Author's Note: I have been working on ideas for this story in between finishing Buried Myself Alive. Only 1200 words for this prelude, but I wanted to see if anyone would like to help me out. My mind is so clustered with thought, I cannot seem to organize this story and have never written Tom Riddle or Voldemort in much detail. If you wanna help me (please, please, pleases), let me know in a review.

Damnation

Somewhere in Scotland, in a time not too far from this one, but in a location you would not be able to find on a majority of maps, smoke was rising between the mountains. As if someone were lighting fireworks that weren't traveling very high, multi-coloured flashes of light gave the eerie smoke a constant rainbow of illumination.

Minerva McGonagall sat behind the desk she only briefly occupied during her time as Headmistress. There was a battle going on, the war was at it's climax; students were dying!

Yet, here she was, inevitably following orders from a portrait. It was highly unlikely anyone in the Wizarding world would take heed from a portrait, but this was no Sir Cadogan, the enchanted portrait who had requested her presence was of Albus Dumbledore.

Long before his death, long before the start of the Second War, even before James and Lily Potter had conceived the baby who would become the Boy-Who-Lived, Albus had asked one thing of her. It was of grave importance, she remembered. They had convened for a private meeting underneath the heaviest security their magic could ensure in the most remotest of places. Hell, she didn't even know what Continent they had traveled to for that long ago conversation.

When young Harry had last ran past her, had told her the message Albus wished her to receive, it was time.

Of course, finding the bloody thing was the hard part. Severus Snape had been sure to clear everything belonging and related to Dumbledore's life. Albus was absolutely certain it had not been removed from where he had placed it, however, and the tiny drawer which most would dismiss as only a supply one for extra quills and ink pots had revealed several decades of paperwork Albus had stashed away, books that had been out of date for years, broken trinkets and unused or forgotten presents.

As the stern woman gave out a groan of frustration, the painting on the wall merely laughed, his characteristic blue eyes twinkling. "Minerva, I promise it is in there," he reassured her. "I just had to be sure it would not end up in the wrong hands."

"I don't understand why I couldn't have been given it for safe-keeping," she snapped back, pulling out a few bags of expired candies and throwing them into the growing pile.

"You will understand, darling, when you have it within your grasp."

She rolled her eyes and continued her search.

xxx

Down below the tower, cries of battle were barely audible over the thunderous sound of spells colliding with each other and the stone walls of the old castle. All noise was silenced, however, as an amplified voice was carried across the grounds.

"You have all fought valiantly. My Death Eaters will have removed themselves from your presence by now. Harry Potter, collect those who have died in vain. Have an hour of reprieve. Mourn your loses and prepare for your deaths."

True to Voldemort's word, his followers had suddenly vanished and all who were left standing around them were their allies. Each was covered in dirt and sweat, blood from themselves and loved ones.

"I'm going into the Forest," Harry announced to his two best friends, a steely determination in his emerald eyes. Too many had fallen. The three of them were still reeling from the death of Fred. Ron had been fighting with tears stinging his eyes, barely making it out of duels unscathed.

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No, Harry, not yet, please," she begged of him, her own tears threatening to spill over.

Almost as suddenly as before, a cold voice boomed over the grounds. "Yes, Harry Potter, not yet, please!" mocked Lord Voldemort.

The trio immediately took a circular stance, backs together so that no one could be hit from behind, wands at the ready and eyes more open than ever. Hermione could not keep herself from trembling from fear. They were still children! It would be entirely too unfair for the Dark Lord himself to approach the three of them. Not yet. They needed more time.

BOOM!

Without warning, the wall and doorway closest to her gave way and, even with a shielding charm, she saw the stones and other debris hurtling towards them at an alarming rate. In her last moments, Hermione Granger had always wished to remember the happiest moments of her short life. All she could see however, was a cloaked sillouette slowly stepping - no, floating- between the broken wall and confidently making his way toward her.

Lord Voldemort's movements were careful and slow. Deliberate. The red, snake-like slits glowing ominously as her mind scrolled through it's many defensive options. Once again she begged fate for more time.

Time. It had stopped in that very moment. Frozen. From the corner of her eyes, Hermione could see that both Harry and Ron were unmoving.

So this is how it ends, she thought ruefully. The lowly Mudblood, taken down by Tom Riddle himself.

"Now, now, Hermione," his voice, no longer loud nor cold, rang out to her almost silently. In fact, if she had not seen his lips moving, it would have been impossible to know the monster in front of her had spoken. Her name.

Almost an eternity later his movements stopped directly in front of her. The heat emitted from his towering form enough to make her falter back when his free hand reached out as if to touch her.

"It seems you are not pleased with my current appearance," stated Lord Voldemort, his gaze and voice both emotionless. Blank. "I have to admit, time has been cruel to Tom Riddle."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. A voice in her head urged her not to play this silly game, but her mouth beat the logic coursing through her mind. "What are you playing at, Voldemort?" asked Hermione, speaking his self chosen name with venom. Flinching at her own words, she prepared herself for the inevitable death she had just signed the certificate for, closing her eyes briefly and taking in a deep breath.

Seconds later, with no response and no sound of movement, she opened them once more to find that Lord Voldemort was gazing at her unsurely, as if unable to decide what exactly to do with Potter's Mudblood sidekick.

"Stop it, Hermione," he pleaded, and Hermione couldn't help but feel as if an alternate universe had crash landed right into her. "The blood in your veins is of no concern to me."

The brunette cocked her head, contemplating the man in front of her. Realization struck her, startling like a ruler colliding with her bare knuckles. "It... It worked, didn't it?" she asked carefully, trying not to step over the boundaries which had been laid down in front of her.

A reminiscent smirk, one she barely recognized from the memories divulged to her earlier in the night, lit up his face. "You are so different from what I remember," was his reply. "Then again, fifty years later, some memories may not be meant to last."

In a blur of fabric and with a twist on her insides, Hermione Granger collapsed onto the ground shimmering translucent blue and writhing in pain.