Iridescent

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, UnburntKhaleesi

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark.

Chapter Three: Who Are You?

The activated pensieve radiated a near blinding light. Effectively eclipsing the room from their eyes, as their bodies jolted forward from the memory's pull. Jostling them as though they were mere puppets, pulled forth by invisible strings. The soles of his shoes lifted off from the mirrored glass, landing instead on a heavily worn stone floor. As the light began to fade away, they found themselves in an entirely new place altogether.

Voldemort's piercing eyes swept briskly over every detail before him. His snake like features made to appear all the more menacing, by the scowl he wore upon his brow. His lips curled up into a sneer worthy of a Malfoy, but his eyes glinted dangerously in a manner all their own. He had to wonder what he was even doing here; deep within the mind of someone who called him 'brother.' This ghost of a woman whom he could put neither a name, nor a face to.

If this was a ploy to gain his attention for some undisclosed reason, that prison cell which held her captive would soon seem exceedingly gracious by all accounts. However, his curiosity burned a fissure deep inside this broken remnant of his soul. An emotion that was not entirely unfamiliar to him. He had after all, felt it many a time before. Pursuits of power had always required a great deal of laborious inquisition. At least, any which bore notable results.

Still, his mind stood far from idle at her actions. Her existence perplexed him. Why would this wraith of a woman allow him entrance into her mind? Did she think to try and manipulate him? He, The Dark Lord, whom even his most loyal of Death Eaters cowered at the thought of his mental intrusions. Admittedly, the state of her sanity would remain in question for the moment.

Despite acknowledging the annoyance that was etched upon his face, she remained completely immobile. Standing as still as a tree in the calm dead of night. Distancing herself from the horrors that lay buried deep, in the dark recesses of her mind. A technique that had served her well, all these years. This memory in particular, she had no desire to relive. After all, living it the first time was quite punishment enough.

The loss of her other half felt like some premeditated form of justice, decided upon long ago to ensure sufferance for her sins. Perhaps fate knew there was only but one thing she would truly mourn the loss of. A brother, cut from the same cloth. Sheltered together for nine months, in the womb of their now dead mother. Magical twins, bound irrevocably to the other, body and soul.

Her freedom, stood but a mere trifle in the face of losing him. Whether he wore the face of an aristocrat or a monster, he was hers and she was his.

Over the years, her visions had offered her great insight into the wizard he was today. She was full of such pride over his accomplishments. Standing before her now was a Dark Lord, whose power stretched beyond the foreign reaches of the globe. Thrice over, he had outlasted death. Whether by means of horcrux or otherwise, he had defied the laws of nature. His magic practically rained torrential waves of power. Of complete and utter dominance.

Nevertheless, she could not find the strength within herself to banish the images flurrying behind her eyes. Flashes of memories, lost in time. Two children, separated from the Magical World by unfortunate circumstance. Forced to rely on the only family they had left in this world. Two halves of a whole, stricken by cruelty at every turn. She could remember the feel of his body's warmth, clutching onto her through the harsh winter nights. Giving her his body heat when the threadbare quilts barely guarded against the slightest chill.

His instincts had always kept them safe. From the walls of their crib through the domineering gates of Hogwarts itself. He protected her as if she were the only other being in the world. And to her, he was all that existed. They were like predators in the wild; together they thrived.

Their souls latched onto the other's so possessively, it was difficult to feel where one ended and the other began. Wiping her from his memories, was no clean cut by any means. Her ties ran so deep inside him, she wondered how much further damage was done in the process. For she could certainly sense mental instability inside him. Something inside the eyes, revealing more than he could ever know. Even through her blindness she could see, if not in the traditional sense of the word.

And if there was but one word to describe her pain, 'void' would be it. For with his loss, she felt bereft. She had suffered such great pain and loss. Far beyond what any other being had a right to. It wasn't fair for him to be spared the pain she felt cutting her insides so deeply. Spared the overwhelming truth that he was so maliciously denied. He was the only man that would ever hold a place in her heart. Her soul suffered immense agony at his loss.

Yet to him, she was nothing more than a disheveled stranger.

As much as it pained her, she knew she had to do this. Offering up her still bleeding wounds for his perusal. Stripping herself bare to be at his mercy. The manner of which, had never felt so daunting before. She only hoped that when it was all finished, she would finally know peace. For without his influence, she felt herself at war with herself. Cast out naked into the cruel world. Forgotten by all that loved her.

As the memory's originator, it was well within her power to withhold and to guide the vision. But instead, she felt compelled to give into her desperation. To let him feel the searing pain that intertwined with her every pleasurable memory. Her ability to love was scarred evermore by the loss of him, unforgiving in its honesty. So, she held nothing back.

Let him see it all, she thought with torment curling around her heart like briars. Let him try and find my lies. For there were none to discover, no ploy that she heartbreakingly realized he was trying to uncover.

Her teeth gnashed together as she braced herself for the onslaught, in these moments he took the time to study her features, watchful for any chinks belying her calm nature. Mannerisms that would help him to establish a baseline; to be able to sieve truth from lie. Everyone had weaknesses, thoughts, and habits that they sought to hide. It was an unavoidable trait of the human condition. He cocked his head slightly as she gave no quarter to the rising discord inside her.

Her serene manner pleased him for some unknown reason. Perhaps it reminded him so much of the etiquette and respect the oldest of pure-blood families carried themselves. A trait he had always admired. Her control, impeccable; an attribute of which he associated closely with power. And power was something he coveted most fervently. He discovered himself grudgingly respectful of her discipline. And for the first time in years, he found himself growing content to be in the presence of another.

The hallway's stone walls were only mildly lit by the surrounding wall sconces. Each flickered threateningly. Very much alive, as drafts broke through the cracks in the old worn stone. The faint chill that she remembered to have washed over her skin, merely ghosted through their spectral forms. Unfettered by any known law of nature.

Innately, he could feel malevolent magic twisting through the air. A turbulence of some sort; causing his tastebuds to sizzle to life on his tongue. And as intimate as he was with the Dark Arts, he could be certain there were Dark forces at work this night. Faint traces lingered on the breeze. It hung in the air tenaciously, like a thick fog in the heart of the mountains.

He felt puzzled. Why had no other teacher felt the disturbance? Perhaps, he thought, only the most perceptive of magic users could detect such a thing. For he could no more turn a cheek to such a call, than a wolf could quell the thrill of the hunt.

Turning his nose to the wind, he could distinctly smell a foul stench in the air. His augmented senses worked needlessly to uncover its source. He could practically taste the deceit in the hall; slithering through his nose and into his lungs. His heightened olfactory senses were but one of the many side effects to this horcrux's construct. He could even detect the sweet tang of spilt blood on the air; tantalizing and beckoning him forward.

But above all else, he was hypnotized by another fragrance entirely. Hiding just beneath those bitter notes, stood a very desirable aroma. Her fear caused his predatory senses to run wild. He flicked his tongue out along his teeth, fully aware how desperate his body was to taste her sweet porcelain skin. Another reminder that while the face he now bore alluded to but one of the physical transformations he'd underwent, he could admit; he did not feel entirely human anymore.

Accompanying this new facade, he'd found himself experiencing the most profound responses to stimuli. He'd quickly realized his instincts had become quite predatory in nature. Something which continued to amuse him because, of course, he had always been a predator. Never allowing himself to be the prey. Therefore, placing himself firmly at the top of the food chain. His quarry, unlimited.

Those around him had always been expendable; so easily manipulated for his purposes. Making for perfect pawns in his grand schemes. Everyone was fair game, but now it had changed. Now manipulating his prey didn't just bring him amusement, and an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. It was something he enjoyed on a primal level. He didn't want to just catch his prey, he wanted to devour it. Just as the world had tried to devour him.

In his eyes, his self-imposed mutilations were but a small price to pay for such sustained longevity.

Before his control could slip through his grasp, he was forced to tunnel his sights toward his surroundings instead of her. Adamantly peering at the stonework, he found himself quite familiar with the building's architectural design.

The familiarity he felt toward the place could not be denied. Hogwarts, he thought without a second's hesitance. The first place where he'd truly cultivated his knowledge of the Magical World. A place where he had finally been hoisted up, granted some type of equal footing in the world. He was no longer just the orphan boy that no one spared a second glance at. Hogwarts granted him the chance to be more. It would forever be the first place he called 'home'.

Only now, instead of feeling the safety of his ancestor's magic, the air felt rank with magical unrest. They began to make their way down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly off the high arched ceilings above. He felt the pull of her memories, summoning him toward their true destination. A place, he found himself eager to reach for no explainable reason.

Memories of his once home twisted, until he barely recognized this sacred place that became his sanctuary. Where he had first discovered his true heritage. For though he stood in the castle that would forever be Salazar Slytherin's most notorious legacy, he was the farthest from at ease.

His childhood home felt defiled by the darkness. The one place he would be hesitant to see darkness fall.

He knew not what to think of this distorted perversion of his own memories. Voldemort had always trusted himself; the only being in the world who would never betray or disappoint him. Now though, his own memories were proving to be questionable.

As responsive as Voldemort had always thought himself to be of the Dark Arts, he should have been able to feel this from the dungeons. The fact he'd remained in the dark, unsettled him. The Dark Lord wondered what else he could've overlooked in his adolescent age, young and arrogant in his power. Feeling more vulnerable than he'd been in years, he swallowed thickly at the implications behind such deceit.

There were few things he would stand for less than being played a fool. He was not only 'a' Dark Lord. He was 'The' Dark Lord. Omniscient. Never to be tricked or used. It was Voldemort who controlled those around him; disposing of those who served no purpose or displeased him. In the end, they were no more than pawns to be sacrificed at his will.

Nevertheless at this exact moment in time, he felt more amiss than ever before. His senses spoke of sinister workings afoot. The game had already begun and instinctively, he knew he was not the only king on the board. His enemies were planning a coup. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon. This sickening feeling he had felt only once before, as he apparated into Godric's Hollow all those years ago. His senses had never failed him. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon.

He gazed over at her form, striding through the halls as though she were naught but a ghost. Distanced from her surroundings. She stared deep into the void, as though she had seen death and feared his great return. This witch, of whom he had no recollection, was quite an unusual creature. And while he could not fully grasp her motivations, he could truly feel a familiarity between their magics. He found himself wanting to taste her skin, to feel her heart flutter beneath his touch. Quick and panicked, but not from fear.

A feeling which lead him to feel quite opposed to casting her account aside, quite yet. For as awry as his mind had begun to feel, he could not deny the peace his soul felt at her mere presence. It was this familiarity that quelled his murderous impulses. He did not feel the need to raise his wand and watch her squirm beneath him, as he did others. No impulse to watch her beg and cry at his feet.

He had a strange inkling it would bring him no pleasure. Which in itself was strange, because seeing vulnerability in others had always brought a certain amount of joviality to his imposing demeanor. It had always reminded him that all those who suffered, could be controlled. For, anyone weak enough to possess such sentimentalities, opened themselves up to being exploited in such a manner.

It told him that he would need to remain vigilant, lest he find himself surrounded at all sides by this nameless enemy. It told him that there was still time left to conquer these shadowed foes. That he was far from beaten. Far from hearing the word 'checkmate' spoken unto him by this invisible adversary.

This witch, she was different to him in some way. Perhaps not an enemy; but whether she'd prove to be an ally he could not say. He would obtain his answers though. Burning through her mind until it was an empty shell, if he must. It mattered not in the end.

All at once, right and wrong warred inside his body; battling fruitlessly against an unseen enemy. Unbeknownst to him, the curtain had already begun to lift from his mind. Soon, all would be as it should have been.

Darkness had once lurked inside the heart of Hogwarts. Moving about deep in the dead of night, unseen while the castle slept. This powerful Dark user had foolishly threaded their fingers into the sheer fabric of time. Failing to see the dangers that would await the one who had defied the laws of magic. The one who ravaged his mind; stealing precious thoughts which ought to have been left in peace. Unknowing that only devastation could follow such a deception.

For in the dark, he was far from blind.. and he would devour this enemy at any cost.

As they passed the torches lining the halls, he began to stare at the way the firelight danced in their torches, he began to notice oddities in the scene before him. When he focused closely on where the flames licked at the air, he could see ripples vibrate through the ether surrounding it.

In fact, as they travelled beyond her mindscape and into her memories, he was shocked at just how much she saw. Curiosity burned his insides, as he fought back the urge to question exactly how she manipulated her magic so. He could feel it pulsing off the objects around them. Reflecting in a way, to form a scene around them.

He had not the time yet to fully consider, the impact her blindness may have had on the scene before them. And though he assumed her other senses to be more acute, she seemed to 'see' a great deal.

She'd watched his expressions, waiting for the moment he'd uncover the visual discrepancies around them.

"Trying to comprehend how it is that we can see anything at all here, in a blind woman's memories?" She chuckled sardonically.

"Tsk. I remember my brother being far more perceptive of such things."

At that, Voldemort whipped his glaring eyes over to her slight form. Sneering at her slight. She, who described a sibling which he had no memory of. If what she said was truth, if she was not a deceiving wench, that put him at quite the disadvantage. For that would mean she had knowledge, far more than he was currently in possession of.

Knowledge being a key factor that put you ahead of the game. There was also the possibility she might dare to feed him false information; skewing the past to benefit her vantage point. He was not unaware of the secrets one could hide inside such devices. Memories, while they could not be falsely induced, could be shaped to satisfy one's grand design.

He studied her every movement under a punishing eye. Listening to the pulse of her heart beat, steady in its veracious rhythm. Knowing that if he so much as tasted the fair hint of a lie on her sly tongue, he would be sure to cut from her mouth. In the meantime, he occupied himself by listening for the tell-tale flutter of her pulse. Knowing any forthright lie would reveal itself quite illustriously to his attuned ears.

She however, remained unmoved by his overzealous attentions. Walking over to face him, she raised her hand in front of his line of vision. He caught her wrist in his steely grip. Carefully observing her slight form and timid approach. Reading no ill intent in her body language, he allowed her to lay her palm gently over his eyes.

Her skin ghosting across his own for a brief moment in time. Its warmth heated his cool reptilian skin instantly. A feeling he found oddly pleasurable. She found herself intrigued by the smooth skin around his eyes. She had after all, seen this horcrux emerge from her visions within the past year; but 'seeing' him and feeling him beneath her fingertips were quite different.

Her magic felt the subtle differences in him. The horcruxes had always felt slightly different from his original form. Each reshaped his magical structure to such a degree, she could easily identify his every shattered piece.

She smiled softly, as if they were unintentionally repeating a rare moment from time.

"If you look deeper, you'll see. Use your magic, not your eyes," she whispered. Her voice took on a slightly dreamy quality, making her sound distracted and far away. Leaning in, she spoke once more.

"Feel not with your body, but with your mind. Taste not with your tongue, but with your very soul."

Neither realized she had placed her free hand over his heart, at the mere mention of his fragmented soul. So consumed they were by the feel of the other's touch.

It was no easy feat, she knew. But the layers were there just waiting to be peeled back, studied, and understood. A wizard of his standing should be able to close his eyes and just 'feel' with his seventh sense. But then, when had feeling come easy to either of them. Surely it was a struggle for her brother, a being who relied on information and hard facts, as well as in-discrepancies in the general principles of human reaction. He was determined though, she knew. If she told him he must do it, he would. He was not a figure to easily accept defeat.

He shut his eyes tightly; concentrating his brilliant mind only on the task at hand.

Not half a minute had passed before she heard it. That quiet hiss of breath into his lungs, alerted her as easily as if he'd spoken aloud. She may have been out of practice, but she was far from ignorant to his tells. His behavior, as well as all of the habits that he masqueraded behind. His every face had kept her sane inside that hell of a prison. He could not hope to hide from her, as he did others.

He wears this expressionless mask with too little ease, she thought worriedly. She wondered if he even realized how lonely he really was. She could hear his soul crying out for her; like a newborn babe would, its mother. She couldn't silence its pleas as their skin made contact. Amplifying any residual bonds between them.

He was at first overcome by the way textures and color perception distorted the world around them. Every detail bathed him in a sensory overload, nearly drowning him from the overwhelming flow of power. Almost like his vision was warped by heat sensory, similar to that of a werewolf's.

While it had often amused him to watch his enemies through Greyback's eyes during the raids, this was something wholly anew. Where the senses of wolves were purely on a physical and animalistic level, this went beyond anything he could vocalize. Seeing one's visceral fear light up their body's image had always set his pulse racing in excitement. This set every nerve ending deep within his body and soul on fire.

This sight that she used so flippantly, magnified every detail physical and metaphysical combined. A sort of god-like ability he knew the Muggles would seek to stamp out, if given the opportunity. Such sheer talent, he mused. Feeling a sense of greed enter his heart. He admired it. And anything he admired, he would have.

"Who are you?" He queried, turning his new form of vision from his surroundings to rest his gaze down upon her. Where her usually pale orbs rested, now glowed two stars, forming their own constellation. Both shining brighter than any Lumos he'd ever seen cast. He could see the very essence of the magical world shimmer off every curve and dip of her skin, as she stood before him like some goddess from tales and myth.

Her abilities as a seer were illuminated at once. Never in his lifetime had he heard mention of such a rarity living amongst them. He gazed down at her in true splendor. The need to possess such a unique weapon was staggering. Indeed, he could see why someone wished to hide her from the world. Whether the same blood ran through her veins as his or not, she would be kept close at his side.

However, there was something delicious at the thought of her being his. He almost yearned for it; to be tied to something so completely. Voldemort would possess her in a way no one else ever could. Yet, as he thought this, something foreign grew from within his stomach.. forbidding him from seeing her as simply an object that he desperately wanted to acquire.

Voldemort didn't know what to make of such a feeling, yet he imagined it would be helpful all the same. After all, he liked the idea of her being around him because she wanted to. For that he would have to seduce her to the his side. In the end she would be much more cooperative. And with no living family left, no other could lay any claim upon her. She could be his forever.

"I am Vera," The woman introduced herself faintly, as if that told him all he needed to know.

"..I am your sister." She finished with a hint of a smile apparent in her voice.

Your other half. The calm to your storm. Words that desperately wanted to roll off the tip of her tongue, yet Vera silenced them before they could. No need to overwhelm him with information. After all, if she had it her way he would know all there was. All in due time.

As the hand shielding his eyes fell away, they gradually opened to allow him to bear witness the facade that she wore with such modesty. Showcasing her pallor, her skin looked nearly translucent under the poor lighting. He wondered if he'd be able to see the blue of her veins running down the straights of her arms. Her delicate wrists had felt so breakable under his hold earlier. Doll-like in nature, and altogether too vulnerable to be related to him, by any means.

He noticed that she stood only a few inches shorter than him. A surprising attribute, as he towered above most. Her form fell in graceful curves; lithe in both movement and esthetics. Whether her long silvery mane fell around her face or swept back, he was sure she could make even a full-bred veela envious. He could not deny he held quite a covetous fascination toward her.

As he looked closely, he began to recognize the curve of her high cheekbones and the sly curve of her lips. Features he had once bore with such pride. She held the same aristocratic features he had once used to lure followers to his cause. Back before his magic had grown so menacing, that he'd discovered something infinitely more satisfying.

Their deference grew to be limitless when it did not hide behind lust. When only dread and respect were all that remained. His sway over them became godly, as their bodies quaked from fear at his every word. Their fear and idolatry fed him like the demons he remembered from his childhood. Lies fed to the children by the Muggle priests, eager to scare them into submission. Something he'd never been fully able to believe, for his curiosity led him to ask too many leery questions. He'd always been rather dubious to the nature of the 'proof,' that such deities existed.

Alas, the urge to touch her was strong. One that he barely contained the impulse to reach out and take hold of her. Possessive thoughts cluttered his mind, and though he would have loved to run his hands down her body. To let them graze her skin, and burn a trail that would be visible to all who dared to try to touch her. He forced his hands to remain down by his sides. Making conscious effort to not clench his hands, lest she discover his inner turmoil.

Was she who she claimed to be? Though he felt growing disbelief at her words, processing them as quickly as he was able to through the shock that flooded his system, he couldn't deny that it made sense. How he felt kindred to a woman that he didn't know. Her image continued to cause ripples through the back of his mind. His control perilously withering at his feet, as she closed their proximity evermore.

Voldemort swore that when he found out who dared to obliviate and tamper with his memories, they would pay for such actions with their life.

When he finally spoke, he spoke with a composure that divulged little of his true thoughts, of the wrath that was carefully hidden from view even as it pulsed through his veins with dangerous intent.

"Show me the one who did this to you.. To us."