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 11: Punishment

The couple swathed in dark wool cloaks, stepped out of the restaurant and into the night. The darkened cobblestoned streets of Luxembourg were lit predominantly by the light of the moon, at this hour. The lanterns on either side of the street offered merely an intimate glow, as their magic diminished for the night. While this was a main thoroughfare, it was also just a part of the larger Belgian city. Luxembourg's Magical District was a place in which magicfolk could live peacefully. There were no vehicles or other raucous sounds disturbing the night air, as there would be elsewhere in the city. Here, the Wizarding Community could open their own businesses and live nearby with their families, without fear of exposure to Muggles.

It was one such place that could even be regarded as charming. Truly, she supposed it was magical in its own right; a hidden gem of sorts. But to Vera, she much preferred having a little more privacy than what was currently offered. The blonde witch had lived in only three places, during her 96 years in this world. Only three places upon which to call a home. The first had been the orphanage they had been born in. A dour brick structure, crammed near the factory district in the Southside of London. Soot and ash hung in the air, covering every surface. She could still remember the cloying taste on her tongue, as it filled their lungs with the black ichor. Wool's had never felt like a home to either her or her brother, only a dreary uncomfortable in-between until you got to where you were going.

The 'going' for them just so happened to be where their magical journey had truly begun. Deep in the Scottish Highlands in an Unplottable location, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had almost been a home to her. The castle however, no longer held any sense of that title and had not for some time. For Vera, all sense of homeliness had been ripped from her when she'd been taken from the grounds, on that fateful night. For how could it be a home, when it wasn't safe? A home was both a stronghold and the feeling of security. It was a place you didn't have to hide. In the journeys you embark upon, a home was the place you longed for.

Her third place of residence had also been Unplottable, but for entirely different reasons. Whereas Hogwarts wanted to protect their students, Azkaban protected the world from those within. Furthermore, calling Azkaban a home was like a perversion of the word. When you called it such, you had truly accepted defeat. Upon which, your fate had been sealed shut with a lock of a cell. Cell 27 was no home to her, and she would fight until her dying breath before returning.

But, from the moment she had felt its power, Slytherin Manor felt like somewhere she could call 'home.' It was like something in her spirit felt at ease, the moment she arrived. Before even the house had validated her claim, she had recognized it. The land itself had been imbued with the blood and magic of her ancestor; as such, the feeling of safety it provided was paramount. Though, the four walls, sturdy roof, and protected land only made it a safe place. What made it truly a home to her, was that the man she loved resided within. He was protection of the unshakable sort. More than a Dark Lord, he was a man. But before he was a man, he was a boy who had hung the moon and stars, just for her.

Now here she stood all these years later, on a street in Belgium. Her belly, more than full from her first meal in years. She could have wept in pleasure from the meal, had it been a meager loaf of bread and cheese. Food was a gift, when one grew up on the poorest side of town as they had. The rich wine, in turn, made her warm all over. She scarcely felt the biting cold on her exposed skin.

Overhead, her eyes beheld the moon's waning beauty. The proud splendor in which she illuminated the night sky, brought a smile to Vera's lips. She often though of her as a Mother Moon, for who else could bear such resplendence in the face of total darkness, as her children slept soundly. After all these years, she still hung with her stars the same way she did when they were little. Standing with her head tipped back, Vera found herself truly at ease. It was with this peace in her mind and pleasure in her soul, that her lips spilled her desires. Her craving to walk in the world once more. For even as this place was no home to her, casting her gaze along the street to the left, she found herself asking "Could we walk a little?"

Turning to her brother, she flashed him a hopeful smile. It had been so long since she'd been able to do something so simple. Her freedom made even the simplest of tasks somewhat revolutionary. Voldemort still wore his glamor, after leaving the restaurant. His younger human visage, a glaring reminder of their shared past. Tonight, they had been going for a somewhat less news-worthy outing, than the night previous. She wasn't sure what the local paper was called, but she could be assured a Dark Lord out on the town would certainly make the front page.

"I do believe my schedule is clear." He spoke in such a heavy tone. His brows furrowed with grim concentration. Almost as though the thoughts and feelings of others weighed on his decisions. As though he, Lord Voldemort, parceled out his time with acute worry over his disciples' whims. Knowing his moods well and his cunning sarcasm far better than any other, she felt confident in her joviality. Shaking her head at his sly tongue's humor, she gifted him a breathy laugh. As they followed the streetlights, he blamed the cooled air on the shiver that climbed up his spine afterward.

He watched her with an oddly perplexed look. As the Dark Lord, he often spoke in layers of hidden meanings and reasons. Few understood how to unravel his humor, when it made an appearance. To have his subtle larks plucked from his lips with the quickness of a viper, felt oddly satisfying. For Voldemort did not pander to his followers' wants or needs, to do so would mean lowering himself to their level. In truth, no one dared to dictate his comings and goings. His schedule was his own, and to pretend otherwise was folly indeed.

Their pace slowed as more elaborately decorated buildings appeared ahead. These homes and shops were still lined with Yule decor, which made for quite the welcoming sight. The ribbons, ornaments, and greenery brought Vera back to her days in Hogwarts. She felt a bit melancholic seeing them. Eagerly taking in sight after sight, as if her memories didn't depict them flawlessly.

"Seeing the Yuletide accoutrements takes me back. Coming up from the dungeons to the Great Hall dressed to the nines. The aromas wafting through the air."

Currently her nose only detected the faint whiff of chimney smoke. But if she closed her eyes, she could still perfectly envision some of the delights the house-elves had prepared for them. The fragrance of cured honey ham and savory quiche tarts, fresh out of the ovens. Tea and those cherry almond shortbread biscuits she adored. The peaceful meals that were shared over holidays, while everyone else went home in Slytherin House.

"I remember the bloody peace and quiet when they all cleared out," he replied. Thinking back to the winter breaks, he did miss those moments. Chuckling, she agreed.

"I was just thinking about how divine those meals were! Most of all, quiet! Afterwards, heading back to read in the Common Room, without having to curse anyone for making a ruckus. Sitting in our spot-"

"By the window-" He added.

"The chairs closest to the-"

"Suit of armor-" He clarified.

"That you had charmed to brutally beat anyone other than you, from your seat." She had to pause to wheeze in breath in between cackles. Slapping her leg, at the memory. "Morganas' stars, I haven't thought of that in years."

Smirking at the reminder, "Bulstrode never so much as looked toward the window again." Smoldering at the memory of utterly destroying that oaf-like upperclassman. She glanced over at him, trying to see if he remembered all the details to that memory yet.

Remembering the fool had been staring at her, from across the room, again. She had been hard at work on an essay for Charms. The moment her brother stood up to grab another book from his dorm, Bulstrode had come creeping over like flobberworm mucus. He was a part of the quidditch team and thus, thought he walked on water. She barely had time to much more than tense, having felt someone other than her brother sit down in his seat. What that suit of arms did to his face was nothing compared to what her twin had done, when he found out the profusely bleeding scoundrel had been trying to ask her to Hogsmeade.

Clearing her throat she glanced through the bookshop's paned window. Wishing it was open to walk the aisles while smelling the printed pages, one of her most beloved scents. It was apparent any reputable shop was long since closed, but she still enjoyed peeking into the shop windows. Next was a brightly lit bee-themed cafe, a whimsical hat boutique, several stationary shops, and a lovely little tot shop down on the corner. More bookshops cropped up as they approached an intersection of streets. There appeared to be a vast square up ahead, for stalls and such to set up shop during the day.

"It feels so similar to Diagon Alley, or rather what I remember of it. Though, I'm sure some of the shops have come and gone with time." The melancholy of the train of thought, took her by surprise.

"The noteworthy ones remained; Olivander's, Flourish and Blotts, and The Apothecary. The Daily Prophet still runs their press there, as well. I believe the clothing and pet shops have all changed hands at least twice over." He responded with a perfunctory flare to his utterance.

"Nothing can stay the same forever, I suppose." She spoke softly, almost thoughtfully, but gave a sidelong look after a moment. Her curling, sly smile meant just for him; causing them both to chuckle.

"Can it not?" He queried with a grin that could make even a veela jealous. It had been like this before, laughter shared between them and the ease that always followed. She remembers him routinely combing through her hair, before sleep claimed them in that grimey hellish place called Wool's. Deftly using the same hands that had strangled a muggle boy whom, attempted and failed, to lay his on unwantedly.

There hadn't been one person who came even close to the intimacy she had with him. It was unspoken in their time in Hogwarts, but she had known they would have soon received strange looks for the liberties and affections they had shared in private for years. Witches and Wizards of old used to follow the practice of soul bonding more closely. Now, it had fallen out of the norm. She very much doubted time had been any kinder to the idea. In fact, other than the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she doubted many even knew of the magical phenomenon.

The blonde had no reservations in thinking that the first to speak out against their bonding, would be excruciatingly painful. Not for her of course, but to whomever spoke out of turn. She didn't suffer fools, and her brother was infinitely less forgiving than she. Tongues liked to wag when they felt threatened afterall. A lesson she had learned, more times and she could count.

"Now that your claim as Heir has been accepted by the family estate, have you given any thought to taking the Blood Test at Gringotts? To claim your birthright and inheritance officially." Vera queried, intentionally choosing to focus less on the yester years.

"Not yet, I have intentionally kept the finances divided. The situation has been too capricious to make any decisive financial moves. The accounts abroad are independent of many of the laws here under the Ministry. War crimes are somewhat of a sore subject under the Ministrys' recent sanctions. However, the investments and such that I set up elsewhere during my rise are still thriving in the current market."

"The timing may finally be right to consolidate assets. I only mention it because I believe that I have seen the goblins protecting a vault for you, something old."

Pausing in his stride, he cut a sharp look at her. "Would the Gaunts not have bled the Slytherin coffers dry? They were filthy disgraces for wizards, living in destitution. More deplorable than even I could have imagined. Gamblers and addicts," he said with a sneer, "weak minded abominations." The vitriol he felt toward them, unmatched by even the other side of their family.

Grabbing his hand, she intertwined their fingers. At once, melding their consciousness as she shared her thoughts. I know. I also saw what you did to them. The admittance caught him off guard, as she condemned him for his crimes. The murders of their last living blood.

He rifled through her thoughts, as he saw neither wrath nor judgment in her features. Looking away from her in confusion, he furrowed his brow in contemplation. I'm not sorry, he thought rebelliously. There is not a day that has gone by, that I have thought twice about my decision to end their disgraceful lives. Whipping his attention back on her, a perilous inferno burned from within his onyx eyes. Do not imagine them as kind people who would have given us what we lacked. They were not.

His body coiled dangerously as he was flooded with ophidian instincts. He tensed, awaiting her response. Ready to crush any debate she would put forth; he refused to hear even a word of opposition on the matter. They deserved to die, and so they had. Their lives had no meaning, but in death they served him greatly.

Sweeping her eyes over his face, she could see how close she stood to the knife's edge of his temper. Vera held fast to her soft manner on the subject. Knowing a certain amount of clemency was needed. I don't need your apology, V. What's done is done. I am indeed saddened to have never been given the chance to see them in the flesh, if only to confirm their guilt in person. But from the vision I had, they were truly awful people. Who, in the end, died painfully and no one missed them. Tightening her hand around his, she looked over at the fountain. The waters appeared to have been charmed to flow, even in the coldest of months. The calming sound of water falling, like music to her ears.

A crack of apparition pierced the air over to her left, making Vera startle. She never had time to look, as her brother jerked her immediately through the void. Their intertwined hands, linking her to him as surely as an Unbreakable Vow. He apparated them safely to a rooftop, across the square. Wrapping his opposing arm over her head instinctively, putting up a shield, just as a deafening sound blasted her eardrums. The roar of an explosion down below shook the building like a great earthquake. She swayed into her brother's body from the aftershock, as he held her tighter.

Metal shrapnel accompanied dirt and stone, as it all fell back down to the earth in its wake. Looking over her shoulder, Voldemort could see where the fountain had once stood, had been decimated. As the ground beneath their feet settled, she sent a look up to him. Scanning his thoughts, she took in the scene below. Her eyes wide with the dread that pulsed through her very veins. That was too close. What was that? Images and voices were a calamity in his thoughts. She didn't understand what she was seeing and hearing.

A bloody trap, he outwardly produced a snarl at the audacity. Several wizards are closing in. They have a picture of you, in their mind, and Grindelwald. You are the target.

How many?

Dozens, he thought, at once lifted his yew wand, ready to weave together a protection and invisibility spell over her, when she tugged him back to her. His eyes met hers, manic anger filling them like a chasm that deepened by the second. He looked like a vicious animal that had been cornered, and subsequently was all the more lethal because of it. Too close, seemed to be playing on repeat in his head. Blood, replied a sonorous voice she recognized. A deep primal bellow that could be only his Dark Magic, demanding death in return for the slight.

I know what you're thinking, brother, and the answer is a definitive 'no.' She growled toward him, knowing exactly what he wanted to do. Her radiant eyes pierced through him, as her chin kicked up resolutely.

I am not about to leave you unprotected, while I slaughter them. There was a sensation cradled within his chest, though he was too stubborn to label it as fear. Whatever it was, it rose within him. Filling his lungs like water, he was drowning. Voldemort feared nothing and yet, the unspoken fact that he would protect his flesh and blood, his sister, first stood unquestioned. My female, his Darker side prodded. Try as he might to dampen his urges, he could not deny she was as ravishing as ever. Her resilience intrigued him, almost as much as her mysteries.

Stop trying to cage me. I can fight. I will fight.

I will do what I must to keep you safe, he thought, scowling down at her. This statement was one he felt with his entire being, down to his very magical core, and Voldemort knew naught why. Yes, you do. The rumbled thought from his Dark Magic brokered no room for argument.

I do not need to be coddled like a child, Tom Marvolo Riddle. She barely thought the words, before he had his wand pressing into her temple. His other hand on her throat. Her face, only a breath away from his.

Do not call me that ever again. His eyes were as black as pitch. His mouth, twisted in an aggressive moue. He towered over her, all teeth and fury. Rage flowing through his veins like poison for the weak name he was given at birth. He didn't want to hurt her, she knew, but the wounds of his past were far from healed.

I will do as I please, blood of my blood. Don't forget, I am not one of your followers. I am fury made flesh, just as you. With a ruthless shove with her magic, a shockwave rolled from her core like a tsunami; pushing him off her and back a step. Silentium, she thought, casting a silencing spell over her body. Disapparating in the next breath.

Landing on the bookshop's roof, she looked down the street towards the remnants of the demolished fountain. Vera used her enhanced vision to observe every sign of movement. Swinging back the way they had come, her sharp eyes were immediately drawn to the wizards moving from between the buildings. Countless shadowy figures moved toward the square below.

They had a trance-like look on their faces, as they moved mindlessly. Their simultaneous march, another facet of this thrall. When she tried to penetrate the mind of those nearest, she felt a sinking feeling of her mind being pulled in. Flinging herself back into her own body, before she couldn't escape, she breathed in the finality of what had been done to them. It felt almost like an Imperio, but deeper rooted. There was no escape for them, nothing to pry free from his grip. His will was theirs, they would not be stopped. They were fodder, his own little wind up toys. Sent out to distract and die, which meant there was a bigger game elsewhere.

The lanterns illuminated the street, but up on the roof she remained hidden from view. Suddenly realizing how she was dressed, she transfigured her dress and cloak, to warm leggings and a more form fitting wool coat. Her shoes were now sturdy boots. She began identifying where they were gathering, the main plaza. Also, where they were entering from, appeared to be the furthest of alleys.

Grabbing her wand, she cast a deterring spell over the area. "Maxima Prohibeo," she whispered. Her spell's sweeping cloak, stretched far and wide. Looking below, she noticed it had no effect on those marching to their death. But she had not cast it for them, but rather to keep the residents out of harm's way. For what was about to unfold, would not be something for the faint of heart.

The Wizarding Community was absolutely teeming with these mindless bastards. Around the corner slunk another four. They were everywhere, like vermin. Death? Her magic whispered eagerly, in a hopeful sort of tone. Naughty, she chided. Patience, my lovely. We are not an impulsive man. We are decisive with our power. When we strike, we strike true.

With a resounding BOOM, the lights in the street lamps went out. Someone had destroyed the source of their spellwork, making plumes of smoke now billow in the moonlight by the government buildings further out. The streets below went as black as pitch. Trying to determine if the perpetrator was her dramatic brother, or those who lurked in the shadows. She grew still, listening. Waiting. Far out, she could hear men shouting in confusion. Then shouting in pain.

Excellent, she thought. Smirking at her rash and impulsive twin. Reckless men made marvelous distractions, and chaos in the streets bred opportunity into the air, she dissolved into black smoke. Watching the magical signatures below, she prowled over their weakly lit forms. Their magical signatures, barely a candle's glow next to hers. Gellert must've plucked them from the floors of every pub he came across, she thought with a sneer.

Flying through the sky in a haze of black smoke, she allowed her magic to flow. Wherever she led, Vera followed. Her magic flowed betwixt Light and Dark with no qualms. Power is power, her magic whispered. With Vera's permission, the gates had opened. What laid within the dam of her mind, flowed from its depths. Gathering strength like a great storm, speaking of wonders untold. This was about more than a release of building vengeance. This was striking back, she decided. She would crush his paltry force beneath her boot. Make an example out of them. Yeeeeees, her magic purred.

These men meant nothing to Grindelwald, mere tools. But they also meant nothing to her, which was perhaps a more alarming thought. For without her interference, her brother would slaughter them all indiscriminately. But tonight, there would be no quarter; they would die, this night. We will take them all, her magic acceded. She hunted from high above, the skies were hers. She briefly contemplated the fighting resounding from the square. Louder and louder it grew. Demanding her attention. No, she thought, we both need this. Time to work through our emotions, no holds barred.

Spells lit up the heart of the district. Brilliant reds, greens, yellows, and blues flew through the air. Blasts shook the buildings and the careless cracks of apparition could be heard. Screams punctuated the air between the bright flares of magic. Vera counted the stragglers and those injured fleeing, cutting off their exits.

She landed silently behind a man who was running from the square, his arm clearly having been blown off. Wand at the ready and a snarl on his face, he was all but seething with rage. His Master's will, penetrating his mind to circle back and kill. He could no more see her or hear her arrival. With her left hand, she threw him wandlessly against the brick like a ragdoll. "Exinterio," she hissed. Delicately lifting her wand up in a fluid motion, keeping her wrist loose. The serpentine shape slicing through the air, much like how her magic slashed him. The curse eviscerated him from one ear down to his opposite thigh. Organs and intestines fell from the body. Bones protruded. Riveted, she couldn't look away. Her magic was possessed by the hunt. Blood dripped steady to the stone path, splattering like a waterfall.

"Confringo!" A shout came at her from the side. Sending her into the air, burns eating up her right side. flipping over with the force of the spell, she transmuted herself into black smoke once more. Flying through the air as dark vapor, rolling with the excessive energy from his blow. Streamlining right at him. Solidifying right as she could land a vicious kick to his nether regions. He had barely hit the ground, before she finished him off. Slamming her fist down into his skull with the force of her magic behind the hit. Her knuckles glowed from the power behind the punch. She knew such a hit would have killed a Muggle, but their kind were built of stronger material. Whether he was truly dead or just incapacitated, she didn't pretend to care.

Several bodies later, and she had finally found herself a fighter. Exchanging spell after spell, she panted with exuberance. The mirth stopped when he landed a 'Crucio' under her loosening defense. With a cry she lashed out with a furious 'Diffindo!' The cut along his leg immediately bled profusely. Casting once more, she landed a strike against his side. He smirked at her, befuddled why she'd waste her strikes on weak spells. He continued his attack, not realizing until too late that her third spell was much more than another cutting hex. Her blood thinning spell had the red liquid gushing from his wounds. Dead in seconds. Ah, to have read medical journals, she tittered to herself.

Flying to the next alley, she sent the familiar green curse at the escaping fiend. Coward, she thought. The man fell face down in the street, like a sack of potatoes. Gellert really is pulling from the bottom of the barrel, she scoffed. The next, she let him attempt to bind her. Barely landing when she heard his 'Incarcerous' clip through the air. The ropes however, refused to follow his command. Her will and fortitude ripping the ropes from his grasp, like a magical tug of war. He shouted, as she pursued his back pedaling form down the side street. Wrapping the rope around his neck twice, she let her magic pull with immense speed.

His head rolling onto the ground, was the last she saw of him. More ran down the alley, seeming to have heard the shout. The next few assaults, she shielded herself from. Sending a Killing Curse when she sensed an opening. Collecting cuts, scrapes, and more burns as she dodged blows. The burns stung the most. Many having been from ricocheting spells, bouncing back off the narrow passageways. The rebounded spells shot up and down the thin alleys, keeping her on the move. Agility and speed were her friends tonight.

The sound of buildings being hit by what sounded like explosives, told her her brother lived. She now felt soothed by the sound. Even after their spat, she could not deny she worried for him. But she trusted his skill and moreover, his will to return to her. The next alley was where she encountered several men. She was boxed in, but they underestimated her skill. She parried their stunning spells, dodged one non-lethal curse, and apparated around a killing curse. Her intent was finding a focus, building like an electric current, as she toyed with them. Bored with the dance, she compressed and volleyed her magic into the air. Sending her magic shooting from her body with great speed, as she focused her will on her targets. Those flinging the quickest and more advanced spells. Her magic feasted on their flesh first. Their screams fed her, she drank it down. Inferi were made by magic like this. Dark rumblings echoed in her head. Whispers coaxed more from her, until the men were beyond dead. The Dark Magic drank theirs down like marrow. Two more had entered from the street, but they too were dead in seconds. If they wanted mercy or apologies, she gave them none.

"Well done, sister. I felt you." Voldemort's body collected from the smoke, by her side. He stroked her cheek with an obsessive touch, sharing images of corpses. Looking down, he carefully observed her healing wounds. "The Darkness calls to me. I saw your bodies back there," his voice sounded different. Deeper, more of a primordial rumble. It reverberated straight through her, as wet heat rushed between her thighs. His Dark Magic was now radiating from him like heat did, a flame. Assuming he was now letting his darker impulses free, the remaining survivors were in danger, indeed.

"How many made it to the square?" She knew she'd left him plenty, while she plucked off those on the outskirts.

"Three dozen," he said casually over his shoulder. Moving to take flight up to the rooftop, she followed his lead. They both landed without a sound. "They were not locals. The ones that I read before killing, gave away little of their own thoughts. Their minds were scattered, mutated into an amalgamation of Gellert's will and their own core animosity. Empty of any real focus other than your picture, and the command to kill. To bring him your body." He was incensed with the very thought.

"They seem to be in some sort of trance, but I don't detect more than his compulsion on their mind. I do not feel that he is here. Perhaps, this is as deep as he can go while carrying the neural load. How many are left?"

"Enough to share." He said side-long.

"I see," she stated, lifting her chin confidently. Knowing what he wasn't saying aloud. He'd left the carnage to find her, to make sure she was safe. Likely the pull of his magic was forcing him to locate her. The anxiety over the unknown biting at him, just as hers did. Especially when she pulled so forcefully from the Dark, and he couldn't see her.

No more talking. He wants to hunt with us, her magic purred. "Shall we?" She proposed.

Grinning sinisterly, he waved his hand gallantly, "After you, my Lady."

Diving from the roof, she spun several times over in the air as she took flight. Spiraling left and right, she flew through the streets with skilled precision. Her eyes sensed a gathering up ahead. The magic collected into a mass of light at the open plaza. It wasn't until she saw the image of Martine and another smaller form being held hostage that she landed in a crouch. Standing tall as she leered at the man by the ruins of the fountain. The others fanned out from him, and the females were being held by those close to him.

"What do you want?" Vera demanded, baring her teeth in her fury. The feral glint burgeoned in her eye, at the thought of a magical child being killed by this simpering idiot.

"My Lord says I am to send a message!" The wizard answered. Neither his nondescript appearance nor his voice were familiar to her. She sensed no more of Grindelwald inside him than his other minions. Continuing his deliverance, he announced his master's will. "'Everything you touch will die. The one you love, will die. Everyday you fade a little more, until you too will die. This is my promise to you'"

Martine whimpered from where a minion held her too tightly, wand to her throat. "Please let my daughter go," she sobbed. The young girl who resembled the brunette couldn't have been older than five. Vera felt her temper rise at the audacity of this man and his Master.

"The child will die,", the one in charge shouted, "to send a message. There are no innocents in the Dark."

"You have chosen to die painfully," she admonished. Adding further insult, "weak puppet of a soon to be dead man."

"Kill them all," He commanded.

Releasing her magic, she ripped through the wizards around her. An almighty war cry sounded from her throat as she lunged forth. Tearing through them, limb from limb. Bursting forth through their stomachs. Ripping off heads. Peeling flesh from bone. Blood was everywhere. Screams of terror plagued the night. Visceral sounds of gore hit the pavement, bones snapping, and dying gurgles. Vera was Death herself, in this moment. Spells were moving around her form. She danced in between the curses, not bothering to shield, only killing the many.

At the sound of a yell behind her, she turned to see a man be cut clean in half. From top to bottom, the swine who came for her turned back had been split like fruit. As the falling pieces hit the cobblestones, she could make out her brother. Wand raised, his white knuckled grip indicated his fury. His dark eyes affixed to her, through the height of blood lust. Pools of black hunger rose to meet hers. Lust and violence somewhere intertwined in his mind.

"Avada Kedavra!" She hissed, spinning back to the wizard who held the child. Her wand aiming at his chest, true. Though at the last second, he dodged. Throwing another in front of himself, to die. In his hastily made movements, Vera was able to knock the one holding Martine back. Killing him in the next sweep. Giving the woman time to crawl over to her, just as she wrapped her magic around the terrified child's feet and yanked. Cushioning the child's fall, she then felt her magic twist around. Devouring the flesh from the wizard's face, and burrowing through his brain savagely.

While mother and child grasped one another, Martine covered the little girl with her body as move spells flew overhead.

Sensing a stunner coming from her right toward the two, 'Repercutio.' Vera thought her wand lifting in a v-shaped motion, reflecting the spell back to the sender. A cutting hex slipped through her guard while she was defending the others. The spell narrowly avoided her eye. The hex made the blonde bleed, though. Above and below her eye socket now bore a deep wound. The sound of her hiss, carrying across the battlefield. Blinking away the dripping blood, she made to reply in more than kind. But the wizard who cast it, rolled to a stop at her feet the next second. His head cut clean off his shoulders. The shock still held in his eyes.

Flicking her eyes to the source of the aforementioned death, she caught sight of her brother. Vera shook her head at his current barbaric machinations. He gleefully pried an unraveling brain from an enlarged nostril. Motioning his wand much like a conductor; rendering said orchestra of gray matter free with one final flick. The corpse hit the stone with a mighty thunk. Flinging the brain without care somewhere over his shoulder, he jovially stepped on top of the man's back and proceeded onto the next assailant.

Voldemort crushed the windpipe of the closest man. Turning and blasting his way through the torso of the next. Finally sensing her gaze, he looked up only long enough to grin a youthful sort of way back at her. Wordlessly, letting her know he was thoroughly enjoying himself. A curse came flying into her vision, heading straight for the cowering woman and child. 'Protego.' She cast just in time, blocking the females fiercely with the shield. The sender, the one who had thought himself 'the Messenger.'

Leaning back to dodge another curse, then spinning to avoid another, she cut across the way. Flying straight towards the burly wizard, through him, as she partially materialized just long enough to grab his heart from his chest. She grabbed hold of it and pulled through layers of flesh and bone. Her magic protected her hand from shattering through his spine.

When her boots hit the ground, a wet splat sounded next. She released the heart with a sneer. The sound of spells flying tapered off as the last few were slaughtered. Blood and gore was everywhere. The lights were still out and the blood looked black as tar under the moonbeams. Looking up, Vera took a few moments to breathe deep into her soul. The night was finally winding down, though her heart still galloped out of her chest. With a final cry, the last of the screams died off. The air silent for but another breath before a man's voice cut through.

"Morsmordre!" Came the roar from the male scavenging over the corpses like some thief in the night. His wand aimed up at the sky, as he waited for the spell of his own making took shape. The cloak he wore was heavy in blood, covered in burns, and completely and unequivocally ruined. A sound like a gathering storm rumbled in the clouds, which had her looking back up. The pigments of green and silver morphing into a Dark Mark in the night sky. The skull opened its mouth to allow the serpent to flow free.

Then, she realized the implication of what she was seeing and feeling. By Morgana, she thought. He was projecting his magic to at least everyone in a five block people of the town had to be cowering in their homes now, despite her spellwork to keep them from wanting to look outside. Even she felt the weight of it, though it didn't frighten her as it did the others. Frighten us? Her magic said disbelieving. Clarifying, the Darkness knows who we are. We were created together. From one came two, we are bonded of the soul. Reflections of creation. From whence we have come, none have survived.

The sobs nearby seemed to be rising into another crescendo. The wracking noise caused both the blonde woman and the raven-haired man to quickly turn. "H-h-he is the Dark Lord. He is the Dark Lord," the whimpers trailed off with an unhinged repetition as she clutched the frightened child in her arms. Her wailing rose and fell in pitch, beginning to hurt Veras' ears which caused the blonde to scowl. Pull yourself together woman, she thought.

Vera's knotted wand flitting between her fingers deftly. Moving with confidence, like a dance she knew all the moves to. She wound her way closer to the blubbering woman on the ground, her daughter cradled in her lap. Humming a little to herself to drown out the woman's poor constitution, she allowed her feet to take her right up to the crying witch and her young.

"He is the Dark Lord. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The man asked which direction you went. I didn't know. I swear, if I had known he was the Dark Lord, I would never! Please! Please, please. Please don't kill us." Martine was sobbing openly now. Keeled over on her knees and shaking from shock. Begging for her and her little ones' lives. The trauma of seeing so much death, breaking her mind in half. Inhales were coming too fast. Too much for her lungs to take in. She was going to pass out soon.

Her brother had begun sweeping back through the alleys, finishing off those fleeing for safety, just the woman and her child remained. She suspected his actions were led half by wanting to taste more death, and half by the need to get away from this incessant wailing. In truth, she herself was ready to mute the shrew's tongue. The waitress, who had earlier in the night had the nerve to think ugly thoughts about her. She may not be a Legillimency Master but she knew how to read her twin like the back of her hand. Truth be told, she did not care if the woman lived or died, but her gut refused to see another child grow up as she had, motherless.

Putting her wand to the woman's temple, Martine froze. Just like her little girl, she was too petrified to move. Squatting down at eye level, she cocked her head evaluating the woman's fear. Vera tucked Martines' falling strands back behind her ear with her free hand. The woman perhaps terrified more by the soft touch, so at odds with the death she had dealt just a few moments ago. 'Legilimens,' she cast wordlessly.

Looking through her memories, they had grabbed Martine and her child after they closed up, having gone their separate ways from the chef. It was Vera who they'd been asking about. Grindelwald didn't know what form her brother would be wearing. This was less a threat to her, as much as it was purely a message. 'I can still touch you,' it said. 'I will find you again.'

Looking up at Vera, the woman gasped. 'Obliviate,' the pale haired witch thought. The last thing she'd recall was locking up with Jean Claude. Her little girl had been sleeping in the back office until they closed, and now they were going home. Vera wiped even the next few minutes from her memories.

She created pits where the memories would fall through after they'd passed. Like sand, these next few moments would disappear. They wouldn't remember leaving this gruesome area or even the walk home. Turning to the child, she repeated the spellwork. Giving her a dream for tonight. There were fields and flowers, sunshine and laughter. Cleaning them both up and sending them along their way.

"Run along, little lambs," she whispered with a gentle smile. "Home awaits."

---

The atrium in the Ministry of Magic was positively brimming with workers bustling in every direction. Normally by this time in the evening, the foot traffic was minimal, which suited him aptly. As it were, Grelnik would be glad to complete his work expeditiously. The purpose of his visit was purely business, for no other reason would he willingly come to this wretched place on his personal time. Grelnik had been requested by order of Minister Fudge himself. This evening he was to assist the Auror Department in their ongoing investigation.

The wizards required a goblin-administered test for their current case marked 'Operation: Alpha Zulu Kneazle 27.' His information as to the case had been minimal, which naturally sparked his suspicion. There seemed to be an elevated level of secrecy with this report which caused the goblin to raise his brow. Goblins were surely used to secrecy, however this had the stink of conniving wizardry schemes from top to bottom. If he were to speculate, it appeared to be a coverup of a sort.

What were these miscreants hiding now? The Prophet had been quiet to say the least today, which almost seemed more alarming. His thoughts were heavy with paranoia and irritation these days. He was a private contractor who dealt with several Ministries, but the London offices always seemed to require more patience than the others. The culprit, likely to be the lacking interdepartmental cooperation. The warring factions within the political machine were another nuisance. He usually handled his business swiftly, confirmed customer satisfaction, and did not linger after his assignments were completed.

Grelnik kept his fees non-negotiable and he did not travel without the funds already in his accounts. So preposterous things such as waiting for his payment, were not a concern. Usually there were more details shared in the missives, but not this time. This time his 'requested' attendance sounded more like a command, which irked the aging goblin.

Goblins did not work for wizards after all, they worked for themselves. Choosing to accept a customer was different than working for another. Grelnik held close to the ethics of the goblins. When Grelnik left the family business to work for himself as a Goblin Investigator, he had not considered how much the wizarding race truly vexed him. Their ill-interpreted behavior and rude manner of always asking too many pesky questions, were just some of the reasons he regretted leaving the trade of coin.

Gringotts afterall, was a lauded place of work in the Goblin Community. He had worked there as one of their In-House Investigators for many years. Banking had been in his blood since the first coin was molded, afterall. The trade of coins was steady and provided enough for a comfortable living. But he, like so many before, had been lured away by the promise of something new, an adventure to be had.

It was this current job that led to him receiving that presumptuous missive earlier that day, to return to London to run a formal Blood Test 'at once.' That last bit settled about as well as if he'd swallowed a fire crab, whole. As such, he was now receiving his fee doubled, due to his dire reply. Riding the lift to the correct landing, he forced his irritation to a simmer. Having already gone through security to receive a higher clearance, he proceeded to the Auror Department. On the second floor, he met with Auror Shacklebolt to collect what they had extracted at the scene.

After speaking with the wizard, he was further convinced of the Ministrys' attempts to suppress vital information. Auror Shacklebolt informed him that a Blood Ritual had been performed at the scene. The Aurors had been tasked with discovering the caster's identity. The series of events leading up to the Auror Department collecting the sample in as bad a shape as it was, also unknown. Only that Shacklebolt informed him, he would not be allowed to collect fresh samples directly from the crime scene. He surmised the location was classified, Unplottable if his senses were correct.

The Blood Ritual had to have been very harrowing indeed, to have Auror Shacklebolt this rattled. Death was but one of the many grievous possibilities, he thought as he took in the tense expression of the usually unshakable Auror. Focusing on the blackened substance buried in the ash and dirt, his mouth turned down in reproach. Most of the blood had burned in the flames, but there were trace amounts underneath he could attempt to pull from.

Auror Shacklebot informed him that he'd be just outside, in the office nearby, when it was done. The Minister himself had requested a copy, as well. The entire ordeal caused Grelnik to contemplate exactly how devastating the outcome could be to the Ministry, if they were in this much upheaval. Opening the jar carefully, he placed it on the table. The Dark Magic intertwined with it rested on his tongue like licorice, but there was other smells he could not readily identify.

Setting up his station, he sanitized the ash to the best of his ability. Transferring the remaining contents into his cauldron. Hydrating it with a few drops of a unique ptolemy oil concoction of his. He then added exactly two grams of pulverized ashwinder egg shells, diluted with exactly ten drops of peruvian balsam essence. Muddling it all together, he began to drop two level spoons of cassia root to the paste. He found the last ingredient assisted the magnification of the originator's spellwork, infinitely more.

In totality, the test worked to identify as far back as the goblin could pull. With clear ingredients, and a strong gut, he could usually pull at least ten generations back. Though, the goblin would be lying if he said he didn't feel odd handling these samples. Odd, in a way that would've caused him to release the contents had he picked them up unknowing. These collected ashes were other in a way he had not experienced before.

Ever in search of the facts, he stirred the spoon around the cylinder exactly six times counter-clockwise. Waiting patiently for the concoction to meld, at which point he would stir back eight times clockwise. Then and only then, could he bring the cauldron to a low flame. At that stage he would gently fold in two drops of essence of valencia and dittany. Raising the heat, only ever so much, he would add the last two ingredients. These were less than accessible outside of goblin means. A well kept secret too, a goblin would not part with these willingly.

Finally, Grelnik watched the viscous liquid turn from a black to a deep burgundy. His extra roll of parchment was at the ready, with his quill ink dipped. Quickly scratching down his thoughts on the Dark Magic used, he cut his eyes back to the cauldron. The slow rolling liquid was nearing completion. When it finally turned to that remarkable red, the color of blood, he lifted it from the flame. Ladling the liquid onto the parchment, the pool at first did nothing, but finally a line drew away from the pool on its own. Making its way up the page, as the family tree grew.

As the branches repeatedly halted at each level, Grelnik fought his instincts to peek, and instead pushed through. Generation after generation was added, spreading for much of the parchment. Layer upon layer revealed itself until the goblin started to feel resistance. Only a moment later, he felt the line stop for him. The line's progenitor was named and the witch the blood belonged to was decided. The blood registered to one, 'Vera Eleanora Riddle.'

Looking down with a furrowed brow, he could not say he had ever heard of the witch. The name was unfamiliar to him, but as he followed the line up, he started to see the kinds of wizard names even goblins didn't forget. 'Salazar Slytherin' resided near the top. Famed wizard of old, a strong bloodline then, he thought decidedly. His dark eyes climbed further still, to the top of the page another few generations. 'Herpo Elapidae' he saw, remembering literature on the Greek wizard who brought basilisks into the world. Later named 'Herpo the Foul' as tales of his work grew.

Alas, it was the name at the top that had him pushing his glasses up on his nose. Wishing to make sure he read the letter correctly, he saw a name his kind had not locked eyes on in well over a millennium. 'Morgana Le Fey,' the name read across the top of the page. Now that is very interesting indeed, he thought. Those vaults had been dormant for some time, remembering where they rested, alongside those most protected in Gringotts. My connections will pay handsomely to hear a descendant of those vaults does indeed live. Two, if the last fork of descendants, spoke true.

As a goblin he could of course work his way around the secrecy contract the Ministry thought to bind him with. For goblins kept goblin secrets well, and wizard secrets only when it suited them. With a smirk, he waved his hand across the page not once but twice. The duplicated documents appeared on either side. He rolled one parchment into his case and began collecting his ingredients. When he left to give his findings to Auror Shacklebolt, he overheard the wizards in the room speaking quickly about the Dark Lord. Whispering about last night's break-out from Azkaban.

Well, well that is quite the story, to have not seen in the papers.

Clearing his throat, he saw the man in blue robes look up and meet him at the door. Handing the paper to the Auror, he told him he'd be delivering the next page to the Minister, as requested, then be on his way. With a nod, the dark-skinned wizard bid him a cordial goodnight. As he turned to leave, he saw the board in the back listing the names of escapees. The list was extensive, to say the least. They seem to have quite the case on their hands.

Handing his findings over to the frazzled looking Minister's Assistant, he allowed his feet to carry him on his way back to the elevators. Perhaps it's finally time for me to take that much needed time off. For when things grew cataclysmic in the Wizarding World, he did not want to be caught in the crossfire. Dark times were ahead.

Making his way back through the atrium, he found himself leering at the fountain in the center. The representation of the goblin was purely propagandization to allow witches and wizards to feel like they had given his people some kind of boon. His people led rebellions to foster more than a fountain dedication in the heart of the British Ministry. He knew there was still much to be mended, for his kind remembered much and forgot little.

Stepping into the Floo, he stated his destination with haste. Grelnik was gone just as quick as he'd come, once the word 'Gringotts Wizarding Bank, London' left his lips. If there was one thing Grelnik knew, it was that information was currency. Tonight, he would secure a fortune for the information he had acquired. Then, he would be unreachable for the near future.

---

Luxembourgs' streets drank deep on the blood spilt, this night. Having killed every wizard who even remotely still drew breath, the Dark Lord swept his magic over the streets. He pervaded the minds of every resident and breathing body in the community. He sensed fear, confusion, desperation, but no more of Grindelwalds' lackeys. Their devotion to his cause rested on the top of their minds, which in turn made them easily identifiable.

He felt the witch and her child flee through the alley behind the cafe. As the witch ran, he read her single minded focus to get home, though she didn't know why she rushed. Her doubts and fears had been spelled to disappear as soon as they came. Slipping through the cracks of her mind like a sieve. He focused on her memories to ensure she neither remembered his face, nor his sister's. If he had any uncertainty whatsoever, no amount of distance would've kept them safe from his reach. Detecting no such memories, other than two odd customers visiting the restaurant after close, he released her thoughts from his grasp.

Reaching into the buildings, he confirmed the blackout had done exactly what it was meant to. The darkness had protected their faces from any residents peeking out at the disturbing sounds they heard. His sister's spell had encouraged most to ignore their curiosities. Only the strong-willed few had been able to fight her compulsion. But any who tried to see who moved in the dark, saw nothing of any consequence. Though several had reported the disruption to the French Ministry, whom governed the nearby area.

Feeling uneasy, he made haste to the square where most of the bodies laid. Apparating near the witch, as she repaired the masonry around the pool. She was salvaging the pieces back together. Twisting the metal, welding it, cooling it, and sending water shooting up through it.

"We need to leave before the Aurors arrive," he told her. Not even glancing up, she replied distractedly.

"You made quite a ruckus, brother." Chuckling at his huff of annoyance. "One moment, I'm nearly finished," she amended with a furrow of her brow in concentration. Pointing her wand in a series of complex movements, she spoke unintelligibly.

"What are you doing, woman?" His exasperation at her, evident in his pacing.

"It's the least we can do, after leaving them such a mess to clean up."

"One minute, no more," he countered. "As to my ruckus, I certainly remember you enjoying yourself as well." Sweeping a circle around her, he prowled behind her exposed back. The Dark Lord vigilantly watched their surroundings for cracks of apparition, or new minds entering the area.

"I may have enjoyed myself, but it was you who bellowed 'Morsmordre' for all to hear. I swear, I have seen trolls eat quieter." Her playful insult, painting a smirk on her lips.

"I remember you being plenty loud. Secondly, seeing Crabbe and Goyle in the Great Hall does not count." Every generation of those lines seemed to spawn identical sons, of equal or lesser intelligence. Lesser, if Lucius's memories of this third generation, were to be believed.

Ignoring him, she finally pulled back, critiquing her techniques. The metal of the fountain all but glowed in the moonlight from her polishing charm. Charming the waters to jump around the pool, elementary in scope. But the water droplets collecting and mutating into the shapes and colors of fish, was truly a marvelous amalgamation of three charm techniques. She basked in her genius, clapping her hands together in delight. A self indulgent smile settled on her lips, as she marveled at the whimsical sight.

Feeling a warm tingling down her body, she looked down at her clothes and then his. The majority of the blood and gore on their bodies seeming to dissipate. The clothing itself was still destroyed, but their bodies no longer bore the pungent reminders of the evening. Vera felt lighter and warmer having lost the immense weight of the soaked wool. Smiling in appreciation, she stretched her hand out for his.

The moment his skin connected with hers in an airtight grip, they were off. Vera felt laughter bubbling up at the heavy compression. She loved the feel of apparition, from the rush to the oddly enjoyable press of the magic all around her. When they apparated back to the manor, the wards pulled back allowing them entry before snapping back in place. Reading their magic, the estates' wards hummed as the torches were lit. Seeming to remember the last part of their dinner, she swiveled with a keen eye.

Expression falling as a thundercloud gathered in her spirit. Her once joyous eyes suddenly held a most grievous expression. Seeming to be coming to some earth shattering realization, after their travel. Her devastated eyes were focused on his cloak, and though he could acknowledge the absolute disaster of it, from burns to rips, he could hardly understand her serious expression.

"What is it?" He demanded.

"Where are the profiteroles?" She replied in kind, deeply upset. Looking down, he realized the pocket he'd put them in was the one that had a burned hole the size of a dinner plate. Glancing up to her positively thunderous expression, he couldn't help the twitch of his lips. Mirth had to be dancing in his eyes, but for the life of him, he attempted to keep a straight face.

She was livid; absolutely murderous. He felt certain, in that moment, had she seen the perpetrator burn her sweets, he would be strung up by his entrails. If not, then forced to eat his own, in punishment. Her wrathful pout was all he could see. The furrow of her brow, determining if in fact she should or should not, return to claim more lives in vengeance. He felt assured, by this time the local Auror faction had likely already arrived on scene.

"They do appear to have fallen in battle. I can assure you their killer was dealt a painful end." Finally chortling to his heart's head was thrown back in laughter, at the positively furious expression on her face. Wanting to slap him upside the head, she settled for the next best thing.

Sending a stinging hex right to his backside, it was she who got the last laugh. Especially as he hollered most indignantly. She took off running at his affronted and dare she say it, scandalized expression. Her laughter could be heard all through the garden. The house too, if she truly cared; which she did not. She dodged his quick stinging hexes left and right, as she took off toward the back. The grass crunching underfoot from the frost.

She leaped over a statue and down stone steps. On the last step she turned into the hedges. Realizing there were no footfalls immediately behind her, she slowed her pace. Wary to proceed if he wasn't behind her. With a gasp, she took in the gardens that seemed in slumber for the winter. The roses and shrubbery were all hibernating for the colder months. But she knew this was surely a wondrous sight in the spring. There was another world back here.

Even under the moonlight, she could see the vision of her ancestor in creating it. His knowledge of Herbology theory was masterful. It was a wonder he had kept that part of himself from the world. From the enchantments he had woven into the moving statues to the shapes and dimensions. The pools which cascaded from one into the other, with waterfalls and an otherworldly glow from under the ice.

As she peered closer to see what caused the light, she felt the push. The magic shove, doing just enough to send her through the ice and into the frigid water below. The rush hitting her system like a vat of knives. She had gasped just before falling under the surface. But the second the ice cold water hit her, she fought to reach the surface. The wind having been seemingly knocked out of her. As she broke the surface, the steam coming off her body was immense.

Seeing the spiteful arse, she made sure to splash him getting out. Pulling her wand from her sleeve, she squared off. Narrowing her eyes at the smirking fiend.

"Come on, get it out of your bloody system, you git. We are dueling right now."

"Oh, I'm quite finished," he chuckled, spiraling his wand through the air with a flourish. Adding a sly, "as long as you can admit that I won, we shan't speak of it."

"Sorry, love. I admit to nothing." She grinned a cocky grin. "It'll be a duel or your apology for relinquishing my sweets to the enemy. You choose."

"Then I am afraid you have rather put me in a predicament, sweet sister." He shrugged and cut his eyes she knew what hit her, she was back in the water. Only, this time, naked. Voldemort flicked his eyes up, knowing he wore a sinister grin worthy of only a Dark Lord.

When she broke the surface, that impish expression was all she could see, incensing her further. Turning his back to her, his smarmy arse guffawed all the way back up the steps to the house. She promised she'd get retribution, if it was the last bloody thing she did. The absolute nerve of the man. The gall, she thought. The pluck.

Voldemort smiled devilishly, like he'd just stolen the scales right off the dragon's back. Neither the rarity of such laughter, nor the playful humor filling his spirit, did he take for granted. He would hold this warmth close for many days to come. His mood took to the feeling like a flame to air. Turning when he reached the opening doors, he schooled his features knowing he'd won this round. All while, secretly craving another.

However, the sight of her climbing to her feet that second time, nearly had him undone. Ice crystals formed in her still braided hair, while her decadent lips tinted a chilling blue. But it was the way her eyes glowed fiercely with passion, which pinned him in place. Make no mistake, she was gloriously enraged. It was perhaps just as much punishment to him as it was herself, that she proceeded to dry herself with her magic. Then shoulders back, like Morgana herself, she strode his way. Stalking up the steps and past him at the door, without so much as a glance his way; completely bare under the night sky. She made no move to clothe herself, nor shy from his gaze.

Every single bloody inch of skin exposed. Nipples and breasts, perfectly colored, shaped, and proportioned to the point he could have easily written three feet of parchment on the subject. Her slim waist, down to the apex of her sex, and her exquisitely rounded arse. On his magic, did he want to spread her legs, press his face into her sex, breathe her in, and fuck her with his tongue.

The need to hear her whimper and beg to be filled by him, and no other debilitated him. Knowing in his core that he would eviscerate any man, who dared think of her like this. He would brutally murder any man who saw her like this. Unequivocally, he vowed that should someone dare touch what was his, he would not rest until they and everything they cherished in this world, was annihilated. Blood would rain from the skies, he swore, if she was taken from him again.

He followed her through the doorway, into his home. Allowing her to guide him like a beacon through the dark, she was the only thing he saw. She was the light and he, her shadow. After close examination he decided, her long legs belonged draped over his shoulders like his finest robes. He would drown himself in her. She would come with her slickness painting his face. His 'other than human' rumbled his approval for this plan. Wearing his female's overflowing pleasure would be his mark of excellence.

Then and only then, those legs would be wrapped around his hips as he drove into her, feverish and deep as a beast in rut; mindless from the friction and the heat. Morgana, did he want to stroke himself. He needed to feel an unyielding grasp, more than breath. The tight press of her all around him would be like a cruel vise, he knew. It would be beautiful merciless agony knowing it was she whom he claimed.

His breath came in slow and deep draws. Even in her temper, he could smell nothing but her arousal. His senses were drunk on the pheromones. Her every step caused her sex to call to him, once more. The knowledge that she grew wet knowing what seeing her did to him, galvanized his arousal. He knew she would flow like the ocean for him. He would not fuck her if she did not. This was not about merely fucking, this was about possessing someone fully.

She was his Venus incarnate. Though, every sculpture should be smashed, for it did her no justice. Everything he had seen and imagined seemed paltry imitations to the luscious female before him. She, whom had just an hour past, killed men in such deliciously violent ways. Now, the brazen female strutted through his own home digging the knife into him.

The whole way up the staircase, his chest rumbled from discontent. Being so close, but at the same time too far away from her touch. He found he had a want, no he decided, a need. He had a guttural need to bite her exemplary arse, for daring to twist him into this. He felt like a divining rod for all things that led to sex with her. He yearned to punish her for the distance between them. He was not satisfied with merely seeing her finely shaped proportions, he would learn the secrets of her flesh too.

Step by step, his mind was falling further into a furious state of lust only she could slake. He was ready to tell her she had won by the last step. This was the one time he would proudly accept defeat. In fact, he was sure he would have told her anything she wanted to hear, to keep her just as she was. Sublimely uninhibited by clothing or focused on anything other than him. For as surely as his senses confirmed, she was as enthralled with him as he was her. Her scent spoke no lies.

Every step closer to their rooms, he felt his heart pound faster. When she opened the door on the left, he slammed the door closed with his magic. Her spine stiffened, looking over her bare shoulder. She glowered at him. "I am not in the mood for your games tonight, open the door."

"You lie." He declared. "You play the game with remarkable finesse."

"Have I finessed you?" She asked with a pout.

"Only as much as I allow. Join me tonight," he proposed aggressively.

Narrowing her eyes further at his order. She raised her chin in challenge as her arms crossed resiliently. "You are testing my patience. I do not respond well to demands. Try again, but with some decorum." Raising her eyebrows in expectation.

"You test more than my patience," he thundered. "Do not forget with whom you speak."

"Oh, I remember quite well," she quipped, whilst turning away. "If there's nothing else-"

"Join me for a bath." He hastily offered in a more amenable tone. His eyes were struggling to focus, all but intoxicated by the sight of her. The sight of her breasts pressed further up, by her crossed arms and quickened breath.

"A bath in my rooms," she clarified, leaving no room for negotiation.

"You would welcome me into your nest?" His question, heavy with the rolling rumble that accompanied his 'other than humans' thoughts. She was beginning to understand his Dark Magic spoke through this 'voice' as well. A deeper pitched cadence, letting her know it was his darker impulses speaking.

"You haven't earned my presence in yours." His eyes flashed at her bold sharp tongue and her confidence had him so thrice damned aroused.

"Yet," he corrected her. At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "These rooms will not be yours for long," he vowed deeply. Making sure she understood, his work had already begun.

Moving with the slow sensual grace of a predator, he leaned in. When he was only a hair's breadth away, he whispered to her in a tone full of dark promises. "I accept your terms."

The ferocious edge in his claiming of her mouth, stole her breath from her lungs. She tasted of wine and something notably sinful, fused together into one delectable elixir. He drank her her jaw in one hand, he threaded his opposite hand into her braids. Her searching palms slid under his cloak, to lay against his chest. Her fingertips were like lightning, sending electric currents down to his throbbing cock.

His tongue led her own in the dance of sexual dominance. He drew her into his mouth with teasing caresses and promises of what only his tongue could give her. Nips of teeth and toe-curling sucks from his adept mouth, complicated the dance. They added more steps to remember, but from the moans and purrs she made, he led well.

Vera's sounds called his Darkness forth causing him to growl in appreciation. Every time he did, she followed with a fiendish hunger of her own. Never missing a beat, his tongue snuck into her mouth. Licking up her tongue once, then twice in a come hither motion. The next time I do that, this tongue will be deep inside you, and you will come.

She replied aloud with a soft hum, licking his bottom lip. Full as it was, while he held this glamor, she could not resist taking a bite. Inhaling right as she pulled back ever so slightly. Bumping her nose into his, her eyes slid open to gaze up into his. "We shall see if Lord Voldemort keeps his word," she whispered aloud.

Reaching down, he took hold of each knee. Lifting her to where she belonged, against him. Bringing each knee to rest on either side of his waist, he discovered he still needed her closer. Even while he was cradled in between those lush thighs, he needed more. All he could smell was her and the arousal pouring from between her thighs, telling him to taste her. Yes, taste her. Savor her. Bury your face in her. Take her. Fuck her. Claim her. His thundering thoughts all but kicked through his cock at that moment.

I can feel your need, she replied. I can hear it too, it's intoxicating. Don't stop. Her tongue licked up his neck and her lips ran across his jaw. Her fingers burying into his hair as she pressed closer. Eliminating any space dividing their two forms, as she deepened her kiss.

His palms were overflowing with the very same arse, he had thought himself generous in describing as 'exemplary.' He now corrected himself; those full cheeks were flawless. Throwing open the door with his magic, he moved them to the bath. Kneading her globes with his fingers, he could not resist the rough nature of his grip. He was barely holding onto any thread of control at all. He envisioned laying her across the furs of her bed and discovering if she tasted sweet like honey, or if she was rich like the finest of wines. She moaned, grinding her wet heat against his rough clothing. In turn, against his throbbing erection, causing him to snarl.

Morganas' stars, you are going to end me.

Not yet. Strip, she commanded.

Banishing his clothes in the next second, he was finally naked. Wasting no time. Flesh against flesh. Skin to skin. Conjuring water into the tub, he heated it. Moonlight streamed through the windows onto their heated bodies, as she began to journey her fingertips down his neck and wide shoulders. Every muscle and sinew was there for her perusal.

Stepping into the bath, he shivered as the heat compared to her core. Which was currently burning him a little more every second. Lowering himself into the water, Voldemort swore he saw the Otherside, the moment her heated flesh glided down his bare cock. He hissed in pleasure.

Ohhhh. The glide is so, so, so very delectable, she thought. Even in the water he could feel how wet she was with her own fluids. Her pussy wept for him. She was absolutely drenched in slick need. She leaned forward grazing his chest with her rosy nipples, breathing him in.

So ready for me, he praised while rocking her hips against him. Taking her mouth for his own, he stole every gasp and moan. They fed him, he dined on their sweet cadence. Those sounds reverberated through his body, all the way to his bones. His member pulsed with renewed vigor. She slid her sex up his tip and back down. She found a vicious rhythm that pleased her; slow and steady. Shivering when his tip found her bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.

Licking his way down her neck, he bit that one spot, under her ear. Swearing, he saw her vision go supernova in her thoughts. Telling him exactly how much she liked it by roughly thrusting her swollen pussy down on his cock. Gripping her hips menacingly, he glared up into her eyes.

His thoughts thundered into her head. If you don't desire to be feasted upon right here, right now, you will cease that immediately. His pulse pounded in his ears with a heavy thrum. He was tautly strung, fighting to regain control. Jaw clenched, shoulders tensed, and abs locked. Struggling to maintain control was not something he experienced.

But by Morganas' tits if she disobeyed, he was throwing her up on the edge of the tub and burying his face in her in her flooded sex until she screamed his accolades. Voldemort would not cease his attack on her sweet cunt, until he'd stolen her voice from her. She would shake and whimper from overstimulation, before he would honor her with his flesh. He already knew, if he began, he would not stop until he deemed her ready to receive his cock. Claim your Dark Lady, she is ours, his thoughts roared.

She swallowed thickly, seeing exactly what he most ardently desired to do to her. Her eyes met his with so much emotion behind it. Lying one palm on his cheek, she shared her thoughts with him. Drop the glamor. I want to see you, as you are. Bare yourself to me. With a hesitant nod, his younger self melted away. In his place was a fearsome being whom most would flee from in terror. His blood red eyes and serpent features, having arisen due to the nature of that particular horcrux. His smooth skin, textured with scales in places her lips were eager to explore.

She looked at him like she saw through every layer of pretense he wore. His physical appearance neither horrified, nor disgusted her. He listened so fervently for evidence otherwise, but heard nothing of the sort. From where he was sitting, there was nothing that could have made him look away from her. She was everything. Her soft eyes, swollen lips, her breasts, rosy and peaked with arousal. His vision was eclipsed with all three. The whole view was something he would see on the backs of his eyelids for weeks.

Leaning back, he stretched his arms out. His defined musculature spanned along the rim on the tub. In this form, he was all lean strength. Nothing on his body existed for anything other than killing, or in this case pleasure. His movements held power in his controlled restraint. No matter the relaxed air he portrayed, the merciless being housed inside his flesh was alert. She was both prey and predator in his thoughts. Scarlet eyes watched her with their pupils blown. His lids, heavy with serene captivation.

Mmm, she purred. There's that confidence we adore. Her thoughts caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle in amusement.

Giving chase, she leaned forward. Her lips met his so gently, now. Like she wanted to learn the differences of each form. A palm cradled each side of his smooth head, with such tenderness. Her decadent tongue met his as they ravaged each other's mouth. His rapid inhalations, as he breathed her in again and again. Her scent was solace in a breath; initially woody like the forest, but with a warmth and a hint of something wild. Her taste was full-bodied and heady, like brandy and rich custard.

The feel of her fluctuating magic quivered around her, as though she struggled to keep herself contained to this form. It was as though her magic sought to burst forth. His own, had been wrapped around her as tightly as a second skin, since the moment he had seen her bare form step from the water gardens. Having made no attempt to clothe herself nor hide her body from his obsessive gaze, she had caught him as surely as herself, in one move.

Wishing to further worship her body, he twisted his wrist. Summoning several linens over from the closet and the soap from the side of the tub. Lathering a cloth on the soap bar he brought it up her back with his magic, twisting it around her shoulder blades and her arms. She held her limbs still, as his magic made its way around her supple skin. The suds washed away any remaining blood. The water, clearing as quickly as the blood colored the surface.

Grasping her hand in his own, he ran the cloth over her palms, and in between her fingers. Cleaning any dried blood from marring her nails or knuckles. With a rinse and a sensual kiss to her palm, he turned to take her other hand. Devoting no less patience to the task, than the first. The careful precision used had her smiling endearingly to him.

Sliding the material over and around her collarbones and down her chest, her breasts dominated his vision. Heinously too soon, his deep burgundy eyes shifted from their beauty following his magic lower. He returned his gaze to hers devoutly, during his exploration. Hungrily taking in her expression and missing nothing. He studied her body with the focus of an esteemed pupil. Swallowing down both her thoughts and desires. Drinking deep, as he greedily lapped at the new tendrils floating through her consciousness.

Sliding his left hand into the water, he grabbed behind her knee. Lifting it up alongside his ribs, he moved her into a kneeling position over him. Holding her steady by her calf, he glided the cloth down her hip and thigh. Eyes focused on the task at hand, as he worked his way down to the tips of her toes. Shifting his focus to her other leg, only after extensive review.

His diligence was rewarded in the form of her removing the braids from her crown. Back arched languidly, she combed her fingers through her blonde tresses. As he finished with her other leg, she descended smoothly back onto his lap. Bending back to completely submerge her head and torso under the water. He held fast to her waist with both hands. Refusing to allow her to lever herself even one centimeter off him.

Vera surfaced, taking in a deep breath as she opened her eyes. The near white color of her hair clung close to her frame. Pouring some oils in its length, she began working her fingers through her tangles. Reaching out, he took over and followed her path up to massage her scalp. Spanning his long fingers deftly through her crown, with circles of euphoric intensity. Her eyes closed almost of their own accord, as all tension left her body. The purr that left her throat unbidden, had his cock aching to be eased by her.

Eased by me? She whispered in his mind. Peeking up through her lashes, her coy eyes toyed with him as her lips curved up at the corners. Having already felt his length move insistently against her creamy thighs, with every new movement. He pulsed at her words. In retaliation, he leaned forward and nipped at her breasts.

First one, then the other; neither breast went unnoticed. First flicking his tongue out to soothe it, then laving her long and slow. Sending heat directly to her needy clit. She cried out from the pain and pleasure. Causing his lips to return to hers, as if called. Chasing the sound, as well as her feisty tongue with his own. Hissing as she seated herself infinitely closer, pressing him against that bundle of nerves he lit on fire. So damnably close to where he ached to be.

He held her jaw with one hand as he turned his head, deepening the kiss. Never breaking their connection, he pushed her back into the water. Sanuspirantes, he thought. Casting a Bubble-Head charm over their joined faces. His magic guided her knees up on either side of his waist, as he continued devouring her lips. Holding his weight off of her, his one arm braced by her head. The other hand was buried in her hair. Tightly twisting her locks around his palm. They fought for control with their tongues.

When he thrusted his cock up and down through her folds, in just the right places, they both moaned deep. It would be as easy as breathing, to just let go. Fill you up and make you shake. One thrust after another. Make you feel as I do, out of control, like raging fiendfyre. Hear your cries grow louder, as I fuck you so completely. They both panted and rumbled contentedly at the imagery.

The vibrations shooting sparks all the way down, the chasm of lust seemed immeasurable between them. His jaw locked petulantly at his inner conflict. Under the surface there was just him and her. Pulling back with a tug of her lower lip, they glowered at one another. Each knowing how much the other wanted control, as well as devastating completion.

Careful love, she warned him in her thoughts, I only promised you a bath tonight. He smiled in a maliciously secretive way that seemed to say, 'Did you now?' His thoughts echoed the sentiment. His deep garnet eyes gleamed with victory. Loosening his hold on her hair, he rinsed it clean. Its length stretched through the water like a leonine crown.

It's not my legs and magic, relentlessly pressing me down into you. That's all yours. She pulled her magic back, realizing he spoke true. Releasing her knees, she freed him from her snare. As he broke the surface, he ended the charm. Breathing in deep calming gulps of air, he began to wash his own body as a way to distract himself.

She surfaced slowly, watching his ministrations with a keen eye. Quickly washing her own face and then her more delicate parts. After finishing, she leaned back against the far side of the tub.

"Mmm. Do you treat all your ladies to dinner and a show?" She queried with a playful smirk. Lazily crossing her legs, so that one foot surfaced with a wiggle of her toes.

"I provided dinner. The show was all your making." His response, causing her to throw her head back and laugh. His tone was crotchety, like he was cross with her for daring to play his lust against him.

"I didn't hear you objecting. The mighty Dark Lord Voldemort, brought down by not a prophesied boy, but rather his own cock. Tsk, tsk." He cut his eyes to her sidelong, at her profanity. Seeming to sense his change of moods, she tensed. He looked too calm, she didn't trust it.

As he lunged in fast, she pressed her foot against his chest. Keeping him at bay. "Ah, ah, ah," she proclaimed, bold as brass. She scolded him with a shake of her finger. He glanced down at her brazen foot and back to her. With a raise of his brow, his eyes flashed dangerously. He sent his magic licking up her center with a devastatingly obscene torpid pace. Her breath caught on a whimper as her vision blacked out momentarily. The phrase 'weak in the knees' came to mind, as she felt strength leave her legs altogether. The only way her leg remained up, was due to the strong hand trapping it against his heart.

I do apologize, he thought, sounding anything but apologetic. I seem to be having difficulty hearing in my old age. Grinning like the chimera when he caught his prey. Repeat it for me, he commanded her.

Still catching her breath she obliged him. Sending him, a smoldering look at his wicked tactics. The Dark Lord Voldemort, is brought down only by his abnormally large cock, she answered saucily.

Ah, I think it is you who will be brought to heel by my abnormally large cock, sweet Vera. As he shared with her his magnanimous thoughts, he leaned down and kissed the innermost part of her ankle. Despite her purely pornographic musings about his cock, he determined her physical state to be thoroughly clean. He lifted his wild female from the water, his magic wrapping around them both to warm and dry. As he swung her up into his arms, he admired the flush across her cheeks and breasts.

She looked irrevocably relaxed. He found he only wanted to see her either in such a state, or covered in the blood of others. Having seen her in both as she had been tonight, to say that his 'other than human' was pleased, was a vast understatement. Worthy female, the voice had rumbled more than once. We will pleasure you until you can deny our claim no longer. His deep oath made her sigh tranquilly. Pressing her cheek into his shoulder, she leaned up and pecked her lips to neck, sweetly.

Voldemort carried her to the plush bed dominating the Lady's Chamber. Sliding the furs and thick blankets down with his magic, he laid her down. Her eyes were heavy lidded and she looked ready to fall asleep. Quickly catching his fingertips between hers, she slid further into the bed. Her fingers pulling him into the sheets beside her. He stretched out on his back, she curled into him from her side furthest from the door. Her leg wrapped around his hip and thigh, as her way to lay claim on him. Her head nuzzling into his shoulder, with her hand protectively resting on his chest. Pulling the blankets up over his still throbbing erection, he buried his nose in her silky tresses. Feeling at once calmed and further aroused.

His senses picking up clean fragrance but mainly her, and now his own scent. Rumbling in contentment, he closed the door with a flick of his finger. Feeling for all his crimes, like being around her turned back time. He felt less hazy now, more like his old self. He was confidently in his element; eased of obstructing doubts and paranoia. Feelings that ultimately led him to chase meaningless drivel such as self-fulfilling prophecies. On this night, he was less disturbed about what was being perceived. Releasing his Dark Magic tonight felt like dissipating a glamor, freeing. Casting that Dark Mark over Luxembourg brought back memories of times long past.

When he had taken up the mantle of becoming the Dark Lord, he had not fully understood the trials he would face. The paranoia flowed through his veins more and more every year. The fight to out maneuver the next obstacle before it appeared. To never be captured or thought weak. Becoming what witches and wizards feared in the night, had led him down this path of power but also destruction. But now, for no other reason than his will demanded it, he wanted to rely on his instincts. To outwit Grindelwald, he'd need to play his own game, not what was expected of him. Moving in unexpected ways was how one defeated their enemy. Stroking her fingertip overtop his heart, she interrupted his musings.

He will be ours to punish. When he pleads for the gift of death, he will receive it only because we allow it. The soft wisp of thoughts floated through his consciousness, right as he drifted off. Not seeing the way his hand covered hers, instinctively, the moment he released control.

---

Voldemort awoke with a start, seeing nothing but blue skies overhead. The soot stained leaves and branches entered his vision as he attempted to gain his footing in the world around him. He felt the prickly grass under his back, and something even softer under his head. Turning his cheek into the soft material, he realized a hand was stroking his hair pleasurably. A feminine voice hummed a song in a cadence that had him closing his eyes in fulfillment. He'd heard this song before, like a distant memory long forgotten.

Childrens' laughter and playful screams interrupted his peace. The hand in his hair pausing, from the disruption. With a growl, he sat upright. The familiar brick walls and sparsely planted grass inside, further causing his hackles to rise. He knew exactly where he was. Wool's Orphanage, a place he equated to hell on Earth. Glowering at the rigid building towering down on the garden, with a loathing of unmatched proportion. Turning in revulsion, he allowed his vision to sweep over the rambunctious little demons running afoot.

"Come now brother, ignore them." Swinging his head over to the blonde girl, whom he had been resting most peacefully on. She looked no older than ten or so, her cheeks were more rounded from youth. He spotted his folded jacket pillowing her head. They were still in their school clothes, having come to this corner of the garden to review their studies and relax. The summer heat bothered neither of them, as it meant they could go outside once school let out. The staff were very immovable on the subject. Cold weather meant illness, and illness was scarcely spoken of for fear of the worst.

Leaving the building with her was essential to his health, as well as the well-being of others. Locking him inside a place with them, did not bode well for anyone. He didn't quite understand how he knew this but he did. In actuality, he felt a sense of deja vu merely thinking it. Only then did he realize this was not just a dream, this was a real breathing memory. One of his that had been stolen, had found its way back. Making the conscious decision to release his control on this body, he floated back into his younger self's mind. Deciding to just allow the memory to replay and soak up everything he had once lived.

"This place is my Hell," he declared. The condemnation was heavy in his words.

"Not planning on setting it on fire again, are you?" Her question lilted with joviality. Leaning up on her elbow, her braided hair swung off her shoulder behind her. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "It's not worth it. They are not worth it. All this is just temporary."

"We shouldn't be here. We are not like them."

"True, they are not like us." Lifting her eyes she gazed across the yard. Her vision, filled with flecks of light, layering across the panes of her surroundings. The children here thought her completely blind, she liked them thinking that; it protected her from them knowing how different she was. "I can spare them sympathy though, for their mediocrity," she revealed. "None of them could ever dream of doing what we can."

"You give them much, when they want so little, and deserve nothing. Just because the ant doesn't know the difference between us and it, does not protect it from the boot." He spoke decisively as he glared into the crowd, as though imagining crushing the howling toddlers with a boot. "Death is their only life's purpose."

"Been studying dark philosophy again, have you?" She chuckled at his grim disposition. Though she sobered quickly, having recalled once reading a similar sentiment. Narrowing her eyes, she voiced her suspicion. "I know that wasn't you trying to subtly quote Schopenhauer to me. You know he vexes me with his opinions of 'a woman's place.'"

"My beloved violent sister, you know I would not, as I do value my tongue. You were quite clear in your threats to cut it out, should I dare speak of him again in your presence." His deep eyes gazed at her with devotion. His smile was indulgent in the way that told her, he was truly delighted with her threats.

Sniffing indignantly, she replied, "It took him until his dying days to understand that women were capable of surpassing a man, don't make the same mistake."

"I would never," he said. Placing his hand gently over hers, on his shoulder. "You are my equal, my twin. We are but two sides of the same coin." He finished his response in his thoughts, for only her to hear. You are my light and I, your shadow. Intertwining their fingers, he breathed easier hearing her thoughts coalesce with his.

"Hey freak!" A voice shouted from the otherside of the yard.

Not looking over, his eyes suddenly seemed as black as pitch. He felt as though a switch had been color seemed to bleed from the world, as his Darkness stirred. He could clearly see his own visage in her mind. She thought that all warmth left his eyes, his body tensed like a great African cat before takeoff. Madness crept in with senseless rage. His face twitched with fury.

"I'm talking to you freak. Swotty little freak, you are Riddle. Absolutely crackers in the head. Even the Matron knows there's something wrong with you."

"Get away from us," she said lowly, cautiously climbing to her feet alongside her brother. The boy was older than them; one of the newest additions to Wool's. It seemed he'd rallied a few of the kids around their age, in hopes to take over as the one in charge.

"Do listen to her, before someone gets hurt." Her brother warned, his eyes already taking note of who was there. The list was lengthy but nothing unreasonable. He would pay each one a visit, in retaliation. Then, watching for the Matron or her attendants, he smirked at their absence.

"You know what, I don't think I will. In fact, I think I want to elaborate to the Matron. Tell her about how I saw you two touching the other day." His cronies brayed like donkeys, as the older boy leered at Vera. "How he had his hand up your skirt, and you liked it."

"Shut your mouth, you insolent cur." Her brother's voice was ice cold. He edged closer to the group, causing several of the boys to flinch. 'Beware,' their instincts screamed at them. Though, their confidence returned as they remembered they had the numbers. Her brother's mind, filled with ways to make someone hurt. Vera feared what he would do if the situation escalated. Only their will to hide their gifts, had kept the other children alive. They lived with the insidious fear of being separated from each other, which they would be were they hauled away to the madhouse.

"I don't think you get it. It's all of our word against yours Riddle. No one likes you. You are rotten fruit just like the Matron is always saying."

"How quickly you forget your place. Such is understandable of course, as you're new here and can barely read." Stepping forward, his neutral expression flickered. "Allow me to show you-"

"Brother, now is not the time for lessons. His lies hold no weight," she stated grabbing his hand and the rucksack filled with both of their school books. We need to leave before Mrs. Cole comes, she sent to him. Knowing well, how much Matron despised her brother. She would likely believe anything these fiends told her. We will strike back later, after the rest are asleep. When we are not being watched. But right when she went to move them past the group, she heard the one thing that had her closing her eyes in distress.

"Don't run, pretty thing. How about I come visit you in the night doll, show you a good time?" His jab at her presumed blindness, barely touched her. It wasn't the first time they had made scathing comments about her eyes. But she knew nothing in this world would stop her twin from caving his face in, at the idea of another male touching her. The boy was foolish to say such a thing.

Vera knew there wasn't one bone in his body, she wouldn't relish seeing broken. Were they alone, she would not have any reservations whatsoever in striking first. However, they were not. The whole yard of children drew closer to see the looming fight, and a rising chant began. 'Fight, fight, fight.' Which meant the Matron and her attendants wouldn't be far behind. They could not under any circumstance let their gifts be seen.

As her brother dove toward the boy's face, absolutely ruining his nose and eye socket in a series of vicious hits. She altered her grip on the school bag, wrapping the strap around her knuckles twice. Swinging it over her head and into the head of the boy lunging for her brother's back. He went down immediately. The next boy rushed her and she swung the bag into his stomach. Causing him to bow over from the force, before she threw her fist at his chin in an uppercut.

She was fighting her instinct to use her gifts, with everything she had. Clawing at hair and eyes, she kicked at nether regions, and punched throats. Teeth had been knocked out and hair ripped to the root. By the time she had regained her balance from sending the third boy to the ground, she was being grabbed from behind by another. Swinging wildly, he threw her to the dirt before her blows could land. With raging kicks by several of the boys, she was forced to wrap her arms around her head, while her legs tried to protect her stomach.

Blow after blow landed on her back, arms, and legs. Burning hatred filled her stomach like acid. They kicked at her kidneys from her back. Two grabbed at her wrists to land punches on her face. Finally tugging one free, she felt her wrist make a snapping sound, as it broke. Her cry of pain was all she heard. Her ears nearly bled from the sound, before she realized those weren't just her cries.

She had lost control. The boys had dropped to the earth clutching their heads. They screamed piercing sounds that sounded like she peeled the skin from their flesh. Pain, pain, pain, a voice in her head released them from her hold after only a few seconds. Fearing what the others could see. But it was too late, the tortured shrieks had finally summoned the staff.

When the old Matron entered the garden, all other sounds ceased. Peeking around, she saw the gang's leader on the ground out cold. Her brother had brawled and pummeled his face until he was hardly recognizable. Having long since moved onto the next two, he had broken at least one arm, dislocated a shoulder, and mutilated their faces with his fists. She couldn't say exactly what damage had been rendered as their eyes were swollen closed and there was so much blood. His knuckles were a mangled mess from his assault. His school clothes, ruined. With a bellow, the Matron demanded to know what was going on.

Her twin was in complete disarray, as he finally swung his feral eyes up to the woman. He was inebriated from the fight, like a berserker in the heat of battle. Sparing her no more than a glance, his eyes sought his sister like a moor. Vera was his anchor, so he didn't run adrift in the storm. Dropping to his knees beside her, he reached for her bare skin. Wanting to let her know it was he, and no other who touched her. Blood smeared over her skin where he touched.

Thoughts drifted between the two, letting the other know they were alright. She questioned the blood on him, but he assured her it was theirs. He proceeded to check her for injuries, ignoring her promises that she was fine. The extensive bruising was everywhere. She had too many cuts and gashes. Most concerning was the fact that he was sure her wrist was broken. He drowned in enmity and promises of what he would do to them.

He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to jostle her wrist. He pressed his lips to her forehead, to assure himself she was right there. Touching her was the only reason he didn't set off for the boys right now. She was the only safe harbor he had in the storm. When Mrs. Cole's voice rang out, he tensed. He coiled defensively over his sister at the woman's tone. The very thought that someone was being aggressive while his twin was injured, made him want to let the Darkness out.

"Riddle! You will not see outside of your room for well over a month, this I can promise you. You are an ill-tempered beast and I pity the family who tries to adopt you."

Facing the older woman, Vera implored, "Mrs. Cole please, it's not his fault! He did not start this fight." Her hand clasped her brothers' battered ones.

"Silence Vera Eleanora. You are too soft to see him for who he is."

"He did not do what they were accusing him of." Never did they share affections of a sexual nature, they were too young. Much less in public for thieving eyes to steal. Her brother would never risk her being taken and forced to room with the girls, down the hall. The one time the Matron did think to separate them, he had raged night and day until the woman gave in.

"You dare defend him as he holds you like a lover, with blood all over him?" Her condemnation, heavy in her every word.

"He was only protecting me. They were making comments about visiting me in the night. About harming me in the way only a man can hurt a woman." The blonde knew exactly where to press her leverage, for the woman was religiously focused on maintaining each girl's innocence and would not hear of sexual violence on the premises. Many had been turned out under similar suspicion.

"Fine!" She said disgusted. "Two weeks confinement in his room. Not one day less." Turning to the other staff members present she ordered the boys to be brought to her office.

What do you need? His thoughts stampeded through her consciousness. Not giving a damn what the Matron's punishment was. Nor what she did with the boys. It wouldn't be enough to sate his hunger for their blood. For he would have his vengeance, it mattered naught where they ran and hid, he would find them.

You and our room, is all I require, she thought. Nodding he shouldered their school bag, shoving his jacket through the strap. Turning around, he picked her up into his arms, intent to carry her to their room. He moved purposefully through the crowd like they didn't exist. The children flinched out of his way, terrified of what they couldn't explain. They didn't know what they saw happen to the boys, but they were all frightened it would happen to them.

You don't have to carry me. I'm tired, but I can walk. Her weak entreaty was ignored. So, she rested her eyes and allowed her injured arm to rest on her belly. Allowing him to take care of her, as his senses demanded. He brought them inside and up the stairs. Then after looking around to make sure they were alone, he used his gift to open the door to their room. There was no dinner after misbehavior, that much they knew. The Matron ran Wool's like a military battlement. Her rules were strict, unyielding, and without exception.

He was quiet as he sat her down on the foot of the bed, helping her out of her shoes. He was shielding his thoughts, only wisps of words could be heard. It was later when he returned with washcloths and a bowl of water to clean off the worst of the blood, that she realized what he had been ruminating over.

"Why didn't you stay back? That was my fight." He spoke the words as he helped her out of the blouse, she had been struggling with the buttons with her injured wrist. Grabbing one of his larger shirts, he helped her slide it on.

"Your fight is my fight." She looked up into his eyes and clasped her good hand around his opposite forearm, like they were sealing a contract. "It will always be my fight. We are in this together. Two halves of a whole."

"Together," he repeated while nodding slowly. Like he was still trying to comprehend her words. He would never grow comfortable seeing her injured for him, that was not something that sat right with him. He decided it would need further thought, which he couldn't fully give it now. He detached his arm carefully as they laid down. On the small bed, Vera pressed her back against the wall. He laid facing her. Forehead to forehead, they breathed each other in. She watched him with an inquisitive brow, as he held his hand out expectantly. Looking down, he gently cradled her injury in his hands. On either side of her wrist, he placed his bruised and cracked hands.

Closing his eyes, he thought of nothing more than one word. Reinforcing his gift with his will. Heal. Heal. Heal. He thought nothing but these words, like a prayer. Over and over. With each breath, came the word. Until they both fell asleep. But somehow, he knew when they awoke, her wrist would be mended. For that was the strength of his will.

Gasping awake, he felt an eerie chill run up his spine. In his mind, he'd felt a door unlatch itself. It had creaked open, seemingly of its own accord. With it, a memory had slipped free; a moment which had been lost in time. The unnerving sensation sliding through his veins, could not be shaken. He shook from the disturbance. Glancing up to survey his surroundings, the morning light was faint outside, telling him it was still fairly early. The soft feminine sigh from beside him, drew his gaze like a moth to flame. She gave him something to focus on.

Vera had turned over in her sleep, though her head still rested on his bicep. Her hair, wild like a battle had been fought in the night. She faced away from him now. Though, he was still graced with the slopes of her naked back, and the vision that was her glorious arse. Voldemort's arm beneath her cheek was further made immovable, courtesy of her intertwined right hand. Her soft snores told him she slept peacefully, and would not be releasing said arm from her clutches anytime soon. He gently rolled toward her. Lining her spine up perfectly with his chest, he allowed his lids to fall closed once more. Placing his free hand on her hip possessively.

---

Before Narcissa apparated from the market across town, she had double-checked her list thrice to make sure she'd gathered everything. This was the type of task a person did not forget even one detail. Proceeding, she thought of home, and with a crack of apparition she was on her way. The house-elf she had selected would be arriving at her home in a few minutes, and soon thereafter she would head to the location the Dark Lord had indicated.

Dell, one of their house-elves had already run several of her packages home and was awaiting his Mistress at the door. "Mistress," he spoke softly, "the last item on the list has arrived."

"Thank you Dell, I wish to leave at once. Bring her."Straightening her already polished cloak, she waited to see two figures come around the corner from the kitchen.

"Mistress," they both said in unison. The smaller figure, a bit softer.

"What is your name?"Her question caused the house-elf in question to look up with big eyes.

"Eli, Mistress."She responded with a little curtsey in her cloth dress.

"Eli, you are being given to a very respected and powerful wizard. He does not wish to be bothered with the essential things involved with running a manor, so you will be required to learn fast and anticipate his needs. You will be the only house-elf on the premises and as such, I must impress upon you what an honor it is to have been requested. Security, loyalty, and precision will be your allies in your new home."

Nodding through every new piece of her doctrine, she gulped. "Eli understands. She will make her new Master proud."

Gazing down into the new house-elf's innocent glassy eyes, Narcissa felt the need to impress further how heavy of an undertaking this would be and how carefully detailed she would need to be. Eli had been the highest graded house-elf for purchase, but Lady Malfoy was determined to ensure the right elf had been chosen.

"Eli, the wizard you will be serving is the Dark Lord." She paused to read the elf's reaction. The widening of her eyes, told her that Eli knew exactly who he was. "He is a brilliant man, but also a ruthless one. I need to know you will act with tact, urgency, and decisiveness. He likely will not speak twice, so you must listen as if your life depends on it."

"Eli will proudly serve the Dark Lord, until her death."

Nodding to Dell and Eli, she indicated they were to grab the items but vanish them until required. It would be unseemly to arrive overwhelmed with packages and bags. Collectively they would apparate to Slytherin Manor. A place few had ever stepped foot near, nonetheless inside. Casting a quick 'Tempus,' she knew the time had come. The Dark Lord had indicated exactly what time she was to come through the wards.

As they disapparated with a crack, reappearing on a raised dais facing a most glorious manor, she felt an eerie feeling. For an instant Narcissa felt as though bats flew around inside her stomach. The magic in the wards was potent, to say the least. She did not doubt for an instant that she was at the correct address. The place felt of power. Nor did she doubt if she came bearing true ill will, she would be allowed entry. More likely was the threat of her magic being stripped, if she had. Old Estates abided by such cruelty to protect their entrusted families.

Nodding to the two house-elves, they stepped down the stone steps and up to the double doors. The elves sucked in a breath when they opened on their own. The Dark Lord, having felt their arrival, had requested the doors to open for his guests. Gazing into the pristinely vaulted entryway, Narcissa was in awe of the architectural wonder. The great carved basilisk winding down the stairwell and in and out of the walls, was nothing short of breathtaking. The exposed fangs were easily her forearm in length, the head of the great beast stood taller than she. It faced the door with violence gleaming in its topaz eyes.

The handrails up the stairs were fastened into the serpents' scales and raised spines. A true craftsman of artistic abilities had designed this marvel. The mirrors hanging around the core of the hall cast the reflection of the ornate light fixtures, the beauteous wall papering, and scales. The Sacred 28 each had varying levels of wealth, age, power, and influence, but few illustrated all four so spectacularly. My Lucius will be jealous, she thought with a grin.

Down the hall, a door opened. The swing of the hinges seemed to call them forth into the study. Narcissa made eye contact with each elf and offered them a curt smile, before they all made their way to the door of the study. Patiently waiting to be acknowledged and given leave to enter, Narcissa collected her hands before her. Ever the appearance of a Lady of both House Malfoy and House Black. Of her sisters, this was her bread and butter. Grace and elegance, could hardly be said to describe their blood traitorous sister, Andie. Nor could she dare speak the words of her untamed sister, Bella.

Hearing the sound of a scratching quill, she saw the Dark Lord seated at the large desk. He appeared to be reviewing parchments and replying to correspondence he'd received. His serpentine visage had not immediately looked up, but she knew he was aware of her presence. She did not find it necessary to knock or make any sound to disturb him.

Finally sweeping his hand over the parchment, to presumably dry the ink, his magic began rolling his reply into an awaiting cylinder. Buckling the contents and sealing itself from the elements, he levitated it over to the awaiting owl resting on the open window pane. Its black feathers fluffed and took flight into the sky. How the owl knew exactly who to deliver the letter to, she couldn't fathom.

"Come in, Narcissa. Enter elves," he stated. Her feet worked quickly to obey, stopping an appropriate distance into the room to curtsey low. The elves dropped to their knees, foreheads on the floor in both subjugation and awe.

"My Lord," Lady Malfoy replied graciously.

"Everything is handled as I requested?"

"Yes, my Lord. The elves just need to see where they can get to work unpacking everything. This is my elf, Dell, my most trusted elf of our household. This is Eli, an elf with esteem for you and your House, my Lord." The Dark Lords' eyes landed heavily on the small elf indicated.

"I will have your oath of fealty now, Eli of the house-elves,"Voldemort up, the elf in question appeared utterly petrified to disappoint her new Master, but placed her hand over her heart.

"Eli of the house-elves proudly serves her Master, the Dark Lord. She will serve from this day until her death day, with distinction, valor, and pride to serve her Master and the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin."

The small house-elf waited as silent as the dead, resuming to cast her eyes down in respect. All the while, the Dark Lord moved through her thoughts and memories. Wishing to know everything that could be seen as weakness or used to undermine his houses' edicts. He had manipulated and left house-elves in the past to die, for his own benefit. He had treated them as less than, and in turn he knew they were fallible to the manipulations of wizards. Finally standing, he moved to the front of the desk and over her.

"I, Lord Voldemort of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin accept thee. Eli, house-elf of House Slytherin, from this day henceforth until your dying day, you shall serve."

Looking up, Eli quivered with reverence when he continued. "Come elves," he motioned with his finger not looking back. "Eli, you will be shown your place of residence and the kitchens. Narcissa, take a seat, I will return shortly."

Leading the house-elves out of the room, he pointed out the door leading to a series of rooms for servants. Then he advised which nearby storeroom housed which items. Directing them to the kitchen, where they were to begin their task. Dell had already begun furiously unpacking items they had vanished. Her new Master informed her she would be given a list of the full upkeep expected of her, when she finished.

Coming back to the study, he smoothly inquired as to Narcissa's son, Draco. He appeared particularly interested in his role in the Inquisitorial Squad. Then pressing further, he ordered her to tell him everything she knew, of the woman known as Delores Umbridge. Neither explaining nor pausing in his interrogation. Lady Malfoy did not know what the woman had done to capture the Dark Lord's penetrating line of questioning, but she had a feeling she needed to advise her son to step away from her.

In the kitchen, Eli grabbed a series of potion ingredients. Glancing at the labels only long enough to determine where they needed to go. She collected boxes, bags, and carefully wrapped items in her small arms, heading for the storage closet off the main hallway, as her Master had instructed. This storeroom housed the more dangerous ingredients. Gazing at the contents with wonder, she denoted the pieces of parchment on each shelf. Placing the items in their designated places on the shelves, before dashing back to where Dell was surely almost finished stocking the food items.

But just as she was about to slip back through the doors to the kitchen, something caught her eye. A flash of white just outside the glass doors, at the end of the long hall. Eli crept closer to the door with curiosity burning a hole through her. Making sure to not smudge the glass, she peered closer. A woman sat out on the patio, drinking a cup of tea. Her silver robes reflected the morning sun, as she gazed out to the gardens. Her hair, more luminescent than even Dell's Mistress.

Seeming to feel a pair of eyes on her, she turned to stare off her shoulder. Not fully turning, but enough for the house-elf to know she'd been caught staring. At the woman's subtle hand gesture, she quietly opened the door, and stepped closer. Partially terrified at being seen and worse, caught dallying when she needed to be working. Eli hustled her little feet over to the table and chairs with the softest pitter patter. The warming charm around the witch felt wonderful on her bare skin.

"Ma'am, how may Eli be of service?" Peering up at the woman's milky eyes, she twisted her hands together anxiously. The witch was a powerful Seer, she could immediately see the magic pooling in her eyes. The blonde seemed just as curious about her sudden appearance as she was of her. The witch's face was high angled and fair in all the ways songs and poetry were dedicated to. Her delicate features seemed to exude a charm that warmed Eli's heart. After returning her teacup to her saucer, she replied in the most melodious voice.

"My name is Vera, Eli of the house-elves. Do you serve this house?"

"I proudly serve my Master and the House of Slytherin. May Eli bring you something to eat or refill your tea?" She felt so hopeful to be of use. Guests of her Master were to be taken care of. Especially, a guest who was so gifted.

"I am quite alright for now, darling." Eli knew her face betrayed her disappointment. Her big eyes filled with tears. The thought of being unable to please her Master or his honored guests, made her want to punish herself. "But perhaps," the woman added thoughtfully, "you can visit with me, when you are finished with your chores. Your company would be most desirable."

Curtseying in her little dress, the house-elf replied. "As my Lady wishes. I shall be most expedient with my tasks." Scurrying back to the door, she paused and turned back around. "If you should have need for anything, call for Eli and she will return to you, at once."

"I shall. Now, best be about your business, I would hate for your Master to be cross." Her tea cup hid her smile at the little elf. Hiding her identity amused her. The little elf would uncover the truth soon enough, but for now she would play the sly fox. It was times like this, she felt her true age peek through the veil.

When her brother strolled out to join her some time later, Vera looked up from her ruminations. Having long since finished her tea, she had summoned the book from upstairs. Taking notes here and there, on a piece of parchment she had transfigured. She was well into the mechanics behind a ritual, having crafted the core principles to their exact purpose. It still required much more cross-referencing and data assimilation. As well as to reconnoiter the astronomy portion, with whoever her brother had entrusted.

Sitting down in the chair across from her, he leaned back. His eyes roving over her work, as well as her face. "Dolohov has already begun to accumulate the required information. It will be delivered at earliest convenience."

"Splendid. I have been considering locations that hold the most power for you to draw from. Location wise, Slytherin Manor, Hogwarts, or the graveyard in Little Hangleton may be strong enough to pull from. Intersecting Ley Lines indicate all are eligible candidates."

"Not the graveyard," he spat. "I would like never to return to those cursed lands."

Scratching it from her list with a passion, she clarified. "Perhaps, one of the other two? Between the manor or Hogwarts, which one invokes the most emotion?" Flicking her eyes back up, she tapped her foot in deliberation.

Looking up in thought, he said the one place he knew could not be easily penetrated. "Hogwarts." Scoffing at the complication.

She crossed out 'Slytherin Manor,' grinning at his answer, "Naturally, I suspected nothing less." Leaning back, she was the picture of relaxed at the idea. "Getting past the wards and the Headmaster, will certainly be a thrill."

"Only you would think so, sister."

"Is that so? When did the Dark Lord become such a square?" Her eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I don't remember being thought 'a square,' last night." His nonplussed look, causing her to chuckle generously. Looking down at the parchment, she furrowed her brow.

"The Chamber of Secrets," she inquired, "is it still structurally sound enough to carry out there?"

"I believe it to be." He glowered with unconcealed animosity. "While the boy destroyed much of the tunnels, on his way down. The south entrance should still be accessible. He never went through Salazar's chambers, beyond the head."

Jotting down the new information, Vera put her quill aside. "I wasn't sure how much you remembered from your other form."

"Bits and pieces mainly. It's disjointed. Flashes of memories, conversations had, and feeling death." He glared through the table, seeming to have went to a frightening place.

"We don't have to speak of it." Gathering her hands in front of her, she looked down at them. Feeling more than a little pensive she began, "I have to ask, is she down there still?" Her voice quivering a little at the mention of Sashir, her fearsome but serene familiar. The 'Great Queen,' as Nagini had called her.

"Sashir? She has likely not been moved."

Nodding, she stared off toward the beauty of the grounds. Swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat, which had risen forth. The day was truly beautiful, once she had warmed the immediate vicinity, of course. She would be outside every minute if she could. Azkaban had made her itch to see nature. To feel the sun on her skin.

"Isn't it breathtaking?" She asked him while spying some birds nesting in a hedge nearby. Their song, a wondrous sound. Through the hedges she could see the sunlight glinting off the frozen water. The sound of the wind moving through the trees, rustling the leaves.

"You are," he stated without hesitation. Her eyes sought his once more.

"I meant the gardens…" she whispered.

"Did you? They looked far superior last night," he drawled, barely casting a glance around. Cocking his head, he pressed. "I dare say the view is quite underwhelming today." His eyes held hers, full of earnest captivation. He could still see her younger self, from his memory. The peace she brought him. The feeling in his chest was warm again, for some reason.

Hearing a sound overhead, they both looked up with alarm. An owl screeched while flying low, looking for his recipient. Landing with a swoosh of his wings on the table, he extended the canister to the Dark Lord. Opening the contents, Voldemort pulled out a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet along with a piece of parchment. With a quick glance at the headlines, he opened the missive.

From across the table, she could see the bold writing on the front page. 'Massacre at Midnight,' the paper read. There was a photo of the Dark Mark moving underneath. Flicking her eyes up at her brother, she saw his expression shutter. Closing himself off from feelings and inklings of things Dark Lords didn't exhibit.

"Lucius says Belgium and France are declaring the return of the Dark Lord. That the British Ministry is covering it up to save face. He said there have also been several reports of Muggle UN buildings being razed across Europe, in the night. They are still identifying casualties." Flicking his eyes up to her, he intimated the deception afoot.

"It appears someone is trying to cause chaos, and put myself at fault. I can think of only one person who would benefit in the upheaval of Muggle and Wizarding politics. Add the Wizarding Communities turning on one another, and that surely sounds like a recipe for death and destruction."

"Indeed. Things are only just beginning. His goal was once to rule Wizardkind and to enslave the Muggles. This was before you entered the picture. You made things complicated, but also provided him with a cover. He will build the tension until the world is only looking at you. Do you see?"

"Yes. I see exactly what he's doing. If I were him, I'd deliver a devastating blow next. More noise but with a great death toll." Looking away disgustedly, he stood up and began pacing. "I will have my people on high alert." His displeasure at the next sentiment, evident by his nearly spit words. "I am going to need people in place to monitor the Muggle World."

"Might I recommend something, you are going to find particularly vexing?"

Pausing, he considered her words. Glaring down on her, "Absolutely not."

"They are the most apprised with Muggle politics. More easily able to walk the line, between the two worlds. I could-"

"I said, no." He spoke in a resolute tone that brokered no argument. His Darkness was rising at the thought. Lifting her chin up to face him, he felt his voice drop deeper. "You will not engage them in any way." He penetrated her thoughts, to confirm she would not defy him on this.

"They are the answer to the question, brother."

"I asked no question, therefore require no answer." He strode back inside, impatient to get word to several people he had working in Ministries of Magic across Europe.

"Not yet." She replied, knowing their enemy was building up for a devastating blow. The when and the where, remained unclear.

---

In the safehouse, Bellatrix monitored the training and recovery of each of the Death Eaters entrusted in her care. She led many of the sessions herself to ensure their skills were up to par. She rode them furiously to improve, like a flock they needed to move or be killed. Truthfully, Bella would have rather been damned to live a life in pastels, than let her Lord test their ranks as they currently stood. They were all poor depictions of who they once were. Tormented by their own minds, they had changed in those years. The dementor's influence had left them gaunt, weathered, and worn.

Strength and stamina had certainly taken a hit during their stay in Azkaban's cells. In the head however, there was much akilter. Rewarding poor performance with pain was only half of her undertaking. Finding their zest for life was by far, the more grueling task. She could speak to the memory loss and nightmares, personally. The rest, seemed to be falling back into place, at the pace of a dung beetle leaving a fresh pile of excrement. For all their whining and bellyaching about wanting revenge, they'd hardly proved to her they could be trusted to hold their own in a duel against the Aurors. Nonetheless the blood traitors whom called themselves the Order.

She asserted herself as the unforgiving taskmaster. Whipping them hard and scoring them even harder to improve. Every morning, she had them neutralizing complex spellwork. Breaking runic wards by noon, then dueling carried them into the evening. Their Arithmancy scores were worthy of a Troll, and even that was being generous. So she had planned to add some remedial work in, before dueling practice began.

The meals were hearty and frequent, to bring them back from the brink of starvation. The stamina potions were also being delivered as requested, thanks to Snape. He however, remained on her radar despite his potioneering skillset. Severus was as questionable as ever, due to his closed disposition. While he survived as a free man all these years, he also did nothing to aid her Lord's return. His participation had always been weak at best, and she despised impotency.

Call it a witch's intuition, but she had always made sure to never give him her back. He was too close to Dumbledore. Furthermore, after all these years, his repeated disappearances for periods on end without checking in, bothered her like an itch she couldn't scratch. His movements produced more questions than answers. Which in turn, bred further reasons to doubt, not entrust in her opinion. Her Lord was ever watchful in his presence, and she picked up on his cues well. One did not become a Master of the Mind Arts by openly trusting. If he was duplicitous, she would be ready, just as her Lord. Loyalty was a payment heavier than coin, and headier than the strongest wine.

As she was read Lucius's report of Ministry updates, from Rabastan, she could hardly believe the words coming from his lips. Snatching the report from his hands, she read over what had just been spoken aloud. Her dark eyes slid from word to word, triumph radiating from within. Her Master had outdone himself, she thought with glee. A cackle on her tongue, as she slammed open the doors to the common area.

"The Dark Lord has struck in the night. Nearly a hundred dead in Luxembourg by wand. Muggles burned alive in their offices across the continent. Today we celebrate!"

Barty stood with a roar raising his flask of fire whisky. "To the Dark Lord! Death to the opposition. Death to the weak! Death to the betrayers. Death, we will eat!"

"To the Dark Lord," reverberated through the house. Along with a chorus of, "Aye!"

"Training will resume tomorrow! For this day, we will pay homage to the Dark Lord!" A terrible calamity roared over the room in raucous jubilation. With a twirl she laughed along with her Barty, pouring herself a drink in celebration. The sizable curio case in the corner of the room, offered just about every type of scotch and firewhisky she could desire. It housed some of the Wizarding World's finest; Lucius' selections, she was sure. The laughter and merriment went on well into the night. Wands were raised in honor of their Lord. Glasses were poured to fill their bellies, with the warmth Azkaban had stolen from them.

It wasn't until the evening hours that Bella realized several Death Eaters were unaccounted for. Her sharp eyes finding the empty seats like a snallygaster on the prowl. Dinner had come and went and still they had not made an appearance. Sending Rabastan and Barty to search their rooms, they had returned empty handed.

Blowing the doors of the billiards room open, she brought conversation to a screeching halt. After dinner, they usually migrated there to enjoy some relaxation before bed. As training would pick back up in the morning, she was keen to give them some peace. However, this was serious indeed. Barty and Rabastan stood behind her blocking the exit, wands out.

"Where are Fawley, Flint, and Rowle?" Her voice was very calm, which perhaps frightened them more. "They have left the manor. If I find out that any of you knew and said nothing, you will answer to the Dark Lord."

"Rowle mumbled something about wanting to honor the Dark Lord with blood." She swiveled to the corner, where Pettigrew stood. "I didn't think they'd be foolish enough to defy the Masters' orders," he simpered. Her Crucio was swift and brutal for his idiocy. She despised the bumbling troll of a man. He was as worthless as a neutered abraxan, though at least they would have been pleasant to look at.

His warts had warts, and his smell was utterly horrendous. She had demanded the house-elves to bathe him several times daily, using whatever means necessary. Seeing as their kind loved to clean, they seemed to relish his struggles twofold. It was truly disappointing to have to whip fools like him into shape. At this point, she was beginning to wonder if he enjoyed receiving punishment as much as she did giving it. Betrayer of the Potters. He was the very embodiment of a rat.

Releasing the man's form from her spell, she waved her wand. "Anyone else? Or am I to assume, you'd all rather speak your truth to the Dark Lord, himself?"

"No Bella," Rodolphus uttered, "We saw them in the common room this afternoon, same as you."

"Don't speak Rodolphus, we see nothing the same way. Your cowardice in Azkaban is still fresh in my memories. I've seen more spine in a slug."

"Shall we prepare a group to round them up, darling?" Barty stepped forward from her left.

"No, I'm afraid the Dark Lord's orders still stand. No one leaves the premises without his permission."

"Then, you are calling him to us?" Someone piped up from the couch in a hushed tone.

"No, the Dark Lord is already here," her response seemed to steal the air from the room. Suddenly the fear of being caught withholding seemed very real, indeed.

The lights in the room went out and the fire died. The smoke from the ashes slithered between the rooms' occupants. Then their breath grew heavy, confirming Bella's words. A glass of firewhisky fell from a hand, crashing to the floor. The front doors of the manor exploded inward, ripping free from the hinges. Voldemorts' eyes read of murder, from their narrowed gaze. The severity of his breathing, exuded exactly how infuriated he was. His command had been defied, while his Lieutenant was made to look a fool from their scheming.

"Formation, you worthless cunts," Bellatrix spit; as they leapt to the center of the room on their knees. As he rounded the corner, his robes whipped to and fro from his hurried pace. Proceeding into the room, he strode, as though he saw none of their cowering forms. Cutting a wide arc around the perimeter of the room.

"My once loyal followers, I hear you seek death so soon after I released you from the dementors. This can be arranged. Tell me, where are those who would stand against my commands?"

Bella shared with him what Pettigrew described. Ripping through the rest of their squirming thoughts, one after another. He pounced when he focused on the aging blonde wizard. Looking at Travers with precision, he raised his hand and whispered, "Show me what you saw." The man grew paler, as the Dark Lord choked the life out of him. Delving into his memories, all the while. Releasing him minutely, the man wheezed out his words.

"I-I-I am not sure this is where they are going, but Flint mentioned that pub to me before. It's near a venue where hundreds of Muggles gather. Over off South Kensington, place called Royal Albert Hall. Said he had killed there in the past. That he could send a loud message there."

"Ah, so it seems you knew more than you thought." Wandlessly slamming his face down into the floor multiple times, breaking his nose. Lifting him back up, he waspishly added, "I debate, if you should get to keep your tongue. Perhaps I will cut it off, and hand it to you. Seeing as you desire to hold it, rather than speak." The mans' feeble apologies fell on deaf ears.

Looking over the other forms, he instructed them slowly, enunciating like they were complete imbeciles. "When my Lieutenant asks you a question, you would do well to speak."

"P-p-please my Lord, allow me to bring them back to you for punishment." Travers plead quite pathetically.

"No," he sneered with contempt. "You will not be rewarded with a hunt. Crouch, you will see to this one's explicit punishment. Do get creative, I have not seen your craftsmanship in far too long."

"Aye, my Lord." Crouch licked his lips in manic glee. His eyes burned with dark promises, as his Lord spoke once more.

"The rest will not move from their knees until I return. Only three escaped, which means you are not one unit. Those who call themselves my Death Eaters, will stand together, or not at all."

Turning, he nodded his head from his Lieutenant to the door. She climbed to her feet with the vigor of a Hungarian Horntail, preparing to burn a village.

"Take care of these doors, Crouch!" He commanded as he stalked over the fallen wood panes, flying up into the sky. Bellatrix was quick on his heels, quivering with anticipation. She had her wand out, wordlessly casting that which her Master had taught her. As her dress dissolved into black smoke, her laughter was all that could be heard.

---

Thank you everyone for the private messages and reviews. Every follow & favorite warms my heart, as well. Hope you all enjoyed this chaotic little chapter, as much as I did writing it. Threw in a little spice just for us. *wink* Though it was a little here, there, & everywhere, I promise I'm working to set us up for the next few chapters, so stay tuned. Finally, my love goes out to my co-author Unburntkhaleesi, who loved that my head was sexy but dark places almost as much as I did. Her gif reply to my chapter title, was the reason I never thought twice about changing it. Moral of the story, when in doubt, lean in to the stuff that feels good. Ciao my darlings!