Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the boy was spoilt, selfish, unkind* and full of hate…
It was winter and the snow had been falling for days now, covering the landscape with a white, glittering blanket. Cold winds blew, restraining even the toughest animal from leaving its comparably warm shelter. The young man turned away from the huge window that offered a panoramic view of the grounds surrounding the place he lived in. He sneered. Surely the biting cold would all too soon be the death of hundreds of useless mudbloods, who lived in the slum areas of each of his empire's cities. Deaths he wouldn't have to deal with. Deaths he couldn't have cared less about. Ever since he came to power, he'd done whatever necessary to let this leprosy suffer. Muggles, mudbloods. The scum of the earth! A cruel smile played on his lips as he looked at the giant mirror in his bed-chamber. Who could have ever thought that underneath his dashing, handsome looks beat the heart of a merciless killer? His looks and the ability to appear as nice as pie had been his advantage in the widely unnoticed overthrow of the old government. No one could resist him. Those anencephaly fools at the ministry had been smitten with him from the moment he entered their sphere of influence. It had been a waltz to seize power. Within the span of four months he and his loyal devotees had become the new government with his being at the top as self-awarded Lord Voldemort. However, he still had that nagging feeling that nothing could thrill him, let alone fulfil him. He'd killed, he'd watched people die with absolute delight, he'd taken a deep interest in forging laws only meant to let each one of those filthy mudbloods and muggles pay. Yet, his heart and mind craved for more. The man who refused to be called by his birth-name, Tom Riddle, lusted for the ultimate sin. A sin, he himself could not name. Pulled out of his thoughts by the ringing of the magically intensified doorbell, he called for Lucius Malfoy, one of his most trusted servants.
Hermione Granger, mudblood and inhabitant of CEBZ, the ridiculously formal designation of a hut made of rusty corrugated iron, shivered heavily. The quilts she'd wrapped around her gaunt body were wet, for the snow kept getting through the gaps of her self-built abode. She had no money to heat her decrepit coal-burning stove, no money to buy food. She wasn't allowed to use magic… To cut a long story short: She was very well aware of the fact that this winter was going to be her very last. Hermione could have cried because of all she'd suffered, but for a girl who was used to living in this world there simply were no tears left to be shed. She stared with weary eyes at the branding they'd given her the moment the new laws concerning her "race" became applicable. It was nothing more than a series of numbers and letters. MB2695H157823G… That was all she meant to them… To him: Lord Voldemort! Numbers and letters. No human being, no personality, just a code among other codes. She stood from her sorry excuse of a bed and strode over to the only treasure she possessed. A shelf filled with books. It contained all sorts of novels, plays and encyclopaedias. The books were her friends. Always there to invite her to a journey leading away from the mess she'd come to call life. Hermione ghosted her fingertips over the backs of her friends. It always seemed as though they were whispering to her. Luring her into their, oh so different, worlds. She tilted her head. There was one book she'd decided to save up for a special moment. Knowing that there was no use to wait any longer for death was already knocking on her door, Hermione pulled the book out. She caressed its surface, embraced the memories that came by looking at the front cover. The Phantom. Susan Kay's bibliographical novel about the Phantom of the Opera…
A/N: The first two sentences are part of the introductory scene of Disney's "The Beauty and the Beast", released 1991.