Iridescent

by AvalonTheLadyKiller

Shaken awake by the sound of Azkaban's walls crumbling. An ethereal young woman is offered freedom, by the only man who had ever spoken to her soul, in a language she understood. Though he remembers naught, like a whisper to his ears, every fragment of his soul knows her.

10. Chapter 10- The Confession

Iridescent

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller; Co-Authored by, Unburntkhaleesi

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

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, canon or not, it will get dark. References made concerning WWII events may be inaccurate, or out of sequence.

Chapter 10: The Confession

Pouring himself a glass of well aged Japanese firewhiskey, Voldemort eased back into the leather chair facing the hearth. Twisting his fingers in the air, he placed the glass stopper back on the decanter. Levitating the glass over to his awaiting palm, from across the room. His long fingers wrapped around the crystal glass with a practiced ease, bringing it to his lips without cognizance. The unique notes in the whiskey danced across his taste buds. An orchestra of orange blossom, marmalade, oak, and clove. Each flavor tantalizing his senses as a melodious amalgamation. A perfect symphony as it were.

The Lord's Chambers in Slytherin Manor were as much to his satisfaction, as if he designed them himself. It was free of clutter and senseless tokens, representing one's memories. It felt conducive to respite, unlike his excessively active mind. It seemed, good taste could also be added to the list of qualities passed down from his line's forefather. Salazar truly did know just how to furnish his home with timeless grandeur.

From the black marble features, to the tile of the finest ceramic. The richly patterned tapestries had been, of course, preserved through spellwork. The craftsman having never allowed the rich inks and dyes to fade overtime. The wooden architectural attributes brought a warmth to what he considered, an austere whole. Slytherin's sect of the school was terribly derivative in comparison. Here, he was truly able to flourish. Allowed to sculpt that which he desired with his own hands. Illustrating the truly stifled nature of his years in Hogwarts, attempting to maintain peace with the other founders.

However, despite having Salazar's endorsement towards the hanging of magical excellence in Hogwarts, these walls kept one's secrets. Hogwarts was lined with paintings of wizardkind; always listening and talking incessantly. Here, there were mostly scenes of nature. Places of extravagance, wherein one could gaze and lose oneself inside. Fall as he fell, into the dancing flames, before him. As the whisky burned a slow and steady trail down his throat, he felt the thrumming cadence of his heartbeat accelerate.

This was purely his attempt at distraction, to keep his mind off the creature on the other side of this wall. Sleeping soundly as her magic healed from overexertion. Realizing he was fixating once more, he grabbed his wand. Raising his left sleeve he pressed the tip to his veins. Black pooled, seemingly from within his veins underneath, to form a Dark Mark. In his thoughts he summoned the wizard he wished to speak with. Emptying his glass as he waited. Voldemort allowed the wards around the dais to ease back, so entry could be achieved.

Not more than a few scant minutes passed before he felt his follower materialize at the Apparition Point. The manor, seeming to understand his wish, ignited the torches; guiding the wizard up to the door. Moving in tandem, he opened the doors just as he stepped off the last stair. The thick curtain of dark hair was all he could make out, of his follower. He kept his head downturned in submission as the Dark Lord gazed upon him.

"Severus." He intoned lowly, voice resounding with power.

"My Lord," he replied in his usual immovable way. Only then did his eyes look up into the Dark Lord's. Realizing his master swept closer, Snape swallowed thickly. Even standing out on the steps, his pulse raced. He could barely breathe through the ominous Dark Magic permeating off his Master. He was awaiting his Lords' orders; to know if it was his Master's will to have him enter this esteemed home, or have him remain outside like a scorned hound. Voldemort peered down at the Potions Master with a penetrating stare, one could not help but to fear.

The Dark Lord was careful to keep any emotion from his face, as he motioned with two fingers for him to enter. Waiting until his follower had only just stepped into the foyer, before he slammed the doors shut behind him. Drinking in the tremble that seemed to move through Snape at the idea of being trapped with nowhere to run.

His crimson eyes carefully dissected every flinch. Every thought which floated to the surface, was his for the taking. Voldemort delighted in seeing the man's cool facade waver. Not as calm as he would have me think, he thought.

"I am sure you know, I do not call on you without purpose." Voldemort's eerie voice rang through the cavernous room.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape murmured. His dark eyes seemed to convey both fear and respect in equal measure. Which truly was Voldemort's favorite recipe, when dealing with his most faithful followers.

"Earlier this evening, I liberated much of Azkaban's occupants." Pushing onward, he gleaned thoughts of Azkaban and the dementors playing across his mindscape. Followed by a stream of Death Eaters he suspected were now free. Images of blood running through streets. A sinister laugh shrieked through Snape's mind, as he remembered the haunted beauty that was Bellatrix Lestrange née Black.

"The Order and the Ministry had their part to play as well. But, I do believe the time has finally come. There will be an opening for Minister soon." Breathing in the sweet fragrance of Snape's fear, he continued. "Lucius sent word, he is being called upon as we speak to clean this up. I do believe we are once more on the cusp of an all out war." The very thought of such a thing was absolutely exhilarating to The Dark Lord. His spirit drank the burgeoning jitters down, much like a child during the Yuletide season.

"How may I be of assistance, my Lord?" Severus spoke with a practiced tongue, so used to handling matters he couldn't leave to the rest of his followers. So ready to begin his work, a true wizard of value in his pocket. He chose well the day he accepted Severus Snape into his ranks.

"Dumbledore lives, but only just." Voldemort crooned, pleasure dripping from his words. "I want you to stay close, report to me of his recovery and any ramblings he might share."

"You will have every detail I can uncover," Snape assured him, without pause.

"Severus, one more thing." He'd decided the time had finally come to peel back the layers, he had come to realize, was his follower. He focused on the man's mind so closely, if so much as a flicker of traitorous thoughts came across his consciousness, he'd have to make him bleed. Beginning to circle the Potions Master, he spoke. "How are the Potter boy's Occlumency lessons coming along?"

Severus for all his might froze at the question, like prey when it sensed seemed ripped from his throat, at the knowledge that the Dark Lord knew he had been attempting to teach Potter Occlumency. "He performed so abysmally that I have discontinued his lessons, even at Dumbledore's insistence."

"Tsk, such a pity. The great Harry Potter was no match for you, Severus." Voldemort found himself chuckling at the universe's cruel humor, to force James Potter's prodigal son right into the hands of the Slytherin student he mocked and humiliated. Snape smirked darkly, his thoughts venturing into how much he despised the man. Just as he began to relax, Voldemort's sleeve moved to show the wand in his hand. Snape tensed at the sight, even after his Lord continued to roll the wand of Yew between his thumb and middle finger languidly. When he spoke again Snape had to jerk his eyes forward once more.

"I want you inside St. Mungo's after our little chat, Severus. No delays. I will expect your findings by the end of the day," he said.

Suddenly, with the speed of a killer, he reached around immobilizing the professor by his neck. In an instant, they were outside, Voldemort having apparated them back to the dais Snape arrived on. The Dark Lord's hand tensed with precision and power, just a breadth away from the wizard's neck to keep him silent and inert. He absolutely detested the feel of the clammy skin of his followers touching him. It was his magic which choked the man, tighter and tighter as he struggled, like devil's snare. The Dark Lord leveled his wand at his torso. His crimson eyes alight with fury.

"My loyal follower, I do not appreciate you omitting details better discussed. Especially, when they concern the Boy Who Lived. Had you just failed me once, I might have been lenient." He stared down at the other wizard with rage simmering in his eyes. Suddenly, Snape felt a fire burning through his insides. The Dark Lord's wandless hand ensured no sound escaped his lips as he decimated an essential organ inside his follower's ribcage. Feeling to Snape, as though he'd been stabbed with a poisoned blade.

"Know this," He whispered. "I will take more than your spleen, if you dare lie to me again." Violently forcing the thought of Snape finding Harry in his memories, the humiliation he felt. The fury as he told Potter to leave and never return. His wounded pride was the reason there were no more Occlumency lessons, not the boy's skill.

As the wizard fell to his knees in agony and shame, Voldemort turned from him before disappearing from the path, extinguishing the torches in his wake. Leaving Severus to apparate his way to St. Mungo's in the dark. Only when he arrived, he couldn't remember where he was pulled to by the Dark Lord. Any idea of landmarks or coordinates, taken from his memory.

---

When Lucius arrived at Malfoy Manor, his body was heavy with exhaustion. His Dark Mark had been throbbing since the night before. Letting him know something was afoot with the Dark Lord. When he received the owl from the Minister close to midnight, he dressed and told Narcissa not to wait up. If something was urgent enough to call him away in the dead of night, it was likely no small task that the Minister required of him. True to form, having arrived in Fudge's office at nearly half past twelve.

Hearing the Minister's telling of the night's events, he could scarcely hide his sheer awe of his Master's reach. Involving Greyback was an element Lucius would call a stroke of genius. They had recruited several magical communities as of late, and it would appear this move had paid them handsomely in return. The Auror Department fell for his plan, as though they'd never even considered something greater could be in the works. Fools, and for the best, he surmised.

He need not consider the expenditure of magical strength and fortitude it would require, to destroy Azkabans' wards. Substantiating his belief that his Master's will was as merciless as his power. If power was a vacuum, his Lord was a black hole; he could destroy a world if that was his will. Swallowing back his disquiet at the thought, he cemented his resolve to repay that which his Lord declared he was owed.

Alas, with no dementors accounted for, Cornelius could only offer him conjecture as to the nights' events. The eyewitness statements were nothing short of absolute rubbish; too shock-ridden to recount any acute details. The remaining prisoners left in their cells were hardly the reliable sort, in which one could base an investigation on. The few emaciated men they had interrogated raved madly about a ghost.

In terms of the mastermind behind the attack, the 'who' was abundantly clear, according to the Minister. It was the 'how,' the 'why now,' and the 'where have they disappeared to' which were more pressing in his mind. At any rate, none of the Auror Departments' scant leads were going to appease the Prophet or the people's interest, and that's where he came in.

His job lasted long into the morning, before he was able to steal a few hours to himself. Having bribed, twisted, manipulated, and dealt with every news outlet from here to Berlin into publishing only what they allowed to be released. He was thoroughly ready to see to a few hours of rest. Deciding first, to explain his absence to his wife, he went in search of the love of his life, Narcissa. Knowing his wife's routine well, as she was a creature of habit. He knew she would have finished breaking her fast more than an hour previously.

Looking to the front rooms and her solar, where in the morning she sometimes delighted in a good book. He was slightly crestfallen to find her in none of her usual places. Only a moment later, he heard voices coming from the study at the end of the hall. The location eliminated any of Narcissa's acquaintances as she always sat with them in the parlor or out back in the gardens. Leaving but a short list to choose from.

The sound of his footsteps muted, due to the rugs over top of the cold marble floor. The checkered black and white pattern leading him ever closer to his destination. As he closed in, he felt a wave of thick cloying Dark Magic obscuring his breath. Thus, Lucius knew exactly who paid his home a visit in these early hours. Moreover, who was now speaking alone with his gentle wife.

Lucius felt his heart double over as he feared for her safety. His devotion to the Dark Lord's machinations had been shaken by his death all those years ago. Having not been made a part of the plan to revive his Master, was quite a slight indeed. He was still seeking to regain their family's favor in the Dark Lords' eyes. He needed to ensure the safety of his wife and son, above all else. He had taken his punishment over losing the Dark Lord's diary with a heavy heart. Knowing well, he endangered not only himself but those he loved.

That was how one moved when leverage was in hand. He'd spent enough time working in Wizarding Law and having been raised by the Abraxas Malfoy, that he knew how one obtained power. The Dark Lord did not go into detail as to the purpose of the diary but he knew Dark Magic lived within, which he had hoped would kill the Potter boy. Confirming that it had been his own foolishness, that led to the Chamber of Secrets being opened, the basilisk being killed, and the diary destroyed, had nearly been his death. The fact that he still drew breath, told him the Dark Lord was capable of mercy, and would allow him to repay his debt unto him.

Knocking as he reached the door, he awaited the signal to enter. The Dark Lord lazily slid his eyes over to the doorway. Giving him a most unimpressed look, he watched the Malfoy Patriarch practically wither under his weighted stare. A stare that said: 'You disappointed me.' Turning back to his apprehensive wife, Voldemort spoke to Narcissa once more.

"I expect you understand, the things I asked of you, are not to leave this house. Am I clear?"

"Yes, my Lord." Narcissa replied with a solemn nod, telling him how seriously she undertook her task. "I will have everything as you requested."

Nodding toward the door, he said something that both relieved and petrified her. "If you'll excuse us, I have some things to discuss with Lucius."

As she passed through the doorway, she grazed her hand over her husband's. Silently giving him strength to persevere. Her eyes bestowed all the words and emotion she could not speak aloud. He felt guilt, that she felt she had to. His errant decisions had cost their family much. He would not make the same mistakes again. Especially now, as his first opportunity to make it right was bestowed upon him.

"Come in, Lucius," his Lord waspishly said. In just three words, he cut through the room with every ounce of his displeasure.

Lucius Malfoy knelt before his Lord and awaited further instruction.

---

Returning to Slytherin Manor while the morning sun was still climbing overhead, Voldemort made his way to his study. He needed to reflect over everything that was suddenly spiraling around him. If expectations and unmitigated planning turned the world, he would have nary a concern. Unfortunately, or perhaps in this case fortunately, fate had a way of surprising you just when you thought destiny was within your grasp. He felt warmth bloom in his chest as to the fortuitous portion of his current fated existence. Her.

Winter's biting chill was working arduously to try and stamp out this warmth. Flinging open the door, he was pleased to see the fire already roaring. As if the estate sensed his current mercurial temperament. Setting to work searching his shelves, he shivered. Ever since he'd taken this form, he'd grown more uncomfortable in the cold than ever before.

His brief meeting with an old acquaintance, Nadia Rahim, was a pleasant change of scenery. She didn't seem the least surprised by his unscheduled arrival, as it was his usual routine. He came and went wherever he pleased. Traveling on a whim was less troublesome, when one was not concerned with going through proper channels. Giza this time of year was a scorchingly hot, desert climate. His bones seemed to thrive in the heat now. Traveling there and back within the hour however, wreaked havoc on his body's acclimation.

His hour spent in Africa, had performed wonders to perk up his irritable disposition. Egypt was a place rich with magical history and culture. He greatly enjoyed his travels there, when he was a younger man. Making his way south from Albania's coast, had been a fruitful decision indeed. Nadia and her family had been keepers of the Dark Magic floors of the archives for many centuries.

Her assistance would be greatly beneficial to his task, as she could delegate the many eyes of her assistants to search through the stacks. She and her brothers maintained their floor of the Great Library of Alexandria, since her father had finally retired. Purebloods like her and her family were the reason Alexandrias' archives have been saved throughout the centuries. It was families like theirs that held the most influence in countries like Egypt. They were devoted to knowledge, and knew his aspirations would lead to great things in the Wizarding World.

These many eyes would search the tomes, tablets, and earliest known uses of parchment, for any information that could be of help. Grindelwald's usage of a new sect of possession was difficult to pinpoint, so he wanted to know its origins. At this very moment, his sources in Africa were delving into the earliest recordings, to be able to root out the foundations of the spellwork.

Voldemort was insistent on being able to root out the guttersnipe, before he managed to steal his way back into power. Assuming, based on his own tenacity, Grindelwald would not stop at thieving only the form of Albus Dumbledore. It was with these thoughts in mind that the Rahim family's stronghold on Floor 93, was the most efficient place to begin his investigation. Floor 93, being the landing where much of the rituals and rites of the old world were recorded.

It was his obsession with soul magic that led him to Egypt many years before. There, hidden in the tombs of kings, unbeknownst to millions of Muggles nearby, was one of the oldest known libraries in history. When the Muggles had burned Alexandria, its knowledge was not lost as they had believed. It was right where it belonged. Back into the hands of magicfolk, from whence it had come. Intellects over the centuries flocked to the archives, as a source of profound belonging and theoretical brilliance.

Since returning home to Slytherin Manor, he pilfered the shelves for anything relevant. Hours ticked away as Voldemort read through page after page on the subject, until he felt exhaustion nipping at the tendrils of his mind. Pressing his fingers into his weary eyes, he closed the tome in his lap. Deciding he'd do best to pick up after having a little sleep, he made his way up to the third floor.

His pale hand glided up the railing lazily. Something however, pulled at the corners of his mind. This insistent tugging caused his vision to drift to the room at the end of the hall on the left. Deciding to check on her to ensure her healing was complete, he saw the door was cracked, and thus not how he left it. Feeling something visceral grasp his heart, he all but took flight through the series of rooms beyond. Remaining corporeal, if only just. The outer room remained just as he left it. The bedroom beyond however, contained more than one magic signature. He moved as a man possessed, as if his feet were not his own. Paying no heed to how someone slipped through the manors' wards.

Without seeming to remember performing the action, his wand of yew was in his palm and aching to mutilate that which trespassed. Blood, blood, blood, blood. His mind seemed to demand nothing less. The chant pulsed in his ears. But what he beheld, stilled the racing beat of war drums, that was his heart.

He sucked a breath of air into his lungs at the sight. The figure in the bed slept soundly. Her soft snores could be heard. The cause of his disquiet lay wrapped around her sleeping figure. Intertwined like two lovers would. Her nearly white-blonde hair fanned out across her pillow in her slumber. Her figure was wrapped more in the green and black scales of his Nagini, than a stitch of clothing. Which at the moment was causing his predatory instincts to flare possessively.

His familiar sensed his proximity, raising her head to look back at him inquisitively. "Master?" She hissed.

Swallowing, he pried his eyes from all the exposed flesh that was laid bare. Every curve and every dip, his thieving eyes stole. Claiming the view to memory. Knowing this was a sight, he would allow no other to admire. My female, his 'other than human' thought. Voicing the thought in a rumbling storm of Dark Magic, like some demonic entity.

Cocking his head at the serpent touching that which was his, he demanded, "Why are you here?" Unsure if the creature knew just how deeply murderous his thoughts were.

"I was cold. I followed a tasty smell." She flicked her tongue out towards the blonde's exposed shoulder.

MINE, the voice in his head seemed to rage.

"She is not for you," he immediately declared. "Leave us." His tone, leaving no room for protest. He felt aggressive and very protective, all of a sudden. His back straightened, shoulders tensing. "I will bring you something acceptable to eat."

Shaking her head, she declined his offer. "She is not mine. This I know." Something in her tone, had him whipping his focus back to her black eyes.

"Do you?" He probed, intent to know what exactly she intimated. "What do you know, my Nagini."

"She is yours." He raised his chin dominantly, scarlett eyes glinted brightly. His body language, conceding to her words. "Lady Speaker's flavor is that of blood, violence, and power." She nodded her head, as if to seal her words with the action. Her approval. "My Master would only claim that which stands as his equal."

"I have no equal," he dissented.

"This female is without measure." The ferocity of her words was enough to have his brow raising. "Claim her, make her yours."

"Silence," he hissed. Already fighting his own seething primal instincts inside his head. He did not need to be exchanging demands with his familiar, and thus his horcrux, as well.

There was a sleepy mumbled hiss that came from the pillows. Causing them both to still as they looked her way. Nestling back down, Nagini bid her master a good rest. "I will watch over your Lady Speaker."

---

After heading back to the office for several hours in the evening, Lucius was finally back home. Whatever documents and such remained on his desk, would simply have to keep until the morning. Heading up to bed, Narcissa was patiently waiting on her settee overlooking the gardens. Having felt this arrival as the wards allowed the Patriarch entrance, she brushed her hair. Summoning a house elf to bring them both a cup of peppermint tea to calm their nerves.

"Cissa dear, please tell me everything." He unbuttoned a few of the outer pieces of his cloak and the pressed french suit underneath. With a quick flick of his wand, he lifted the charm holding his tie in position. His eyes remained locked on his wife's face.

"I'm alright Lucius, honestly. He came while you were still with Fudge. He is taking up an old familial residence somewhere, and inquired about several tasks for me to assist with. One of which, he spoke of wanting a house elf to attend to his home. I, of course said I'd personally handle everything."

"House elves? Certainly, wherever he is staying, he can have 40 house elves if he desires. We'll acquire only the best for him."

"No my love, he was very specific, only one. But, I have never known him to trust anyone to wait on him. Nonetheless, live with him. There is something changing with him. Call it a woman's intuition, but I saw something different in his eyes today."

"I will consider your words carefully in the coming days. There is no one's instincts I trust more." His sharp eyes seemed to read her seriousness as truth. His brows furrowed, as he inquired as to what everyone was absolutely abuzz about in the Ministry. "There was no mention of Dumbledore or anything else of that sort?" Knowing his Lord should have been celebrating wounding the great Albus Dumbledore. At the very least pleased with the knowledge that he rescued all those Death Eaters, from within what touted to be the highest security wizarding prison in the Northern Hemisphere.

"No, why? What has happened, Lucius?" She was on the edge of her seat now, reaching for his hand.

"He went to Azkaban and retrieved dozens of Death Eaters, in the night. Your sister being one-"

"Bella is free?" She interrupted. Hope made her eyes shine like the first day he met her.

"Yes, my dear." His love for her was his guiding light in the storm. He would do anything to see her glow like this. "So we'll need to make sure security around the manor is in order. I expect the Aurors will have all living family members, of every escapee on a watchlist. We need to play this smart. Heighten our vigilance and tighten up the wards."

"I understand, my love." She nodded solemnly and asked, "Do you know where Bella is now?"

"One of the safehouses. She is on strict orders to keep everyone on a very short leash. The Dark Lord is the only one who has been in and out. She will come when it's safe, my love. Your sister has not forgotten about you, I promise." Taking the cup of tea from her offered hand, he continued.

"Also, there's something else…" Lowering himself to the cushion beside her, his eyes shadowed with perplexity.

"What ever it is, it must be important to have you this off-course."

"I believe it to be. It has the Ministry chasing their tails, in order to solve this puzzle. Cissa, the Dark Lord came to Azkaban alone. He released Bella's wing first. I believe your sister to have been his first priority. Moving down the line, bombing the cells strategically. But, something must have happened. The cell next to Bella's received the worst damage. He nearly tore the whole building down, to release what was inside. I looked into who was housed there, but came up with nothing of consequence. That cell has been empty for years, but that's not what the prisoners left behind said."

"What did they say exactly?"

"I can hardly trust their word, but they said it housed a young woman. They called her Spectre, because she could've been a ghost, she was so fair. Her hair was blonde and she wore a white dress. They say she never aged a day since they have been there. Several said that prisoners long before them, spoke of her being there for dozens of years before they died. They said she could've been a veela for how beautiful she was. But no one saw what happened after the wall came down, or at least if they did, they aren't speaking of it."

"Do you think she was a magical being? That someone imprisoned a vampire or a veela?" She enjoyed helping her husband work through his work quandaries.

"I don't believe so. After some discovery, I determined she was never given food of any kind. The Warden at the Ministry never had any reason to send food there, thus she was never given meals. Veelas need to eat, just as we do. Vampires on the other hand still require sustenance, even if in the form of blood. Furthermore, the prisoners said the dementors never saw her. Nor did any of the Ministry officials who came through that wing."

"How curious, someone put her there, right under the Ministry's nose. A great mystery to untangle my love, will you solve it?"

"I dearly wish to. This woman, whomever she is, ended up with the Dark Lord."

Her eyes lifted to his, as she worked through her own inklings. "Do you mean, she did not flee with the other Death Eaters to the safehouse?"

"No, my love. The Minister said when he arrived, the Dark Lord was pulling a woman up into his arms. Where she had been kneeling, there were markings remaining of a Blood Ritual. They're testing the blood as we speak, we should know more soon."

"A Blood Ritual? Morgana's stars. She is indeed a witch, then."

"So it would appear." He paused long enough to have her narrow her eyes peevishly. Knowing there was more to his story, that he was leaving out. Taking a prolonged sip from his cup he raised his eyes in a mischievous way. That devilish glint told her that he indeed, had something stirring to share.

"Alright, out with it Lucius!" She exclaimed with a cheeky grin.

"You will never guess, whom was inside the Blood Ritual's circle my clever wife."

"If you draw this out any more Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, I shall hex your hair to be red for a week." She said to his horror. His demeanor straightened at the very real threat of 'Weasley hair.'

"That was below the belt and you know it," he said in his haughtiest tone, sulking. Whipping her wand out, she guffawed when he flinched. "Albus Dumbledore!" He cried raising the hand that wasn't holding his cup up defensively. His answer caused her to lower her wand, in shock.

"Do you mean to tell me that Dumbledore was nearly killed by this witch? Not the Dark Lord?" Narcissa looked like you could've knocked her over with a feather, she was so shocked.

"That we don't know for sure yet, I'm afraid. What I'm saying is," he smoothed his hair protectively. "There is certainly more to this than we have ever before considered." She nodded pensively.

"I will of course deliver what I told him I would, in the morning," she spoke softly. Ruminating over her list of things he spoke of. "I'll inquire as to if there's anything more I can assist with. Lucius, we need to be brought into the fold, so we aren't caught by surprise."

"Tread carefully, Cissa. I have it on good authority that the Ministry is crumbling around Fudge. With Dumbledore in St. Mungo's and a new piece on the board, we have no idea our part to play as of yet."

"We will do what needs to be done, my love. Not just for ourselves, but for our son."

---

When Minerva finally got through security at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, she had to ask several healers where they were treating Albus. Apparently they had moved him to a less severe wing, after they mended some broken bones, having put him through a rigorous series of diagnostics. She breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly moved through the halls. Her heart slowly unclenching from her penchant to fear the worst. What she saw of him the night before, was truly a sight out of her nightmares.

Rapping gently on the door, she swept inside when she saw him moving to sit up in the bed. Minerva felt like the weight of a thousand galleons, which had been resting on her shoulders, had finally lifted. Seeing her oldest and dearest friend being tortured and abused, had nearly broken her. She had come close to breaking formation when the Ministry arrived. She had come so, so very close to allowing them to see her face. Endangering more than just her identity in the midst.

"Oh, Albus," she said with a cry. Minerva scrambled over to his bedside with a haste she didn't know she had in her, after this never ending day. Having been so distracted in her classes, she didn't even assign the required reading.

"Hello my dear," he spoke with a rasp from sleep. Clearing his throat several times, he motioned to the water at his bedside, which she quickly handed over. His arms were losing the discoloration from the bones mending, but they were still a bit tender.

"Thank you Minerva."

Finally like a damn bursting, the Deputy Headmistress opened her mouth to begin her debrief. However, the man in the bed raised a finger warningly. Reaching for his wand almost out of habit but finding nothing, he looked imploringly at her. Seeming to understand that there may be listening ears, she cast a series of quick charms and wards at the door to ensure their privacy.

Finally, satisfied with her spellwork she turned back to her mentor for his answers and guidance. "Albus, we waited for you in the spot you designated. What bloody happened? How did he capture you?"

"Firstly Minerva, I have to apologize."

"Whatever do you mean?" her question charging forth.

"I mean, I have not been myself for quite some time. I am humble enough to tell you, my friend, I am not as strong as you believe me to be." Silencing her interruption with a raised hand, he continued.

"My past is riddled with mistakes and ill-fated plans. It started when I was young. I encountered a young man, to whom I would soon become enamored with. He burned bright Minerva, and had such a passion for magic. Perhaps a little too curious in blending the line between Light and Dark Magic, but he was an absolute prodigy. I have never truly known anyone to stimulate me so intellectually. Naturally, I soon found myself in love." He looked down at his hands distractedly. Seeming to be lost in his own memories.

"But my family didn't see him as I did, and one of the worst days of my life was when a duel broke out between him, Aberforth, and myself. My little sister came out of the house, and was struck with a rebounded curse. Killed instantly. I was wracked with guilt and shame. I ended our relationship, fled, and sought to find myself through other means. My actions brought about that duel, and it's the reason Aberforth and I have never truly mended our relationship. I traveled abroad for years, but fate has a way of forcing us to face our demons. When I returned, I heard of a position available at Hogwarts, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I thought I had outrun my past. But when the Prophet began reporting on a Dark Lord in the East, I could no longer deny the identity of my first love."

"You don't mean…" Minerva stuttered.

Nodding gravely, Dumbledore continued. "Gellert Grindelwald was that young man." The air seemed heavier as they both digested his words. "I fought with everything I had in me to forget him, and to let the authorities handle him. But you and I both know the kind of strength someone like that possesses. The Ministry was absolutely teeming with his silent supporters. Gellert was willing to do anything it took to hold power. I knew better than anyone, his tenacity on the matter." Inhaling deep, he pushed onward.

"When I finally stood off against him I thought…" clearing his throat which seemed thick with heartache. "I thought I was strong enough to do what needed to be done. But he was too strong and I was weak. I didn't understand why I was suddenly overpowering him in our duel. It didn't make sense to me. He was always more proficient than I. When he fell, I captured him for the Ministry and never looked back. They put him in Nurmengard in a cell made just for him, but that isn't where he stayed."

"Albus?" Minerva questioned frightfully.

"I did not win that duel, my friend. Gellert has been inside my mind since that day like a parasite, Minerva. Wearing my body, seeing what I see, knowing what I know. Controlling my every action or inaction. He has done atrocious things over the years. Truly repulsive things with my magic." Nearly shaking in disgust, Albus found himself overcome with emotion.

"I have killed Minerva. I have manipulated and harmed children. I have forsaken all of my sacred oaths as a Headmaster and as the man I know myself to be."

"Oh Albus, you couldn't have known." She replied with more empathy than he could currently take in.

"I fear, it was by my hand that we now face yet another Dark Lord."

"What?" Her eyes were wide with disbelief. Not understanding what he was saying.

"When Gellert met the young boy named Tom Riddle he was beside himself. Dare I say it, fascinated. He saw a pupil who he could mold to be just like him. Gellert knew how to mask his own sorcery, but the young boy had no idea he was emitting a frequency of magic few could hear. Only a Dark Lord could hear that distinct song. Though he told the boy he was not to practice that sort of magic, in his mind, he knew what he was doing. Tom Riddle would fight his words just as Gellert did, when he was at Durmstrang. Dark Magic that powerful, that deep, cannot be repressed."

He heaved another deep breath. Feeling the need to get up and move about. It was stifling to sit still as he recounted these horrifying memories. So he threw back the blankets, beginning to pace. Coming to a halt by the window, he looked down onto the street below.

"My greatest crime was what I did to that boy."

"Tom Riddle was rotten fruit from the vine, Albus. There was nothing you did to him, that was not already instilled since his inception." Minerva refused to allow him to bear the blame for that boy. "He became what he is today all on his own."

"That's a lie." Feeling a tear slip down his cheek, he made no move to remove it. Nor halt the ones that followed. "No Minerva, I stole the only person he could ever love, and could ever love him in return."

"What? This is not possible. Tom Riddle loved no one more than himself."

"Her name was Vera Eleanora Riddle, and she was his counterbalance in all senses of the word. She had a beauty that poured from her soul. Her magic was unearthly, wholly not of this world. She was a Seer. She was Light where he was Dark."

"A Seer? Born of Slytherin's lineage?"

"Indeed. Salazar Slytherin's line bore him a Seer. More importantly, she was Tom Riddle's twin. A soulmate, Minerva."

"Merlin above. What did you do, Albus?"

"I-" He stuttered. "Gellert tried incessantly to push him toward his Dark path before his time. But he resisted. Her influence was too strong. The boy didn't want to do anything that would bring harm to her. Gellert lost his patience. She had spoken to a few people about feeling ill, when we came into contact. I believe a part of her sensed I was not as I seemed." His brow furrowed at what came next. Hanging his head in shame, he spoke lowly.

"He stole her and set out to be her end. He killed her. He killed her again and again but her body lived. It refused to die. Something in her Magic fought me, like it knew somewhere inside my body, my conscious wanted nothing more than this cruelty to end. How I beat on the walls of my mind, to break free for naught. I saw her die, by my hand for hours, Minerva. There was so much blood. The torture he caused her, that I caused her, unending." He cried openly now.

"Please tell me this is the medicine talking, Albus." Minerva pleaded, coming over to him and reaching for his elbow.

"I am afraid I cannot ease your worries, my loyal friend. There is much blood on my hands. I wish to be free of this guilt! But I keep asking myself, 'how could anyone offer me forgiveness, when I can not even forgive myself."

"You finally killed her then," she stated in a detached manner. Wanting to be anywhere else in this moment.

"Her Magic would not submit. So, my cruel old friend found another method of torture, one she could not free herself from."

Finally thinking back to what she saw from the night before. Having spent the entirety of the day sending owls hither and dither. Bill's words rang through her mind. Taking in a deep breath, she covered her mouth at the revelation. "Azkaban?"

Nodding, he continued. "I put her where no one would find her. Where no human in their right mind could ever leave. To the Ministry, cell 27 did not exist. If anyone went looking, they saw a caved in cell, where weather and poor upkeep destroyed the roof. The other prisoners could see her but this was the wing no one left from. Life sentences. I never had any concern they would speak to anyone, of the young woman in the cell."

"Why didn't he look for her? Why isn't there anything in Hogwart's history about her disappearance? How could no one remember her?"

"My dear Minerva, Gellert left nothing up to chance. Hogwarts was cleaned. All evidence of her existence, wiped. Memories, photos, belongings, gone overnight. His work was pristine, no one ever went searching for her, but there was one place he couldn't account for."

"The boy," she whispered eerily, the sheer thought of Voldemort as a child caused chills to run down her spine.

"Correct. Soul ties are a bond. Severing the tie completely was impossible, especially with her still among the living. He removed memories and feelings of love, but he left a void. A void that festered. He spent his whole life trying to fill that emptiness with everything, but the one thing that would heal him."

"How did he find her? Last night on the island, I mean."

"When I arrived, he had already torn the entire wall off of the prison, so I believe he realized she was something to him."

"He never let her stray from him, he knows her significance to him. When he apparated, he left with her in his arms. Is she in danger with him, as he is now? More importantly, is she a threat to us, Albus?" Remembering the Blood Ritual she performed on Dumbledore.

"That Minerva, I don't entirely know. But she did kill the tendril of Gellert which had his hold on me, for that I can only thank her." Turning around he faced the room, feeling the wards shake; indicating someone's arrival. He then saw Severus in the doorway. Like a shadow, the man moved into the room, not bothering to knock. But reinforcing the wards, he had just eradicated.

"Headmaster" He nodded. "Minerva" He acknowledged. "The Dark Lord has sent me to inquire as to your state, Dumbledore."

"Ah, I assumed as much." Dumbledore rasped. "What else did he say?"

"He said to listen to what you said, that you had been injured." Looking between the two, he continued. "He told me that he breached Azkaban last night. That the Ministry would be in shambles."

"Yes, he allowed himself to be seen. I don't believe he is interested in staying in hiding for much longer."

"He brought me to a new estate this time, but I could neither speak of its location or describe it to you. My mind was wiped, right before he left me to find my way here."

"Left you, are you alright Severus?" McGonagall inquired.

"I had to wait to be treated, with so many full beds downstairs. London was hit with an overwhelming amount of werewolf attacks last night. Courtesy of the Dark Lord, I'm sure."

"Yes, I do believe you're right. What did he do, that you needed treatment from Severus?"

"He removed a critical bodily organ." He clenched his jaw at the reminder of the excruciating pain. "I had to wait for the healers to facilitate its regrowth. On a more pressing note, the Dark Lord knows that Potter was in receipt of Occlumency Lessons, and that I was the one giving them."

"What? ALBUS?" Minerva swiveled on the Headmaster with the ferocity of a blast-ended skrewt. "You have already involved Potter in more than his share. He is still just a boy!"

"Given what I have just told you, Minerva, I believe you know my mind hasn't quite been up to snuff for some time."

"Why would-"

"I believe we'll need to assemble the Order as swiftly as we can. Something bigger than any of us could imagine is on the horizon." Seeming to not want the Transfigurations professor to speak to Snape of everything quite yet. Wanting to hear what Voldemort told his followers. To see how he moved in the days to come.

"What do I report to the Dark Lord?" Severus pressed, more than perturbed by the turn of events and more than wishing he was back in his quiet office.

"Tell him this: I am free of Darkness, but death comes for us all."

Minerva looked worriedly to her beloved friend and mentor, unsure what he had seen Grindelwald planning. With a nod Severus said, "It will be done." Not fully understanding the context, but assuming the Headmaster was sending a message. He did hope this message would not see him killed for his insolence.

---

When Voldemort awoke, it was to an incessant burning in his left arm which immediately had him throwing back the blankets. Casting a quick "Tempus," he saw the time was a few hours before midnight. He knew exactly who was currently attempting to reach him. Severus, he grumbled. In spite of the burning sensation, he arose and clothed himself at a leisurely pace. Refusing to be made to rush at one of his follower's demands.

He had spoken with Bellatrix earlier in the day at the safehouse, to debrief the comings and goings of the Death Eaters. Who was staying where, who was on Auror watch, as well as how often they were rotating guards. She was quickly returning to her old self, which made him pleased. He would have been quite bereft to have lost her superior set of skills. He knew finding someone as devoted and militant to his orders as she, would've been hard to come by.

Her loyalty could no more be bought than his. That in itself, was priceless.

Holding his wand to his left wrist, he called forth the Potions Master. Calmly striding out of his rooms, closing the door behind him. As he reached the steps, he took them two at a time. His long legs eating up the steps, as his hand glided down the handrail. The wood carving of the great basilisk spiraled down to the first floor. Wherein the head of the mighty serpent roared to life with topaz eyes and expertly scored fangs. He allowed his thoughts to stray to his memories of the immense beauty. The basilisk Sashir, whom called the Chamber of Secrets her home for nearly a millennium.

The sensation of the manor's wards alerting him of an arrival, kept him moving. He opened the front doors with a flick of his wrist and awaited his follower's entry. Kneeling as he had before. A respectful "My Lord," fell from his lips. Voldemort turned away and began treading down the long hall.

Whispering insidiously in Snape's mind "Follow." He closed the entry doors behind him.

Hearing the man's hurried footsteps behind him, he smirked at the haste he pause, Voldemort waved his hand toward the doors before him. Which opened, inviting him into his study. As he crossed the threshold, the torches as well as the hearth flared to life. A cup of tea appeared near his favored chair on the right. Seating himself in a controlled manner, he made to pick up his cup. Banishing the already steeped tea bag from his cup, in the midst.

Flicking his eyes over to the man standing just inside the door. He took a long sip of the strong black tea, brewed exactly how he preferred. "Tell me Severus, how did your stay in St. Mungo's treat you?"

"I recovered expediently, once their healers were able to diagnose how I could have accidentally lost such an integral organ." Feeling the corner of his mouth turn up, he was amused at the professor's lie to them, in order to hide his even more grievous predicament as a Death Eater. Slyly, slipping into the man's mind in between sips. Voldemort dove into his words, through images, memories, feelings, and could even smell the cleansing oils and such the hospital smelled of.

"When I arrived Dumbledore was standing by the window, looking quite beside himself. I do believe the Headmaster had worked himself into a state, speaking with Professor McGonagall."

"What did they speak of?" He inquired.

"She spoke to him for some time, before I made myself known. I was on the other side of the wall, you see, so her wards on the door did nothing to protect me from prying in, from within the walls."

"Well done Severus," Cocking his head in an impertinent way with a smirk. "Shall we celebrate your earth shattering grasp of physics, basic principles to warding, and charms?" His tone left no doubt as to his intent to belittle the wizard. A man whom still stood some meters away, no doubt presuming distance would protect him.

"I don't believe that will be necessary, My Lord." Severus replied looking down.

"Nonsense! I'm sure we could dust you off a trophy in the Hall of Records. Success needs to be rewarded, after all. Isn't that right, Severus? No?" Voldemort didn't know where this particularly vicious streak of humor came from, but he was enjoying himself. He relished making someone look a fool, when they had rudely attempted to do the same to him.

Severus made a mistake keeping things from him, moreso in lying. For a few moments the Dark Lord took pleasure at his follower's anxious twitches and ill-composure. Before finally exhaling and resting his nearly finished tea, back on the side table.

"Come Severus take a seat, my neck grows tired of having to look up at you." Nodding at the seat opposite him. As the man settled in, Voldemort sat back. Resting both of his forearms down on the armrests, curling his wrists where they hung. "What exactly did they discuss?"

"Dumbledore spoke of memories of when he was in school. There was someone he was infatuated with, a young man whom we would come to know as the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald." Severus paused as it to see him react to this news, only to be disappointed to see him raise his brow in impatience. "He said that Grindelwald had tricked him into thinking he won their duel, that he was really using his body to enact his plans. That Gellert was immediately fixated on your core being so Dark. He said you were a facet of his strategies for many years, and that-"

He swallowed, unsure exactly how to process the next words coming from his mouth. "He said that Grindelwald lost patience, trying to push you deeper into the Dark Arts. He decided to make you hurt. Killing the one whom you loved, a sister. By killing her, he hoped you would fall deeper into the Dark. Thus becoming what we know of you today, but you were not always like this. He miscalculated something though, with killing her. Her injuries, they kept mending. So he put her in a place no one would find her, Azkaban. Dumbledore seems to believe she still lives."

Looking up at his Lord, Severus could not determine what his thoughts were. His emotions were carefully locked away. Staring off into the flames, as if he was only mildly interested in the baffling words Snape had uttered. The Potions Master barely knew what to make of them himself, but he assumed at the very least he'd see some response to his words. A laugh at the absurd ravings of a fool or a 'Crucio' for daring to waste his time. At the very least, something. A reaction meant shock. No reaction meant he already knew. No reaction implied there was truth to be found within.

"It's true isn't it?" Severus whispered, after not being able to bear the silence any longer. His voice seemed to float into the air, almost as if he didn't speak them at all. His mouth even slightly agape at the possibility therein.

"What is truth, in the face of utter madness, young Severus Snape?" A lyrical feminine voice spoke from the doorway.

Voldemort was instantly alert, as she and her magic entered the room. Leaning forward as he turned, he drank her in. The black dress she wore flowed down every dip and curve, reminding him of those clandestine glimpses of naked skin. Black looked utterly sinful on her. She had pulled her fair hair back in a low bun, hiding none of her exquisite features. Her lips, full and soft. Her eyes glowed with otherworldly luminescence, on display for all to see. He was absolutely riveted by her, like a dream made real. From her hair to her bare feet as she proceeded to enter the room. His Dark Magic was undulating out of him in rolling vibrations in response.

Snape didn't know how to behave, especially with the air becoming harder to breathe. Feeling as though a weight was resting on his chest. The Dark Magic emitted from his Master abruptly and seemingly, without reason. If it was intentional, he gave no indication. However, the Dark Lords' provocations usually remained unexpected, and his punishments, equally swift. It made him all the more dangerous.

But, he thought looking up at his Lords' eyes, if the Dark Lord was looking at her like that, I should probably be on my knees. Practically leaping from the chair to the floor. He scolded himself for his delayed reaction. "My Lady," he feverishly spoke with what little breath he could draw into his lungs.

Her movements ceased, as she passed by his near prostrate form. Looking down she said as if in a trance, "A blooming white flower and look at the flying leaves, how lovely." He flinched at having his most cherished memory spoken aloud, without him so much as thinking about it in advance.

She remembered first seeing this beautiful memory decades before. For no other reason than that it was a youthful sort of love, "Hmm." She smiled and as if to herself.

Shaking herself from her memory. "You may stand," she told him looking down, wholly unimpressed with his groveling. Vera was not much for pomp and circumstance, unless the situation warranted it.

"Now, now. Let's not be hasty. Severus seems rather content to be on his knees before a beautiful woman." Voldemort's tone seemed as sharp as flint, now that she stood so very close to his gaze, on her like a hound to a pheasant. "However, there does appear to be a vacant chair, why don't you have a seat."

Moving over to the hearth instead, she intentionally swept past the Dark Lord's chair. Grazing her fingertips down the back of his wrist. I'd rather you offer me your seat, like a gentleman. Or perhaps something equally grandiose, like a Dark Lord. The words she pressed into his mind, ceased his breathing for several seconds. The innuendo in the latter half drove him wild. Ending their contact, she glided slyly over to the warmth of the fire. As though she did not just stoke the coals of his more sensual imaginings, back to life. In her wake, leaving him contemptuously and incontrovertibly aroused.

"This will do," she sighed as she kept her eyes on the books lining the mantle. If words could slow time, Severus felt as if time stopped. She openly defied his Lord. This delicate female heard what his Master said, and deliberately chose to move contrary to his directions. Black dots swam in his vision.

Cracking his neck, as though he had a sudden egregious kink. "Snape," the Dark Lord's voice snarled, "what of the rest?"

"You may need to release him from your power, love. That is, if you do not wish him to pass out." She continued in an airy manner. Untouched by his churning ire. Facing away from him, as she ran her fingertip down the spines of several books about Parselmagic. Feigning nonchalance. Feeling nothing but the weight of his smoldering stare on her body, she grinned.

Her admittance of knowing exactly what his power did to everyone else, made his brow raise in challenge. The fact that his magic purred for her like some docile feline when she called him 'love', made him want to break things. Reigning in the Dark Magic that was currently climbing the walls, seeking her magical signature, was no small task. He forced his magic back into its vessel. Taming the rumbling mass to a low simmer, rather than a roaring boil. Requiring his utter focus, along with some deep breathing.

Severus gasped for air on the floor, lungs wheezing in protest. His Lord's forbidding look, commanding him to speak. Clearing his throat, he began. "Dumbledore told McGonagall what he did to her." He nodded to the witch standing with her back to the to rise to his feet once more, he continued. "The fool seems to desire absolution for his crimes." Earning him two derisive scoffs from across the room, both cutting a look to the other.

"He did say something odd. He said he was now free of Darkness. Warning that 'death comes for us all,' to what end he didn't say."

"It appears to have worked," she commented. Looking back over her shoulder at the Dark Lord, she professed her truth. "Though, excuse me for wishing to run my own diagnostics to confirm." Voldemort remained quiet. His eyes, heavy as he scrutinized her response. Seemingly digesting Dumbledore's words one at a time, for hidden meanings and carefully planned deceit.

Severus queried, "My Lord?" Wishing to hear his thoughts on the matter.

"I believe my sister and I are in agreement on the matter." He pronounced. Her orbs of star light, reflecting his own with devastating intensity. Voldemort thought if heat could reside in one's eyes, that is exactly what he felt in that moment. His crimson ones met hers with a gleam that promised retaliation twofold. One for disobeying him. Two for having the cheek to tease him into shifting restlessly in his seat like an adolescent.

As if she could hear his thoughts, her lips twitched at the corner with a secretive grin. Her own magic, melting her insides at his look. "For the time being," her brother said, "we will watch and wait for our opponent to make the next move."

"Which one?" She inquired.

"Both." He said decisively. Turning back to Snape, he revealed, "I have another task for you, since you completed this one so well."

"My Lord?"

"I want to know what sort of projects Dumbledore has been working on."

Scowling, Severus looks down pushing air out his nose. "He has had his hands full with Umbridge, poking her nose about where it doesn't belong."

"Umbridge?" Vera questioned, having never heard that name before.

Voldemort replied with a malignant grin. "The Ministry goon, Fudge has sent to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." He chuckled. "A complete and utter imbecile."

Snape filled in more details, before she could respond. "She doesn't believe in practical usage of magic. She 'teaches,' and I use that term extremely lightly, theory only." A look of disgust rocked the rooms' occupants. "The Minister has named her High Inquisitor, and we are all being graded by Ministry standards of efficacy. I believe it is her desire to sack any of Dumbledore's favored professors, as well as any half-breed she sees unfit to teach."

"Keep me apprised of her movements in Hogwarts, Severus." Voldemort stated. "She is but a hand of the Ministry. Her words and actions may give us insight into Fudges' next moves."

Whistling in a surprising breath, Vera was shown blood dripping. The eerie sound sent a chill down her spine. "In her desk," the blonde whispered, "in the top right drawer. A red quill that bleeds ink." Raising her finger, she tapped her lip. "Shh, don't speak. Children, you must tell no lies."

"Start in her office," he ordered the Potions Master. Having seen that distinct tensing of her form, he had deduced her state. Ensorcelled, as she was, with the great Other she was neither fully here nor there, at the moment. "I want to know exactly what she is doing with the students."

Surfacing from her trance, she spoke, "She is hurting them, I felt pain." Her brow, heavy with troubled thoughts.

"I will do as you command, My Lord" he said, regarding the Dark Lord's sister carefully. Unsure of her end game. How could one be so disturbed by another's pain and be akin to his Master. A wizard whom had committed more crimes than anyone in Azkaban combined.

"May I?" She queried indicating her desire to go look through the bookshelves on the outer walls. With an approving nod and hand gesture, Voldemort discussed with his Death Eater that there would be a meeting in the coming days. Though as he spoke, his consciousness never quite leaving her form. Even when she wasn't directly before him, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to feel a tug in her general vicinity.

"There is much to discuss," he confirmed to the dark haired man.

Holding her palm out to the shelves, a weighty book flew out of its spot. As though her magic chose it for her, she smiled approvingly. Having wandlessly called forth just the sort of 'light' reading she was searching for. As it floated near her waiting hands, she read the cover. 'Obscurus and other Devourers of Souls.' With one hand, she maintained the tome's levitation, in the other she flipped her magic across its pages. Twirling her fingers in a certain pattern, only she could see. Her magic pulled forth key aspects into images and sounds, into the air above.

Severus stared at her mastery of wandless spellwork like she was Morgana herself, come to life. Scarcely believing his eyes. To wield wandless magic in itself, was something some were never able to accomplish. But to layer multiple spells wandlessly, only few could achieve. One of which was sitting in the chair before him. The blonde whom looked no older than one of his Fifth Years, was utilizing advanced techniques by combining several existing spells to dissect the books' topics, read the contents aloud, as well as illustrate actions and creatures described within. He stood there mouth agape, like some utter buffoon. She didn't even show any strain, other than a furrowed brow at the information being relayed.

Having only eyes for her, Voldemort felt great peace at the sight. Refusing to turn away, even hesitant to blink. It was as though she were some strange creature in the wild, which he had no wish to startle. It wasn't until he heard footsteps inch closer, that he immediately slid into Severus's head; his thoughts wide open in his distraction.

Unfortunately for his humble servant, the sights within betrayed him.

He was reimagining seeing her for the first time. Her smell when she walked by him. Her long hair pulled off her nape, her soft skin, the way her magic hummed around her, it all reminded him of Lily. Only where Lily was the stars. Vera was a solar flare. Snape felt the pull like a drug. He wanted to reach out and feel her magic hum against his hand. Hand to hand. He needed to touch her…

Touch her? His thoughts repeated in a low tone belying the danger within.

Thundering back to life, Dark Magic was splintering forth from his restraints like a star exploding. His magic's outrage surpassing his will to keep it contained. Pain, that inner voice said. They understand pain. Give him pain. For once, he and his bestial self were in complete and utter alignment. If Snape wished to live, these thoughts needed to end.

"Vera, give Severus and I the room. There is something I need to clear up."

Looking up from her book, she stared at him curiously. With a few owlish blinks she seemed to gain her bearings around her, realizing where she was and what he had said. "Of course," she murmured. Closing the book before making haste to leave them to it.

Lunging forward just as she passed him, he grasped her wrist. Standing tall, two fingers from his opposing hand lifted her chin up. Her shining opalescent orbs met his deep burgundy with surprise. Stroking up her wrist, she sucked in a deep breath. Pushing his thoughts into her mind with a vigorous thrust, Voldemort married their consciousness. I am not a gentleman and my chair is my own. However, you need only ask when you are ready for more 'grandiose' places to sit.

His dilated pupils, the tension made his body a live wire. Danger prowled the recesses of his mind. He desperately needed something, but for now violence would have to do. These carnal urges were at the forefront of his mind, pressing in on him like the ocean tides. Skin, feel, heat, slick, sex, taste, blood, rage, death. Thoughts and urges tormented him. He needed release in some shape or form. Soon, the voice assured fervently.

She flushed, her heart began to race, hearing his thoughts. A new voice, one that wasn't there before. It resounded with authority and sensual promises. Heaving breath, her breasts felt heavy. Her nipples aching to be touched as they pressed against the thin material. Followed by the overwhelming heat rushing between her thighs, making her wet with desire. Leaning forward, he was so close they shared breath. Watching her unravel with desire, he drank in the sight of her. How close her lips were. She shivered as she felt his magic stroke her.

Enjoy your reading, he sent.

Releasing her, he deliberately inhaled the scent of her arousal. Hardening to the point of pain. The part of him that was 'other than human' since he was brought back to life last year, burned his insides with the fury of fiendfyre. He swore, when he blinked the world blacked out for a seconds as his eyes rolled back from the immense pleasure, her arousal caused him. He was drunk off the pleasure and high off the pain. Consciously allowing her to flee without giving into his instinct to hunt, was nothing short of momentous.

Every shred of his self control honed in on the other being in the room, and how he was not to kill him. Closing the doors to the study, he sealed and muffled the room. His thoughts were turning manic and scattered with each breath, the further she walked away from him. All that he could grasp hold of, was the need to cause the one who challenged his bond, immeasurable pain. Speaking to his intelligent Death Eater who for some reason had the misfortune to try to imagine touching that which was his.

"Severus, Severus, Severus." He chided menacingly. "This will be your one and only warning, touch her and die."

Severus was back on his knees. He didn't know what he did that set his Lord off, but he suspected it had something to do with his Lord's sister reminding him of Lily. "I would not disrespect you so, my Lord."

"CRUCIO. I saw your thoughts. CRUCIO. You thought you could put your filthy hands on her. CRUCIO. She is not yours."

Effortlessly wrapping his magic around his throat, he closed his airways. Plucking him up with his wandless magic he pulled him to the fire, toes dragging along the rug. He forced his hands to the flame. "If you touch her skin, I will burn the flesh from your hands." Loosening his hold on his neck, he pressed his will onto his trembling hands.

Pushing his palms into the fire, Severus cried out. Feeling the heat and seeing his skin bubble and burn. The smell was horrible. Charred flesh dripped off the bones. All he could do was scream and try not to black out. He tried to control his breathing as the pain felt bottomless. Unending. He felt his nerves melting into nothing.

Throwing him from the flames and onto his back, the Potions Master was nearly unconscious. His breathing, a wracked mess. Trembling, he raised his arms. Snape looked down at his hands to see they were unharmed, but he still shuddered from the pain. Realizing his Master's punishment was of the mind, not the body. A warning, that would not be bestowed a second time.

"Did I make myself clear?" Voldemort crouched over him, cocking his head. Studying him like an insect he could crush should he so desire.

"Y-y-yes, my Lord." His voice stuttered, as he shook from the remnants of pain short-circuiting his nerves.

"Collect yourself Severus and let yourself out."

Snape didn't have to be told twice. He stumbled to his feet practically crawling up the chair beside him, until his legs were stable enough to hold him. Racing to the door, he at first felt resistance, and his stomach dropped fearing there was more pain to come. But on the second tug, the door opened. He fled down the hall to the door, stumbling to the Apparition Point. As he turned around to watch the Manor, he saw movement on the third floor. A woman sat in the front window with her book opened. Her white blonde hair glowed under the moonlight. He saw her and cursed his soft heart once more.

He never saw her orbs flick up to his form, long enough to narrow her eyes at his foreseen duplicity. Knowing he would have his part to play, in the coming days. The door to her rooms slammed open, as she saw the whoosh of apparition down below. Severus Snape was off to give the Order details of no import, which she considered a job well done.

"You caused a scene, down there." The voice at her back snarled at her. His mood, a roaring tempest.

"Incorrect, I caused nothing. What insignificant men think and feel when they see me, is of no concern to me."

Sweeping across the room in a swath of robes, the sound alerted her to his movements. Voldemorts' fingers sheathed themselves into her hair, loosening her twist until it fell. Tightening his grasp, but not so much as to truly cause her pain. His hold seemed to say: 'I've got you, don't move.' Speaking into her ear, he enunciated every word. "I am not speaking of him"

Sitting up straighter on the window seat, she leaned back against him. He laid his other hand across her sternum, to still her movements, but at the same time keep her pressed against him. Her heartbeat hammered against his palm, as she met his gaze in the window's reflection. Did you enjoy it as much as I did? Her thoughts came to him as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud.A mischievous grin teased her lips.

You will not disturb what I have built for myself, He chastised. Heed my warning, you flirt with annihilation.

Hmm, and here I thought I flirted with you. She watched him with those starlit eyes, like a proud feline who had ensnared the mouse. Her eyebrow inching up as their eyes met in the moonlit pane.

Enough with your impertinence, He hissed. His left hand pulling her blonde locks in retaliation.

I could never, she chuckled. Tell me, what is it you truly desire? She asked him through their connection. Laying her hand over top of his against her chest, just above her breasts.

Everything, he replied. Spoken so simply, like it was the most uninhibited answer in the world. Leaning her head back, to look up at him overhead.

Perhaps it would please you, to wear your own face once more? Her question punctuated with a secretive smile.

I'm listening, he thought, peering down at her. Combing his hand through her blonde mane. As she looked back at an excerpt, she lifted the book so he'd be able to read the page over her shoulder. Tapping the part that related to the topic at hand.

The reason for her magic choosing that book in particular, absolutely tickled her. The soul transference spoken of within, could be reverse-engineered with the help of a soul anchor. Her. Thus by tethering, ensuring the soul's integrity within; whilst allowing physical properties to be mutated, through alchemical processes. Utilizing Thenry's law of Transference, anchored by the soulbond. Fueled, perhaps by a celestial event. I will need to see the star charts to properly map the most substantial times, places, and conjunctions.

Looking down at that page in particular, he read the core structural properties they would build their own equation off of. I will have the information matriculated and delivered unto you. I can spare one of my Death Eaters for this. After your analysis is completed, I will look over your proposal more thoroughly. Massaging her scalp pleasurably, he asked, Are you hungry?

I am, yes. Thoughts of the last time she did not have the feeling of a great stone resting in her belly struck her. It has been so long since she had eaten. Ignoring the pangs of hunger as her body regenerated, was but one of her exhibitions of mental acuity.

Come, he thought. Releasing her, his body felt her absence at once. Turning to leave the room, he pushed himself to keep striding away and not look back. She placed her book aside and made to follow. With a flick of his wrist, a pair of black heels appeared. Much to her satisfaction, she slid them on. Adding a quick cushioning charm with a flick of her wand, which she quickly reholstered in her skirts.

Summoning a wool cloak from the closet, she lifted her arms into the sleeves delicately. Pulling her long locks free, she made a twisting motion with her fingers. She began to make her way down the hall. As she walked, her hair braided itself into a crown before twirling itself into a low twist. Adding a smoothing charm to look a touch more polished. Meeting her brother on the stairwell, she forced herself not to smirk at him offering her his arm. Humming a tune in her head, she let her magic guide her steps. The candles extinguishing as he turned to close the front door.

The walk down to the Apparition Point was only disturbed by the click of her heels. The torches lighting the way, along with the light of the moon and stars. Stepping onto the raised dais, she looked at him expectantly. Turning to face her, her brother's new serpentine visage faded to the one she remembered. He looked only a few years older than when she had been taken. She assumed his graduating year. His previous cloak, having been turned into a tailored suit; black wool cloak to match.

Re-offering her his arm, she twined her own through his. Resting her opposite palm over top, to steady herself. Their wrists grazed as she studied his familiar profile. Tallulah Rhue's Edible Imaginings, Luxembourg. He stated his apparition coordinates clearly in his one blink and the next, their surroundings shifted with a CRACK. Her next view, being that of the aforementioned restaurant, with a sign stating their operating hours had just passed. As he opened the door with a twist of his magic, the server cleaning nearby looked up, startled. They stepped out of the cold into the low lit entryway.

"I'm sorry, we are closed for the evening," she announced. Her voice said 'closed for business,' but her eyes very much said 'come and join me for a drink.' The older brunette witch seemed greedy, drinking up the facade of Voldemort's younger form shamelessly. Spellbound by his handsome features. His dark eyes, set in his aristocratic features. Black hair combed back up top, shorn close along the sides and back.

Vera didn't blame anyone for openly admiring his natural born looks; he was beautiful. He was sin incarnate. They can look but never touch, she reminded herself privately. Knowing well that he had always been slightly perturbed or sickened, at the feel of other people's skin touching his. It was another oddity to add to his list of strange quirks. Though, she doubted he'd refer to them as such, but to her they were charming.

At the womans' grating words, Voldemort felt his impatience flare. Allowing his hold on his magic to slip ever so slightly, the waitress flinched when she felt the sense of foreboding and destruction his magic carried. His voice rang with authority when he spoke. "Tonight you will remain open one more hour, for my companion and I."

"Y-yes, sir," she said attraction, working at odds with what danger she sensed. "M-my name is Martine. I can take your cloaks." At their assent, she pulled out her wand. Casting the spell to unbutton and release their coats from their shoulders. With a swish of her wand, they flew to the closet behind the podium. The hangers having been charmed to press out any wrinkles or banish any lint. "Sit wherever you wish, and I'll be back to take your order in just a moment."

"Hmm," Voldemort replied. As if to say 'that's more like it.'

"We do appreciate your understanding," Vera murmured non-threateningly. Her gentle tone, attempting to soothe the woman's fears. Stepping into the dining room, she spoke over her shoulder. The candle light seemed to glow around her halo of pale blonde hair. "You will, of course, be well compensated for your time."

"No trouble at all, madam." With a haste Martine fled through the door to the kitchen, needing to alert them to keep the fires burning. Not fully comprehending who the couple was, nor why she suddenly felt very pulled to do exactly as the young wizard asked. His magic was Darker than any she had ever felt. Even the older Lords and Ladies who visited Luxembourg never held near as much Dark Magic in their cores. Most were proud to display what they had, but this young man had only shown her a glimpse and she was terrified.

The couples' footsteps led to the far corner table, overlooking the entirety of the now empty restaurant. The lux ornate decor and inviting aroma, seemed to promise an illustrious experience. Sliding her chair out for her, her brother then seated himself. Instincts dictating he sit facing the door, but also monitor the thoughts in the kitchen. His Legilimency talents treated him to a rush of culinary thoughts, exhaustion, anxiety, tension, but no sense of deceit arose. The tension seemed to be spurned by their longing to head home.

Returning with their best wine selection, their waitress poured from the bottle the he indicated. A bottle of specialty French Red, worth several hundred galleons. She spoke of the specials chosen exclusively that evening by their famed chef. She gave them ample time to peruse the menu before returning for their order. The pair were quite decisive in which specials they wished to try, which Martine appreciated because she was too ruffled to carry on small-talk at the moment.

Chef had been perturbed to have his closing routine disturbed, but seemed to read the fright in her eyes when she stated the wizard was not just any ordinary guest. Chef Jean Claude had sent the younger staff home, after the first course was served. Seeming to sense their growing irritation. He and Martine were more than capable, in seeing to their last guests. They both wondered who the couple could be as they cleaned and listened. Sadly, the pair spoke too low to discern any details.

'So young but so refined. Perhaps they are heirs of the Sacred 28,' Martine had pondered with the older man in the white apron after bringing out the second course. Their accents were clearly British. Though every time she passed through, with a bated breath, she was unable to catch any of their conversation.

It was just a short time later, she found herself clearing the table. The wizard's coal black eyes scrutinized her motions with such a critical eye, she swore she was going to drop something. Unbeknownst to her, the Dark Lord had been listening in on their conversation. Thus, he couldn't decide if he was peeved or darkly amused at her guessing he was of the bloodlines he had recruited generations of followers from. The same bloodlines that once thought his blood status meant he could be thought weak.

Martine caught herself staring at him again, quickly looking down at how distracted and off kilter he made her. To her right, the lovely blonde witch sipped her wine leisurely, seeming at ease gazing across the table at her companion. The grin that teased her lips, felt to Martine like there was a joke she was not aware of. It was only then that the womans' milky eyes registered in her mind. Martine had begun searching the young woman's appearance, in the cruel way a jealous woman seeks to find another woman's flaws.

Having never seen the deformity of blindness, affecting one of their kind, she gasped. Fumbling in her motions, the porcelain dishes clinked together noisily. The sound of a plate cracking rang through the room. Drawing those colorless orbs over to her. How utterly freakish, she thought.

"Careful," the wizard warned gravely. His Dark Magic, punching the breath from her lungs at the word. She had the distinct impression he knew what she had been thinking. Martine swore she had nearly apparated to the kitchen from embarrassment and fear.

"My apologies," she muttered. Fleeing the room as swiftly as she could without running, dishes trailing in the air behind her. Jean Claude had the entrées plated, with just the final garnishments left to attend to, they were all set. Realizing Martine was trembling, he asked what had happened. After hearing just how poorly their guests' last experience had been, he told his unusually muddled waitress he'd bring the plates out with her. The older man didn't know what had gotten into her, Martine had never been rattled by a customer this way. Nonetheless to display any unseemly behaviors with a potential Heir or Heiress.

With a hastened step, Jean Claude and Martine brought out the entrées, refilled water glasses, and opened another bottle of wine for them. The chef let the pair know they'd be close by, should they require anything at all. The young wizard cooly regarded their waitress, saying nothing. The air seemed heavy with an unspoken tension.

It was the young witch who broke the silence. "May I inquire as to your name, sir?"

"Jean Claude, madam," he gruffly replied. Unsure why she'd want to know, other than to speak ill of Martine's previous lack of professionalism.

"Jean Claude, the offerings you have chosen to add to tonight's specials, were utterly sensational. I can tell that you chose these items with a true passion for flavor; the soup and galettes were paired perfectly. I would be doing you a disservice, to not share with you what delight your meal has given us." Her face turned to give her companion sitting across from her a genuine smile, as she said: 'us.' "This last course will be no less magical, I'm sure."

Jean Claude blushed from his head to his toes at her glowing words. Barely being able to mutter a comprehensible thanks and bow as deep as his aging back would allow him, before practically mowing down Martine on his way back to the kitchen. Martine had never seen the man looking so bashful before. She truly thought the witch had broken their head chef, with her praises. Feeling more than a little mortified that she had behaved so rudely earlier, she smiled and gave a small bow of her own to the couple.

Leaning forward, Voldemort grabbed his glass of wine. Canting his head at his sister's words, he asked the question burning on his tongue. "Why did you bestow upon him such praises? The food was as I expected, skillfully made. But this is his job, he is simply doing what is demanded of him."

Taking a small bite of the perfectly cooked Mediterranean stuffed pork tenderloin, she savored the exquisite flavors dancing across her taste buds. The sauce complimented every ounce of the meat's robust spices. The tangy balsamic with the sweet rosemary, followed by the complex twist of mustard. It lifted the feta, spinach, and sun dried tomatoes to a place somewhere in the clouds. Allowing herself a small moan, she closed her eyes briefly at the euphoric moment, before swallowing.

"I said it because it brings me pleasure to do so." Taking a sip of her wine, she continued. "When I speak from my soul to bless someone's passion, it brings them joy and myself twofold."

"I see," he responds in a way that lets her know he is still befuddled. The way he is still staring at her, makes her feel like a most peculiar creature.

Leaning forward, she hid her mouth from the dining room's view behind her hand. It was as though she was divulging some great truth, she whispered conspiratorially to him. "The squint gives you away, brother," she chuckled. Seeing his eyes narrow further at her laughter, she burst out in a fit of giggles most unbecoming. All smiles, as she tucked back into her meal.

Lost in the experience, she did not catch the utterly dumbfounded look on his face at her smiles. Nor the innocent curiosity that sparked to life in his dark eyes, seeing her laughing with such wild abandon. For the first time in well over fifty years, he felt something spark in his chest. It was a warmth, as if awe and fascination married inside him, flesh and bone. If his mind hid more moments like this, beneath Grindelwald's spellwork, he sorely wished them to come forward expeditiously. Looking down at his plate, he picked up his fork and knife. The motion, purely distractionary while he went deep inside his thoughts.

"How is your meal, love?" Whipping his eyes up to hers, he registered what she had said with much delay. The gentle familiarity in her dulcet tones, could convince even a horned serpent to give over his prized jewel. Taking a bite of his own braised short ribs, he could not deny they had been seasoned and prepared excellently. Dredging the potatoes and honeyed parsnips through the chimichurri, he had to agree with her earlier blessings to the chef.

He had chosen this restaurant from memory, but that was so very long ago. Before the last Wizarding War, he surmised. The place felt different, and the offerings had certainly improved. The company certainly had. Using his cloth napkin, he looked back at her with a relaxed air he hadn't carried in some time.

"Just as you described," he replied. Earning him a grin that made her dimples most prominent. Quickly diving back into his meal. Finally seeming to realize how long it had been since he had partaken in a meal this plentiful. Feeling at once glad he had requested Narcissa to handle setting up a few things around the manor. He found the meals he'd been partaking in, sorely lacking at the moment. That will not do at all.

"Thank you for the meal, as well as your company tonight," Vera said after several delicious minutes of quietly savoring the last of their dinner. Collecting her fork and knife, she placed them carefully onto the plate at four and eight o'clock crossed to signal she was finished. Tapping her napkin to her lips. Seemingly satisfied with her choices, which filled her with blissfully lethargic thoughts, along with the wine.

Finishing his own meal just moments after, he responded softly. "I would like to do it again." At once intertwining a question, a hope, and a demand into a package, he would offer no other. Placing his own napkin on the table, he used his magic to pour them another glass of wine, to enjoy this moment just a little while longer. Resting his elbow on the table, he ran his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Jean Claude came out. Retrieving the plates and such, he asked if the final course was as the lady had aptly predicted it? Hearing their mutual agreement, he was all smiles. "Excellent," he stated, clapping his hands together. "I do have one other surprise, as you have been most generous to me tonight. May I send you home with a dessert for perhaps a romantic nightcap?"

"You are too kind, thank you sir." Vera pounced, having quickly perked up at the mention of something sweet. "We would love to try anything your hands have made us."

With a flick of his wand, he began to clear the table. Sending the dishes to the kitchen and summoning the box with a ribbon tied around it. Placing the box gently on the edge of the table, he gave them some instructions. "Keep them cool until you are ready to enjoy. It is profiteroles. An old family recipe."

"How splendid, thank you Chef." Her voice flowed with warmth like a honeyed mead.

"Thank you again for your time tonight, Mr. Roulegard." Transferring the cost of the dinner at least thrice over, he reached for Vera's hand. The move had been so instinctive, he did so without seeming to think of his actions beforehand. Helping her to her feet, from the table and down the landing's step.

"It was a pleasure serving you both," Jean Claude replied. Unsure how the young man knew his last name, but grateful for his patronage nonetheless. "Please get home safe, and enjoy your evening."

"You as well. Goodnight," she murmured warmly. The box carefully cradled in her free arm. Only releasing it temporarily when her brother wandlessly retrieved their cloaks, sending hers to slip itself over her arms and wrap itself around her shoulders. He levitated the box over to himself placing a cooling stasis charm over its contents before shrinking it into his pocket. He patiently awaited her to finish buttoning her coat with her own magic.

Extending his arm to her, like a question; she answered by looping her own underneath and over. Opening the door with barely a push of his magic, he held it for the two of them. The cobblestoned street beyond was fully lit for the evening. Without another glance, they stepped out into the night. Luxembourg was a beautiful sight under the waning Wolf Moon.