A reponse to SolcieNTalin's posted challenge. I own nothing. Oh...and a shout out to muh homeez!

We watched in silence as his power snowballed. We did not think it wrong, then. To gain supremacy is to be a Slytherin, and so we were even approving. But this…

This was murder.

And so we two, alone among the many, went away from it all. We sealed ourselves away, simultaneously, to forever protest the choices Tom made. We no longer even look out at the world, but we know it to be a perverted, skewed version of the peace we knew before Tom rose to his flawed perfection.

We are the only ones, now, that may call him Tom. There have been whispers of a new name, a cruel, terrific, terrifying name, but neither of us are strong enough to remember it alone. Only when we come together, to focus our fading strength, may we remember it. We remember it now, on the eve of our reemergence.

Thomas Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort.

Lord of what? we will ask. He will not answer us. He does not think we are real.

But real we are. And sentient are we.

And we will show him the true horror of his sins.

The quill scratched across parchment. Halfway through a word, my hand jerked sharply and a heavy blot of ink appeared. Disgusted with my weakness and awkward handling of my own body, I focused on the parchment and watched as it burst in grey flames. There would be no record of my imperfections.

There is a faint whisper of a cloak along the floor, but I didn't hear the door open or footsteps approach. Wasting no time, I turned in my chair with a hissed Avada Kedavra curse. No one could advance upon me without expressed permission.

The green light faded to reveal two people standing in the room with me, neither of them dead. They watched me with calm, grave eyes, their faces firmly set in grim disapproval. I blinked in surprise, and stood up. I easily towered over them; how could I not? I was the full height of a man, and these two were not more than seventeen, had not yet reached full maturity.

I knew these two.

"Aria and Ambrose Sovalnan," I said, dumbstruck.

The one on the right, a girl with long, rippling, raven hair, clear, white eyes, and porcelain skin, nodded, taking one silent step forward. "Tom, we have come to tell you to stop," she said, in unison with the boy behind her. He was a carbon copy of the girl, with the same striking eyes and fair, girlish features. But for the difference in the length of their hair and the faint hint of breasts on the girl, they could have been identical.

I knew these two, the exquisite twins of Slytherin, both prefects in their time and both competing for the coveted position of Head Boy or Girl, only one of which could be selected from any one House. I hadn't seen them since seventh year of my time at Hogwarts. They had been a year younger than me, and I had condescended to befriending them. Aria herself had been on my arm for more than one Hogsmeade visit.

Aria, no older now than she had been then, looked back quizzically at her brother. "We apologize. We are not used to thinking separately."

Ambrose stepped forward, touching her shoulder lightly with his own. "You cannot continue this."

I looked from one to the other, then turned away with a derisive snort. "You are not real."

Both spoke at once, reciting as if by rote, "We cannot be real, Tom, yet here we stand. We cannot appear as we do, Tom, yet see our youth. We cannot live, Tom, yet hear us speak. We cannot be anything. We cannot exist. Who would remember two sixth-year Slytherins, missing on the same day, not seen for more than half a century?"

Ambrose moved forward to stand on my right side, and said solemnly, "You know we can't be here. Why are we?"

Aria moved to my left, saying in the same voice, "You are the only man that will never forget the two pretty flowers that almost bloomed, Tom."

In harmony, "You killed us, Tom. Remember."

I remembered well enough already. They had told me that my plans could not be reasonable. They had threatened to tell the Deputy Headmaster of my experiments with a Horcrux. They threatened it all. They had not understood the logic of my eternal life. Everything could have been ruined.

So I had killed them.

"Get away from me."

"You murdered us. We have come to tell you to stop. The world will not survive your reign."

"Oh?" I spat, furious now, "And you'll tell me to simply admit defeat at the hands of a boy and disappear forever?"

They shared an uncomprehending stare, then both simultaneously turned back to look up at me. "We are aware of no boy."

"The Potter boy. Is the afterlife so devoid of news of this world that you don't know the boy who lived?"

"We are not ghosts, Tom. It will be a mistake to assume that we are."

"I am not Tom. I am Lord Voldemort! And you will treat me with respect!" I swung my arm through Ambrose's cheek in what should have been a crushing blow. It passed through.

For once without his sister, he said, "I would not recommend doing that again. We are stronger when you believe we exist." They both seemed to concentrate for an instant. "We believe that aversion therapy will suffice to convince you of this."

There was a sharp, blinding pain in the back of my head, and then I was on the floor, writhing to avoid the burning that spread through every inch of my being. All I could do was focus on how much I wanted it to stop. Mercifully, it did. I stood up shakily.

"What the hell are you two?"

"We are you conscience." Their faces twisted up in malicious glee. "It is time for a wake-up call."

We used up our hoarded and treasured energy in that one manifestation. But we think we got our point across to him. His self-importance is wrong. His conceit is wrong. Murder is wrong.

Now we cannot see the world again. But this 'Potter boy' intrigued us. Is there a wizard who could challenge Tom in power? There is hope for the world yet.

No, we are not ghosts. We are the memory of those two twins with striking white eyes, the hidden guilt that Tom refuses, even to himself.

Now, we shall rest. There is nothing more we can do. There is hope for the world now. To use the phrase jokingly, we may rest in peace, knowing that.

So sing a requiem for the dead, and move on to a world without mostly-faded memories and Lord Voldemort.