereffects of fairy dust, she had just reinforced
his theory.

“Enough of this nonsense,” he snarled, “What I wish to know is why it is you- you insufferable
Gryffindor- who is out of bed at the same time that my office has been broken into!”

“Your office was broken into?” said Tempest, her headache refusing to abate. She would have to
see Pomfrey again soon. She had thought her headaches had been getting better, but it seemed not.
“I don’t have the faintest idea about anyone in your office,” she said, “all I know is that I had a
bath- is that my wand?”

Tempest stumbled a few steps past Snape to where her wand lay in a pool of moonlight. She must
have dropped it, but she simply couldn’t remember…

Snape was watching her scornfully. “You expect me to believe that free of undue influence and
with full mental capabilities, a bath resulted in your passing out here, in the middle of a corridor?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Is that so?” said Snape, “then you will have no objections to taking this to the Headmaster-”

“Trouble Snape?”

Of the darkness loomed Moody, both eyes fixed on Snape.

The expression fell away from Snape’s face forming a blank mask. “Not at all Moody. Miss Potter
was merely out of bed after hours.”

Moody barely looked at Tempest, his blue eye flickering over her before it focused back on Snape.
“-and what would you be doing out of bed at this hour Snape? Pajama party?”

“I have just as much a right to be out of bed as you do Moody-”

“I heard you say your office had been broken into,” Moody interrupted. “Why would that be
Snape?”

“It is unimportant,” said Snape coldly.

“On the contrary,” growled Moody, “it is very important. Who’d want to break into your office?”

“A student, I daresay,” said Snape. His eyes flickered to Tempest briefly. “Miss Potter, to be
precise, under the influence of fairy dust I suspect. It has happened before-”

“It hasn’t-” protested Tempest. The two wizards ignored her.

“Mischief making, you think?” said Moody, “Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?”

Snape’s face darkened. “You know I’m hiding nothing, Moody,” he said in a soft and dangerous
voice, “as you’ve searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself.”

Moody’s face twisted into a smile. “Auror’s privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an
eye-”

“Dumbledore happens to trust me-” Snape said through gritted teeth.

“Course Dumbledore trusts you,” growled Moody. “He’s a trusting man, isn’t he? Believes in
second chances. But me- I say there are spots that don’t come off, Snape. Spots that never come
off, d’you know what I mean?”

Evidently Snape did; the little colour he had in his sallow face leeched out of it, and he grabbed his
left forearm convulsively as though it had hurt him.

Moody laughed. “Get back to bed Snape.”

"You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed, letting go of his arm angrily. "I
have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"

"Prowl away," said Moody, his voice was full of menace. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark
corridor some time…” He trailed off, his normal eye flickering to Tempest, as if he had just
remembered she was there. “I’ll take Miss Potter back to bed.”

“No!” Snape snapped, “I insist on discovering what else she may have done under the influence-”

Tempest opened her mouth to protest, but Moody beat her to it. “Had you been listening, you
would have heard that the girl has no idea of what you are talking about… fairy dust is ultimately
harmless- although,” said Moody suddenly, his voice louder, “I am sure that the Headmaster will
be interested to hear of how you seem so interested in detaining Miss Potter alone in dark corridors
at night…”

There was a pause in which Snape looked down at Moody, and Tempest couldn’t see the
expression on his face. She swallowed hard and willed the shadows to swallow her up.

“I merely thought,” said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, “that Miss Potter might know more
about the break ins-”

“Indeed.” Moody said softly. “Well, it that is the case, it would seem that the answer to that
question would be no.”

The silence hung in the air for several more seconds in which Tempest tried to vanish entirely, or
failing that, blend into the stonework of the wall behind her. Snape glowered at Moody.

“I think I will go back to bed.” Snape said curtly. He gave a final glare at Tempest, then swept
around Moody and down the stairs. A door slammed somewhere and Tempest was left alone with
Moody.

“Thanks,” Tempest muttered, rubbing at her head. She ignored the sense of wrongness that hung in
the air around Moody. The man had just gotten rid of Snape. She felt awful though. Her body did
not feel as though she just had a nice relaxing bath in the prefects bathroom, rather like she had
been slammed into a wall. She would be talking to Cedric about that bath.

Moody grunted. “Come along- Gryffindor tower.”

Tempest grabbed her bag off the ground and followed Moody out of the corridor.

“What do you remember?” Moody asked suddenly.

Tempest dragged a hand through damp hair. It hadn’t dried at all, which meant she couldn’t have
been lying there for long. “Last thing I remember I was leaving the bathroom,” she said, “after
that… nothing. I wasn’t on fairy dust though, I swear.”

“Mmph.” Moody acknowledged, “Anything else?”

Tempest didn’t know if that meant the man believed her or not, but she decided to leave it. “No,
nothing.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way till they reached the portrait hole, and she was just
stepping through when Moody said, “I assume that your bath wasn’t just the sake of cleanliness.”

His eyes were fixed on the glint of gold that was visible through her bag.

“Yes sir,” Tempest said, following his gaze.

“Good,” Moody said, seeming satisfied and the portrait swung closed.

It was when Tempest had greeted Nyx, gotten into bed and drawn the curtains that she realized
what else was missing.

The map.

*****

Tempest turned the girl’s dormitory inside out searching for the map, tearing through corridors and
retracing her steps early in the morning. She found no sign of the map. She knew without a shadow
of a doubt that she had it entering into the prefect’s bathroom, and upon exiting, its whereabouts,
like her memories, were gone.

Guilt and worry squirmed in Tempest’s gut. The map was part of the Marauders’ legacy, infinitely
useful and it something tangible she could claim from her father.

She had tried ‘accio’ing the map, but it did not appear, flying around a corner and into her hands.
Cedric’s honest confusion when Tempest asked him about the prefect’s bathroom and her memory
loss left her at another dead end. Had she been attacked? If she had, then why was she unharmed
and the only item stolen the Marauders’ Map?

It occurred to her only later, when the second task was a little more than a week away. The song
that the egg had sung, the line: ‘we’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,’ had been a clear clue. It must
have been misdirection on the part of the tournament organizers, to knock her out before taking the
map.

Slightly relieved to have resolved the problem, but resenting the missing map, Tempest had written
to Sirius about the strange happenings and the egg’s contents. Sirius’s reply, blessedly not long in
coming, was short and succinct.

Tempest- Send the date of your next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl. Yours, Sirius.

Tempest had sent him the date, and watched the owl take flight again with warring concern and
anticipation. Was Sirius thinking to come into Hogsmeade to see her?

She refused to get her hopes up.

The second task was now two days away, and unlike the first task, Tempest had prepared. She had
brewed a Respirant potion, commonly used by high altitude climbers, which would enable her to
survive with little to no air indefinitely, and protected the body against changes in pressure.

She hadn’t had time to test it though, as she had started brewing so late. She’d had to express mail
order many ingredients to even begin, which had cost many a shiny sickle. Tempest had even taken
to following Krum’s example and swimming about in the icy waters of the Black lake. It seemed
he had already threshed out surviving underwater, as Tempest rarely saw him on the surface of the
lake.

On the day of the second task, Tempest woke early, dressing with her robes over her swimming
costume, and slipping her corked potion into the pocket of the shorts she wore beneath. Hermione
was curiously absent from the bed opposite. Tempest wondered where she had got to. Her bed had
been empty the night before as well, when Tempest had returned late from an evening swim.

Nyx was absent as well, still out rat-hunting. Crookshanks was perched on Hermione’s bedspread,
and Tempest gave her a parting stroke as she left the dormitory.

The Great Hall was filled with a buzz when Tempest arrived, potion in pocket and sitting down
beside Fred.

“Nervous?” he asked, passing her a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Yeah,” said Tempest. She stared down at the plate of eggs. “Thanks for this... somehow I’ve lost
my appetite though. Probably for the best. Don’t eat and swim and all that.”

Fred laughed, “You’ll climb the Whomping Willow on a dare, but eating before swimming is where
you draw the line?”

Tempest shrugged, standing, “Where’s George?”

“Placing bets probably,” said Fred, beginning to dig into Tempest’s rejected eggs. “All the best out
there.”

Tempest nodded and set out of the castle towards the Black lake. By the time she reached the
shore, the other champions were already there, standing next to the judges, and Tempest saw that
Crouch was still absent; Percy was standing next to Karkaroff.

Looking around, Tempest saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons’ enclosure in November
were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that would soon be packed to the
bursting point and reflected in the lake below.

Time seemed to fly by then, one moment she was making small talk with Cedric and Fleur, then
they had stripped down to their swimming costumes, all the stands around them were filled and
Bagman was speaking to the crowd, announcing the Second task.

“To begin with,” Bagman said to deafening cheers, after his introductory speech, “Mr Cedric
Diggory will be rescuing Miss Cho Chang…”

Tempest watched Cedric’s face pale. She felt similarly queasy. They were going to be rescuing
people?

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss…

Who would be the one that she’d sorely miss? Sirius? Remus? The probability of their being here
was less than none-

“Mr Viktor Krum will be rescuing Miss Hermione Granger-”

Tempest’s stomach clenched queasily. Hermione. Yet this meant… if the thing they were seeking
in the lake was a person, it hadn’t been the tournament organizers that had ambushed her in that
corridor. Someone else had taken the map from her. But that was a matter to be dealt with in an
hour’s time. Now, she had someone to save.

As Bagman announced who Fleur was going to rescue, Tempest dug her potion out of her pocket.

“…and last but not least, Miss Tempestas Potter will be rescuing Nyx!”

The stands quieted slightly, confused whispers spreading.

“Who’s Nyx?” Cedric asked from beside Tempest.

“My cat,” replied Tempest, glancing over at the judges. Who made the decisions on who to pick as
a hostage? They had taken her cat. What kind of sick bastard took a cat and dunked it in a lake?
Nyx hated the water, held grudges against Tempest for weeks whenever she was due for a wash.

The champions lined up by the lakeside, Tempest standing next to Fleur. Wand in one hand and the
flask of the potion in her other, Tempest fixed her eyes on the ominous surface of the lake. It was
impossible to see beneath.

Bagman was coming down the line of champions, and he leaned in closer to her. “All right,
Tempest?” he whispered as he moved Tempest a few feet farther away from Krum. “Know what
you’re going to do?”

“I’m fine,” said Tempest, eyes on the water.

Bagman said something in reply that Tempest did not hear and addressed the crowd again. The
whistle blew.

Tempest followed the other champions, wading forward into the icy water. She uncorked the vial
and swallowed the contents down.

The taste was awful, instantly coating the inside of her mouth with what she imagined burnt rubber
would and sliding down her throat like cough syrup. Then her throat began to close off. Tempest
doubled over, hacking for breath, trying to draw in air through her nostrils, and panicking as
nothing happened.

She had made a terrible mistake. This was what brewing under urgency resulted in; she was going
to suffocate-

Tempest slipped on the uneven floor of the lake and fell face first into the water.

Her mouth opened in a cry, and the shock of cold and impact should have had her swallowing
water and lungs flooding. But no air escaped from her open mouth, nor did the waters of the lake
rush down her throat and begin to burn.

Relief coursed through Tempest, and shoving her wand through the waist of her shorts, she began
to swim forwards and down. The potion was working marvelously. Tempest couldn’t breathe, nor
did she need to. The deeper she swam, the darker it got, yet she felt no outward change of pressure
on her body, and even as the water became darker and murkier, Tempest remained able to see
about ten feet before her.

Shapes of rocks loomed out before her, forests of rippling, tangled black weed, or wide plains of
mud littered with glimmering stones. The frigid water also remained about the same, even as
Tempest reached an outcrop of rock and swam past and beyond, diving still deeper.

Small fish flickered past her like silver darts. Once or twice she thought she saw something large
moving ahead of her, but when she got nearer, she discovered it was nothing more than a large,
blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions,
merpeople, or Nyx.

When the water had become so dark Tempest couldn’t see her hands if she stretched them before
her, she draw her wand and said, “Lumos maxima.” She couldn’t hear her own voice, but her wand
lit up, the glow illuminating the lake several meters around her. Fish swam away frantically.

Light green weed stretched ahead of her as far as she could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of
very overgrown grass.

It wasn’t so bad down here, Tempest thought. A tad eerie, but peaceful. Perhaps it’d be nice to
keep a supply of the potion for when she wanted to go diving… though of course, she wasn’t a fan
of dying of dragon pox in old age, an unfortunate side effect if one took too many potion
supplements.

A hand clamped around Tempest’s ankle.

Tempest yelled, whirling around to see a grindylow baring its yellow needle teeth at her.

Tempest had her wand out in seconds, the water hampering her movement, but she managed to
brandish it threateningly at the creature. “Let go!” she yelled, to no effect. She couldn’t speak, not
properly, and she mouthed at the grindylow, who stared at her contemptuously.
“Relashio!” Tempest tried, slashing her wand sideways as the grindylow’s grip became painful.

Nothing happened.

There were more shapes coming into view; reaching the edges of Tempest’s wand light. More
creatures that would swarm her. She had cast a spell before, why had it worked then but not now?

“RELASHIO!”

The grindylow was blasted backwards, and Tempest barely had time to thank Merlin before she
saw something far larger looming towards her.

Tempest twisted around and kicked away.

She didn’t know how long she had been in the lake for, but by the time Tempest’s arms and legs
were starting to burn from the drag, she was feeling hopelessly lost. How big was the lake again?
How deep? The answer was probably somewhere in Hogwarts a History- so Hermione would
probably know, but Hermione was most tied up somewhere at the bottom of the lake along with
Nyx.

If Tempest didn’t make it in time…

There was no way that Dumbledore would let students die, but the thought of potential
consequences filled Tempest’s mind until she swam through a ghost without realizing it.

“Myrtle!” Tempest exclaimed soundlessly.

Myrtle giggled, the sound traveling underwater. She was floating hazily in front of Tempest,
looking rather put out. “If you’re asking why I’m here- someone flushed my toilet while I was in
the pipes… ”

“The pipes end up in the Black Lake?” grimaced Tempest.

Myrtle shook her head, the disgust on Tempest’s face easy to read. “No, don’t worry, I floated out
the side before the pipe ended; I didn’t want to end up at the coast again, it takes days to make it
back to the castle…”

Myrtle looked like she was going to moan on about her woes for a while, so Tempest gestured
impatiently.

Myrtle giggled again. “Well, if you’re still looking for mermaids- you’ll want to be looking that
way-” Myrtle pointed to the left, where Tempest could see towering craggy rocks in the semi-
darkness. “I won’t come with you- they don’t like me, the mermaids…”

Tempest nodded her thanks, and swam faster.

She had barely closed half the distance between her and the rocks when a honest to Merlin shark
appeared from the darkness, heading in her direction. Tempest backpedalled frantically, bringing
her wand up, trying to think of a spell. Would Petrificus Totalus work on a shark?

…a shark that had legs?

Krum?

It was the head of a shark; Krum’s shoulders seeming to meld into the sharkskin. Minnie would
have called it incomplete transfiguration. Krum clearly wasn’t batting to become an animagus, the
sharks head was clearly meant to be temporary. But it was an impressive feat, and effective,
something Tempest could appreciate even when faced with rows of razor teeth.

Krum saw her, the wide eyes of the shark glancing over and around her, before he veered away and
began to swim in the wrong direction.

Tempest didn’t know how long she had been in the Lake for; she didn’t know what would happen
once the hour was up, but she did know that at this rate it was highly unlikely that she would
manage to come in first… but there was no reason to risk Hermione’s wellbeing in the process.

Krum swam past Tempest and before she could change her mind, she grabbed his ankle, yanking
him to a halt.

Krum thrashed around, and his teeth, bared an inch from her face were enough to make Tempest
regret her decision, but she scowled at him regardless. “That’s gratitude for you; Hermione’s that
way,” she said pointing. Krum closed his mouth, seeming to be deliberating, and Tempest pointed
again, more empathetically. He hesitated for a second longer, then something shifted and he shot
off in the direction she was pointing.

“Thank you,” Tempest huffed, kicking off after him. Not after long, Tempest could hear the
haunting mersong, faint, and growing louder.

“An hour long you’ll have to look, and to recover what we took…”

Tempest swam faster. A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of
the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Tempest saw faces… faces that
certainly weren’t displayed in paintings or in fairytales. The merpeople had greyish skin and long,
wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth and they wore thick ropes
of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Tempest as she swam past; one or two of them
emerged from their caves to watch her better, their silver fish tails beating the water, spears
clutched in their hands.

Tempest kept swimming through the mermaid city and soon the dwellings became more
numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and she even saw a pet grindylow
tied to a stake outside one door.

Tempest rounded a corner and she stopped. A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of
the houses that lined a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the
champions toward them. Behind them rose a crude statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a
boulder.

There were two people tied to the tail of the statue.

And Nyx.

The cat looked very small, wet fur floating out from her body as she hung loosely in the water,
thick ropes made out of slimy weed wrapped around her torso.

Tempest swam forwards. Nyx was tied between Cho and a silvery haired girl that Tempest
assumed was Fleur’s sister. The loose ropes that floated beside the girl told Tempest that Krum had
already come and gone. Hermione was safe.

Tempest reached Nyx, using the hand that wasn’t holding her wand to tug at the ropes tied around
Nyx. The rope was knotted and slimy, slipping between Tempest’s fingers. Frustrated, she dug out
Sirius’s knife from her pocket and began sawing at the ropes, careful to avoid Nyx’s body.
It was spooky there, surrounded by creepy merpeople, all of which were armed- and Nyx didn’t
seem to have any means of breathing. The ropes fell free, and Tempest hugged Nyx to her, the cat’s
body feeling incredibly small and skinny. She gave a final glance towards Cho and Fleur’s sister,
both of whom appeared to be asleep, streams of bubbles escaping their nostrils and open mouths.
She felt bad, leaving them there, but they could only hope for their respective champions to come
for them quickly.

Tempest began swimming upward, kicking off from the head of the merman to give herself more
of a boost. The surface seemed so far away; just a glimmer of light through the water. If Tempest
couldn’t feel the dull warmth emanating from Nyx, she would have feared Nyx was dead, the way
she remained limp in Tempest’s arms.

It was a lot harder swimming upwards one-armed, and Tempest was starting to think she’d never
reach the surface, when all of a sudden, she couldn’t have been more than two meters below the
surface… then one…

Her head broke the surface of the water, and it was a struggle to remember she didn’t need to gasp
for air. Grey sunlight fell upon her, and it was like a blessing.

Tempest kicked to remain above the water, and hauled Nyx’s body up into the air.

The effect was instantaneous.

Nyx came alive, her claws digging deep and slicing into Tempest’s arms. She yowled even as
Tempest cursed, struggling to keep a hold of Nyx while staying above the water. “Stay still, Nyx,”
she complained, grasping the squirming Nyx bodily, and placing her on her shoulder, where the cat
proceeded to claw up Tempest’s neck and scalp, until she had clambered on top of Tempest’s head.
She dug her claws in and remained there, quivering.

Tempest winced, then began swimming slowly with long, measured strokes towards the platform
at water level where she could see Bagman standing, his robes contrasting brightly against the grey
backdrop of the mountains in the distance.

She reached the platform, hauled herself up over the edge and lay there, panting, face-down against
the wet wooden panels. Nyx was still perched on Tempest’s head, fur plastered down, trembling.
About half-a-dozen people surrounded her, their voices blurring together. The only thing Tempest
managed to focus on was the fluffy warm towel she was handed.

“Thanks,” she muttered, still shivering. “Nyx, c’mhere,” Tempest fumbled with her wand, fingers
numb. “Siccus Calidus!”

A jet of hot air blasted at Nyx, water steaming off her fur in a cloud of vapor, leaving it dry and
fluffy. Tempest then shrugged the towel off her shoulders; bundling Nyx up until only her face was
visible. The cat glared mutinously out at Tempest.

“Tempest!”

Tempest, teeth chattering, turned to see Hermione hurrying over, hair wet from the water and
carrying another towel. “Tempest! Thank Merlin, are you all right?”

Tempest shook her head. The feeling in her throat was now strange, and she pointed her wand at
her throat. “Finite incantatem.”

The thick feeling in her throat eased. Tempest swallowed thickly and gulped down air, relishing in
the freeness of it. ”Peachy,” she said finally. “Glad to see you’re alright… it was spooky down
there… How’d you feel being the thing that Krum would miss the most?”

Hermione flushed. “I’m sure they used ball dates; Cedric had to rescue Cho, right?”

“Not all of us,” said Tempest, hugging Nyx to her chest. “I think it was Fleur’s sister down there.”

“Her name’s Gabrielle,” confirmed Hermione, “but Fleur had to be pulled out early, she ran into
some grindylows.”

Tempest saw Fleur standing nearby beside Maxime, talking very fast and looking quite frantic.

“Yeah, I ran into one too,” said Tempest, wiping away strands of wet hair from her eyes, “I
managed to get away before more arrived though… Cedric’s the only one left then. Oh, there he
is.”

Cedric had just surfaced; he and Cho were now swimming towards them, a few dozen meters out.

“What did I miss?”

Hermione adjusted her towel around her shoulders. “Not much. I just woke up a while ago and
found myself facing a shark head- that was what Viktor tried to transfigure himself into. He was
first, but I think they’ll take off marks for incomplete transfiguration. Fleur got pulled out of the
water not long after us; she was hysterical. You two popped up not long after… I still think you
might be able to hold your position in first place, Tempest. Viktor came first, but your potion was
amazing- above seventh year standard in fact, even if you were second-”

“Small mercies,” said Tempest, folding Nyx’s velvet ears between her fingers. “I’m free up for a
while yet now.”

Hermione sat down by the water. “We just need to wait for them to pull Fleur’s sister out, and then
they’ll announce the scores.”

“Great,” said Tempest, and the pair of them sat there in a peaceful silence. It was odd, for two who
spent so much time together, but Tempest hadn’t spoken to Hermione in a while.

“How’d you feel?” asked Hermione.

“Not the worst I’ve been recently,” said Tempest. “Well. Someone recently knocked me out in a
hallway and stole the map.”

“What?”

“There isn’t much I can do,” sighed Tempest. “I can’t really go to anyone about this. This happened
in the middle of the night, the map isn’t meant to exist, strictly speaking, and if I lie… well then
why should I care about a piece of parchment?”

“You could go to Dumbledore,” suggested Hermione. “He helped us with Si-”

“Maybe,” said Tempest quickly, cutting Hermione off before she could finish the name. She
glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was near. “I dunno. As much as it means to me, it
might be a waste of time. It was really early in the morning and stuff happens at Hogwarts
sometimes…”

Hermione looked concerned. “It’s usually really serious, Tempest.”

Tempest stroked Nyx through the towel. “Usually.”

“What were you doing out so late anyway?” Hermione’s brow creased. “You weren’t-”

“I wasn’t what?” Tempest laughed, “I’m out late a lot, Hermione.”

“You weren’t meeting anyone, were you?” said Hermione, “only… it makes a lot of sense. You
can’t exactly meet normally, people would talk.” At Tempest’s bemused look, she sighed,
exasperated. “You and Malfoy! You’ve always been at each other’s necks.”

“Oh,” said Tempest, “Merlin, no. Honestly- the ball was a one time thing. He asked and I said yes.
Hell, I don’t know why, but it’s done with. Try saying that about you and Krum. Look, I’ve got to
go talk to Cedric, yeah? I’ll talk to you later.”

She stood, thanking Pomfrey who came hurrying to her side like an oversized mother hen, and
made her way over to where Cedric was standing. “Hey- er, Cho alright?”

“She’s fine, just getting dried off,” Cedric replied, “how’s your cat?”

“Nyx,” Tempest said, propping the cat up in her arms. “She should be just fine… What I was
wanting to say though was… thanks for the bath.”

Cedric laughed. “No worries. I owed you one after all.”

“Then we’re even,” grinned Tempest, “don’t you dare try and help me for the Third Task.”

“Nor you I,” Cedric replied easily.

There was a sudden commotion and a buzz of activity near the water’s edge. Tempest saw Fleur
running to where her sister had just been pulled over the edge, sopping wet with what seemed like
half the lake sheeting off her.

“Gabrielle!” cried Fleur. She began fussing over her sister, speaking rapidly in French. They were
soon joined by Maxime, who seemed genuinely concerned for the girl.

Krum was talking to Karkaroff on the other side of the platform, but kept shooting Hermione
covert glances. He soon came over to her, brushing damp hair away from her face. “You haff a
water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny,” he said.

“Oh,” said Hermione, going red, and she flicked it away. She caught Tempest smirking over at
them, and scowled briefly.

Still smiling, Tempest looked over at Dumbledore, who was crouching by the water’s edge, talking
with what must have been the chief merperson, a particularly wild looking female. He was making
the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water. Finally
Dumbledore straightened up, turned to his fellow judges and said, "A conference before we give
the marks, I think."

The judges went into a huddle.

Pomfrey all but force-fed Tempest and Hermione Pepper up potion then went to fetch Fleur and her
sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to
care, nor would she allow Pomfrey to clean them.

Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and
the stands go quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-chieftainess
Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided
to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, nearing the
hostages first, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal and failed to retrieve her
hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

There was applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," said Fleur throatily, shaking her magnificent head. Tempest saw Maxime give
Fleur a reproving look.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was third to return with his hostage,
reaching the surface several minutes outside the time limit. We therefore award him forty two
points.” Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and
was first to return with his hostage within the time limit. We award him forty-seven points.”
Hermione beamed and applauded loudly.

“Tempestas Potter made excellent use of a Respirant potion, which she brewed herself, returning
second and less than a minute outside of the time limit- we have decided to award her forty four
points.”

Tempest blinked, stunned. That put her in second place, by just two points. Krum was ahead by a
tiny margin. The applause from the stands was deafening, and the other champions were
applauding her as well.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty- fourth of June,” continued Bagman.
“The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all
for your support of the champions.”

Tempest turned with a grin to Hermione, and squeezed Nyx all the tighter. The second task was
over, she was second, and in less than two weeks, she might be seeing Sirius again. Things were
looking up.

*****

As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned Tempest’s hands and
cheeks every time she went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls
kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Tempest had sent to Sirius with the dates of the
Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up
the wrong way; Tempest had no sooner torn off Sirius’s reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it
was going to be sent outside again.

Sirius’s letter was almost as short as the previous one.

Tempest- Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) as early as
possible on Saturday. –Yours, Sirius
Tempest folded the letter into her pocket. She wondered if it was selfish of her to be so glad she
would soon see him. It was unspeakably dangerous for him so close to Hogwarts. There weren’t
any dementors hanging around like the past school year, but the face of Sirius Black was still fresh
in people’s minds.

Still, she remained cheerful as she headed to double potions, her final lesson of the afternoon.

Crabbe, Goyle and the gang of Slytherin girls headed by Parkinson were standing in a huddle
outside the classroom door. All of them were looking at something Tempest’s couldn’t see and
sniggering heartedly.

Parkinson’s pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle’s broad back as Tempest approached.

“There she is, there she is!” she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Tempest saw that
Pansy had a magazine in her hands- Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a
curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

“You might find something to interest you in there, Potter!” Parkinson said loudly, and she threw
the magazine at Tempest, who snagged it from the air and scowled over at Parkinson. At that
moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

“What’s that?” whispered Ron, as he and Hermione joined her, walking to a table at the back of the
dungeon. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today’s potion on
the blackboard, Tempest flipped open the magazine beneath the desk to find whatever it was
Parkinson deemed so essential for her to see.

At last, in the center pages, Tempest came across a familiar colour photo. It was from the Yule
Ball, a shot of Malfoy and herself outside the castle. There was a short piece beneath.

Tempest Potter’s Secret Heartache

A girl like no other, perhaps- yet a girl suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita
Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of her parents, fourteen-year-old Tempest Potter
seems to have found solace in Draconis Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, an influential member of the
Ministry of Magic.

Sources within Hogwarts confirm the fiery relationship between Miss Potter and Mr Malfoy to
‘always have been at each other’s necks.’ “It makes a lot of sense,” says Hermione Granger, a
close friend of Miss Potter’s. “I think there’s always been something there,” confirms Lavender
Brown, another fourth year student, “they rub each other up the wrong way, but they’re fixated on
one another.”

It seems that Miss Potter, unaccustomed to such feeling in a life littered with personal loss is toying
with the affections of Mr Malfoy however. Previously confirmed to have ensnared the attentions of
a George Weasley, she seems unable to decide between the males, stating of Mr Malfoy; ‘the ball
was a one time thing… it’s done with.’
However, it might not be Miss Potter’s natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys’
interest.

“She’s not easy to like,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but
she’d be well up to making a Love Potion, she’s good at potions. I think that’s how she’s doing it.”

Miss Potter’s reasoning may be tragic, and to be sympathized with, but love Potions are, of course,
banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the
meantime, Tempest Potter’s wellwishers must hope that she soon overcomes her flights of fancy.

“Merlin, Tempest,” said Ron in hushed tones as Tempest set aside the Witch Weekly article with
disgust. “Skeeter’s really got it out for you.”

“It must have been when you confronted her in the pub,” said Hermione quietly. “She’s attacking
you for it. She’s still playing up to ‘Tempest Potter’ the tragedy, but she’s trying to turn you into
some sort of delinquent.”

Tempest scoffed. “Well she’ll have to try harder than that,” she said, looking over at the Slytherins.
Parkinson and her group were all watching her to see if she looked upset, while Malfoy’s back was
bent over his book.

Tempest turned back to the front and began unpacking the ingredients needed for the Wit-
Sharpening Potion.

“First order of business,” muttered Tempest, setting out her selection of knives, “How the hell did
she hear our conversation? We were right by the water- I checked, no one could have heard us.”

Ron looked at her, “what’s this?”

“Tempest and I were talking after the second task,” said Hermione, “those quotes are actually
ours… she couldn’t possibly have heard. Not unless she was skulking around in an invisibility
cloak.”

Tempest gritted her teeth. “We need to find out. And I need to have a word to Lavender about
talking to Skeeter. She never willingly keeps her trap shut, does she?”

“She wasn’t wrong though, was she?” said Ron.

“What?” said Tempest sharply.

“Nothing,” said Ron quickly, bending to light a fire beneath their cauldron.

“Maybe that’s how she found out about Hagrid,” said Hermione, giving Tempest a nervous glance.
“At the ball. She could have been wandering the grounds under a cloak.”

“It makes sense,” said Tempest, sharpening a knife roughly and preparing her ginger roots. “It
would explain that photo. She must have been skulking in the bushes. That was private-”

“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Potter,” said an icy voice right behind
them, and all three of them jumped, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from
Gryffindor.”

Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking
around at them. “Ah... reading magazines under the table as well?” Snape added, snatching up the
copy of Witch Weekly. “A further ten points from Gryffindor... oh but of course...” Snape’s black
eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter’s article. “Miss Potter has to keep up with her press
cuttings…”

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins’ laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape’s thin
mouth. His eyes flickered over the article as Tempest’s face burnt with fury. He raised a brow and
read aloud; “Tempestas Potter’s Secret Heartache… dear, dear, Potter, how very touching.” He
rolled up the magazine and motioned at her. “Clearly, the pangs of your heart are ill suited for
concentration. Miss Granger and Weasley, stay there. Potter- the table in front of my desk. Move.
Now.”

Tempest gathered her ingredients, bag and cauldron and moved up to the front of the dungeon to
the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched as Tempest began to set up
again. She kept her head down, focusing on keeping her roots of a perfect dimension.

“All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter,” said Snape
quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again.

“I can assure you there isn’t a thing happening between me and your godson, sir,” ground out
Tempest, maintaining her rigid concentration on sectioning portions of armadillo bile.

“You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you,”
Snape went on as though she had not spoken. His voice was so quiet that no one else could hear
him. “But I don’t care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are
nothing more than another student who considers rules to be beneath her.”

Tempest wondered for a brief instant whether it had been Snape who had taken the Marauders’
Map. He had come across it in the past, only to be stopped by Remus… She gave the shimmering
blue of her potion several counter clockwise stirs, hoping her hand did not shake.

“So I give you fair warning, Potter,” Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice,
“celebrity or not- if I catch you breaking into my office one more time-”

A sudden stab of pain through Tempest’s skull made her hand slip, splashing potion over her desk.
She mopped it up angrily. “I haven’t been anywhere near your office, sir. I have no interest in your
office whatsoever-”

The headache faded as quickly as it had come, and Tempest was left with an empty feeling, like she
was missing something important.

“Do not lie to me,” hissed Snape, his fathomless black eyes boring into Tempest’s. “Boomslang
skin, unicorn hair? Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.”

Tempest stared back at him. Boomslang skin she hadn’t stolen personally- that was Hermione
back in second year to make Polyjuice potion. Tempest had stolen the unicorn hair third year to
make a pain reliever for Moony once she had discovered his ‘furry little problem.’ That aside, she
hadn’t been anywhere near his office for the past year.

“Dust induced or not, you were out of bed the exact night, at the exact time that my office was
broken into- and while Moody may have joined your fan club, I will not tolerate your behavior!
One more night time stroll, and you will pay!”

Tempest’s hand fisted in the rag and she glared across her desk. “Why on earth would I want to
mess about in your office? I’ve told you, I don’t know how I ended up in that blasted corridor!”

Snape’s eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment,
Tempest thought Snape was about to curse her. Then she saw that Snape had drawn out a small
crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?” Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

Her mind ran through the options quickly.

“Veritaserum,” she said, her mouth suddenly very dry.

“Correct,” said Snape viciously. “Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry
guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips” -he shook the
crystal bottle slightly- “right over your evening cup of tea. And then, Miss Potter... then we’ll find
out whether you’ve been in my office or not.”

Tempest swallowed.

She’d gladly take the potion if only to confirm she hadn’t set foot in his office recently, only there
was the risk she’d speak of her contact with Sirius. Certain events of her past might also be brought
to light. So she said nothing, and continued to stir her potion. She wondered if she should begin
making her tea direct from the kitchens.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he
walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looked agitated.

“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that
nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips like a rather poor
ventriloquist.

“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“After the lesson,” Snape snapped.

Tempest finished sprinkling mint leaves over the surface of the blue liquid in her cauldron and
glanced up. While Karkaroff looked extremely worried, Snape looked furious.

“What, Potter?” Snape snapped, catching Tempest’s glance, and Karkaroff stared at her too.

“Nothing,” Tempest muttered, directing her attention back to her cauldron.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on
preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class.

Placing a vial of her potion on Snape’s desk at the end of the lesson, Tempest was about to leave,
when Parkinson deliberately slammed into Tempest, sending all her books and equipment
scattering all over the floor.

Tempest swore and nodded for Ron and Hermione to go on ahead. Sighing, Tempest bent down to
pick up her books. One had fallen underneath the desk across from her, and as she crawled
underneath it to retrieve her book, she heard Snape and Karkaroff talking.

“What is so urgent?” Tempest heard Snape hiss.

“This,” said Karkaroff, and Tempest, who was just straightening, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-
hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.

“Well?” said Karkaroff, not noticing Tempest, “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never
since-”

“Put it away!” Snape snarled, his eyes scanning the classroom, falling instantly on Tempest, who
was still clutching her books to her chest.

Karkaroff, who apparently still hadn’t noticed Tempest, kept talking. “But you must have noticed-
you have-”

“Later!” spat Snape, “What are you doing, Potter?”

Karkaroff whirled around, his right hand yanking down roughly on his sleeve, his eyes widened as
they met Tempest. He sent Snape a final worried and frustrated glance, before turning on his heel
and striding out of the dungeons.

“Picking up my books Professor.” Tempest replied, shoving the ones she was holding into her bag.

“Well, then, get out!” Snape snapped, turning back to his desk.

Tempest got out.

She found Lavender at dinner and made some choice threats before heading down to the kitchens
to beg a large parcel of food off the elves, which she then secreted into her bag. It was a good while
after dinner at that point, and Tempest passed by many other students who were headed towards
their common rooms.

She sighted Malfoy’s blonde head a few flights above her on the moving staircases, and Tempest
watched him for a moment before vaulting over two handrails to a staircase that was moving
upwards. She needed to speak to him. In light of Skeeter’s new article, there were thing she needed
to say.

Tempest ran up the last flight of stairs and drew level with Malfoy, who turned to stare at her.

“Malfoy,” said Tempest, only slightly out of breath, “could I have a word in private?”

“Sure,” said Malfoy slowly.

When the staircase had stopped, Tempest headed through empty hallways and into a closed charms
classroom. She shut the door behind them. Malfoy set his bag aside on a desk and stood before her
with a questioning look.

“I thought it was you,” said Tempest, “I thought you’d told someone- Parkinson, it doesn’t matter-
I thought you’d told them about Hagrid.”

“I hadn’t,” said Malfoy.

“No, I figured that out,” said Tempest. “There were plenty of other people in the garden that night,
and I’ve discovered Skeeter has an uncanny ability to know things she shouldn’t possibly be able
to.”

Malfoy said nothing.

Tempest realised how that might sound to someone who might have read the Witch Weekly article.

“Now’s a good time to let you know I haven’t been spiking your food with love potions.”

“I know you haven’t,” said Malfoy.

“Good,” said Tempest empathetically. “And what I said was taken out of context as well.”

Again Malfoy said nothing.

“Basically, Skeeter is becoming a real problem.” Tempest perched on the edge of a desk and
studied the chalk left on the board from the last Charms class. “I mean, I knew the woman was
poison, but it’s not exactly common. To have a journalist with so little integrity write that kind of
stuff about you on a personal level.”

Malfoy moved over to sit on the desk beside her. “There is a particular kind of distaste I have for
her. If my father gets wind of that article… he was mentioned by name in that rag.”

“So you agree that it’s a rag,” said Tempest, pleased.

“I wouldn’t know what else to call it. At least the Quibbler is funny.” Malfoy glanced around the
empty classroom then back at Tempest. “I’ve been listening to a fair amount of Edith Paif
recently.” He offered.

Tempest laughed, startled. “Have you really? How do you get music in this castle? We just have
the one radio in the common room.”

“I have a record player,” said Malfoy. “I wrote my mother and she sent me the records.”

Tempest couldn’t help the grin that stretched across her face at the thought of immediate music. “It
sounds great. What I’d give for The Clash on a Saturday morning. Mind you, it’d drive the others
in my dorm mental.”

“We have separate rooms below the lake,” said Malfoy, “look-” he got off the desk and walked
over to the chalkboard, summoning a bit of chalk to begin sketching an outline of the dungeons.
“The common room is about halfway under the lake, and leading off from that, you have the
rooms. They have some pretty thick stone walls. Magical interference isn’t as bad down there.
Well, unless-”

Tempest grinned, “you mean you give up using magic to listen to a couple hours of music?”

Malfoy paused. “Only temporarily.”

“No, it’s amazing,” said Tempest, shaking her head, “I mean, it’s surprising. For you. That is to
say, I have a feeling you would like Radiohead. I’ll send you some records over the summer
break.”

“I look forward to it,” replied Malfoy. He even sounded genuine.

*****
Tempest woke early on Saturday morning, rising before any of the other girls. The halls were still
empty by the time she had gathered all she needed, and she set out of the castle and down into
Hogsmeade with her bag slung over her shoulder. The sun was limping above the mountaintops
when she reached the village.

She walked through a section of Hogsmeade she had never been in before, and through wilder
countryside near to the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. She knew it was
ridiculously early, but without the cloak or map, she simply couldn’t risk being followed. Though
the temperatures were rising slightly, she had dressed in a thick jumper with a beanie pulled low
over her face as an added precaution.

There was no one at the stile Sirius had indicated when Tempest arrived, so she settled on the
ground to wait. She pulled a battered copy of the Silmarillion from her bag and began to read.

She had been there for little more than ten minutes, when she heard a bark.

From the mountain came bounding an enormous shaggy black dog, his tail wagging, ears flapping
and barking enthusiastically as it neared.

Tempest rose with a grin to greet Padfoot. She clambered over the stile and dropped to the ground
just in time to catch the bear sized dog that leapt up at her, and slobbered all over her face.

“Sirius,” laughed Tempest, ruffling at Sirius’s neck fur and feeling suddenly incredibly at ease.

Padfoot dropped down after giving Tempest a final sloppy lick and began to trot towards the
mountain. Tempest followed, hurrying to walk beside Padfoot. The two walked up the mountain,
winding higher and higher, and after what felt like half an hour climbing the steep path, they
reached a narrow fissure in the rock, which Padfoot vanished through.

Tempest followed cautiously. She found herself in a cool, large, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the
end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock was Buckbeak, the hippogriff that Tempest and
Hermione had saved last year. Half grey horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak’s fierce orange eyes
flashed at the sight of Tempest.

Tempest bowed to him and after regarding her imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly
front knees and retreated, settling down on the stone floor of the cave.

Tempest however, had already redirected her attention to the large dog, which had just turned into
her godfather.

Sirius straightened up and grinned at Tempest. He was dressed clothes that Tempest recognized as
some she had sent to him in the past year. He still looked too thin by far, but his hair was clean and
he looked like he had put effort into keeping the cave tidy.

Buckbeak had a neat pile of hay on what was clearly his side of the cave, while Sirius had a
battered looking suitcase propped open against a wall. Tempest could see folded inside other
clothes and the invisibility cloak draped on top.

“Nice place,” said Tempest, putting her bag down by the entrance and pulling out the package of
food. “Food?”

“Never mind that,” said Sirius. He stepped forwards to clasp Tempest’s shoulders, grey eyes
surveying Tempest intently. “How are you?”
“Fine,” said Tempest, “really fine. You look well.”

“Your packages helped with that,” said Sirius, after giving Tempest a final searching look and
having decided to take Tempest at her word. He sat back against one of the cave walls with the
package of food. “I am starving,” he admitted, “the cloak helps with stealing food, but there’s only
so far you can before it starts feeling like a criminal act, rather than necessity.”

“One might say the two were linked,” said Tempest dryly. “There’s a thermos of tea in there for
you too if you like… but I should probably take that; you don’t look like you could handle caffeine
at the moment.”

Sirius barked a laugh and tore into a bun. “If I’m going to die, Temper, it won’t be from caffeine.”
He grinned at Tempest, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re an idiot,” Tempest said. “And thank you.”

“For?”

“For going beyond any expectation and caring enough to be the idiot who lives in a cave for me.”

Sirius chuckled. “You’re welcome. It’s barely a hardship. It’s nicer here than other places I’ve
been.”

Tempest shook her head in wonder. “What are you doing here Sirius?”

“Sightseeing,” Sirius said blandly.

Tempest threw a bread roll at his head. “Answer the question.”

Sirius caught the roll and tore a hunk off with his teeth. “Fine. I wanted to see you.”

Tempest stared at him in disbelief. “It’s barely out of February and you’re staying in a cave up a
mountain. Dog or no, you’ll freeze. I will be owling you more clothes. And food. And blankets.”

“No mothering,” Sirius mumbled, managing to cram an entire muffin into his mouth, “what’s been
happening recently?”

“Well I’m not the one sleeping rough and at risk of dementors.”

“Oi,” Sirius said, pausing mid-chew, “don’t insult the cave, Tempest, it can be quite homey.”

“No it’s not awful,” said Tempest defensively, “It’s just you shouldn’t have to… That aside, this
place might even be a touch safer than Hogwarts right now.” Sirius paused mid-chew. “You don’t
know- I meant to write, but then I thought it was part of the Tournament and I didn’t… about two
weeks ago, I was figuring out the clue for the Second Task and got knocked out and the
Marauder’s Map stolen.”

“Fuck,” said Sirius.

“I know,” said Tempest, “I’m so sorry, about the map, and I have no idea who has it now-”

“I don’t care about that,” said Sirius, “you, are, were you all right?”

Tempest was taken aback by the sudden intensity of Sirius’ voice. “Yes,” she said, “yes, entirely. I
woke up and Snape was there-”
“Snape?”

“It was fine,” reassured Tempest. “As much as I loathe him and he loathes me, I don’t actually
believe he’d actually, er, harm me.”

Sirius grunted resentfully, and continued to stare at Tempest very seriously. “That would be the
second reason I’m here,” he said, “the rumors I’ve been hearing, they don’t bode well for the state
of the Ministry, or for your safety in the Tournament.”

“More rumors?”

Sirius sighed around a mouthful of cold chicken. “Bertha Jorkins, Barty Crouch’s sickness…
Moody was attacked before he arrived at Hogwarts. Your name in the tournament, and what you
just told me compounds on all of that.”

“Crouch has been very absent lately,” mused Tempest. “I’ve gotten quite sick of seeing Percy’s
smug face around the place, and Moody…” Tempest stared at Buckbeak, who was grooming his
wing feathers. “He makes me feel, er odd. It’s a bit like a smell you can’t identify, or a uh, word
you can’t find…”

Sirius paused mid-chew, “but it feels wrong?”

“Yes, yes exactly,” said Tempest, glancing at Sirius. “Wait, you know?”

“Dark magic,” said Sirius, nodding. “It hangs around like a stench.”

Tempest thought of the feeling in the air around Moody, and compared it with how she had felt
around Lucius Malfoy or Professor Quirrell. The closest she had been to confirmed dark magic
users. However Quirrell had Voldemort grown out of the back of his head, which she was fairly
sure Moody didn’t have, and she had barely spent any time around Lucius Malfoy.

His son on the other hand…

“Crouch’s sickness is also concerning,” added Sirius, “he’s a stickler. He’d have to be buried six
feet under to stop going to work.”

“You seem to know him well,” said Tempest.

Sirius’s face darkened until it was downright dangerous, “Oh yes,” he said quietly, “I know him
alright. He was the one who sent me to Azkaban without a trial.”

“What?”

“Could have saved me twelve years in Azkaban if I had been given a trial,” said Sirius. “I could’ve
done so much… I could have saved so much time…” Sirius’s voice became wistful. “Twelve
years…” He smiled sadly. “It’s true. Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement. He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic before everything went to shit. He had
almost unprecedented powers granted to him during the Voldemort years. He and his aurors had
the ability to kill rather than capture. I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the
Dementors without trial.”

“He had his supporters– plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and
there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. Then
Crouch's son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of
Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power. It was an awful
shock for him,” Sirius continued, “Spent all his time out there catching Death Eaters- should have
spent more time with his family… gotten to know his own son. The boy was around three years
beneath me at Hogwarts, I think.”

He occupied himself with crunching into an apple.

“Was he a Death Eater?” Tempest asked.

“No idea,” Sirius replied, finishing the apple in record time, and throwing the core to Buckbeak,
who didn’t seem to appreciate it much. “I was already in Azkaban when they brought him in, this
is mostly just stuff I’ve found out since I got out… I’m not sure about the boy, but he was
definitely caught in the company of people who I’d bet everything I have a claim to were Death
Eaters… but then again, he might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Crouch’s
fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t
much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy… and then he sent
him straight to Azkaban.”

“If he- the son- if he had been innocent though-” said Tempest, “Would Crouch have-”

“Let the boy off? Highly unlikely. After all, he was still found talking with known Death Eaters,
and a man like Crouch… even if the boy had gone free, Crouch would probably have disowned
him.”

“So in other words, he just threw his own son to the Dementors?” said Tempest flatly.

Sirius didn’t look remotely amused now, and his lips were pressed in a flat line. “That’s right. I
saw them bring him in. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near
mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though… they
all went quiet in the end… except when they shrieked in their sleep. He died about a year after
they brought him in."

"He died?"

"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the
end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the
dementors could sense it, they got excited. Now that I think about it, the boy looked pretty sickly
when he arrived... Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a
deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She
died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for
his son’s body.”

“The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it. Crouch lost everything. One
moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic… next, his son dead, his wife dead, the
family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy
had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a
nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father
never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways
into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

“Lucius Malfoy works in the Ministry regarding international relations, doesn’t he?” asked
Tempest.

“Made the deal even worse,” said Sirius. “Forced to work within proximity of a known Death
Eater? Between Moody and Crouch, I really couldn’t say who had the record for most Death Eater
kills.”

There was a long silence.

“What do you think it all adds up to?” asked Tempest eventually.

“From an outside perspective?” Sirius shook his head. “There’s a lot of unrest. The increased
activities in Voldemort’s old supporters coupled with everything else shows that perhaps the death
eaters are rallying together under a new master, or gathering support to create a new age of fear.
The attacks on you and your presence in the Tournament are an obvious byproduct. Tempestas
Potter, the girl who lived; Voldemort’s downfall… you’re a symbol Tempest, an obvious target.”

Tempest sighed. She leant her head back against the wall of the cave. “That’s not going to change
any time soon, is it?”

“Constant vigilance,” said Sirius wryly.

Tempest raised the thermos of tea in a salutation.

“What do they think of you?” Tempest asked after a while. “The er, dark community. I mean, on
the one hand, you broke out of Azkaban without helping anyone else, on the other; you are the
scumbag who sold out the Potter family to the Dark Lord. Then again, that resulted in his
demise…”

Sirius hummed, “I’d say my complete and utter misery soon informed my fellow inmates I had no
place in the happenings of that night. And Peter… Merlin knows where he is now.”

“I should’ve let you kill him,” said Tempest with feeling. “Everything would be different if you
had. You and Remus both wanted to, you were both prepared to- it was what he deserved. His
body could’ve been proof enough, but I stopped you and now-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sirius grasped Tempest’s hand. “It was an incredibly good thing that you did…
We wanted him dead. I still want him dead, but I’ve had time to think, and sometimes death isn’t
the ultimate punishment. Sometimes it’s the living that’s worse, having to go on, knowing what
you’ve done.”

“That implies he feels remorse.”

Sirius had stopped eating, his face very, very serious. “Peter was one of my closest friends. Those
later years after Hogwarts were the tightest we’d ever been. When his mum died, we sat up with
him all night, mourning. He sat up the whole night looking after us when we got roaring drunk at
James’ stag. He was there at James’ wedding, and he held you when you were born. On your first
birthday, he took turns spinning you around the room. He loved us all at one point, and if he
doesn’t, for a single second feel remorse… he’s not human.”

Tempest had never given much thought to what it had meant for Pettigrew to be a Marauder. He
had betrayed his friends so ruthlessly it was difficult to match up with the image Sirius was creating
of someone she might have grown up with as an uncle in a kinder world.

“He did spend a good twelve years as a rat,” said Tempest.

“That he did,” said Sirius, “that he did.”

“On that subject,” said Tempest, after several seconds of silence, “I’m not having a lot of progress
with the animagus thing. It’s just a tad difficult to… do something when you have no idea what
exactly you’re doing. Its not like Transfiguration class when Minnie tells you to transfigure a
cactus into a quill or a pair of spectacles into a squirrel.” She sighed, “I even considered asking
Krum for some tips; he turned himself into half a shark for the second tournament task.”

“Not the same,” Sirius said immediately. “Becoming an animagus isn’t a temporary, one time
thing, subject to change, it changes you innately and permanently. When I change into Padfoot, my
magic recognizes and accepts my second form and shapes me into it. Those Canary Creams you
wrote to me about, they turn you into a bird, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And when you were a bird, were your thought processes any different? Exactly,” he said at
Tempest’s shake of her head. “Just you stuck in a different body… if you spent any extended
amount of time like that, you’d go insane; as an animagus, it feels right.”

“That’s exactly where I can’t get,” said Tempest frustratedly. “I can never seem to get to a place
where I feel right. I-” She stopped as Sirius abruptly placed an arm around her shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and reluctantly, Tempest did so.

“Right, now just… relax a touch, and feel.” Tempest let out a breath and let herself melt into her
position. She could feel cool stone beneath her, and the warmth of Sirius’s arm behind her neck
and at her side. As the seconds went by, she could feel a thrum of something in the air. It was
similar to the pressure at the back of her mind when she stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds.
Magic. In the cave, it radiated out from Sirius and herself, and to a lesser extent, Buckbeak.

“That’s magic,” said Sirius softly, needlessly, but his voice slipped into her mind like an oar cutting
smoothly through the surface of a lake. “Around you and coming from you… what you need to do,
is find it within you.”

Within? Tempest flexed her fingers, feeling the intangible net of energy woven around her shift as
she did so. This feeling? She felt as though she could conjure fire from her fingertips, or carve into
stone. But Sirius had said to find it within, and Tempest wasn’t sure how.

“Don’t overthink it,” Sirius’s voice was saying.

Tempest focused on her breathing. With every inhale and exhale, the magic surrounding her waxed
and waned. Tempest stopped breathing, yet the magic continued to pulse, like a separate living
entity. How to go about shaping the magic to her will?

Only Sirius had described the process as a natural one, one of acceptance, and how could Tempest
expect her magic to accept some undefined animal?

Go on then, thought Tempest, feeling the shape of the magic wrapped about her, a second skin. She
reached for the magic, just beyond sight. A land of sparkling silver that burnt at the touch. She
thought, as she had thought so many other times before, of what skin she could slip into. And she
asked; what more am I?

Something connected.

Rivers of heat and energy streamed into Tempest and her eyes flew open in shock.

The magic snapped back into intangibility as quickly as it had flooded her mind, and Tempest
slumped back, blinking rapidly.
Sirius was crouched before her, talking rapidly, yet Tempest couldn’t seem to hear him.

“Sirius… Sirius, calm down,” said Tempest distantly, “I… I saw…”

She had seen, now seared into her mind, a pair of large glowing silver eyes rimmed with thick grey
fur.

*****

It was difficult to say goodbye to Sirius. Difficult to articulate feeling towards a man she had only
properly met now for the second time. She had known Remus for a full year, yet through only a
handful of exchanges, Tempest was fully prepared and very much looking forward to moving in
with Sirius come the summer holidays.

He had plans, he said; a place in London that was sitting empty, and the picture he had painted
lingered far more in Tempest’s mind than she would have thought it would. She was used to
disappointment and false hope, yet somehow Sirius had, seemingly without trying, managed to
gain her trust.

When Tempest had first met Minnie, and been told of the Wizarding world, she had asked for
proof. Minnie had transfigured the knife in Tempest’s hand into a frog, then herself into a cat.
Tempest had asked for Minnie to do the former again, then dropped a rubbish bin over the
Professor and bolted.

When Sirius, not an hour on from proving he wasn’t a mass murderer had offered for Tempest to
live with him, she had been skeptical. But she hadn’t dropped a bin over his head. She had thought
about it briefly, and then filed it away in her cabinet of unrealistic dreams.

It was closer now though, so close, and Tempest said goodbye to Sirius with the promise of a better
future, and forty-five minutes later, goodbye to Padfoot. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was
so close, yet unreachable. Tempest had even considered smuggling Padfoot into the castle beneath
the Invisibility Cloak and hiding him in the Chamber of Secrets, yet with the Marauder’s Map in
unknown hands, she was loathe to risk it.

She hadn’t actually talked to Sirius about everything she had wanted, but contentment sat light and
breezy in her insides as the next day passed. She had forgotten Skeeter’s article in the Witch
Weekly, her mind more occupied with impossible futures and the not-too distant holidays. That
changed the next morning.

It seemed that the Witch Weekly’s readership was more extensive than Tempest thought, and those
who had read Skeeter’s article about her were weak minded enough to believe it. She had been
receiving hate mail, which was a first.

There were some funny letters, deluded women who had some strange vision of Tempest as a
paragon of virtue, now shocked and horrified by her antics. Tempest sat munching on toast as she
flipped through them, chuckling at particularly ridiculous complaints. Others tried to shame her,
and a few spoke of her dishonoring her parents’ names.

While initially good humored, by the time the last post owl had left, Tempest had a pile of smoking
ashes sitting before her plate.
She had received a letter from Lucius Malfoy as well. It had arrived at the same time that she saw
Malfoy untying a letter of his own from the Malfoy eagle owl.

His letter was short and to the point.

Miss Potter- It has come to my attention that there are rumors circulating regarding my son and
yourself. I am sure you realize how vexing this could become for you. It would be greatly
appreciated if you would put these to rest. –Lord L. S. Malfoy.

Across the hall, Malfoy looked up at Tempest.

Tempest lifted his father’s letter between two fingers, a casual motion, and Malfoy nodded
imperceptibly.

Tempest continued with her breakfast. Malfoy’s family must be facing some backlash as well, if
Malfoy Sr felt he had to write to threaten her. It was uncharacteristically polite as threats went- this
coming from a man who had tried to curse her when she was twelve.

She folded the note over curiously. It was very nice stationary and written with rich ink; of course
Lucius Malfoy would take even the greatest care with a simple message. He was a lord too.
Tempest wouldn’t have been surprised if he was set to sit in the House of Lords.

Tempest didn’t have a chance to speak to Malfoy when they were in Care of Magical Creatures.
Hagrid, who had returned to his job, stood with a fresh supply of open crates, this time filled with
creatures far removed from the skrewts. They were fluffy black critters with long snouts, flat,
spade-like paws, and a simply adorable way of blinking up at her. Completely distracted, Tempest
forgot about needing to speak to Malfoy. It couldn’t have been important anyway. Not compared to
the magical equivalent of the platypus. Tempest was itching to pick one up.

“These’re nifflers,” said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. “Yeh find ’em down mines
mostly. They like sparkly stuff… There yeh go, look.”

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Parkinson’s watch off her wrist. She
shrieked and jumped backward. Tempest unclasped her own watch and slipped it into her pocket.

“Useful little treasure detectors,” said Hagrid happily. “Thought we’d have some fun with ’em
today. See over there?” He pointed at a large patch of freshly turned earth. “I’ve buried some gold
coins. I’ve got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus’ take off all yer
valuables, an’ choose a niffler, an’ get ready ter set ’em loose.”

Tempest; with a warm feeling squirming in her chest, picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in her
ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was very cuddly, heavier than it looked, and it squirmed about in
Tempest’s arms, it’s paws slapping at her chest and back.

Hermione had selected a niffler that was now burying its nose in her hair, and Ron a rather small
one who was already straining towards the patch of dirt.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and
out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had
released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron’s was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his
lap with coins.
“Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?” he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil,
splattering his robes.

“Yer mum wouldn’ be happy, Ron,” said Hagrid, grinning. “They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon
they’ve nearly got the lot, now,” he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers
continued to dive. “I on’y buried a hundred coins!”

Tempest spat out a gob of dirt. Her niffler was enthusiastic, depositing more dirt on her robes and
face than coins, leaving her to scramble after them. She sat back up, piling the gold beside her on
the group and watching as her niffler surfaced again, spitting a last coin into Tempest’s palm
affectionately, then plopping down atop the pile.

“Well, let’s check how yeh’ve done!” said Hagrid. “Count yer coins! An’ there’s no point tryin’ ter
steal any, Goyle,” he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. “It’s leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a
few hours.”

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron’s niffler had been most
successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell
rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Tempest, Ron,
and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes.

Tempest bid farewell to her niffler wistfully. She wondered if they were purchasable. If not, she’d
look into getting herself a platypus. She didn’t think Minnie would take kindly to a niffler anyway.
She thought of Sirius. What would his stance be on pets, she wondered? He’d met Nyx before as
Padfoot, but would he want to live with a cat?

Occupied with thoughts of a mysterious house and Sirius’s gleaming eyes, she didn’t realize that
Ron was just as quiet as her until Hermione broke the silence.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

"Why didn't you tell me about the gold?" asked Ron shortly.

Tempest had to pause for several seconds before the question caught up to her, and she looked over
at Hermione, stumped. “What gold?”

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. “The leprechaun gold I gave you for
my Omnioculars. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

Tempest shook her head in confusion. “Oh,” she said, finally remembering, “I didn’t notice. My
wand was missing, I was hardly going to be worrying about gold…”

They climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast
beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons
goes missing."

Tempest was at a loss for words. For as far back as she could remember up till she turned ten, she
had no better off than Ron. Being homeless was preferable to living with the Dursleys- and
Tempest had been homeless a good while. “Money isn’t everything Ron.”

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you back. You
shouldn’t have gotten me a Christmas present-"
“You think I make a list of the gifts I give people?” said Tempest. “It’s a gift, Ron, leave it at that.”

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor.
It's rubbish. I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could.
Wish I had a niffler.”

“Fred and George love what they do,” said Tempest, “and you have so much more in your life
that’s worthwhile. You might not be as well off as other people, but there are plenty others worse
off than you, and all of that could change in the future anyway. So, Ron, shut up and eat your
potatoes.”

*****

Hate mail continued to arrive through the week. After a while, Tempest learnt to risk traumatizing
some owls rather than let the letters land. The one howler she had allowed to get through had her
and Malfoy cringing in their seats until she managed to find the right combination of spells to blast
the letter from the air.

They had the opportunity to talk very briefly in between class. Potions had just finished, and
Tempest was over at Malfoy’s desk under the pretense of returning spare ingredients to the supply
cupboard.

“This is hellish,” muttered Malfoy from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t I know it,” growled Tempest, closing a drawer harder than necessary. “I know it’ll go away
in time- it did after Christmas. I’m just getting a bit tired of waiting for people to get their heads
extracted from their arses.”

“My father keeps writing me,” said Malfoy, “he’s furious enough he might actually speak to the
Minister about amending some legislation about what can be printed. He knows most of the
publishers.”

“Does he?” muttered Tempest darkly.

Malfoy didn’t seem to read into her change in tone and went on: “I’m sure if he spoke to the right
people we could have all the major prints refuse to publish her work-”

“Have you ever noticed how much you talk about your father?” snapped Tempest abruptly. “It’s
like you’re on repeat- my father this, my father this, and if it’s not him, it’s your mother, your
family’s influence-”

Malfoy straightened behind his cauldron, no longer pretending to be packing up his desk. “I do
apologize,” he said stiffly. “I’m sure it’s very difficult for you to hear about my family when you
don’t have any of your own.”

The words stabbed straight through Tempest. Not that she would show it. She shut the doors of the
cupboard with a bang. “At least everything I am doesn’t hinge on what my father says, or what my
mother can do for me. Take away all of that and who the hell are you, Malfoy? If I was going to be
as dependent on my father as you are, I’m glad he’s dead-”

Tempest ground to a halt. She stared at Malfoy, eyes wide. The entire room was silent. Everyone
had left, and Malfoy wisely said nothing.

“Sorry,” Tempest blurted. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I-”

She didn’t know who she was apologizing to.

“Excuse me,” she said, and left.

 Things Turn to Shit

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: “You have a fine mind, Miss Potter.” He shrugged then, his
scarred face creasing into even more lines. “We cannot rule out kidnap, but the main point is that
you are 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. Here.

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. “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 back.

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.
 In Which Tempest Comes Back

Chapter Seven-

Tempest gasped back into physicality in the middle of the street in Hogsmeade, not far from the
Hogs Head.

She staggered, almost falling, then steadied, and stared at the bleeding gash where the flesh that
had been part of her arm used to be. A huge chunk of flesh had been gouged away;
Tempest ignored the way the wound swam before her eyes. She tore a strip from her already
ragged robes, and bound a tourniquet above the wound, then stumbled up to the door of the Hogs
Head.

Tempest had meant to knock. Instead, she collapsed against the worn wood, and blessedly, it
seemed to sound loud enough for the door to open, and her to fall inside.

Consciousness’ came and went. She was being carried… seated… something warm and smelling
very strongly of animal was draped over her shoulders… Someone was speaking to her- perhaps
the owner, perhaps his goat… she might have replied, she wasn’t sure. Other than the pain- the
ever constant, throbbing of the pain that wracked her (she couldn’t stop shaking- why couldn’t she
stop shaking?)- she felt a sense of dull urgency. She needed to tell someone- everyone, about
Voldemort’s return. She needed to tell Dumbledore of the not-Moody at Hogwarts. She needed to
let someone know about the deaths of the muggle and Bertha Jorkins. She needed to speak to
Cedric’s parents…

And then she became aware of approaching footsteps, of a door opening and closing, and there-
framed in the doorway of the dusty pub, stood Dumbledore, Remus, Snape, and Minnie.

“Tempest,” said Minnie. She sounded strangled.

Tempest blinked once, and got to her feet.

The whole world tilted alarmingly, then there were arms grasping her- Minnie’s and Remus’ –
keeping her upright.

Tempest stumbled a step closer, and buried her face in the fabric of Minnie’s shoulder. For several
moments, she stood there.

Her wounds throbbed and Tempest noticed she was bleeding all over Minnie and Remus. She
mumbled, so quietly that only Minnie and Remus could hear; “Where’s Sirius?”

“Dumbledore had him wait in his office,” said Minnie, strain still audible in her voice, “it would
have looked suspicious… Tempest-”

So Sirius was still at Hogwarts. Tempest felt a wave of relief crash over her.

But there was something more important... larger than either of them, and she needed them to
know...

“Voldemort’s back,” she breathed. She lifted her head from Minnie’s shoulder, still woozy from
blood-loss and exhaustion. Minnie had stilled, and Tempest couldn’t bring herself to look at
Remus.

”Voldemort’s back,” she repeated, louder, and in the dim room of the Hogs Head, it seemed like
the last hope she had that all that had just happened was a nightmare, had been extinguished.

Dumbledore stepped forward. He did not seem surprised at the revelation, and his eyes when
looking at Tempest were very soft. Minnie let go, and Remus stepped away for Dumbledore to
grasp Tempest’s arm.

“I want to see Sirius,” Tempest whispered hazily. “And... I think I might need medical attention...
and Professor Dumbledore, sir... I need to speak to you.”

Dumbledore nodder. He turned back to the others. “I’ll take her to my office directly,” He gave
further instructions to Minnie, Remus and Snape that Tempest did not hear, and then they were
gone, snapping through space in a nauseating whirl.

They landed in the middle of Dumbledore’s office to an overwhelming amount of noise.

Dumbledore ushered her to the chair in front of his desk, and Tempest collapsed into it. Sirius was
in human form, standing before one of the large headmaster portraits, talking very loudly, while the
rest of the portraits made noise of their own.

At their arrival, Sirius turned around and saw them. His wild expression faded into such a
blindingly relieved expression, Tempest’s chest hurt.

And then he surged forwards, and Tempest stood again, only for Sirius to sweep Tempest into his
arms for a crushing, bruising, soul-rattling hug. Tempest, who had never been swept into anyone’s
arms in her entire life, who had multiple open wounds and thought the hug might kill her, decided
she liked it very much.

“I thought this would never happen,” breathed Tempest, screwing her eyes tight and inhaling the
scent of Sirius, a feeling so out of place after the night she had had. “I thought I’d never see you
again.”

“You’re here,” said Sirius, no less vehemently, “you’re back, you’re safe.”

He continued his reassurances, and Tempest felt, with a rush of fondness, that they seemed to be
directed at himself in equal measure.

“I am here,” said Tempest, laughing shakily, and Sirius set her down, holding her at arms length,
eyes searching her face. “You’re injured,” he said, concern etched into every line of his face,
helping her sit back down.

She was, Tempest noticed with a mild sort of guilt, dripping blood all over the chair and carpet.

There was a soft rush of wings. Fawkes the phoenix had left his perch, flown across the office, and
landed on Tempest’s knee.

“Lo, Fawkes,” said Tempest quietly. She let her injured hand fall to rest on the phoenix’s beautiful
scarlet-and-gold plumage. Fawkes blinked peacefully up at her. There was something comforting
about his warm weight. The phoenix let out one soft, quavering note. It shivered in the air, and
Tempest felt as though a drop of hot liquid had slipped down her throat into her stomach, warming
her. The phoenix had craned his neck. It was resting his beautiful head against Tempest’s arm, and
thick, pearly tears were falling from its eyes onto her splinched arm.

The pain vanished. Skin knitted over the wound leaving barely a scar. Sirius and Tempest watched
with wide eyes as Fawkes set about healing her shoulder and her hand.

Tempest blinked down at the phoenix, gratitude struggling in her chest. She realized she was still
gripping her wand with her newly healed right hand; tight enough for her to fear it’s breaking.
Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from around it, slipped it into its holster.

“What happened?” asked Sirius, directing the question to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had quieted the portraits. They were silent and watchful now. He conjured a chair
for Sirius beside Tempest and motioned for him to sit.

“Cedric Diggory’s body arrived holding the Triwizard Cup some twenty minutes ago,” he said,
and Tempest felt her throat close up. “Understandably there was a lot of confusion and fear. We
were of course trying to locate you, while the Minister of Magic remained with Cedric’s parents in
support. I suspected Voldemort’s return. Karkaroff left the judge’s podium very quickly, and there
were… other indicators. Meanwhile, Severus, Minerva, Remus and I were attempting to recreate
the spell about the Cup to locate you, at which point, I received a patronus from Alberforth that
you had appeared at his bar, badly injured. I sent Sirius in his dog form to my office to wait, as too
many people would ask why a dog needed to accompany us.”

Here Dumbledore stopped, and Tempest remembered all in a rush, what she needed to say. “The
Moody at this school is a Death Eater,” she said, “it’s Barty Crouch Jr- the dead one- polyjuiced as
him. He was the one who obliviated me that night in the hallway,” she added. “I’d found out who
he was, and he cursed me. I didn’t remember until Voldemort talked about him tonight.”

At this, Dumbledore rose to his feet abruptly. He did not question Tempest, he motioned with his
wand. Twin streaks of silver flew from the wand tip and vanished through the walls of the office.
“I have sent instructions,” he explained, “to Minerva, Severus and Remus to apprehend and
question the man. We must find the real Alastor as soon as possible.”

Tempest felt immense relief. One danger was removed. “He must have been behind everything…”
she said, “putting my name in the cup… that night in the corridor, I remember Moody showing up
right after Snape suggested we go to you, Professor. Voldemort said he was the reason for tonight,
too.”

Sirius reached over to grip Tempest’s shoulder, and she looked at him, battening down the
emotions that struggled in her chest.

“Tempest,” said Dumbledore softly, recalling her attention to him, “I need to know everything that
happened after you touched the portkey in the maze.”

“We can leave that till morning, can’t we, Dumbledore?” said Sirius harshly. “Let her have a sleep.
Let her rest.”

Tempest felt a rush of gratitude toward Sirius, but Dumbledore took no notice of his words. He
leaned toward Tempest, who met his blue eyes tiredly.

“It’s fine,” said Tempest to Sirius, “It’s over, it’s fine- I’ll tell you.” And as she spoke, the night
played out before her eyes in visions that came and went. She recounted their appearance in the
graveyard, Pettigrew’s reveal and Cedric’s initial escape from death. At times, her voice faded
until she cleared her throat and began again, and in these moments, she focused on Sirius’s hand as
though it were a lifeline. For all she said it was fine- Tempest wanted little more than to close her
eyes for a while and will the world away. But she continued speaking, for she felt that once she
was finished, it would finally be done with.

When Tempest told of Pettigrew taking her blood to use in the potion, Dumbledore stood up so
quickly that Tempest started. She had the feeling that Dumbledore would’ve asked to see the cut
had it still existed- but with Fawkes’ tears, her wounds had melted away.

“He said he wanted my blood specifically for the protection that I- that my mother’s- that Lily gave
me- so that… so that he would possess it too. And… unlike first year, he could touch me without
burning… and so he did.”

Sirius made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. And Dumbledore, wore for a fleeting
moment, a triumphant look. Yet in the next moment, Tempest was sure she had imagined it, for
Dumbledore looked as old and weary as ever.

“Very well,” he said, “Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Tempest, continue, please.”

Tempest looked down at her right hand. No longer holding her wand, she stretched out her fingers
carefully. Skin moved smoothly and only with the dullest ache over the bones of her hand as she
folded it into a fist.

“After Voldemort… came back… he summoned the other death eaters, and we spoke… briefly…
about my death… and then Cedric-” Here Tempest had to swallow several times before she could
go on. Cedric, who would be alive if she had just taken the cup by herself, or if she hadn’t failed to
distract Voldemort enough… She cleared her throat. “Cedric must have regained consciousness,
and he attacked Voldemort. He threw me my wand- that was why my hand was the way it was- I
had to get free of the ropes to catch it… and we tried to hold off Voldemort, but he was too… we
couldn’t manage it, and since Cedric was closer to the cup, I thought… I thought it would be better,
if it weren’t the both of us who had to die that night. If someone could spread the word that
Voldemort was back.”

Sirius’s grip on Tempest’s shoulder became almost painful.

“But Voldemort… he managed to curse me, and… by the time I had recovered, Cedric had lost his
wand and he was just at the cup when… when Voldemort-” Tempest’s voice faded off, and Sirius
reached over, and grasped her hand. “I think Cedric was dead before he touched the cup,” she said.
“And at that point, the death eaters had arrived, and they were just watching.” She recounted what
little she could recall of Voldemort’s account to the death eaters, some of their exchanges;
Pettigrew’s silver hand. “He did kill Bertha Jorkins,” said Tempest quietly, “and Mr Crouch is
dead. I’m guessing his son killed him that night he was on the grounds.” She spoke then of how he
had achieved his rebirth of sorts, and his movements throughout the years. “Mostly I was trying to
summon my wand to myself,” she said, thinking back to the long minutes where she had pleaded
with the powers that be to grant her that one thing.

“I’ve done wandless magic before,” said Tempest, “and I managed it at the last moment. I got my
wand back...” She did not mention Voldemort’s offer, his invitation to join him. “We dueled for a
bit- though it was barely a duel, he was toying with me, I could tell… and when he finally got
bored… he sent a killing curse at me, and it connected with a spell that I sent… and… and then…”

But here, Tempest found she could not continue any longer. She was glad when Sirius broke the
silence.

“The wands connected?” he said, looking from Tempest to Dumbledore. “Why?”

“Priori Incantatem,” muttered Dumbledore.

“The Reverse Spell effect?” said Sirius sharply.

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore. “Tempest’s wand and Voldemort’s wand share cores. Each of them
contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact,” he added, and he
pointed at the scarlet-and-gold bird, perching peacefully on the corner of his desk.

“So what happens when a wand meets its brother?” said Sirius, speaking for Tempest, who had yet
to recover her voice.

“They will not work properly against each other,” said Dumbledore. “If, however, the owners of
the wands force the wands to do battle... a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will
force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed- in reverse. The most recent first... and then
those which preceded it…”

He looked interrogatively at Tempest, and Tempest looked away. She looked at Fawkes again, and
spoke in a voice she held rigidly steady.

“I saw an old man,” she said. “Bertha Jorkins. And…”

“Your parents?” said Dumbledore quietly.

Tempest jerked her head down roughly. “So the night wasn’t a complete loss,” she said tightly,
pointedly looking at nothing at all, “got to see to my parents for all of a few seconds.”

And then Sirius had let go of her hand and was cupping her face between his hands. “You
shouldn’t have to be fucking tortured to see your parents,” he said vehemently, his grey eyes
desperately kind and infinitely sad.

Tempest stared at him, and emotion clogged in her throat. “But it’s my lot,” she said, unable to
keep the quaver out of her words. “And I need to deal with it.”

“Not alone,” said Sirius, promise in his voice. “So help me, never again, and never alone.”

Dumbledore spoke, and Tempest remembered they were not alone in the room. Sirius’s hands
slipped away, leaving Tempest feeling bereft.

“Tempest… these echoes… these shadows of Voldemort’s victims… what did they do?”

“They mostly surrounded Voldemort,” said Tempest, “they distracted him… and my… and
James… he told me to apparate outside of the graveyard… and…. And Lily said my patronus
would help me on… and it did. I… I still don’t know how.”

Here Dumbledore’s eyes regained a shade of their old light. “Apparation in it’s essence is to wreath
and surrender to the magic within the apparator, managing to transport them between spaces,
focused by the strength of their mind. It is in fact, a far less complex process than you may
imagine, however do not mistake me, Tempest, your ability was by no means a small feat. As are
your accomplishments with wandless magic, you demonstrated exceptional ability.”

“But I splinched.”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore, “When your patronus passed through you, you must have been enveloped
in a concentrated mix of all the positive emotions accumulated in your life, directing you towards a
place or person where you had felt the most safe or happy- in this case, Hogwarts. However, due
to the school’s wards you instead appeared close by- the Hogs Head. The diversion, coupled with
your first time apparating must have resulted in splinching.”

Tempest was digesting this, while Sirius sent his eyes roving over Tempest, as though to check
again for some missing body part.

“I’m fine, Sirius,” reassured Tempest, and from behind his desk, Dumbledore stood.

“Tempest, you have shown courage beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight. You
have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You
have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it- and you have now given
us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you
returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace... Sirius, would you like to
stay with her?”

Sirius nodded and stood up. He transformed back into Padfoot and walked with Tempest and
Dumbledore out of the office, accompanying them down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

The first thing Tempest saw when they entered the room, was Remus accosted by Ron and
Hermione, who seemed to be demanding to know the exact details of what had happened when he
had seen her.

Their heads snapped around when Tempest and Padfoot entered, and Tempest had barely a moment
to prepare herself, before Ron and Hermione were rushing toward her.

Dumbledore halted them with a hand however. “Whatever conversations you may wish to have,
will wait until Tempest is ready. She has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. She has just had to
relive it for me. What she needs now is sleep and peace. “”

Ron and Hermione nodded, looking abashed. Ron was looking at Tempest with something close to
terror.

“Headmaster,” said Madam Pomfrey, staring at the great black dog that was Sirius, “may I ask
what-?”

“This dog will be remaining with Tempest for a while,” said Dumbledore simply. “I assure you, he
is extremely well trained. Tempest- I will be back as soon as I have met with Minerva, then Fudge.
I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.” He left.

As Pomfrey led Tempest to a nearby bed, she caught sight of Moody lying motionless in a bed at
the far end of the room. His wooden leg and magical eye were lying on the bedside table. This, she
realized, must be the real Moody- they had found him.

Pomfrey gave Tempest some pajamas and pulled the screens around her, allowing her to change.
Tempest took off her robes and cast several scourgifys to rid herself of dirt and blood. She put on
the pajamas, still feeling unclean. She felt it might be a while till that changed. She cleaned her
wand as well; it had been encrusted in her dried blood. She got into bed. Remus, Ron, Hermione
and the black dog came around the screen and settled themselves in chairs on either side of her.
Ron and Hermione were looking at her cautiously, as though scared of her.

Tempest had had enough of being an exhibition for that night.

“You don’t need to stay,” said Tempest to them. “I’m fine.”

Ron looked deeply uncomfortable. “You sure?” he said, looking at Hermione, “You’ll be all
right?”

And Tempest repeated; “I’m fine.”

They left, and Tempest remained with Remus and Padfoot, who both seemed to content to sit with
her.

Pomfrey, who had bustled off to her office, returned holding a small bottle of some purple potion
and a goblet. “You’ll need to drink all of this, Tempest,” she said. “It’s a potion for dreamless
sleep.”

Tempest looked at Remus. “I need to talk to Cedric’s parents,” she said quietly, “I said that I would
tell them what happened-”

“In the morning,” said Remus, “they’re… still with the body right now.”

Tempest took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls.

Rarely did she find it easy to sleep all at once, yet the potion turned the world about her hazy; the
lamps around the hospital wing seemed to be winking at her in a friendly way through the screen
around her bed; her body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather
mattress. Right before the darkness claimed her, Tempest tried to speak.

It was a petty request, yet Tempest struggled against the potion to form words.

She did not need to.

Just as she was succumbing to sleep, she felt a hand slip into hers.

*****

Tempest woke up, so warm, so very sleepy, that she didn’t open her eyes for a moment. There was
a hand in hers, a rough, calloused hand that Tempest never wanted to let go. When she finally
opened her eyes, it was Remus’s hand, and he was looking past the screen, muttering to Padfoot,
who was standing alert at his side.

Now Tempest realized what had woken her; there were people shouting and running toward the
hospital wing.

“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva-” Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly.

“You should never have brought it inside the castle!” yelled Minnie. “When Dumbledore finds
out-”

Tempest heard the hospital doors burst open. She sat up, which Remus noticed immediately, and
he pulled back the screens so that they could all see. Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out of her
office.

Fudge came striding up the ward. Minnie and Snape were at his heels.
“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded of Remus.

“He’s not here,” said Remus, his tone hostile. “This is a hospital wing, Minister, there are
patients-”

But the door opened, and Dumbledore came sweeping up the ward.

“What has happened?” said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Minnie. “Why are you
disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you- I asked you to stand guard over Barty
Crouch-”

“There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!” she shrieked. “The Minister has
seen to that!”

Tempest had never seen Minnie so livid. There were angry blotches of color in her cheeks, and her
hands were balled into fists; she was trembling with fury.

“When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight’s events,”
said Snape, in a low voice, “he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on
summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where
Barty Crouch-”

“I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!” Minnie fumed. “I told him you would never allow
dementors to set foot inside the castle, but-”

“My dear woman!” roared Fudge, who likewise looked angrier than Tempest had ever seen him,
“as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when
interviewing a possibly dangerous-”

But Minnie’s voice drowned Fudge’s.

“The moment that- that thing entered the room,” she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all
over, “it swooped down on Crouch and- and-”

Tempest felt a chill in her stomach as Minnie struggled to find words to describe what had
happened. She gripped Remus’s hand so tightly, her knuckles turned white. They both knew how
close Sirius had come to having his soul sucked out through his mouth. To be worse than dead.

“By all accounts, he is no loss!” blustered Fudge. “It seems he has been responsible for several
deaths!”

“But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore. He was staring hard at Fudge,
as though seeing him plainly for the first time. “He cannot give evidence about why he killed those
people.”

“Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it?” blustered Fudge. “He was a raving lunatic!
From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on
You-Know-Who’s instructions!”

“Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “Those people’s
deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan
succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.”

Fudge looked as though someone had just swung a heavy weight into his face. Dazed and blinking,
he stared back at Dumbledore as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard. He began to
sputter, still goggling at Dumbledore.

“You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore...”

“As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you,” said Dumbledore, “they heard Barry Crouch
confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told them how he was smuggled out of Azkaban,
and how Voldemort- learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins- went to free him
from his father and used him to capture Tempest. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped
Voldemort to return.”

“See here, Dumbledore,” said Fudge, a slight smile dawning on his face, “you- you can’t seriously
believe that. You-Know-Who- back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed
himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders- but to take the word of a lunatic like that,
Dumbledore...”

“When Tempest and Cedric touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, they were transported straight to
Voldemort,” said Dumbledore steadily. “Tempest witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will
explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.” Dumbledore glanced around at Tempest and
saw that she was awake, but shook his head and said, “I am afraid I cannot permit you to question
her tonight.”

Fudge’s curious smile lingered. He too glanced at Tempest, then looked back at Dumbledore, and
said, “You are- er- prepared to take Tempest’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?”

There was a moment’s silence, which was broken by Sirius growling. His hackles were raised, and
he was baring his teeth at Fudge.

“Certainly, I believe Tempest,” said Dumbledore. His eyes were blazing now. “I have heard
Crouch’s confession relayed, and I heard Tempest’s account of what happened after she touched
the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since
Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.”

Fudge still had that strange smile on his face. Once again, he glanced at Tempest before
answering.

“You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer,
and a girl who... well...”

Fudge shot Tempest another look, and Tempest suddenly understood. “You’ve been reading,
Skeeter, Minister,” she said.

Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face. He addressed
Dumbledore again. “Do you admit that it is true then? That you’ve been keeping certain facts about
the girl very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place-”

“I assume that you are referring to the pains Tempest has been experiencing in her scar?” said
Dumbledore coolly.

“You admit that she has been having these pains, then?” said Fudge quickly. “Headaches?
Nightmares? Possibly- hallucinations?”

“Listen to me, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, taking a step toward Fudge, and he seemed to radiate
an indefinable sense of power that hummed with magic. “Tempest is as sane as you or I. That scar
upon her face has not addled her brains. I believe it hurts her when Lord Voldemort is close by, or
feeling particularly murderous.”
Fudge had taken half a step back from Dumbledore, but he looked no less stubborn.

“You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell
before...”

Tempest had had enough. “I saw Voldemort come back, Minister,” she said, “I faced him. Cedric
faced him… he died facing him- I wish it as much as you- more even- that he hadn’t, but we were
there. He summoned his death eaters; I could name them for you- Lucius Malfoy-”

Snape made a sudden movement, but as Tempest looked at him, Snape’s eyes flew back to Fudge.

“Malfoy was cleared!” said Fudge, visibly affronted. “A very old family- donations to excellent
causes-”

“Macnair!” continued Tempest.

“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”

“Avery- Nott- Crabbe- Goyle-”

“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen
years ago!” said Fudge angrily. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For
heaven’s sake, Dumbledore- the girl was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too- her
tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them- the girl can talk to snakes, Dumbledore,
and you still think she’s trustworthy?”

“You fool!” Minnie cried. “Cedric Diggory! Mister Crouch! These deaths were not the random
work of a lunatic!”

“I see no evidence to the contrary! I see a girl who had an uncommonly stressful night, filled with
mishaps!” shouted Fudge, his face purpling. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a
panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”

Tempest’s opinion of Fudge had turned on its head. She had thought him a little blustering, a little
pompous, but essentially good-natured. But now a short, angry wizard stood before her, refusing,
point-blank, to accept the prospect of disruption in his comfortable and ordered world- to believe
that Voldemort could have risen.

“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated. “If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and
take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential
step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors-”

“Preposterous!” shouted Fudge again. “Remove the dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for
suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are
standing guard at Azkaban!”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord
Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he
asks them!” said Dumbledore. “They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer
them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors
behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard pressed to stop him regaining
the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!”

Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage.
“The second step you must take- and at once,” Dumbledore pressed on, “is to send envoys to the
giants.”

“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. “What madness is this?”

“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” said Dumbledore, “or Voldemort
will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and
their freedom!”

“You- you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from
Dumbledore. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants- people hate
them, Dumbledore- end of my career-”

“You are blinded,” said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable,
his eyes blazing once more, “by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much
importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that
it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed
the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any- and see what that man chose to
make of his life! I tell you now- take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in
office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to
act- and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second
chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

“Insane,” whispered Fudge, still backing away. “Mad...”

And then there was silence. The eyes of the room were on Fudge.

“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore,
“we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I- I shall act as I see fit.”

Dumbledore’s voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled
as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand.

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, waving a threatening finger. “I’ve given you free rein,
always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but
I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves-” Here, Sirius growled loud
enough for Tempest to feel it, and Remus had to stop Tempest from rising in outrage. “-or keep
Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going
to work against me-”

“The only one against whom I intend to work,” said Dumbledore, “is Lord Voldemort. If you are
against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backward and forward on his small
feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his
voice, “He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be...”

Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck
out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago,
when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by
the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to
him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate,
instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you
think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned.
Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be
sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a
word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled by the ugly mark on Snape’s arm, then looked
up at Dumbledore and whispered, “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at,
Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow,
Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.”

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the
dormitory, and stopped at Tempest’s bed.

“Your winnings,” he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto
his bedside table. “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but
under the circumstances…”

He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind
him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at Minnie.

“Minerva,” said Dumbledore, “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also- if she
will consent to come- Madame Maxime.”

Minnie nodded and left without a word.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said to Pomfrey, “would you be very kind and go down to Professor
Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do
what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.”

“Very- very well,” said Pomfrey, looking startled, and she too left.

Dumbledore made sure that the door was closed, and that Pomfrey’s footsteps had died away,
before he spoke again. “And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognize each
other for what they are. Sirius… if you could resume your usual form.”

The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man.

Snape did not startle, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror.“Him!” he
snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?”

“He is here for Tempest,” said Dumbledore, “and at my invitation, as are you, Severus. I trust you
both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.”

Neither Sirius or Snape seemed receptive to the idea; they were eyeing each other with the utmost
loathing.

“I will settle, in the short term,” said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, “for a lack
of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless
the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”

Sirius lingered by the edge of Tempest’s bed unmoving for a moment, then swallowed, and in two
quick steps, he walked toward Snape, and the pair shook hands. They let go extremely quickly.

“That will do to be going on with,” said Dumbledore, stepping between them once more. “Now I
have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius,
Remus, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher- the old
crowd. Sirius, low at Remus’ for a while. I will meet you there.”

Sirius nodded at Remus, then turned to Tempest. “I’m sorry to go,” said Sirius. “I will send you an
address, and we will see each other soon. But in the meanwhile, I must do what I can.”

“Of course,” said Tempest.

Sirius placed a hand on her cheek briefly, then transformed into Padfoot, and with Remus, walked
the length of the room to the door. Then, they were gone.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are
ready... if you are prepared…”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. And for a moment,
he looked in Tempest’s direction, a gaze she could not decipher.

“Then good luck,” said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as
Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.

“I must go downstairs,” he said finally. “There are things I must attend to… Tempest, I suggest you
go back to sleep. Goodnight.”

Dumbledore left, and Tempest slumped back against her pillows. She cast a look over at where the
real Moody lay unconscious still. On balance, his day had been better than hers. Tempest reached
over for the cup of dreamless sleep. As she did so, her hand brushed the bag of Triwizard gold and
she stopped.

The bag sat there, a simple brown cloth bag, filled with gold, and it could’ve contained a severed
head for all Tempest wanted it.

She could still see it. Cedric’s eyes, already dim, his mouth open slightly in surprise, and in her
mind, he was still falling. Falling… and falling… and dead. She had never seen the body land. She
felt a burning feeling start behind her eyes. The thing that had been battling in her chest on and off
ever since she had come out of the maze was threatening to burst out.

Tempest fumbled wildly for her wand on the nightstand. She grasped it and held it tight. The
burning feeling had reached her throat now, and she curled forward in the bed, her knees pulled to
her chest and face buried in them, fighting against a howl that was struggling to escape her.

Tempest forced her head up with a gasp. She drank in several shuddering breaths of air and gripped
her wand still more tightly.

The cup of dreamless sleep still sat on the nightstand, the promise of a short escape. Tempest drank
it down in a single draught. Tempest’s head immediately clouded over. She fell back against her
pillows and succumbed to sleep.

There would be time enough in the morning.

 *****

After, things seemed to exist in a state of bated breath.

When Tempest looked back, even a month later, she found she only had scattered memories of the
next few days. Most of what she could remember was painful. One of those occurrences was when
she met with the Diggorys the next day.

Tempest told them how their son died. Told them how he had fought Voldemort himself and saved
her, more than once.

They believed her. They did not blame her for what had happened. Mr Diggory sobbed through
most of the interview. Mrs Diggory’s grief seemed to be beyond tears. “His last thoughts were of us
then,” she said, when Tempest had told her Cedric’s request. “Of people who love him. And he
died a hero, Amos… he died fighting You-Know-Who.”

When they got to their feet, she looked down at Tempest and said, “You look after yourself, now.”

Tempest felt emotion clog in her throat again. “It should’ve been me,” she said. “Cedric shouldn’t
have died, he wasn’t meant to be there, it should’ve been me.”

“No, dear,” said Mrs Diggory. She sounded constricted. “He would never have been able to forgive
himself, if it had been you.”

But you wish it was.

Tempest seized the sack of gold on the bedside table. “Take it,” she said, “it should have been
Cedric’s, he won, you take it-”

But she backed away.

“Oh no, it’s yours dear, I couldn’t… you keep it.”

Tempest returned to Gryffindor Tower the following evening. From what Hermione and Ron told
her, Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast. He had merely requested that
they leave Tempest alone, that nobody ask her questions or badger her to tell the story of what had
happened in the maze. Most people, she noticed, were skirting her in the corridors, avoiding her
eyes. Some whispered behind their hands as she passed.

Tempest avoided them all.

The only person she sought out was Neville, who she took aside one day after Herbology, and they
stood behind the greenhouses to talk.

“There were three people on trial for what happened to your parents,” said Tempest to a pale
Neville. “The Lestranges were sentenced, and went to Azkaban, but there was one more person.”

“Bartemius Crouch Jr,” said Neville. “He died in Azkaban.”

“No,” said Tempest quietly. “He escaped. Someone died in his place. He came to Hogwarts this
year. He polyjuiced as Professor Moody. I wanted to tell you… the night that Cedric died, we
found out. Professor McGonagall was watching him, and he was tied up, confessing. The Minister
came in after, with a dementor. He was kissed.”

Neville was shaking. He had turned away, and Tempest could not see his face. He said nothing.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” said Tempest, “but I thought you had the right to know.”

“I’m glad,” said Neville, muffled. "I was glad when I thought he had died. And I'm glad now, that
he suffered worse.”

And then Tempest found that it was she that had nothing to say.

When Moody- the real Alastor Moody had woke, he was a twitchy and paranoid mess, starting
worse than his imposter at every turn, and reaching for his wand at every noise. Tempest couldn’t
blame him; the man had spent most of a year imprisoned in his own trunk.

She had asked Minnie what Crouch had said, and she had relayed most of his confession under
Veritaserum. She had been in Moody’s office since, the Marauder’s Map recovered from being
locked inside the same trunk that Crouch Jr had been keeping Moody captive.

Tempest had been to see Moody; a Moody who was so alike the one Crouch had been that Tempest
shouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Yet the uneasy feeling she had gotten from Crouch
was not present around the true Moody, a fact she mentioned as a reassurance, to gain fixed
attention from Moody.

“Few people possess that ability,” he said, and his normal and magical eye bored into Tempest.
“You would make a fine auror, Miss Potter. You have the right mind for it.”

Tempest stared at him.

Moody grunted and his magical eye span away from Tempest to fix, as it so often did these days,
on the doors to the Hospital Wing. “My imposter said the same, didn’t he?”

Tempest grimaced. “Twice over, and word for word.”

“Of course,” said Moody, and the conversation ran stale not long afterward.

Bartemius Crouch Sr’s body had been recovered, and handed over to the Ministry of Magic. He
had no family left, and the Ministry were to hold a funeral for him. He had died the night that
Tempest and Krum had seen him. He had been murdered by his own son and buried in a patch of
dirt as a bone with none to miss him.

The thought haunted Tempest, as did the memory of the old man- Frank Bryce and Bertha Jorkins.
They had all died randomly and senselessly, like Cedric, because they had happened to be in the
wrong place at the wrong time.

Voldemort was back. He was back and he had the support of his death eaters. There hadn’t been
any other mysterious murders or disappearances being reported in the newspaper, but Tempest felt
restless nonetheless. Voldemort, somewhere in the world, was drawing breath. Even if there was
little she could do, Tempest wanted to know what steps were being taken against Voldemort, and
he wanted to help, in any way she could.
She itched to leave Hogwarts, to leave behind the eyes of the students that followed her
everywhere now. Their gazes were suspicious, skeptical and speculative in turn, and it set Tempest
on edge, detached and resentful.

Skeeter hadn’t written another article since the one where she hinted that Tempest was insane,
which was a small mercy. Everything seemed so unimportant these days, trivial or annoying, and
Tempest avoided as much of it as she could.

One of her strongest links to some form of peace was Sirius. More and more now, Tempest looked
forward to seeing him again. The dream that she had held for several months of living with Sirius
had in one night become impossibility and a distant heaven. But she had survived and Tempest
now clung to the idea with a sort of desperation. He had written to her, and Tempest carried the
words with her like a talisman as she went about the last few days of the term.

Dearest Tempest- To the strongest person I know. I hope the days have passed well, and that they
will continue to do so until we meet again, very soon. Moony and I are helping Dumbledore set the
wheels in motion to counter any further moves Voldemort is making go regain footholds in the
Wizarding world. The exact details I cannot disclose in a letter, but know that we are not sitting
idly by in a world where Voldemort has returned. To reassure you; the world has not ended, nor
shall it, not today or any time soon. As for our plans, I’m staying with Moony until Hogwarts
finishes for the year. I’ll be at 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington after that. Feel free to join me
whenever you are ready. – Yours, Sirius.

Slowly, so slowly the last weeks of term drew to a close, and Tempest had packed. The map sat
safely folded in her trunk, along with her invisibility cloak, which Sirius had owled back on the
night of his leaving. Nyx, after much coaxing and struggle, was in her carrier.

Ron and Hermione had gone ahead of Tempest down to the entrance of the hall where they would
wait with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade station.

Tempest had lingered. She had no desire to wait for any extended period of time with her year.

It was a beautiful summer’s day. She knew Minnie’s cottage would be in bloom, and the sea would
glimmer beautifully beneath the moon when she arrived there that evening. Her unactivated
portkey in the form of another sickle sat in her pocket as she finally left the dormitory.

Tempest had yet to tell Minnie she was leaving to live with Sirius. She wasn’t sure how to go about
broaching the subject. She put the thought out of her mind.

She left the common room and walked through empty corridors, dragging her trunk along behind
her. She was almost at the corner that led to the top of the stairs leading to the entrance hall when
someone, walking very fast, rounded the corner and crashed into her.

Tempest stumbled.

The person reached out to steady her, and it was, of course, Malfoy.

“Potter,” he said in surprise. “I was looking for you.”

Tempest hadn’t seen much of Malfoy since the night of the third task. Unlike the majority of the
school’s population, he hadn’t seemed eager to crowd her and ask after the events of that night. She
supposed he hadn’t needed to. His father had been there.

“Sorry,” he said, letting her go.

Tempest cast a look down the empty corridor, then looked back at him. There were things she
wanted to say. “We haven’t spoken in a while.” “I imagine this changes things.” “I think your father
saved my life.”

“I thought of you that night. The night where everything seemed so far away.”

She said; “excuse me.”

Malfoy stepped aside, and Tempest wasn’t sure if she felt relief or not. Then, he spoke. “I just
wanted to give this to you.”

He put a hand into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a small glass jar. Inside were a few twigs
and leaves and one large, fat beetle.

Tempest looked at the jar, uncomprehending.

“There’s an unbreakable charm on the glass, so she can’t transform,” said Malfoy. He held the jar
out to Tempest. “I found her on the windowsill in the Hospital Wing the morning after... that
night.”

“Why were you in the Hospital Wing?” asked Tempest numbly.

“Here,” said Malfoy, holding the jar out more insistently. “Do what you like with her.”

Tempest took the jar. “Thanks,” she said. Looking down at the glass, the beetle waved it’s feelers
angrily at her. She put the jar in her pocket and walked past Malfoy.

She was one of the last to arrive in the entrance hall, but there were still some people waiting for
her. Fleur Delacour was standing with Ron at the foot of the entrance hall steps.

“Tempest!”

Fleur hurried up several steps to greet and briefly embrace Tempest, who stood awkwardly,
unaware that she had reached such familiarity with the girl. “We will see each uzzer again, I ‘ope,”
said Fleur, “I am ‘oping to get a job ‘ere, to improve my Eenglish.”

“It’s very good already,” said Ron in a strangled sort of voice. Fleur smiled at him; he turned bright
red.

“It would be good to get to know you better,” said Tempest.

“Goodbye,” said Fleur, turning to go. “It ‘az been a pleasure meeting you!”

Tempest found her smile ease as she watched Fleur hurry away to where the Beauxbatons carriage
waited for her, her silvery hair rippling in the sunlight.

Tempest joined Ron, who stared after Fleur, still clearly enraptured.

“We talked about goblins,” said Ron slowly. “It was the best conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she said, and looked around. “Where’s Hermione?”
Ron’s expression became sullen. He shrugged. “Krum wanted a word with her.”

“You’re not still annoyed about him, are you?” said Tempest, “look, they’re coming back now.”

Sure enough, Hermione and Krum were returning through the crowd at the front doors. Ron was
staring at Hermione, who kept her face impassive.

“I am sorry,” said Krum abruptly to Tempest, “for vot happened in the maze. I liked Diggory. He
vos always polite to me, even though I vos from Durmstrang- with Karkaroff.”

“It was good to meet you,” said Tempest.

Krum grunted. He held out his hand and shook Tempest’s hand, and then Ron’s. Ron looked as
though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking
away when Ron burst out, “Can I have your autograph?”

Hermione turned away, smiling at the carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive,
as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

On the train, Tempest, Ron and Hermione managed to get a compartment to themselves. Tempest
let Nyx out of her carrier though she knew it would be a struggle to get her back in afterward.
Crookshanks was allowed to roam free as well, choosing instead to curl up on the spare seat like a
large, furry ginger cushion. Pigwidgeon remained in his cage, hidden beneath Ron’s dress robes to
prevent him from hooting continually.

Tempest slipped from the compartment early in the ride to ask for Lee Jordan’s camera and locked
herself in the bathroom. She snapped a picture of the beetle and waited for the film to print.
Evidence safely stowed away in her pocket, she held the jar up to her eye level.

“Hello,” she said, watching the beetle scurry up a twig and wave its feelers madly. “This is what
you get, I suppose, for nosing about, poking your nose into other people’s business, and all for
what? For the next nail-job?”

Tempest shook the jar slightly, and watched the beetle tumble off onto the floor of the jar. It landed
on it’s back, legs waving helplessly in the air.

“I despise you,” she said, quite calmly, though anger was building up in her chest. “So Malfoy said
you were in the Hospital Wing. I suppose you were spying that night? When Cedric Diggory was
dead, and I just wanted the world to go away, there you were, taking notes. I need you to know
how fucking wretched you are, how fucking low- and so you’re not to write a single thing about
anyone, about anything, indefinitely, from now on. Or I’ll be letting some select people know
about you being unregistered, and then I imagine you could write an insider’s view on Azkaban.”

Tempest paused. It didn’t seem like enough. She loathed Skeeter, with disgust that she couldn’t
verbalize. She was scum in a lower, weaker sense than Pettigrew was, and, as Tempest thought
about everything in the past month, insignificant. “I need you to remember this,” said Tempest
quietly, “because I can hurt you a hell of a lot better than you can hurt me. Do you have your wand
on you?”

The beetle was still on it’s back, and Tempest tilted the jar so that Skeeter could regain her footing.

“I need an answer,” prompted Tempest.

The Skeeter beetle bent it’s feelers slowly.

“Great,” said Tempest, and unlatched the bathroom window.

Instantly, the sound of wind filled the small room, and waves of air buffeted Tempest. She could
hear the chuffing of the train, and the wheels on the rails clattering by. She unscrewed the top of
the jar.

“Find your own way back,” she told the beetle, and tossed the whole thing out of the window.

After returning the camera to Lee Jordan, Tempest returned to her compartment to find Fred and
George there as well. George was playing with Nyx, charming a feather to dance about the
compartment.

With Tempest back, they started a game of exploding snap, and halfway through the fifth game,
Tempest inquired about Bagman.

“We’ve given up,” said George resignedly, slapping down a five. “It’s pointless, he’s done a
runner anyway, and no one knows where he is. Left right after the third task.”

“Did everything happen that night?” said Tempest tiredly, “why? He wouldn’t run over failing to
pay up for one bet with you guys-”

“It was larger than just us,” said Fred, putting down a six, seven and eight in quick succession.
“Lee Jordan’s dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he’s in big
trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the
woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn’t enough to cover all his
debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He’s lost everything
gambling. Hasn’t got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the
goblins back?”

Tempest shook her head.

“He put a bet on you, mate,” said George. “Bet you would win the tournament. Bet against the
goblins.”

Suddenly, Bagman’s behaviour during the Tournament made a lot more sense. “Well- I did win,
sort of- so he’s free to pay you back.”

George shook his head. “The goblins play as dirty as him. First they said dead or not, Diggory
arrived back first with the cup. Second they said even if you did reach the cup at the same time, it
was a joint victory, and Bagman was betting you’d win outright. He’s gone now.”

He sighed deeply and started dealing out the cards again.

The train trundled on, and Tempest found herself looking forward to dinner that night with Minnie.
They’d talk about the year, and Minnie might complain about a particularly vexing class… If the
weather held, the water would be gorgeous, and she could go for an evening swim... Nyx could
reclaim her nook in Tempest’s room…

The Hogwarts Express pulled into platform nine and three-quarters. The usual noise and bustle
filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out with their
respective cage and carrier, dragging their trunks behind. Tempest, however, stayed put.

She waited until the twins had left the compartment, before digging out her Triwizard winnings
and a scrap of parchment and quill. She shushed the impatient hiss from Nyx, and bent over to
write:

Fred, George- This is the Triwizard gold. Consider it an investment for your joke shop. I can’t
keep it- I don’t want or need it. I know you’ll want to kick up a fuss, but for my sake, please don’t.
Let this be the end of it. – Thanks, Tempest.

Done, Tempest followed her friends off the train. She spelled the note and gold into George’s trunk
without him noticing, and felt a weight in her chest lift.

Mrs Weasley was waiting on the platform. She must have been told of Voldemort’s return as she
hugged her children one by one, and then approached Tempest with a trembling mouth.

“Tempest, dear- You’re always welcome at our house,” she said emotionally, “if you need
anything-”

Tempest nodded. “Thank you.”

“See you, Tempest,” said Ron, clapping her on the back.

Fred followed suit, while George ruffled her hair. “Write,” he said, “don’t get into too much
trouble without me.”

Tempest managed a grin.

“’Bye, Tempest!” said Hermione, and kissed her on the cheek.

Tempest waved them off and remained on the platform watching Hermione join her parents, and
the Weasleys leave together.

In the thinning crowd, Tempest took the sickle that was the portkey from her pocket and held it in
her hand. She watched Neville greet his grandmother, Lee Jordan reunite with his dad, and through
the clouds of steam from the train, there, not twenty yards away, stood the death eater that had
watched Cedric die, watched her be tortured. There stood the man who served Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy nodded at his son, smiled briefly at his wife. And then the family was gone,
Lucius’s arm around Narcissa’s waist, and a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

The coin began to glow blue in Tempest’s hand.

And Tempest made a decision.

She scribbled a note, folded the sickle into the parchment and placed the coin on a nearby bench.

Tempest grasped her trunk very tightly and made her way through the barrier, out into the busy
hall of Kings Cross. Out on the street, she fought for a taxi and clambered inside.

The cabbie twisted around in his seat to look at her. “Where to, miss?”

Tempest’s legs knocked against her trunk, and she settled the carrier in her lap. She smiled, more
free than she had felt in her life.
“Islington, 12 Grimmauld Place, please.”

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