Sorry for taking so long, but I was a bit busy. Hope you like this chapter
Astraea slipped into the dream world with ease, but, even as the dreams began to dance around the edges of her vision, she was pulled away into a dreamscape not of her minds making.
The place was surprisingly blank, a dark grey with a streak of orange-red along the horizon, which gave way to a dark indigo. She wandered along, walking across the seemingly endless plain. Finally, she sat down, and entertained herself by imagining new clothes for herself.
Finally, she settled on a dark green dress that ended halfway up her thighs in a slight flair. It had a corseted top, with black embroidery of snakes and roses. She wore fishnet stockings, and black stilettoes. The only odd thing she wore was and black cloak that seemed to stretch across the dreamscape, and meld onto the background.
"You know, not many people can manipulate someone else's dreamscape," remarked a voice from ahead of her, and she looked up to see Voldemort standing ahead of her.
Although he had been reborn in the graveyard as a human-snake hybrid, he had managed to alter his appearance, now looking twenty five and incredibly handsome. The only thing that had remained unchanged was his eyes, still a crimson red that seemed to pierce through her.
"I'm in your mind?" asked Astraea, not bothering to get up. If she was asleep, then he couldn't hurt her here.
"You are," he nodded.
"Then I have to say," Said Astraea, "You're choice in backgrounds leaves much to be desired,"
"I don't control it," he said, "I let my subconscious play around here,"
"Well, aren't you awfully depressed," she said uncaringly, turning to look at the orange horizon.
"If you don't like it, change it," he said, and with a careless wave of her hand, they were seated in front of a fire, with paintings hanging from the walls, which seemed to be made up of the ends of her cloak. From the brief glances she spared them, the paintings were blank.
"Interesting choice in décor," he said, looking around, "And an equally interesting choice in your outfit,"
"I like the colour," she said, deciding to put up a portrait of him above the mantel piece.
They sat in silence for a while, before he spoke again.
"My congratulations, by the way," he said.
"For what?" she asked coolly.
"Your re-sort to slytherin," he explained.
"Well, it gave me a sense of satisfaction to see the looks of horror on the faces of my former house mates," she said, smirking.
"Why did you allow the hat to re-sort you?" he asked finally.
Astraea reflected on how their roles had been reversed. Here she was, the seemingly powerful, aloof one, and he was the wary curious one.
"I was angry," she said, "And I was tired of being the odd one out,"
"The odd one out?" he mused, "So, is the Great Astraea potter sick of hiding in the Lion's den?"
"I wasn't hiding, I was waiting foolishly for a family that wasn't there," she said bitingly, "So I let the hat sort me where it said I belonged,"
"In Slytherin," he said.
"Yes,"
They sank back into silence, before he manipulated their surroundings again. Now, they were in the graveyard, seated on the grass, under the full moon. Astraea looked around, and was worried to note the vague forms standing at the edges of the graveyard.
"Who are they?" she asked, pointing to the forms.
"Go and see," he said.
Warily, she got up, and started to walk towards the swaying forms, slightly scared of what she might discover. When she got close enough to see them, she screamed.
Staring back at her, were the lifeless bloodied corpses of her parents, Sirius, Remus and the Weasley clan. Further on, she could see Neville hanging from a tree. And further along the fence, strung up like gruesome decorations, were her former housemates, each killed in a different macabre way.
Astraea stumbled back, hands over her mouth, unable to tear her eyes from the sight. She unwillingly loosed a sob that echoed around the graveyard, and she turned and ran, trying to flee. But no matter where she went, they always seemed to pop up ahead of her, swaying in a bone-chilling breeze that made them look like they were dancing.
Finally, Astraea collapsed into a crouch, holding her hands over her head, as she wept. She felt arms go around her, and she was turned so she was sobbing onto a hard chest.
"I didn't kill them," whispered Voldemort, as he gently rocked her, "I simply arranged it so you would see those who mean most to you. Those who would affect you the most. It was you who brought them here,"
His tone was soft, but his words were biting, cutting into her, and making her sob harder.
"Please, make them go away," she begged.
"Why?" he hissed, gently stroking her hair.
"Please," she whispered, "Take me somewhere else!"
She didn't see the landscape change around them, but she felt the ground beneath them blur into something softer, and the air change from a biting chill to a warmth.
"There, it's gone," he said, but she stayed there in his embrace for a while. She pulled away, and looked around to see them in a bedroom, a fire flickering in the hearth. She felt her face heat up as she realized they were seated on the bed.
"Why are you blushing, hmm?" he smirked, as he stretched out on the black bedspread.
"You know perfectly well why," she hissed, ignoring the fact that tears still stained her cheeks.
She stood up, and looked around the dark room. Despite the fire burning in the hearth, the room was filled with a cloying shadow that thwarted the flames attempts at light.
"You see Astraea," murmured Voldemort from behind her, "No matter how much the Light tries, the dark will always blot it out,"
"But the light fills the dark places, so all can be revealed," said Astraea, not looking at him. He didn't respond.
"Come here," he said finally.
"Why?" she asked, not turning around.
"Come here Astraea!" he commanded, and she found herself turning and walking over to him, before collapsing half on top of him. He rolled them so she was curled up on top of him, her cloak covering them.
"You're shivering," he said coldly, and he put his arms around her.
She didn't say anything, she only allowed herself to sink into his warmth.
"You forget Astraea," he said finally, his voice washing over her, "The light reveals for the eyes to see, but the in the dark, you have to use your other senses,"
She turned to look up at him.
"And soon enough," he whispered, rolling them over so she was pinned beneath him. He trapped her wrists above her head, as he leaned closer to her, "Your eyes adjust to the dark, so that in the end, you cannot see in the blinding light,"
His lips were only a breath away from hers, and Astraea froze, her eyes locked onto his.
"But in the dark, it's still harder to know what the truth is," she whispered, before she moved forwards, closing the gap between their lips.
Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt him fade from atop her.
Tom woke up with a start, the taste of Astraea's lips still on his own. He frowned and sat up. His dream had been strange. He wasn't sure if that actually had been Astraea Potter, because she was so unlike how she was when he met her in life. But, he supposed, that was probably because she was fighting for her life all the other times. And in the dream world, he supposed she must have felt safer.
He got out of bed, and wandered over to the window to stare at the newly rising sun. she really was an enigma, that Astraea Potter.
Well, that's all for now folks.
Please tell me what you thought!