A/N: This is a rather short story which I would like to share, the chapters itself will be of similar lenght to this one – if you like the idea I presented here, don't fail to let me know. I will listen to your suggestions in the future, if you find something could be done or said better.

Disclaimer: I write for my own amusement and don't pretend to own anything from the HP Universe except my own original characters. Please be nice to them. ;)

Chapter One: So it Begins

It was the day Lord Voldemort took control over the magical community of Great Britain. The Ministry was in his hands, just as he had always hoped and aspired for. Even the fortress of his opponents – Hogwarts School for witchcraft and wizardry – had fallen and now lay before for him to do with it as he pleased. Had he the inclination, he could have remodelled it completely, but he knew such a task was unnecessary. It was the minds he wanted to change, the curriculum, not the walls that housed the next generations.

Severus Snape, the newly appointed Headmaster of the said school, was his most trusted servant and the one who would take care that the new era would begin in the classrooms. Those teachers who found themselves quite opposed to his rule had to bow their heads and listen to what he told them to do through his servant's mouth, if they desired to see another sunrise in their lives. Some were, unfortunately, not needed anymore and thus removed – permanently. Lord Voldemort was sure he was almost at the end of the long journey to power. That is – he only had to take care of the remainder of the opposition, before his plans would be completed to minute details.

It did not matter that Harry Potter and his friends continued to evade him; he knew they would stumble across each other in the future and then he would finish them for once and all. It did prove to be quite a sport to toy with the Order of the Phoenix. However amusing it was, he was not a very patient man once he set his mind to something – he wanted them caught, he wanted to gloat and he wanted revenge for the years he had spent in the shadows, neither living nor dead.

His mind was distracted from the late failure of his followers to capture the boy and his friends by unexpected letters of congratulation from his foreign supporters for seizing the Ministry. One dark family in particular sent him intriguing news. He remembered them well. They were the ones who helped him on his journey to greatness, with tutoring in obscure branches of magic when he travelled the world. Voldemort was sure he could send them something in return – the Department of Mysteries should be in possession of a particular artefact he could send to them.

But what was even more important than his connection to them was their goal of centuries - to find the hidden temple of old Slavic gods where knowledge about immortality and power was hidden for generations. Only chosen ones ever saw the legendary temple grounds or stepped inside, swearing an oath to never betray the location upon the pain of their death. Even if one were prepared to die in order to reveal its secret, magic would silence them before they would utter a first syllable. This temple was thus the only magical place that had never been breached by dark wizards in the history of magic.

Now it seemed, as Voldemort read the letter again, that the first crack in its defences was found. Long had they searched and hunted down more information about the wizards and witches who hid themselves inside the walls to protect forbidden knowledge, to preserve the old ways and achieve immortality. A pledged-in priestess was finally captured and imprisoned. Voldemort was intrigued of the possibilities, but most of all, he was afraid of the time the knowledge leaked out. He was the only immortal in the world and he planned to remain the only one. He had no patience to suffer another Dark Lord – competition was not an option. The situation in Britain was tense enough as it was, he thought. He had to see this witch and learn more about her – he might even find her useful in defeating that Potter boy.

In order to get complete control over her knowledge, she had to be under his thumb or be dead so that no one else could discover her secrets. Before he could plan her death, however, he had to look inside her mind, determine if she might be turned to his side. How much he understood of the temple, she would probably never be able to return back. She might even kill herself to prevent betraying her fellow witches and wizards under torture. He doubted she would reveal much even then, which brought him back to the letter – they obviously failed to get anything out of her. No matter, he would make sure she would sing – they all did in the end.

Voldemort cold imagine she knew a lot about white magic – which he found of no use – and arcane arts – which he once again failed to find a particular interest of his. If the secret to immortality was not in her keeping, then at least he would find out where her temple was located and perhaps use its protections for his own chambers. Although the magical world feared him and his name, he was still pragmatic enough to know the Potter boy and his lot could still decide upon a visit. Or one of his would try to usurp him. It was a sad state of the world when people you trusted turned their backs on you, but he was no judge of the matter since he did that many times himself. He was a Slytherin after all – his desires and needs first.

As he sat down into his chair, his faithful snake coiling around its legs, he summoned some of the grimoars that contained the few bits of information about the temple and his guards. He had to prepare himself for when she would be delivered to him. He had a feeling she would certainly be no common witch – that she had survived the torture by dark wizards told a lot about her strength. It was a while ago that he spoke Russian, perhaps he should brush up on this language too; who knew what curse she might throw at him. It was prudent not to underestimate his opponents, as he had done with Potters. If he knew more about their rituals and magical protection practices, it would be easier to break them in order to break her. Besides, the Death Eaters needed a challenge or two - who was he to deny them to fail to impress once again? How the pureblood world ever managed to survive, he had no idea. Most were complete idiots or very near one.

A picture in one of the medieval initials caught his eye. A woman standing in a circle made with white chalk or salt was praying to a goddess with flowing white hair. A symbol at the very top of the drawing the praying witch made was something he had seen before. Something he was very familiar with… The captured priestess would stand no chance at all when she would be pushed to the floor to kneel before him. She would be a most amusing guest for his next Death Eater gathering.

'Yes', he thought as his red eyes narrowed to small slits of pleasure when he closed the book with a snap, 'meeting her could turn out to be quite interesting indeed'.

With determined steps he left the room to speak to his resident Potions Master – there would be some potions needed if what he just found out was true. The man would be quite over himself once he would see the recipe and the artistry it needs to be done perfectly. Snape was too stressed by the enormous task he was given. This should better his mood considerably. He had quite enough of Bella arguing with him even though they were amusing at times. Snape never failed to impress with his sharp tongue.

Leave a note if you have time ;)