Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns all. Also, I'd like to thank Laila for her voldie POV post

The Preludes

Prologue:

The turnout was the same as it always was: the same number of cloaked bodies, the same hidden faces, the same hushed voices. This didn't surprise him, as he had not been expecting any more. The time would come soon when more would be marked. Young. Wild. Reckless. He would snatch more of society's offspring; there was no one he couldn't have. Everywhere there was corruption and many more were eager to join his ranks.

There was something different about the collection standing in front of him now. It was a change in the atmosphere.

Their Dark Lord watched them as they had slowly become more comfortable with their stance. He never spoke, surveying them with as much stealth as a predator watches its prey. And like a predator, he would go for the weakest and tear them apart, piece by piece.

There had been new additions to his ever-increasing army but many of his men were...boys. This sudden restlessness was clearly the result of too much testosterone in one place and the few girls that didn't help it. Yes, they were just boys. MMere children. It was these children that would pave the path to his greatness—to his immortality. Through them, through their inheritances and prestige, through their alliances and loyalties, he would live on in infamy.

He raised his hand, in a gesture that commanded attention. In a matter of split seconds, all the eyes present darted to where he stood, their hushed restlessness transforming into deathly silence.

Glancing around his men—no, boys, he weeded them out mentally. They were weak, spoiled heirs of the system that he despised simply because he was never able to be apart of it. Some had hope of being great, of course. Some were already skilled in what he wanted them to know: manipulation, stealth, cunning, ruthlessness. They wouldn't disappoint him. Others would have to be dealt with.

"Lestrange," he remarked lazily, and two of the boys straightened. He knew the elder one would realize this was directed at him soon enough. "Refrain from thinking about a certain Miss. Black is such a manner, in my presence at least."

In actual fact, none of what he had just sensed bothered him. He was merely reminding him of his place, should he have forgotten. Humiliation would remind them all. Humiliation and punishment.

"Yes, my Lord," came the obedient reply.

"You know why you are all here," he began, his eyes shining a blood red in the candle light of dimly lit room. "It is not to mingle, this is not one of your parent's dinner parties where small talk and what you are wearing is important."

They were hanging on to his words. He could feel them beg him for more.

"This is your only chance to participate in the cause of your people," he continued. "This is the cause that promotes the preservation of the purebloods, the demise of the filth below us, the same filth that pollute the halls of your schools, the filth that roam the street freely, dirtying our clean air and denting the minds of your siblings and children."

He paused, allowing them to let this information sink it. It wasn't anything new to them, naturally. Yet, his clear, commanding voice that chilled their spines and made them unable to look away was refreshingly different from their fathers. They craved for more.

"Mr. Nott," he said, his gaze wandering over to a tall, weedy young man. "Theodore. Congratulations on the wedding. Tell me, are you planning on having children?"

Theodore Nott smiled smally, mainly because his Lord knew his name, and nodded. "Of course.. My Lord."

"And tell me, do you enjoy the fact that your children will be required to be on the same level as say, the child of muggle pickpocket who spends his time making wars with his neighbor over trivial muggle beliefs and polluting your fine earth with their garbage?"

Nott shook his head fervently, scowling. "Not at all, My Lord."

There was a murmur of agreement with Nott's answer.

He smiled. Just like their fathers before them, they would be easy to ensnare. He would trap them in his cage, mark them as his own and they would be his. He would allow them to hurt whom they wished, whom he wished and he would be the leader against the dirty bloody they all hated so much. Dirty blood that he hated so much. But his first priority was himself. Soon, he would be their first priority too.

"I shall teach you all things you have never dreamt of," he said slowly, allowing their twisted smiles to spread. "I will help you master spells that Dumbledore himself doesn't know. Under my guide, you will all be masters of your art."

"Do we get to kill 'em?" asked one of the children who dared speak out of turn. "Kill 'em mudbloods?"

A time would come where the children would learn to keep silent unless spoken to. Bruises and blood will be their reminders. With each curse uttered at them, they shall never forget their place. However, their Lord let them get away with speech. Just for this night.

"Killing is murder, young Ransley," said he, a small smirk on his face. "And murder of our human kind is illegal."

The murmur turned into one of displeasure; obviously the blood lust was rising.

"However," he began, causing the silence to resume at the sound of his voice. "As we all know, the only true people are those who are with us. Those that are against us, those mudblood filth and their sympathizers, don't count as human. Let's not rest until every last one of them is drowning in their own, inferior blood."

Their grins were all it took before he knew that the teeth of the predator sank into the flesh of his prey. They were his for consumption.

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Hogwarts was an institution founded on education. For nearly a 1000 years it had stood tall through all storms, through all attacks, through everything the world threw at it. It was Minerva McGonagal's home and had been for longer than she'd like to admit. She never had a single qualm about it other than how the children kept getting cheekier each other. Until now that is.

One could never say that Albus Dumbledore was not a patient and understanding man. The mere hint of an implication of his being a mean, and bitter old fool with no empathy for anyone would have sent Minerva McGonagal into a vengeful fury.

Or, perhaps, the vengeful fury was just Mr.—Professor, rather—Jacques Colbert's useless, dramatic rants. She had been accustomed to his presence since the middle of August and his blubbering and dramatics were winding thin.

"Oh, Dumbleydore!" he cried for what Minerva counted as a two hundred, forty second time, "I do not know how I can ever 'sank you! 'Zis job means so much to me! If 'zhere is anything at all that I may do to 'elp with anything then please, monsieur, do not 'esitate to ask!"

Once Colbert had gotten around to stepping his foot into his new classroom which was located, unfortunately for Minerva, right across the hall from her, he never shut up again. For nearly two weeks she was forced to put up with his loud French music and noxious pipe fumes which Dumbledore allowed him to smoke. She suspected that the hookah bars and pipes he kept so close (going so far as to threaten Filch when he attempted to have them cleaned) contained substances of opium. Minerva doubted he had even made up his lesson plan.

That was, in fact, what this board meeting was about. They had one every month and all the teachers would gather into the conference room and go over procedures and events. Colbert, who came empty handed, must have forgotten.

"It is no problem at all, Jacques," Dumbledore said with a smile. "And please, I don't need you for anything, just rest up. I know you've had a very hard year."

"Oui!" cried Colbert again, collapsing his grey head onto a surprised Slughorn's shoulder. "Poor Mademoiselle Champelon! 'Er 'usband's disappearance 'as crushed 'er!"

Slughorn awkwardly patted Colbert's shoulder. "There, there, my good man, Isabelle Champelon is a strong headmistress, under her leadership the school will be out of it's funk in no time."

"Leoncorazon in Spain is rumored to be closing down completely," Veronica Vector, the Arithmancy piped up with a sigh, throwing down The Daily Prophet onto the staff table. "Parents don't feel safe sending their children there with their Divination teacher found murdered on the grounds."

Colbert burst into loud tears.

Minerva and Professor Sprout exchanged sour looks.

"Durmstrang, sadly, has had a record number of students dropping out," added Rima Boutros, whose glassy eyes were fixed upon her crystal ball. Ever since news of Leoncorzaon's Divination teacher's death, she insisted on lugging that thing everywhere with her just in case, she proclaimed, her Sight was needed.

"It is true," stated Dumbledore from his seat at the head of the staff table, looking at his colleagues with a frown, "that the world is changing for the worse. But, I promise you all, just like I promised the concerned parents, that Hogwarts shall remain open and shall remain as one of the few sanctuaries left in Great Britain."

"Naturally, naturally!" exclaimed Horace. "Why just yesterday Barty Crouch himself was assuring me that the Ministry is locking down on all this Voldemort business! Why, he said…"

Minerva tuned out his voice as he continued to explain to Colbert and Sprout the extent of his knowledge about Ministry workings. She turned to Dumbledore, frowning and quietly said, "All these attacks.. Surely you know what this means, Albus. He's looking outside his inner circle for followers and those who do not cooperate get killed."

"I am aware of this, Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly. "We shall speak of this another time however, I have a meeting to conduct—"

"This cannot wait, Albus!" she whispered shrilly, her brows knotting with anxiety. "What if he's gotten to our students?"

Dumbledore did not say anything for a moment. Slughorn was still going on about the inside information that he knew which was muddled with Flitwick and Sprout's own private discussion. Minerva was still gazing at Dumbledore expectantly.

"I fear that he already has."

Minerva felt her stomach sink. She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head, the mere thought of any of her students, no matter what house or what grades, being seduced into that way of life eating away at her. "But.. they're children.."

"On the contrary, my dear lady, they're no longer children."

Minerva hated that collected voice of his. How could he remain so at ease during such a situation? If there was one thing she could never do, it was read what was going on in Albus Dumbledore's extensive mind. His demure never gave anything away for that little spark in his eye was always present.

"Is there nothing we could do for them?" she asked rather helplessly.

"We can hope," he answered simply. "And have faith. Without both then we have doomed our students to his wrath. Of we wish for all our students to make it out of this war safely, that is the last we can do."

Minerva sighed, a deep frown forming on her worn out features. "It's going to take more than hope and faith to get through this war, Albus, let alone this year."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm counting on it."

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A/N: Just a glimpse of what's happening from both sides. Next chapter we get into the real characters whoo. It's much longer too (think 14 pages haha).

This is based on a RPG but it's mainly canon. The only thing that isn't ist he yearing and that's just becaues it's more fun that way )