A/N: I do not own anything that you recognize. The only things that belong to me are the original characters and the plotline. All else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling…who is amazing.
The graveyard next to the Riddle house had always seemed rather dark and dreary to the residents of Little Hangleton. The chilling mist covering the area and the clouds concealing the moon only worked to make it more so. On a night like tonight, people were sure to remain clear of the area, which, with the recent murder of Frank Bryce, the Riddle family's former gardener and the one suspect in their murders, was rumored to be cursed. Had anyone been there, however, they would have seen a woman, shrouded in a silver cloak, slowly making her way between the tombstones.
As the woman entered the clearing around the Riddle's gravestone, she paused and slowly knelt before it. She seemed to be on the verge of speaking when suddenly a young woman appeared behind her.
"Madame, Lord Voldemort is here to see you," the girl said, her voice trembling slightly.
"Thank you, Anaira." The woman said softly.
As the girl walked away, the woman turned, looking up at the house on the hill. 'It seems like it was so long ago,' she thought to herself, her mind filling up with memories.
"Your Highness," said a high, cold voice from behind her.
"Tom," she said with a smile, "It has been too long."
"Indeed it has," he agreed. "You are more beautiful than I remember," he whispered, staring softly into the face partially hidden beneath the hood of her cloak.
"You've changed as well; you're no longer the boy I knew," she said shyly, surveying the man who stood before her.
"I haven't changed as much as you think," he replied.
"I'm sure you haven't," she said with a smirk. "Well, enough reminiscing. Tell me, Tom, why did you ask me here tonight?"
At this, he paused. He turned around and glanced up at the moon, wondering how to put it. Finally, he swung around and said, "I…I need your help."
She smiled. "You really haven't changed."
"You know full well what I need, and you know that if he succeeds…" he didn't continue, allowing the statement to hang ominously in the cold night air.
"Ah, then you already know that Minerva has approached me," she said, staring at him from beneath her hood.
"Yes, and I was hoping you would accept her offer," he replied optimistically.
"I will accept it, and I will watch the boy carefully. I only hope that it is not too late," she said as she turned to walk away. "As you very well know, there is much at stake for me as well. If the prophecy does not come to pass it could mean the end of my family. We both know how disastrous that could be."
"Indeed," he replied softly. "How will I know when to act?"
She laughed softly, "Trust me, you will know." With that, she turned and pulled her wand from the depths of her robes. Muttering in strange language, she pointed it straight at the moon and the Dark Lord watched as a tongue of black flame shot out towards it.
Miles away, a boy named Harry Potter awoke with a start.
