The chamber stank of blood, ash, and scarlet rot.
Hidden far beneath the gorgeous Nott estate, behind a wall that didn't exist to most, lay said chamber. The half flesh half stone walls pulsed faintly, writhing runes etched everywhere.
At the center of the room stood a black iron basin, wide and deep like a cauldron, inscribed with serpents devouring their own tails. Within it, green fire licked the rim without damaging anything in constant hunger.
And above it floated Lucas Foster's eye, as pristine as the moment it was extracted.
Lord Voldemort was more than pleased when Lucius had offered it.
Now he stood before it, his never ending forehead gleaming with sweat but from sheer strain alone. He had already cast countless spells and had said unending paragraphs of incantations. His hands moved with precision as he prepared the final phase of the ritual.
Nagini coiled lazily outside the ritual chamber, bloated from an earlier feeding.
Behind the basin, Snape stood silently, face impassive, arms crossed. He didn't speak. He had brewed what Voldemort now poured, and he knew better than to interrupt something this vile.
Ingredients lay in a half-circle around the ritual basin, each more horrifying than the last.
The first thing was the tongue of a Seer, freshly severed, still twitching. The rest of his body was inside Nagini. It was the conduit that would smooth the assimilation process.
Next was the bottled silence of a muggle dying alone and forgotten. Its purpose being to snuff out any remaining resistance Lucas' eye had towards someone else.
The third thing was a bottle of crushed Witherroot, a plant only growing where young children under the age of eleven were burried. Its use being opening Voldemort's magic towards drastic change, by using their unfulfilled potential.
The potion, Voldemort was pouring since earlier, was thick as syrup and blacker than pitch, it hissed on contact with the green flames. The fire shuddered, then split into concentric circles, forming a runic sphere around the eye in mid air. It was by far the most complex component used in this ritual and something only a master potionmaker like Snape could have made. The original ingredients weren't any easier to come by with the first two already being almost impossible: The hair of a unicorn killed after it had exhausted every last bit of magic. Next was the liquid left behind in a Pensieve after the wizard who was using it died mid view. There were a few more just as hard to come by.
This was the main ingredient in the ritual, the thing that bound everything together and would allow Voldemort to take the eye's power for himself.
There were a few minor ones as well.
The last, to seal the deal, was a live sacrifice.
A young nude witch, barely twenty. A mudblood of course. Her actual heritage didn't have to do anything with the ritual.
She was held upright by iron spears piercing her hands and ankles. They had to result to this, because no magic was allowed to be present while the ritual took place. Her eyes were wide with horror, yet the gag prevented her from screaming as Voldemort raised his hand.
"Mens pro mente, visus pro visu."
"Cor ruptum. Sanguis vetus."
"Veni per tenebras, oculus vetitus."
"Aperi mihi portas cognitionis."
"Meum fiat, in aeternum."
The green fire in the basin pulsed once and the woman levitated up. The iron spears slowly slid out of her as she floated over to the dark lord.
Her seductive form did little to entice him, as he had cast those emotions aside long ago during a different ritual in exchange for a tremendous boost in power.
Without hesitation or deviation Voldemort's bony finger traced from between her clavicles down to her belly button. She struggled with all her might, but the ritual had already taken over. A thin line formed on her body, but nothing further happend.
The dark lord reached into the basin now and guided the flame up until it landed on the drawn line.
"Adaperi, et transfer. Vitae pretium pro potestate vetusta."
With a terrifying *crack* her skin, muscles and bones cracked open revealing her heart.
The fire quickly surrounded the beating organ, before rushing in.
The woman's screams were deafening as the flame followed her blood into the last oh so tiny space inside of her body. Not one drop would escape.
Once the fire had found everything it withdrew together with her blood and heart. The now seperate mass of fluid and organ levitated down into the basin and the woman returned to the iron stakes, still alive, but without pulse.
Voldemort did not look at her again.
He focused now on the basin, which hissed with a new, sinister resonance as the blood and heart were absorbed by the green fire. It thickened, churning slowly, the runes floating above it flickering, some turning into black ichor that was absorbed by the eye.
Next came the other ritual components in the reverse order he had prepared them. The smaller ones went quickly, the main components had a biger reaction in comparison and needed a chant.
The Witherthorn.
"Innocentium somnia fracta."
"Spes non nata, radicibus arsa."
"Aperi me invocato dolore."
The fire hissed and bent inward. A single rune above the basin cracked and turned black, bleeding into the eye like ink on paper. The green flames dimmed.
The bottled silence.
"Vocem negata, solus mortuus"
"Auditus nullus, oblivione pactus."
"Quiescere mentem alienam facio."
With it, another few runes twisted and died. The flame recoiled slightly, as though disturbed by what it had just ingested.
Now, the last one, the Seer's tongue.
"Fatum abscisum, lingua caesa"
"Veritas amissa, oculos recludo."
"Visionem rapiam alienam."
The flames shrieked this time, writhing unnaturally. The last remaining runes above exploded in black fire before folding inward, dissolving into the eye.
Finally, Voldemort's concentration returned to the basin and began the final circuit around it. His voice dropped, almost reverent, as he raised one hand to his own eye.
"Oculus pro oculo."
"Vetus in novum."
"In sanguine scelesto, in carne perdita."
"Fiat meum oculus."
Without hesitation he plunged his fingers deep. A burst of blood splattered across his cheek and robes. The sound was wet and horrifying. His jaw clenched as he focused on tearing his own eye from its socket.
He held it above the basin and let go.
The flames surged one last time to meet the offering, swallowing it whole.
An earsplitting scream erupted from the basin, overshadowing even the mudblood witch's.
The green fire collapsed inward, a violent implosion, and then burst into a column of blackened emerald flame that was devoured by the eye like a hungry void.
Once the last spark had disappeared, the floating eye cracked. *crack* *crack*. Then shattered.
But that was not the end.
Merely the beginning.
From the fragments, a new eye began to form inside of the dark lords empty eye socket. Not Lucas', not Voldemort's, but something… fused.
It had the slitted pupil of Voldemort, yet not his eery red. Instead it was Persimmon.
The ritual was finished and with it the mudblood witch took her last breath.
Voldemort blinked for the first time with his new eye.
And the world... shifted.
At first, it seemed no different. Snape was the same as always, pale, still and unreadable.
But then his gaze fell on Nagini.
A corona of color surrounded her, green like fresh grass after rain, layered with orange flickers of curiosity, satiation curling like smoke around the edges. But deep within… something blue. Longing?
He could see her emotions as clear as daylight. His thoughts staggered for just a second at the new sensation. His lip curled.
He turned his gaze to the mudblood witch. Her body slumped lifelessly against the iron spears.
And though her body had died, her final emotions still clung to her corpse like steam. Terror, brightest red. Shame, thin purple. Despair like thick black honey dripping upward toward the ceiling before fading.
He inhaled, and felt it.
The power that came with that knowing. The control it would give him. It far surpassed how he had felt up till now.
Now he could see when others feared. When they loved. When they hid something. He could speak to their core. All without ever opening their heads. Weaknesses served on a silver platter, ready for the taking.
All with a glimpse.
"Haaaaahaaaaahaaaa." Voldemort couldn't help but drown in his feelings. This felt just as good as when he created the ritual to feast upon the fear of his name. The moment he had gone through that one felt as rejuvenating as he was feeling now. The first time he noticed the fear of his enemies strenghtening his magic was just as sweet as the feeling of control he felt in this moment. "Beautiful."
And like all beautiful things, utterly addicting.
The dark lord walked out of the chamber and directly made his way to one of his followers, the person's magical tattoo guiding his way. His bare feet slapped on the stone floor. He hadn't bothered to cast a spell to hide the blood still slicking his face. His wand remained at his side, instead of in his hand.
Voldemort entered the torch-lit antechamber, and there he stood, kneeling in silence before the arrival of his master, head bowed, fists trembling faintly with a fear he tried to hide behind reverence.
One of his followers, a woman, he hadn't bothered learning the name of.
The dark lord stopped just inside the doorway. His new eye revealing once more what had remained unseen for so long.
She was wrapped in a storm of emotion. One of Nott's people undoubtedly.
A tempest of indigo dread, sickly yellow flashes of anxiety twitching like insects along her shoulders. The green of loyalty pulsed weakly in her chest, like a dying ember. But beneath it all, there was one that stood out.
One that he despised.
Grey doubt.
It crawled under the surface like rot beneath skin. Voldemort's jaw clenched at the sight.
He took a step forward and he saw the pitch black fear drip from her body onto the floor, like viscous water. It crawled to him like it had a mind of its own and fused into his body. Voldemort closed his eyes briefly and felt any changes. It was minor, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A oh so slight increase in his magical capability.
His jaw loosened and a ear splitting smile replaced it, which vanished a moment later, when he remembered the other colours.
They had no place in his presence.
He reached out with his own Legilimency into her mind, which at first tried to protest.
Again something he didn't tolerate.
But this time he didn't reach for his trusty wand, instead he grasped for the colours.
And twisted.
Like a maniac painter he ripped and tore, shaping her however he wanted, regardless of any consequences.
The first thing he got rid of was the disgusting grey. It had no place in his presence, because he was The DarkLord, and he was absolute. The next thing was anxiety, for it was meaningless in front of him, he would never be wrong. Dread was also useless, especially when it could be so much more, so much purer. He owned her after all, so there was no need for dread. He took the indigo under control and twisted until it turned pitch black.
Lastly, the dying green. But where there is ember, there can be flame.
He fed it until it was so vibrant it glowed like an aurora in the night sky.
He stepped back.
She collapsed, gasping, weeping. The feelings of doubt, anxiety and dread forever foreign and an undying loyalty that couldn't be broken.
She was reborn in his image.
Voldemort watched his first true follower with utmost curiosity. He could feel how deeply he had changed her. For all intents and purposes she was reborn as a new woman. Changing her memories and thoughts was the cherry on top that fully cemented her as his, in body, mind and soul.
With a smile on his face he announced, "you will be known as Eve from here on out."