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 Five: All In
It was the barrage from the bell tower's midnight toll, that broke them apart. The reverberations, ran up through the castle's walls like an electrical charge. It traveled up Voldemort's spine and into her body, through every place they were connected. Caged as she was in his possessive grasp, she felt every vibration run through her. Shocking her away from his devilish tongue, before he could devour her completely.
The air weighed heavily on their lungs, as they gasped for breath. Their eyes glazed with delirium, as their soul bond reignited. Their magic combined like a building thundercloud, rolling dangerously through the abandoned corridor. The torches flickered as their magic snapped back into their bodies, with great force. Jolting them apart and back into themselves.
Despite any claim of blood relation, neither could deny how they had each taken to the other's proximity like fuel to an already ferocious flame. He, an extension of her, as much as her once beloved birch and unicorn hair wand. A magnificent wand which Ollivander's father had skillfully made, just a few years before his passing. The unicorn hair was a combination of two strands, having belonged to a mare and her foal he'd encountered during his travels abroad some years past. The gifted wandmaker had healed her young foal from the deathly sting of a manticore, after she'd wandered into its den. A life debt that had been repaid with a hair from each beautiful creature.
When it became clear she was destined for that wand, he had told her gently what his Papa had once told him. That only a truly blessed witch could ever be chosen to harness such a weapon. For a wand of this caliber chose only one master in its lifetime, and it would never betray her once found. For the wand's core housed an interwoven braid of not one, but two of the purest strands of unicorn hair he had ever laid eyes on.
When her faithful companion had been destroyed before her very eyes, she'd felt its dying pulse of magic blanket her in raw magic. Offering her this last form of protection, against her attacker. It had saved her, in a time when she couldn't save herself. In the moments before she had lost everything. It had saved her from death. Cocooned her from age, until she was ready to fight again. Until she was to be released from her prison.
Nearly fifty years had passed since that day, and now as her own flesh and blood stood before her, she wondered just how long she had left amongst the living. For life and death were part of the natural order of things. Surely her wand would have read her understanding of the influx between the two. Defying such a natural law forever would be impossible. Her only quandary was that if she was indeed simply living on borrowed time, when would the last grains of sand fall?
She had after all, no horcruxes to keep her animated long after she died. Nor had she a child by which to live on in memory. No, unless she was able to bridge the gaps in her brother's memories, when she died, she would be well and truly gone. A stone cold thought which pushed her forth.
Here in the depths of her mind, her eidetic memory had proved itself most useful. She had been able to drift through any of the scrolls and tomes Hogwarts's library had afforded her. Most importantly the ones concerning the intricate arts of Legilimency and its many uses. An art form to be mastered certainly, but one which might allow her entrance into the warded memories that were locked far inside his subconscious.
It was her only hope, for if she was unsuccessful, all was lost. For there was far more laid at stake, than simply her life and that of her soul's mate. So while she might stand strong in the face of her enemies today, only Fate herself knew what tomorrow might bring. Now more than ever before, Vera felt an undeniable sense of urgency weighing heavily on her chest.
So while even though only a fragment of her most beloved's soul lived on in this stranger's body, she had no desire to allow him to escape her clutches. Some small piece of him was there, buried beneath his war-hardened exterior. Of that, she had no doubt, but releasing him would be most difficult. Nigh impossible for the ordinary witch or wizard, but neither one of the twins could ever be considered such.
Especially when such a deep-rooted longing plagued her every waking thought. A burning ache that would flare into a fiery chasm of pain, when those perilous thoughts of him emerged. And they would always seep through, no matter how hard she tried to seal them away. With every new vision, her levees gave way; sending the flood.
Housed within her ribcage, where her full heart once rested, was where she felt it most. It was like she'd carved out half of herself, and yet still lived. Gaping wounds could very well have been gushing her life's blood for the damage her mind and heart underwent. She had beat her fists against the jagged stone walls time and time again, and still her flesh mended. Tissue healed, nails regrew, and blood washed away; but her pain would not abate. She remained frozen on the brink of death, where pain eclipsed everything around her; unable to tip over the edge.
But try as she might to numb herself, there was a higher power at work. Something that gave meaning to her trials. To her suffering.
For Fate had a way of giving her hope, even in her darkest of times. More so, when she tried to let the rising tide of pain drown her. For she believed, as only the oldest of lines did; that magic, fate, and death were one and the same. A marriage between what could be and what would come to pass. When she had been consumed by sickness as a child, death had touched her; establishing a connection early on, before she was brought back. Whilst others would have thought her cursed, to live a life blind, she knew the truth. Death gave her the greatest gift of all; allowing her to acquire a connection to a higher realm.
Her ability to see magic in the world around her, was but a taste of what power her visions gave her. It was opening a doorway between Magic and herself. It was a talent, that she developed; but her visions, they were truly godly.
Vera considered to be the gift from Magic herself. A high honor. For the Sight was something that could change the natural order of things. To ignore such a gift or abuse them for personal gain, would be utter blasphemy. Just the idea of such was revolting to her. She could feel it in her bones; that she was meant for something greater. Perhaps her understanding gave her the power to bear such a gift, or her resounding respect. Either way, she felt her body being tugged in one direction. Guiding her to her purpose.
It was a feeling that she could not shake, telling her that she was meant to help him on his journey. The one she loved. It pulled every particle of her body toward him. But to be honest, she had always felt it. Those with a taste for the extraordinary could sense it. The magic thrumming through the air around them. 'So powerful, to find in ones so young,' Garrick Ollivander had once whispered in awe. That day in Diagon Alley, the legendary wandmaker had been found muttering 'Great things,' long after the pair had left.
Her visions had all but confirmed her thoughts. Each having been connected in some way to him. Brother, she'd whisper. Lost to the visions unfolding behind her eyelids.
Magic wanted her to help him. To defeat that which threatened the magical world. That pitch blackened aura that caused discord in the Astrological alignment of the world. A Dark force awakening before battle. Magic, Fate, and Death stood by with bated breath as war approached. More than anything, she was being tasked to end the bloodshed before it began. For unbeknownst to the warring sides of Light and Dark, another was biding him time. Building his armies for a war that would wipe out more lives than the scales could balance. A war that would destroy the magical world's secrecy from Muggles forever.
So while her body remained stagnant, abandoned in her long-forgotten cell surrounded by Azkaban's darkest minds, her own broke through its bodily confines. Growing stronger. Building itself into something otherworldly. Something to battle the plague that was him. The destroyer. The one who set fire to her life, and all that which was most dear to her.
Magic had given her the means to end it all. She whispered to her in the dark of night. Things that no one could know. Things that must come to pass and things that were still up to her to decide.
And so years passed, as she meditated. Dreaming of the day she could only touch him once more. It brought about a phantom feeling of warmth, even on the coldest of nights. His memory gave her strength, as he once had. The way his smile crooked ever so mischievously over at her during class, when he was able to outperform a rival. How his eyes would light up when she'd unveil some new passageway, that she'd uncovered in her wanderings. How at peace he was to discover their ancestor's hidden Chamber; when he'd cradled her cheeks in his hands, forehead resting against her own.
For when they touched they became whole in a way only they knew. Their magic sought to bind them even further than simply being siblings ever could. Their souls, fitting together like two pieces of an intricate puzzle. And when they'd dueled together side by side, they were formidable. Power far beyond anything magical children should have been able to control.
The oppression of The Great War and the orphanage's miserable conditions, made them true survivors. Where the weakest of minds crumbled around them, they were made unyielding. Like two pieces of coal put to high temperatures and pressure, waiting to be discovered as the formidable gemstones that they were. Together they weren't merely allies, they were one entity. The connection which formed between magical twins, wasn't something so easily broken. So when she saw glimpses of his future, fighting with passion blazened eyes; fighting with every last breadth of power he had in him, she was given hope. For his passion had long ago faded away with her memory.
Without her, he knew no true passion. No light to find his way through the darkness.
Her memory of him remained stronger than ever through the passing of time. Weathered like the oldest of mountains, through the years and after many storms he still stood majestic before her eyes. She could still paint him like the masters of old. Could still capture every living detail, as a magical portrait only yearned to do. And still, after all these years, he was still capable of bringing her to her knees. Her devotion, stood untouched. She protected him like the bones of old, deep in her mind's mountains. Fossils buried in her mindscape, for all eternity. Untouched by the world.
She could close her eyes and see every expression play across his features. But nothing made her heart swim in guilt, like the last. Those last few moments with him lost, like sand in a hourglass. Those words said in strife, lodged in her heart like the sharpest of knives. Her throat closed up from emotion. She wished nothing more than to take them back, but they'd already been carved into her heart.
The image haunted her. Tom joining her, taking his seat at their favorite table in the library. His robes impeccably straightened, like he had only just tidied himself up before entering. His movements precise and rigid; like when he was excited about something, but reluctant to express his emotions openly for all to see. Tells, each knew how to look for by heart. Especially in each other.
They weren't in a private place, where they could be themselves; unaffected by the eyes and judgement of others. So, they hid themselves behind a good deal of decorum. Their touches, only brief and their distance, far greater than either wished it to be. But it kept others from assuming anything untoward lay between them. Emotions which neither felt any shame for feeling. It was as natural to them as was their trust in one another. It was wordlessly understood, like breathing.
But trust, no matter how deeply felt, could not stem her worry for his darker interests.
It was because of those curiosities that their exchange grew heated. Tom had wished to discuss his latest findings on the makings of a horcrux. He had just spoken with Professor Slughorn, the night previous. Only, she'd stopped him before he was able to divulge all that the dim-witted Potions professor had let slip, in his inebriated state. She did not wish for him to find another way to abuse their bond with their ancestor's basilisk. For she knew death would be somehow required, how could it not with such a spell! And while he had one of the most deadliest of creatures at his beck and call, could she really trust he would leave her be.
He knew she felt a protective motherly instinct toward the serpent, but he just couldn't resist using Slytherin's beast to finish his ancestor's work. Sashir had terrorized the school for a great many months on his orders, proud to serve the male heir of Salazar Slytherin. But still, Vera had argued on her behalf. Wishing for him to leave the great snake out of his plans, that it didn't matter to her whether people were being petrified or killed! For while those children might not have been worthy to study magic at the school, but they were of no concern to them. For she didn't feel threatened by them, and she wished he would realize that as well.
They lacked any true skill, and could no more differentiate real magic from Muggle magic. While it was pathetic, it was enough to bolster her sense of security. As it should have his! But the one thing Vera did fear, was that his attacks would inevitably result in one of them being caught, or worse killed.
Their conversation had devolved into hissed words in parseltongue, before too long. Drawing the attention of a Hufflepuff prefect, before Tom stormed off. He despised others seeing him lose himself. It was weakness, to be used against him. But try as he might to keep a level head, he grew even more irrational without her by his side. His temper could spiral out of control without warning.
That being said, her opinions weren't something he ever dismissed lightly. However, her stringent refusals to participate in his efforts to achieve immortality, did not bring about any form of rational thinking. He fought hard to sway her opinion, to convince her to join him in his task, but she refused to allow for him to mutilate his soul. Or rather their soul, for they were one in the same. If one suffered, the other did as well. She could not ignore the risk, such a curse would bear upon their bond.
He had looked at her with an agonized sort of affection. Fire burned in his eyes, and shesaw every flame licking at their bond. His magic seeped heavily from his head and his heart, lighting his eyes up with uncontrolled emotion. An emotion that she had never wanted him to feel before, nor wanted him to feel again. He felt betrayed by her refusal, no matter how justified she was. It was utterly agonizing for her to witness.
She knew exactly why he bled for this, but her heart beseeched her to find another way. Her protests, however, left him feeling insecure; and for the first time since she'd lost her sight, he felt like he could not protect her. Could not protect them. This fear had driven him to desperate measures already. And if he went through with the spell without her, he would have openly admitted his immortality was worth more than his love for her. She knew the decision was his own to make, but she'd feared with everything in her being, which outcome would be made reality.
Little had she known he would not be given such a choice. For that would be taken from him as well.
When they were young, she'd lost count of the number of times that Tom had told her she was the lucky one. For her birth was one of true miracles. The matrons at the orphanage named her Vera Eleanora, meaning True Light. For she had been like a gift to the world; born just as Merope had breathed her last breath. Her pale locks and luminescent orbs had been the most beautiful thing many had ever seen in that side of town.
Mrs. Cole told Tom once that his mother's last gift she'd bestowed upon him was a name. Tom Riddle, after their father and Marvolo, after her own father. Though Tom knew with complete clarity that there was only one gift to have been given that day. Her. His mate and complete opposite, in so many ways.
Vera herself, saw his naming as a gift in disguise. For it was through his name that they were able to trace their true heritage back into the Middle Ages. But to Tom, his name marked his soul imperfect, much in the way a scar would. A wound upon his flesh, that could neither heal nor ignore. He wished to have a wondrous name, one that would be feared and lauded. A fitting name he could adjoin to hers.
It was during their last summer together, that they'd traced their Muggle father to Little Hangleton. An old forgotten town, that might have once been beautiful, but had long since been abandoned by the younger generations. Tom Riddle Sr. lived barricaded up on the farthest edge of town, alongside his readily aging parents. Where the middle-aged Muggle would've been content to leech off his family's wealth until the day that he died. A louse whom had never made anything of himself or ventured out into the world beyond.
Vera and Tom had tried to initiate contact, believing anything would be better than rotting in Wool's, but he could not bear the sight of them. Turning them away at the door but not before sneering in disgust at their raggedy clothes. Their father had been a foul excuse of a man, and his hatred for them and their kind would never be forgiven. That day, they'd returned to the orphanage with hatred furrowing behind their hearts.
They returned to Little Hangleton twice more. Watching and waiting, until they'd found someone who could tell them the story of the Gaunts. Merope Gaunt, their mother, had filled them both with such disappointment. Neither could believe a witch could have fallen prey to the likes of a Muggle swine like their father. But their grandfather, he put them all to shame. His disgusting acts unto his family were something than no mere death could make right. The Muggles didn't have words for all the things that man did to his children, but they'd long suspected the man had killed his wife, as well.
Soon, it became rather clear to them both. He was the reason their family name had died. He destroyed their noble name. And their mother had dared to name her brother after him. It was sacrilege.
That was why, it was with deep pride that she was able to gift him his new title; Lord Voldemort. What had started out as a game between them, had given him a name to incite terror onto those who stood up against him. Those at school who'd whispered behind their backs, had suddenly trembled in fear. No one laughed anymore at the strange Riddle girl who spent her time with the portraits. Or the boy who could always be counted on to impress the professors with his knowledge. Anagrams were something they'd both enjoyed.
Now, fifty years later the name struck a different kind of fear into the hearts of his enemies. It made him immortal, even when his horcruxes had already done the deed. Millions of magical children had been raised to know the creature that was Lord Voldemort. They feared to even speak the name! But to her, he was simply a man. A wizard who could do her more harm to her than any other.
The months passed, just as the hundreds before had. Years - decades slid past in the blink of an eye. Dementors floated past, starved and in want of a true meal. They'd become rather irritable, after the escape of Sirius Black. Though to try and decipher their mere shadow of feeling, was nearly as inconceivable as the fact that they seemed to feel them at all. But she watched them, as they passed, just out of reach. Day in and day out, the deathly predators prowled. The others curled into themselves, feeling more dread with every pass. She didn't know exactly what they saw when they peered into her cage; but they never railed against her bars like they did the others. It almost seemed to her, that they felt some sort of compulsion to keep their distance; which wildly intrigued her. Could they sense Death's touch?
And when the night came without sight or sound, she knew they'd fled. The cold weight over her chest lifted, if only slightly. It was that night that she closed her eyes and laid down peacefully to wait. Knowing that when she arose, her freedom would be merely at the tips of her fingers. And so when the first ward fell, she positioned herself away from where the shrapnel would soon fall.
For Lord Voldemort had arrived. Just as her visions had foretold.
Standing there with his robes whipping about him, like some avenging angel from the stories they were told as children. What was once a silent night, was made riotous when the prison's wards fell. Thunder could be heard and lightning could be seen, as the torrential downpour began. Gales launched the waves up onto the shores with ear shattering force.
The scene played out exactly as her visions had illustrated. Each moment pieced itself together, in the way that had already been decided years before. Even Bellatrix would play her role. But when the moment finally came - when he gazed through the gaping wound in the mortar, she could not help but to gasp in a breath. For no visions or dreams could have made her feel as she did in that moment, falling into his cool blue depths.
Every sight and sound became infinitely more tangible. Blurred visions cleared, and reality thrust her forth, to guide him. To reach out through the crumbling wall, inviting him in evermore. Every bitter inhale of the sea's salty air, grounded her; until she was able to truly focus. Slowly, the cacophony died away as she peered out past his eerie disfigurements.
It wasn't his flesh she wished to examine, but rather his eyes. Proving to herself that this was indeed him; that she wasn't still asleep. Staring out beneath his serpentine features, rested the hardened eyes of a warlord who had done terrible things to rise to power. Windows to the soul, indeed. For they spoke a story all their own. And while most would shrivel in horror, she remained hypnotized by the crimson hued magic wafting from deep within.
He stood there proudly. As bold as Salazar himself, as he peered down at her with kindling interest.
She sighed in rapture, as his magic seeped into her mind. Their merging magics created a sense of euphoria, as she cocooned his with her own. His, a deep full-bodied crimson; hers as dark as the ripest plum. Both shades signifying their own levels of power. For as a magical being matured, their shading deepened as their power grew. His own had not lost one drop of its rich hue, in her eyes. Something she was unsure whether his horcruxes might have had an effect on.
Thankfully, it appeared that his own magic seemed to have protected his core from complete and utter collapse. He was still there, buried deeply beneath layer upon layers of disfigurement. Externally and internally.
She vowed then, that she would stop at nothing to find the real man beneath. To bring him up to the surface; even if she had to dive into the darkness first.
Now, as she stood face-to-face with him, he seemed farther away than ever before. More than distance separated them, that much was clear. Vera could feel his inner fire rising to the surface, furious and raw; seeking to be unleashed onto the world. His molten core burning hotter than ever, and no matter how easily she wanted to fall into his clutches, she knew he was not the man she once knew. He could be, but she could sense the change as easily as she could see them. It was woven into his very fabric now. To destroy, to maim, to kill. His hunger for power would never be sated while he was on this path. It turned him into something not wholly human. But she would not be cowed.
For though he had changed in their time apart, she fought to remember that she was not the child she once was either; even if she looked so on the outside. Her soul was nearly as worn and weary as his, at this point. His fracture from her had taken a piece of her as well. But though his soul was but a part of a whole, it was still a part no less. And she was as starved for emotion and gentle touch as a newborn, at this point.
On the inside, she felt as bereft as a dementor. Hungry for interaction, for feeling, and for his passion more than anything. But, it was like he was in a state of slumber. Lost and unable to feel the genuine sparks of pleasure and pain. A disconnect in between his mind and his heart. It caused him some amount of internal strife, for that much she could read behind his expression.
In fact, it was as she watched him that she discovered their mental defences still seemed to mirror each other, even when they did not. He seemed to fight himself, as much as she did herself. She knew the feelings her presence seemed to bring about, must be confusing to say the least. Nonetheless, watching him twitch in irritation at his gaps in memory seemed to amuse her endlessly. A sort of dark humor, they had once appreciated sharing; though she was certain he would not find any such laughter now. The pale blonde knew, as surely as he prided himself on maintaining his cool and collected mask, he must be rolling with agitation by now. Just as a snake would rear to retaliate against a perceived threat. Though, she wasn't decided whether he thought she was the threat in that scenario. For both of their sakes, she hoped not.
But holding back the soft smile that threatened to curve upon her lips, proved far more difficult than she first thought. As she'd nearly forgotten what the soft pulling sensation felt like on one's cheeks. A smile, she thought quickly, when her confusion over the bodily compulsion lifted. For she knew it would only proceed to irk him further. And while his temper was one of the things that she loved about him, she was wise enough to proceed with caution. For his wrath was not something she wished to incur, particularly when she felt his strengths were much better aimed elsewhere.
She also understood, she was about to undergo the immeasurable task of restoring one's memories. Something which confounded even the wisest of healers. It would be no simple task, nor would it be painless. Pulling thoughts from the mind, would be agonizing. She would need to reach the part of his subconscious which protected his most intimate of thoughts. It would be giving her power over his mind. Something she knew would seal her fate, should she fail. But even if she did, she did not know for certain what state of mind he would be in. But she refused to give in to that bastard's coup.
They could make her return to the wizarding world as public or as private as they wished, for she cared naught. As long as she succeeded in that which mattered most. The spineless pig would be hers. Hers to torture. Hers to kill when she wished it. Some of his followers might resist her influence, foolishly seeing her as weakness; But Vera had never considered herself anyone's weakness before, and she would not she now. For the blood of Salazar Slytherin ran through her blood, and generations before that Morgana herself. The one true Dark Lady.
She knew that if she were to succeed, she'd be forced to show dominance over his followers. Those who bore his mark, yet cowered before him. She would take their loyalty for her own, just as he had. Even those he held closest would fear her when she wished it. For there had not been a true Dark Lady since the time of Merlin, when Morgana ran free, and they would need to be reeducated into proper acknowledgement. For Voldemort would not help those who did not help themselves.
Tom Riddle might have fought to keep her sheltered, protected from the world's cruel touch, but he was not here at the moment. She would be on her own in this regard and she refused to accept defeat. She was heir of the Slytherin line, and a witch beyond the normal grade. She would need to be cruelly unforgiving in her commands, and while that didn't perhaps come as naturally as other talents, she'd would learn to embrace them. For to accept defeat would be to forget that which was taken from her.
While being one of the two last surviving heirs of Slytherin, she no doubt believed herself capable of the illusion. Even if these deceptive qualities best suited her brother, more so than herself. For even as a child, he'd always been able and willing to threaten or harm anyone that came near her. His affection was violent, just as all of his other passions manifested themselves. In extremes.
He was proud to protect her, and to call her his. Just as she was proud to be his, and to call him hers. If this was how she'd repay him, she would do it with pride. For that child, who grew into the man standing before her today, she would do anything. Her devotion was a feral thing, and she dearly hoped no innocents would be lost in the sidelines. Unnecessary bloodshed did not interest her, and she greatly feared what might happen if the magical ranks took too large of a hit. The magical community needed to be prepared for the attacks that would ensue, should they fail.
She would cling to that thought as she bared her soul, mind and heart to man who'd long since cast out any warmth to gain immortality. Someone, whom she would now have to coax his love from the ashes. Like a still burning ember found beneath the cooling top layer of white ash. Capable, as she was, to the growing fiendish flame she knew could very easily devour entire worlds.
Steeling herself, she pushed her shoulders back. Preparing herself to march into a different sort of battle. She righted herself in one fluid movement that seemed casual to the eye. It almost made it look as though internal affliction hadn't consumed her seconds before.
Passing her hand over her collarbone familiarly. Her lithe finger-tips caressed the carved moonstone, like one would a lover's skin. The gem was inlaid in a silver setting, surrounded by stark pearlescent ivory beading. Baubles which, upon closer inspection, one would realize were made of bone. Hand-carved with runes smudged into their depths. Something that had kept him with her, even through her time of mourning.
Unaware of the meaning behind her fixation on the necklace, the Dark Lord finally allowed his heated gaze to travel up the expanse of her neck. Where upon he found himself idling upon the lush curvature of her swollen lips. He inwardly preened at the deep red they'd turned after his aggressive attentions. However no matter how deeply pleased he was to see his mark upon her skin, he burned to see something far more permanent grace her body. Illustrating his claim on her, explicitly. She would be an supremely useful weapon to add to his collection. Once he established his control over her, that was.
Her unimpressed pout, brought his eyes back to her milky depths.
"See something you like, brother mine?" She saucily inquired. Inviting his eyes to scroll lazily back down to her bare feet, before answering.
"Perhaps." He replied. "I do endeavor to learn all of your secrets after all. Do you know of a better place to suss out one's lies?"
"Several." She announced loftily. "Five such places come to my immediate recollection, however we do need to be getting on." Her task at hand pressing her to bypass their playful banter until another time. Though if the minute tightening around his jaw was anything to go by, she had succeeded in piquing his curiosity. But she continued on, as if she hadn't noticed.
"The longer we tarry, the greater the risk of being found before the others are released from their cells. And while time moves slower here, I fear it is somewhat of the essence for your friends in the East Wing."
She extended her hand out to him, palm up; awaiting his touch. Even though she had never seen this precise moment in time unfolding, she knew without her sight that he would take it without pause. It was just within his nature. For Slytherins were not the type to leave knowledge undiscovered. Especially when her knowledge meant power.
And just as she predicted, Voldemort didn't waste time questioning how she could have instinctively known which Death Eaters would be deemed worthy of freedom; in his eyes. Though to be honest, 'friends' were hardly what he'd call the lot of them. Friends, belied a sort of familiarity he could not allow himself. Nor did he wish to. Such feelings were only to be met with disappointment when he was inevitably betrayed. Nevertheless, he was not going to let her be disillusioned into thinking that which was between them, was in any manner finished.
In that moment, released from his magical binds that she'd forced upon him after his last remark, he stepped forward. Feet, all but grazing the floor in his haste. His tall frame loomed over hers. His black robes swishing around her body like a shadow seeking to eclipse her entire frame. Latching onto her forearm possessively, he hissed out lowly.
"Oh sweet Vera, what's between us is far from finished." His feral grin flashed, giving her a mere glimpse of the danger that befell her, for catching his attention. Like a snake rearing to lash out and kill.
Her enhanced vision gave her the ability to see the discoloration flaring to life behind his eyes, as he leaned back to meet her gaze. The monster beneath his skin reached out, thrilled to show her exactly what Dark forces she dealt with. The monster beneath wanted her to see, that whomever she thought stood before her in that very moment, was not the young man she remembered.
Their arms twisted so vehemently around the each other's, like the most deadly of vines. One could have easily mistaken the entwined pair to have been binding themselves with the Vow. Permanently forging their words into the absolute. The magical promise in which the truth would bind, and betrayal would equal death.
Two means of submission neither magic user would allow to pass, ever again.
But instead of imbuing his words with the darkest of magic, he spoke his promise to her with the weight of the thousand lives which he would lead, with her by his side. As she was so very much more than just a seer. For her inability to age as one should, had not escaped his watchful eye. He was altogether captivated by the sly tongued beauty.
Individually, her talents might seem intriguing, but wrapped together in such an ensnaring shell, he could not resist the urge to suss out every little secret. To dig beneath the surface and see just what little betraying thoughts floated about. She was but the sweetest of feasts, just within reach of his deadly fangs.
Mine, his thoughts encouraged silkily. She was the key to everything, both his past and future. He had no intention whatsoever in allowing her to escape.
Wrist to wrist; fingers clutching the other's arm in a tight bind. He breathed in her scent like it was life itself. He was exhilarated; in such a manner that made him feel young again. Powerful and carefree. Like he could not be ailed by defeat or disappointment.
All the while, her pulse fluttered like a wild bird, trapped beneath her skin. Home, her body whispered beseechingly, nearly blinded by the ecstasy dripping from his shared touch. Lightning travelled through her veins, stronger than any Crucio she'd ever experienced at his hands. But instead of agonizing pain, she felt ecstasy. She felt so filled by the power, she almost didn't realize the fear creeping beneath her senses. It was a gut-wrenching sensation she felt, that quickly turned painful. Physically, mentally, and magically feeling the effects the horcruxes had on his body. Her horror grew as she took in the sight of his mangled mind, and his maimed soul. It felt like her lungs had been ripped from her body, but she fought admirably to shutter her pain back. To keep her facade unfettered from judgement.
"Now Sweet One, I believe you owe me a memory, and I've come to collect." He hissed lowly to her.
Neither looked away from the other, as wind whipped around them from displacement.
Without a sound, they had disappeared from one wing of the castle; reappearing as if they hadn't moved at all. Their clothes jostled around their bodies, but they remained unmoved. Interwoven, like two branches of Devil's Snare. Deadly and violent in its growth.
Her hissed reply was nearly caught on the wind, but he was only just able to make it out as they landed. Her parseltongue many tones lighter than his own. Fairer, just as she was, but no less steely.
"Then one memory, you shall have."
Between one heartbeat and the next, the pair had reached their destination. Each quickly regaining their bearings, standing in a room that was as black as pitch. The darkness surrounded them with warm familiarity, like a well worn cloak that protected its bearer from the cold. Their tightly wound limbs fell apart soon after; both eager to cease such intimate contact for entirely different reasons. They could feel the air vibrating with their joined magic and it was like breathing in the most addictive of opiates.
Voldemort felt increasingly inclined to take a step away from her intoxicating touch, but stoutly refused to give her any admission of weakness. He felt out of control, standing so close to her. It was as though he was falling under a compulsion of sorts. His magic wanted to wrap itself around her; as though he was Nagini and she, his prey.
Meanwhile, Vera fought desperately to maintain her indifference. She knew exactly what sort of addiction his touch fed. Simply being in contact with his magic alone, caused great discord within her soul. Their years apart had not touched the magnetism, she remembered all too well. But once she remembered their purpose for visiting this specific part of the castle, she was able to quell her ardor, if only infinitesimally.
"Do you know where we are? We used to use this route to get to the boathouse, when we just wanted to get away." She asked cautiously, unaware of the exact parameters in which his memory loss could cover. He may remember certain events simply without her presence, but she was unsure how his warped his mind had twisted certain sequences of events. Even the smallest of pulls in the yarn, might weaken the tightly bound entrapments.
Hope bubbled up from her stomach without her permission at the mere idea of a recovered memory. No matter how insignificant it may be.
At her query, the Dark Lord surveyed his surroundings severely. His keen eyes were able to catch a glimpse of the ascending steps off to his right. Water rested on them, giving them a sheen for the light to reflect off of. The moving flickers of moonlight, while tenuous, gave him only the slightest of impressions as to where he stood. It appeared, that they were now in some sort of an abandoned stairwell; if the crumbling outer wall was anything to go by.
He could just barely make out the sight of the water leaking down the crevices in the walls curving around them. The moonlight reflected back off the trailing dark liquid, just as it would the Black Lake. He could certainly imagine it being a lesser known way down to the lake, for the water damage seemed to speak for itself. But still - he had no recollection of ever having stepped foot down this particular corridor.
Vera, seeming to realize he did not, continued quickly before his impatience grew. She sincerely hoped no others had managed to read his features as easily as she could. Their days of deception had after all, begun long before they'd entered the Slytherin common room. Living in the Orphanage had quickly taught them to polish their masks, unless they wished to be tasked with polishing the horribly cracked floors. Menial tasks, which they both believed to be beneath them. For each would much rather spend their time alone in the comforts of their shared bedroom; locked away where they could read quietly. For their intellectual capabilities far surpassed that of the other Muggle children their age.
Without intention, his burgeoning sneer faded as she spoke once more.
"Behind us is the hidden entrance to the boat house's supply room. We used to hide there until we were sure the coast was clear. Found it in our second year, when that poltergeist had been lurking down in the dungeons." As she spoke, the Dark Lord felt his memories flutter. But like ripples passing over his remaining memories, he could not get a clear image to come forth no matter how hard he scoured his mind.
"I had just been in the tunnels, walking with Sashir. It used to calm me. We'd just had a row, and I wanted to make it right; but then I'd heard him. Through the grate in the Transfigurations classroom. Whispering about forbidden things. Things no Light wizard had any need to practice. I knew something wasn't right. He wasn't right. Not correct on the inside," she said fiercely pointing at her temple, "I came to find you, but I he got to me first. He knew I was watching and that I was listening. Like he could feel me watching him."
His inquisitive stare narrowed, watching her relive every second of her horror. Vera felt her heart start to pound, as she relived the memory. She began twisting her hands in anxiety; eager to leave this place once and for all. Its salty rancor burned her nose.
"I'm up there." She murmured haltingly, looking everywhere but at him. Her breathing now coming in quick stuttering inhales as disgust dominating her features. The memory shuddered in and out of focus, as if he'd misaligned two photo negatives on top of each other.
"I'm afraid you'll have to go up alone, until I can stabilize." And just as the words had fallen from her lips, she closed her eyes to concentrate. The memory started to fade back into focus as she fought her emotions. Her fists clenched as she clawed for some modicum of control.
"Go, quickly now. I can hold it off." Her jaw tensed, and she practiced her slow breathing. In and out. In and out. Until finally the memory began to right itself. The flickering ceased for all but a few shivers here or there.
High above, he could hear something shifting around; causing the moonlight to jump around frantically. What he'd first assumed to be no more than a trapped bird, flailed around at the topmost rafters some hundred feet stone walls seemed to tremble, as if hit by a powerful explosive charm. The quake, sent dust and grime falling down into the shaft below. Voices could be heard up above.
It was at that moment that Vera grasped his hand firmly in hers. Her fear climbing up her throat, as she heard his foul voice on the wind. She knew her brother wouldn't be able to see anything from their vantage point, but when he got closer, he'd need a little more light. So, closing her eyes, she lowly chanted a few words. The words had barely fell from her lips, when the air hummed; her magic fighting off the pitch black cloak that smothered the light.
The stairs lightened, as if it were barely sundown, instead of midnight. No matter, for it was just enough that he could make his way up the steps with ease. The Dark Lord's eyes only left her form for a second, before returning. The words she'd chanted weren't any spell he'd ever heard of. They were guttural, much as an ancient language would be. As if she'd commanded the darkness to fall. Around them, the air still seemed to tremor at her words. He was very interested to learn what sort of magic that was.
As she opened her starlit orbs once more, he was certain he'd seem them swim with something other. Her milky depths gleamed for just a moment with an ice cold intelligence, that could just as easily curse you, as aid as he remembered unicorn's blood once had. Those predator instincts buried inside his new form, came alive with unease.
He wondered just how deep her connection with the Other side ran. Her gifts made her a weapon, but to what end would she be used, he wasn't entirely sure. She could be a threat, he mused. Perhaps I'll keep her closer for that reason.
For while he knew Magic was a fickle thing to try to manipulate, he would need to seduce her against leaving his side. Her magic did not bleed as Dark as his did. And while she was indeed resilient, he deduced she could still be lured away . There was something Grey about her magic. He would need to win her loyalty, bind her soul back to his. But still - he could not silence the whispering in the back of his mind. Let no harm befall her. She is like us. Make her ours. He did not knew what he try thought of his inner serpent's tongue.
Her voice held strong as she added, "I'll be waiting, when you've seen enough."
Her words seemed to hold quite a bit more sentimentality than he was used to, but he fought his aversion; knowing that her emotions could be wielded against her, at a later date. For as distant as she seemed, he was certain she was hiding things from him. What, he couldn't say. But as he climbed those first few steps, ever vigilant to the poor state the steps appeared to be in, he mused over what sort of things he might witness above.
Vera remained as still as death, down below. She almost dared not to breathe as she watched his ascension. The stairs crumbled, as if trying to make him rethink his course of actions, but never once did he fail to right himself. Her mouth quirked up in a saddened mockery of a smile, as she wondered how he thought he'd learned to use his magic for balance. He seemingly floated up the steps effortlessly. His feet finding purchase on even the most unforgiving of steps, causing her to grin weakly.
She had barely managed to traverse the halls of the Orphanage with her disability, before she was accepted into Hogwarts. Not having been born with such ailments, had truly caused her to feel off-balance.
She had become so clumsy and injured herself so frequently, that Tom had barely let her leave his line of sight. He doted on her even when she wanted to prove herself capable. Leading her to go so far as to make trips down to the kitchens, when Tom was called away by Mrs. Cole. Her missions were successful, until she'd been knocked into by one of the other children, causing her to lose her balance down the stairs. In a self-preservative instinct, her magic had roared to life. It steadied her, made her safe, just like her brother's arm had done so many times before.
It was almost like having her vision back once again, for her magical sixth sense never left her after that day. She'd shown Tom how to bring it forth that very evening; eager to share her knowledge. Giving him a playful sisterly push off the bed with her shoulder, which had tipped him over onto his back. He managed to cushion his landing for a few seconds with his magic, before dropping onto the hard floors.
Righting himself with more than a few curses and grumbles over her methods. He never had to say thanks to her, because looking back, she knew he thanked her. For whenever she tripped or skipped a step, he made sure to subtly guide her back to rights. Using only the lightest of magical touches, in hopes she wouldn't notice; he made her feel slightly more accomplished. Until, that is, she realized what the warm sensation was, melding with her own magic.
Like I couldn't differentiate between his magic and my own, she thought tersely, before falling into melancholia.
The loss of their connection burned her more than anything. For she knew it would never be as fluent at reading another's. What was lost, was lost forever. Feeling his soul fragment, was like feeling the sun's warmth through a glove. She mourned his loss, even if he did not.
As he continued onward, his steps grew fleeting and quick. Silent, like the way he would travel through the castle through the secret passageways he'd long since memorized. He paid attention to the dips and weak places to avoid, just as he once had. Every side-step and double step seemed to carry them closer to the source of the light.
While he made quick work of the tedious stairs, Vera drew in one slow calming breath after another; hoping to banish that tight sensation from her chest. She likened the sensation to feeling one's lungs collapse, repeatedly. Something which made her feel helpless and so inconceivably - angry.
Forging on, she began to feel that age old anger make its way to the surface, causing her jaw to clench tightly. Her every shred of control went into not shredding the memory; however the urge for vengeance enveloped her, making her wish to see someone bleed for her pain. Pain. So much pain.
Alas, she reminded herself, we do not seek to harm him, nor see him come to harm's way. He is ours and we are his. It is he who will suffer for what he did, she vowed. Make him weak. Make him bleed. Make him pay.
She was only shaken out of her innermost thoughts by the blue light emitting from the landing. It was so weak, she nearly sobbed when it faded away. Her heart clenched at the sight. Then the screams came.
Voldemort couldn't say what he had just seen. There was a cracking sound, like someone had stepped on a branch. Followed by a brief wisp of a light. Almost like a child's first attempt at the Lumos charm. It was laughable. He could barely understand why someone would cast such a spell for any defensive purpose. If the cries were anything to judge, he very much doubted it'd worked.
His appetite to uncover all of her little secrets took hold of him so unequivocally, he let his feet guide him. It was only when they neared the last few steps onto the landing that he heard the voice.
It was the gruff drawl that set his every sense on fire. Hatred bloomed in his chest, for he knew the voice could belong to none other than Albus Dumbledore. The man who had despised him from the very first time he'd set his thrice-damned twinkling eyes upon him. He loathed the very sight of him, but nonetheless, the sound of his raspy voice was more than enough to bring a murderous hunger to his eyes. Their hatred was a mutual understanding between the two. For there was nothing that would bring such a warmth to the heart of one, like the demise of the other.
Dumbledore looked furious. His menacing sneer morphed his features quite grotesquely. He had never seen such rage, such madness in his eyes. Not even after he had turned the half-witted oaf, Hagrid in to the Board of Governors, after the girl had been killed. Myrtle had been her name. The fool had fought hard to keep the halfbreed from Azkaban. Letting it known, to anyone who would listen, that there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. He'd always seen through my perfect veneer. Analyzing my every move, as if I'd reveal my true self to him. The Muggle-loving pillock.
As he climbed that last step, Voldemort hissed in a breath; unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. But if his eyes had deceived him, as had his other more keen senses. The bittersweet smell of freshly spilled blood covered the floor. Dancing across his tongue, much in the way a snake could taste his prey's blood in the air.
Blood, so much blood.
Burgundy rivulets painted nearly every the surface in the room. Walls, once a pale stone hue, now were covered in gore and blood. The landing was flooded, and it was in that moment that Voldemort realized what the dripping sound was. It was her blood that was falling down into the lower depths of the shaft.
What must have been every ounce of blood in her body, had to have been spilt at least six times over. There was no measure of doubt in his mind that she should have been dead. Yet there her body laid, practically swimming in her own blood. Chest heaving as it healed itself, by no earthly means.
No blood replenishing potion could act that fast, nor heal such intrusive wounds. Her skin tinged pink once more, before her eyes shot open in a pained gasp. Before looking around frantically. Grasping both hands on her chest, she searched herself for gaping wounds, that no one could find.
"What sorcery is this, you filthy little half-blood? Been sniffing around the Restricted Section, have we? There is no potion that can save you from this! You will die by my hand tonight. CRUCIO!"
His booming laughter chafed the Dark Lord's ears painfully. It was a laugh Voldemort had never heard before, a sickeningly raw laugh.
The Dark Lord watched as she writhed and screamed out, before biting her forearms and wrists to silence herself. Her own teeth causing even more blood to spill, as he began to inflict curse after curse on her flesh. Each one worse than the last, only no dark curse would stick. It would carve itself into her skin, only to slide right off seconds later alongside droplets of her magical life's blood.
But just as her screams had died off, they picked back up when Dumbledore began ripping her skin from her back. So eager he now was to have her confess how she'd defied Death, not once but time and time again.
"Concede, you need not fight it." The auburn haired wizard said ever so convincingly, like he could trick her into revealing her her forget just how much pleasure he'd achieved from her suffering.
"Just give in. Let death take you, before I finally make you truly wish for death. There's more than one way to break a woman." He released a cackle as he moved to kick her regenerating feigned persona falling to the wayside, just as soon as it had come.
When the floor quaked beneath their feet once more, as she glared up at him; his gleeful laughter was all that was heard. But just as he made to physically molest her, she spit back onto him, all the blood and saliva she could summon. Covering his face, in filth. Her eyes seeking to burn her attacker from the inside out as she gritted her teeth in anguish. Her once lustrous blonde locks hung down in wet sheets, framing her cheeks dramatically. The carmine hue clung to the pale haired beauty as though she'd sought to dye it a bath of blood.
Screams fell from her lips as he cursed her once more, torturing her as though it brought him the greatest amusement in the world. The strength of his spells alone caused her to be thrust back into the floor, when the next onslaught came. Her spine found itself arching off the floor in pain. Her body, some morbid twist in the shape of the crescent moon.
The spell danced brightly off the end of his repeatedly notched wand, curving violently into her direction. His movements practiced and brutal in their precision. What must have been molten fire, by the sound of her cries, had to have been slowly seeping into her veins, until she faded into the beyond once more.
But it would seem she wasn't quite through yet. Her body continued to bind itself back together, once, twice, and again. As if it could continue to do so infinitely. She had magically found some way to cheat Death, and the Dark Lord could not help but gaze on in awe.
He was quite resilient to Death's call. But this... this was what being truly immortal was. He sought to possess it, with no limitations hindering him for all that he found himself yearning for. Immortality, her, and everything in between. He wanted it all.
Minutes stretched, as time seemed to fade. But her executioner seemed determined to punish her for her defiance. As it went on even Voldemort himself began to feel irritable. The Dark Lord didn't know how much more she would be subjected to, but he feared he was reaching his limit. He had always been curious what sort of torture methods others wielded at their mercy, but this - this was something alien to him. Never had he felt disgusted by another's pain. Her suffering caused him to choke back some unknown emotion. He likened it to how he felt for his familiar, Nagini. She was so very useful to him. So very - dear to him. She was strong; resilient. As was the witch attempting to shudder her pain away before him.
How very, he paused mid thought. Thinking of the correct word, for how he felt. Curious? No, remarkable. Unimaginably useful was what it was! His thoughts travelled from one tangent to the next before something slipped out from between his almost didn't realize he'd spoken it aloud. "Beautiful." The word fell from his lips seemingly on its own accord, echoing in his ears and stopping him dead.
After a few heartbeats, his mind shuddered the word back away. Steadily whittling away at any magical formula that could explain her incapacity to let death take her. Unsure if he could even ask the question that tried to escape. No, not a horcrux. She's regenerating. It's flawless magic. The very second one body part shuts down in death, her magic nourishes it back to full health. He furrowed his brow in rigorous contemplation. Channelling pure magic alone without being diluted by spell or wand. It's completely unheard of. One would not be able to harness it, without perishing. It would be like channelling a strike of lightning through the body, only the bolt never ceased. It constantly charged through her own like she was a turbine. A rune would work, but to accomplish it with this much power, it would need to be anchored somewhere of infinite power...
He was so lost in thought, he didn't hear her step up beside him.
"It wasn't a rune." She said, causing him to whip his gaze toward her. "In fact it wasn't my doing at all. It was more like a series of unfortunate events that lead me to being right here on this night. Fate led me to being right where I was supposed to be. It's all a part of the plan."
Her voice, he decides, is the only thing calm in the room for he certainly doesn't feel calm. Though he doesn't think she should be feeling rather calm inside either. It was almost as if she were embodying the phrase 'The calm before the storm'. Witnessing one's trauma could not be cohesive with a healthy mind. If she continuously watched this over and over, for nearly half a decade, he wondered how she had anything left remotely stable about her.
"Do you find it curious, how he manages to pull only certain pieces and parts from my body without harming my other organs? I'm not sure, myself. It's a bit difficult to not be biased. But there is a good deal of things one can do with harvested human organs."
She says this without so much as a twitch, as her milky orbs take in the scene dispassionately. Airily, almost as if she was discussing the weather.
"If he's been studying my anatomy, he'll have quite the head start on us. Who knows what he plans to do. Maybe he's left something behind, like a trail of breadcrumbs from the stories they used to tell us at Wool's." She says rather breezily, however it was after a moment's consideration, she narrows her eyes and adds, "I think it lacks a certain - passion. Don't you?"
She continued rather decidedly on that train of thought. Completely unaware of the diagnosis he was currently performing concerning her mental stability, or lack thereof. He's never been submitted to anything close to this amount of agony. Neither unto himself or another. He wonders if she's a bit- unhinged because of it, but then casts his eyes back to the mending flesh reappearing before his very eyes. Her body takes on a sort of glow. It emits from her skin, like her magical core is emitting light from the inside, out. Here comes the Sun, he thinks in utter fascination as she begins to awaken once more.
Suddenly, before his very eyes, she lays there completely whole. Looking as peaceful as if she had just closed her eyes. It is when the light of a dozen fires, when she finally opens her opalescent eyes. Pale and beautiful, as she whispers: "Again."
The Transfigurations professor draws closer, wand twisting between his nimble fingers. His black robes casting a darker look about the professor in the dying light.
"What was that mein schatz?" He spoke looking down at her body, for she made no attempt to get up.
The offhanded endearment caused Voldemort to move closer to the wizard, leaving Vera to stand alone by the steps. He moved in on him, like a snake making his final strike. But when he dared to glare into the soulless eyes of her abuser and his own personal tormentor, something wasn't quite right. His eyes didn't have the same twinkling gleam, he'd grown so used to despising. It was like staring into the eyes of the dead. They seemed flat, like they had no life left in them. Altogether, his blue eyes seemed rather - darker. Like something else what looking out at him.
"I said AGAIN, you kraut bastard. More, because I will outlast you." She hissed defiantly.
"Very well," he clapped his hands together with glee, seeming overjoyed to witness that their time together would continue. "I must applaud you on your stamina. You're vigor is something one rarely gets the opportunity to truly appreciate; and how I do enjoy making you suffer." His eyes took on a devilish gleam to them that told Voldemort exactly how enthusiasm, the swine had for the topic.
"In fact, Albus has told me all about the bad things you do. Truly, with your own sibling? My, my we have been a bad girl. Should I take some pieces from him too? Is he special like you?" He pried, burning a dark curse across her chest from the left shoulder, all the way down to the right hip bone.
"Tell me, does he know what you can do?" He stared intently on her face, not expecting any response from her pain, but it was only after she mumbled something incoherent, he drew closer. The man seemed to be amused, if not a little irritated by the fact that she still remained willful. Still had the strength despite all that he had subjected onto her. "Should I ask him?"
"Try all you might, but I will never give into you. Sniveling guttersnipes like yourself that use others to do their bidding don't deserve spines at all. For your mind is as weak as a Muggle's and you lack any creativity at all. Been doing this long, tripe?" She spit out at him, while forcing a deranged laugh through her still-healing vocal cords.
"Hold your tongue wench. I can only stand so much of your mewling voice before I want to carve out your vocal cords" He grins anew.
"But more importantly, let's talk about how very much I despise the way you look at me. How those nasty little blind orbs follow me when I enter the room, it sickens me! How about I relieve you of them. Hmm? Excellent. Let's get started then."
This man, if you could call him that, Voldemort decided, was about to regret the day he first took his breath on this earth. Lord Voldemort would smile as he ripped flesh from his still-living carcass.
Voldemort was sure the wet sound of her damaged eyes being taken from her body, would stay with him for years to come. He watched this wizard's barbaric treatment of this witch with absolute fury, though he did not give one second's thought to turning away. He wanted to know exactly how the savage had done it so he could, ensure that he would receive no lesser it was when the man's fingers ripped her orbs from their home, Voldemort knew he was no better than a Muggle in that moment. For no matter how regenerative her magic may have made her, the pain she felt had been real. There was no denying that. He had broken a piece of her mind when he mutilated her like a Muggle toy.
"They really were the only thing that marred your beauty." This vile masquerader had said before standing and magically cleansing himself. Looking no worse for wear than if they'd spied the professor taking a stroll through the castle. Barely sparing a second to admire his own handiwork, he cast a quick Tempus before preparing to take his leave.
"Sadly, I'm going to have to cut our time short tonight. Tom's just about to finish those nightly rounds isn't he? I'd hate to miss him. He'll be looking for you, but I have a feeling his memory won't quite be what it was."This said just as he prepared to exit back through the dungeons, where he would no doubt initiate his attack on a much younger Dark Lord; she found the will to speak, clearly so that he would have no doubt of her words. Fighting the haze that tried to completely incapacitate her while she healed from such a trauma, she vowed:
"He will destroy you. And only then, will you know what a true Dark Lord is." Her hatred fueled and pulsing magic deep within her veins. Slowly, she rose until she was standing once more. Cackling sinisterly at his failure, as she would continue to do with each and every attempt he made, persisting through whatever her tormentor dared to inflict upon her. This man, spineless enough as he was to attack her, didn't have the power it took to break her. She knew with certainty that when Tom found out about him, about what had occurred, he would avenge her. One way or another; that much she held no doubt of. Her laughter was glorious in its mockery of him.
It was the sound that truly sent her tormentor over the edge, taunting him with the product of the insanity he cast upon her, because he ripped his wand from his sleeve and cast the only curse in the world that would irrevocably end someone's life. The one curse you could not block with any form of magic. The words left his vile tongue with such agility, she never had a chance to move from its desired path. It hit her cleanly in the chest, constricting upon her flesh and magic with its effect. Burning through the remnants of her tattered blouse, scorching flesh, and striking her dead. The force sent her through the only window allowing any moonlight in at all.
As the glass was blasted out, shrapnel littered her skin further with red ribbons. Soaring down onto the cliff's edge below, her body cut through the air with the precision of a blade. It was when Voldemort stood at the window, shoulder to shoulder next to her attacker, he could only watch regretfully as she hit the ground. The move seemed to be faster than any spell that had been released from his own wand over the years and he somehow felt hopeless after he almost immediately recalled that he could do naught but watch.
A thousand sounds seemed to accompany her descent, but when she made contact with the ground with a heartbreaking thud, only silence was left to permeate the cool night air. Blood rushed through his ears at the sight. It felt just as it did when he discovered the loss of his diary, all over again. Less than whole; knowing somewhere he had lost a piece of himself.
Rocks pierced through her flesh. Bones protruded from her skin. Limp, like a worn doll needing to be tossed into the rubbish bin. The Dark Lord was deathly quiet, as he gazed out fiercely over the cliffs. His jaw clenched, and his eye twitched; a most dangerous gleam sweeping cleanly across his visage.
And yet, there at his other shoulder, she stood taller than ever. Looking out toward the night sky, she was whole once more. Her white dress, untouched and shining brightly under the moonlight. Her ivory-hued skin, glowed like the finest of bone china. Only he knew she couldn't be broken so very easily. She stood at his side, causing the most glaring differences to appear before his eyes. His, dressed in only the darkest shades of black; drawing all light from the world around him. Her, swathed in the finest of white silk; seemingly charmed to be impervious to wear. Both standing like demented spirits from another lifetime.
It was with finality that he reached for her hand, encapsulating it in his larger one. No looks, nor words were shared, but in that moment nature had finally found a way to correct itself. Her fingers weaved between his own, claiming his hand just as he had hers. A silent vow was made and a war had begun. For the very second their magic intertwined like two of the lovers of old, Light and Dark ceased to exist. An age-old battle would be fought under new lines. For the final rise of Grindelwald was just beginning.
Voldemort did not remember being raised or taught with this witch. Nor could he concretely prove their familial bond, without a blood test being performed. But here, on this very night, she was his kin. She was a daughter of Salazar in spirit, if nothing else. She was a weapon. She was an ally. But he could not ignore those three words that his magic tried so desperately to tell him. She is ours.
Mine.
He would use this to ignite a war. No man, woman, or child; Muggle or wizard-kind alike would not be safe until he was wiped from this plane. This night, the hunt began. The hunt for a Dark Lord, long thought to be rotting away in his cell in Nurmengard. For the wizard who stole the body and thoughts of his greatest enemy would suffer for his interference. Suffer for his attacks on a child.
But he did not forget his other task. For he would also see Albus Dumbledore die for his weakness of the mind. As even the strongest of wills, had the ability to resist the Imperius if they truly made it so. Other dark curses could be fought similarly; possession and the like. It was one of the great many things he'd learned during his journeys to the African continent. Dark magic was different there. Older, more primordial in nature. Power of will could outlast even the strongest of opponent. For while magic had a way of manipulating those around it, he also knew it could be guided back into the hand of the worthy. If one simply, asked for it.
"We need to leave. The Aurors will be here at any moment." She stated with urgency housed within her tone, "As will Albus Dumbledore."
"Does he know?" He whispered waspishly. "Does the real Albus Dumbledore know what he has done?"
"I will not know until I can make contact." She replied. "But I believe I can bring forth his traveller. Force him to face us. Revealing his treachery." She tugged him from the memory completely. Pushing him back into his own body, from her wind picked up, just as the thunder deafened their ears as the accompaniment of lightning cast jaggedly across the sky.
"I read his magical signature when he laid his hands on me." She admitted through gritted teeth, as if she just revealed a well kept secret. It was one that he had known himself, thought he instilled upon her mind that she were never to admit such things in the company of others; lest they attempt to use her for her gifts. However it was here, now… for the first time in years; she felt whole beside her brother. The other side of her in which she longed for, and it was within his presence that she dared to hope. Dared to dream, to love… to scheme and pull forth the wrath that built within her after all these years, leaving her face as cold as the stone around them even as fire blazed within her heart. "He'll not be able to resist the pull. I'm sure of it."
Every memory he took, every drop of blood he spilled, and every year he has lived unpunished, would be brought down upon him tenfold. Gellert Grindelwald, you revolting excuse for a wizard, this is the year you die. Of that she knew, she counted upon it. She would die trying, for if her memory proved anything at all, it was that she was rather adverse to the idea.