11. A Lost Soul
Mist hung in the air, clinging to everything it came in contact with. She could hear water trickling in the distance, foliage beneath her bare feet. Persephone was in the forest again forgetting, as you so often do in dreams, that she was able to wake up.
The snake unfurled from the tree, wrapping itself around her shoulders.
'Hunted', the wind seemed to whisper to her. 'You were already caught, little riddle.'
She backed away from the snake; her light grey dress seemed to float a millimetre from the ground.
"No," she whispered back. "I will not be caught."
'Oh, but you will, little rose. Your soul doesn't lie. '
"No!" she shouted, backing away as if it was a corporeal presence.
'You fear this; you fear intimacy with anyone, Rose, because of Noel, because of your masks and because you know that something isn't quite right, is it Rose?'
"My name is not Rose, it is Persephone!"
'Just as the original Persephone's name was Korë, you are Rose. Don't you remember?'
"Remember what!"
'Oh, I see. Are you blocking it out then like you did with Noel, or are you ignoring the signs? Both perhaps? '
"Leave me alone," she shouted, turning and running, her heart pounding in her ears.
But you can't outrun your own mind.
The voice's laughter echoed around her as the mist grew thicker, her breaths more desperate.
'Riddle me this,
Riddle me that,
Ring around a Rosie,
Betrayed by a rat.
Darkness overtakes,
But surely you understand?
Roses born in the Lestrange family,
Are short on demand.
Or perhaps you simply dread,
And block it all out instead?
Because we all know what happens to Rosie's friends,
They all always fall down in the end.'
"Stop it!" she screamed, collapsing against a tree. She couldn't run from herself.
'Scared, Rosie? Scared of Tom?'
"If I am so scared of him, why do I kiss him? Why do I stay where he does?"
The voice giggled. 'Oh no, Rosie, that's what you refer to as lust. You don't have to be close for that.'
"So? I don't want to love him, he's not a part of me," she argued. A painful burn suddenly erupted in her arm. She yelped and looked down. A familiar black snake was emerging from her arm; it's very real scales rubbing against her skin as it curled tightly around her arm. It angled its head so it was looming up towards her as luminous green eyes faded into red.
'Oh, but he is,' the voice whispered softly. 'In more ways than you know.'
"But he's so… dark. How can he be a part of me? I'm not-"
'Aren't you? You tortured Karkaroff and you enjoyed it. What is that if you are not dark?'
Persephone quietened at this. She had always been from a dark family, most of the people she consorted with were too, but she had never thought that she herself would be dark. She had always been in the grey area like Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Millicent and so many others.
'They've lived perfect lives without guilt or hate festering at them as it has with Tom, the Lestrange's or you. Otherwise, you would be the same.'
"What do you want?" Persephone whispered brokenly.
'The question is: what do you want? As much as you separate yourself from me, we are in the end the same.'
She jolted awake, breathing hard, the dream already too hazy for her to remember the details.
That's the annoying thing about dreams, you can never remember them but the state of mind you were in for whatever it was affects your whole day.
And if you do remember what it was, chances were it was because it simply didn't make any sense at all.
For no reason that she could discern, she curled up in a ball and started to cry, the feeling of being lost prevailing through all her confusion. Anxiety built up within her and her hands started shaking, frightened of something she could not remember.
In that moment Persephone made a terrifying discovery after years of keeping her distance from everyone around her: she was terrified of being alone.
She smiled weakly before it swiftly turned into a grimace, the irony was stifling.
…
Tom twirled his wand between his fingers absently, sitting upright in the armchair in the sitting room that adjoined the master suit.
A feeling kept him from even attempting to sleep. It was a sort of buzz in the back of his mind, as if he had forgotten something.
It grew slightly, peaking as an emotion he had not felt for years flooded his body: fear.
But why would he feel fear? He was inside the walls of his own home, he had his horcruxes to keep himself from death, Persephone was asleep in her room… ah.
The mark linked them, let them draw upon each other, alerted them when the other came to harm and shared any extreme emotions.
She was terrified.
He was up and out the door before his mind caught up with his feet, walking into the hallway and over to the next door on the left. It would have been quicker if he had entered through the adjoining passage of course, but he did not wish to bewilder her any more than what she already was.
But what if she was in trouble and he had wasted precious time?
He cursed and threw open her door
There she was in a black satin short nightie, her red hair with its natural curls cascading down her back, her pale slender arms wrapped around her legs as she rested her head against her knees.
"Persephone," he whispered in Parseltongue.
She sniffed and looked up, her beautiful hazel eyes red from crying.
"Oh, Persephone," he breathed, sitting by her side in a second, arms wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest as she cried.
"Shh, calm down. I am here, all is fine."
She slowly quietened, her hand clutching his robes, her body trembling as her chest heaved with large, trembling breaths until they evened out.
She peeked up at him, her long dark lashes still damp from her tears, a small smile of gratitude on her face before she came back to herself.
"I apologise," she said, trying to withdraw herself from his grasp but he simply tightened his hold on her. She relaxed back into his hold, a look of relief crossing her face as if she hadn't wanted to leave his arms in the first place.
"Will you be alright?" he asked her, stroking a thumb along her jawline.
"You know, most people ask 'are you alright'," she said lightly. A smile twitched his lips.
"I have always found that exceedingly annoying. If someone is upset, they are most obviously not 'alright'."
She giggled slightly, nodding her head before sobering. "I don't know," she whispered. "I know I could be eventually, but scars always leave traces, she said, absently trailing her finger over the silver lightning bolt on her left wrist.
"Can I help?" Tom asked, moving his hand to tilt her face up towards him so she was looking at him straight in the eye.
"I-" she faltered. "I don't want to be alone," she said, cuddling back into his chest. He let her rest there for a little while, and then slid both of his arms under her, picking her up bridal style. He was aware of her quizzical looks at him as he carried her across his room, utilising some wandless magic on a vase that rested on a dresser. It twisted in a quarter of a circle and a blank section of the wall became translucent. He sent her a smirk, striding right through it and into his own room, dimly aware of the wall solidifying again.
He gently rested her on his bed, smoothing the covers over her. He went to his own side and climbed in, sliding his arms around her waist.
"Sleep, my Persephone," he hissed. The candles around the room dimmed until they were extinguished as Persephone let her body relaxed into his and she fluttered her eyes shut.
….
Allisandra ran her hand over the chart. Saturn was rising, a time of dawning clarity.
Her thoughts, as they so often did, turned to the girl she had taken as her charge. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath to stable herself. She opened them abruptly, gazing into the crystal unaware that they now gleamed an inhuman blue.
Images flickered in front of her eyes, mostly too fast for her to distinguish. An army of people swathed in black, their hoods drawn, a red haired woman dancing in a dress the colour of freshly spilt blood, a black unicorn bowing its head, skull dancing in the cloudy sky above a tower, a red rose burning in the snow, another red haired woman, gazing upon her unconscious younger clone.
One vision, however, stood out amongst all the rest. A darkened hall, lit only by a dim but luminous blue lit upon her mind's eye. Shelf after shelf stood, each home to blue orbs that were glowing from an inner light. Five figures raced among the shelves, searching for one in particular. Allisandra felt a sense of foreboding, for who she couldn't be sure. The vision finished, she leant back and sighed. What would come would come. Some things simply couldn't be changed, only better prepared for.
All that mattered for the moment was that their future Dark Lady was warm and safe in her destined lovers arms.
…
Neville Longbottom fumed as his two best friends watched on sympathetically.
"How dare she," he gritted out from between his clenched teeth. "How dare that toad even suggest"
"We know Neville," Hermione said quietly.
"Yeah mate, we all know You-Know-Who is back. Anyone who says differently is just fooling themselves," Ron said.
"But she said- she suggested- like they faked being tortured. Dad has a permanent limp, mum has fits- like they fake that? That they cause it on purpose?"
"Neville, we know. All the Gryffindor's know."
"Seamus doesn't. He said he and his mum don't believe Dumbledore or us and Dean agrees with him!"
"Seamus is just annoyed that he was almost not allowed to come to Hogwarts this year because of the deatheater scares and Dean just follows along to not cause trouble with him," Ron replied. "You-Know-Who hasn't been active in fourteen years before this after all, mate."
"What's troubling though," Hermione said, "is why they're all becoming more active again. What variable has changed?"
"Variable?" Ron blinked. Neville too had a blank look on his face, but luckily Hermione's ire was focused on Ron.
"Oh, honestly Ronald! Variable: detail, aspect, factor!"
"Right," mumbled Ron. "Maybe he got bored of all the murdering and stuff, went to Mexico or something."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Neville said drily, his mind momentarily side tracked by the thought of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with a moustache and a sombrero, throwing back a shot of tequila before snorting to himself. Hermione would be outraged at his stereotyping.
"It has to be something important, something big," muttered Hermione, "but what? Oh, I just don't know enough! Maybe there's something in the library?"
"Yes Hermione," said Ron. "Dumbledore, headmaster of the school who has to approve of each individual book for the library, currently the most powerful wizard alive and the leader of the light side would have absolutely no idea if a book containing all the hidden secrets of the dark side and the way to kill a Dark Lord who has been lurking around for fifty years has been for all this time sitting innocently on the shelf in the library in his own school."
Neville was quite impressed with Ron's speech and gave him a thumb up over Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione blinked. "Well, there could be," she said mutinously while both Ron and Neville stifled a groan.
"If only mum hadn't found out about Fred and George's extendable ears," Ron said wishfully.
"Yeah," Neville agreed morosely, it always annoyed him when they were not allowed to know these things because they were 'children'.
"They were an impressive piece of magic," Hermione said, her disapproval of eavesdropping warring with her own unsatisfied curiosity.
They were silent for a while, all lost in their own thoughts.
"You know," Neville said grimly. "There will be a war, eventually. It might have already started without our realising."
"Neville, I hardly think-"
"What were we saying about believing what we want to believe just before, Hermione? You-Know-Who didn't return to England because he missed the tea-"
"Definitely not for the weather at least," Ron said amusedly.
"- and these deaths, disappearances and movements are all strategic! Their moving into the best places possible, having as many allies as they can before they start the final attack!"
"Surely he wouldn't wait fourteen years for one attack," Hermione said dubiously. "I know he's back and evil and all, but he's just a terrorist."
"Just a terrorist," Ron said drawing back, aghast. "Hermione, he's a Lord, the bloody heir of Slytherin and he had a whole army! It wasn't like a minority supported him either; our whole society was split in half with the majority of the richer part of it on his side! Can't you see?"
"In half?" she said, shocked. "Half supported him murdering people?"
"The wizarding world is old fashioned like that," Neville said wryly.
"Maybe not the murdering part, but mainly that was seen as an unfortunate by-product of his otherwise spectacular political views, in their eyes anyway," Ron told her.
Hermione pursed her lips, her eyes upset. "None of this explains why he waited fourteen years, though."
"He doesn't want any mistakes, lest he spill a drop of pure blood," Neville said darkly.
"Fourteen years though, fourteen? That seems excessively long, doesn't it?"
"Long enough for people to think that you are dead, ain't it? Bloody handy if you want to surprise them when they're unprepared, a Slytherin tactic if I ever saw one," Ron pointed out.
"But he could have done that in a year, five years tops."
"Am I meant to know the inner working of his messed up mind? His crazy, isn't he?"
"So is Dumbledore."
"What is your point, Hermione? He is nothing like Dumbledore," Ron growled.
"Of course he isn't. What I am saying is the Dumbledore is crazy, but he is highly intelligent," Hermione said. Both boys acknowledged this, grim looks growing on their faces as they realised what she was getting at. "Dumbledore is a Gryffindor," she continued, "of which a prized trait it rashness. You-Know-Who is a Slytherin, prized for their forward planning. Whatever he has in place is big, and it is something that he thought was worth the fourteen years to obtain. If this war does come, like you both believe, then we are already losing."
…
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at his papers, frowning at what he read.
"Just what are you up to, Tom?" he whispered. He stood and began to pace in the open floor of his office. What was in Bulgaria that was so important? Why had he not left his house for the last month, not even in a disguise?
What weighed more heavily on his mind was, however, where was she?
"Rose Lia Potter." The name was almost like a prayer to him, a hope that hadn't quite left despite years of disappointment. He remembered the child like yesterday; beautiful hazel eyes that glimmered just the same way as her fathers, the adorable chubby face that already showed evidence of her mother's high cheekbones and read hair that curled about her head.
She had been so pure; even so for a child that Albus could not be helped but be reminded of his sister, Arianna. He had vowed to himself to keep her safe, but just like with her predecessor, he had failed.
Was she dead? Was she in a happy family? Was she in the hands of the dark? He couldn't be sure. He hadn't heard a whisper of Rose, of a light child with mischievous eyes. She was out of his reach for the moment.
The prophecy weighed heavy on his mind, too. He knew that Tom knew of the second prophecy too and was searching for it. He was much too arrogant though, believing he could steal it without any research. His hubris was his own downfall, as always.
But if he could get to the prophecy, if he could find Rose, the light would have won. Whoever possessed the saviour had the power, all other schemes were just distractions from the main show.
Albus Dumbledore trusted implicatively the prophecy that Sybil had foretold.
If only he knew that Sybil was never on his side.
…
Ollivander was a man of many talents, his main being crafting. This did not just apply to wands.
He snapped his fingers and the blade dipped into the waiting Blessed Water, steam rising off the surface. Ollivander watched carefully, judging with his eerie silver eyes before he snapped his fingers again and the blade rose from the water and onto the bench top to be examined.
It was a dagger, its long blade wickedly pointy and promising death to any unlucky enough to cross it. It's ornate silver hilt had a carved orobus wrapping around its circumference, inlaid with glimmering emeralds that shone with enchanted green flames.
He summoned the sheath he had made, crafted from the hide of a black Norwegian Ridgeback and slid the dagger securely inside. He carried it across to another bench table where he wrapped it and a thin black enchanted belt inside brown packaging paper, securing it soundly with string. He summoned Nike, his owl, to him and tied it securely to the Barn Owls foot.
"Persephone Riddle," he told Nike. The owl hooted knowingly.
….
Hi everyone!
The usual shebang, thanks for F/F/R!
Massive, massive, massive thanks to apy for the equally massive list of fanfiction's you supplied :) Keep up telling me more fanfics to read, everyone! I've already finished the all (I am a REALLY quick reader if you haven't worked that out, I have four hundred and seven books in my room at the moment, I just counted.)
Dumbledore thinks he knows everything that is going on, but he doesn't.
Persephone gets a wake-up call not to pull away from Tom so much. The dream was a bit disjointed, but I made it this way because that is how my dreams are.
Everything that Allisandra saw are key moments in this fanfic. Look out for them.
I just read somewhere in an interview with JKR that one of the reasons Lily's sacrifice to save Harry worked was because she risked two lives for him: hers and the baby she was pregnant with. I cried : (
LOVE YOU ALL, PLEASE REVIEW
Electra2Pandora