PROLOGUE

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"Alohamora!"

There was a soft click, a smile, and a cautious step through the newly unlocked door.

There was precious little light – the room was dark and only a few stray beams were able to slip through the tightly drawn shades. Albus Dumbledore stood with his wand in hand, his back flush against the doorway he'd just slipped through. The wizened wizard quickly surveyed the scene before him – his keen eyes sifting through the darkness. The room was sparsely furnished, with little comfort. There was a small, worn down desk in the corner of the room – several sheets of parchment were strewn across its surface. The bed in the opposite corner looked hardly large enough for a child, let alone a fully grown adult. The single sheet lining the bed frame was old and threadbare – hardly sufficient for the cold of this time of year. Albus sighed, shook his head, and lowered his wand.

The room was empty. His quarry was missing.

He took a single step forward, and then another, looking for a sign or a clue that might help him discern where the man had gone, where he had run to. He'd been searching on and off again for the better part of a year, and he'd thought he might have finally found him. Instead, he'd found what looked like a dead end.

To the rest of the world the man he was searching for was a dead and had been dead for the better part of a decade. The wizarding world had rejoiced, celebrated their young hero, and had then moved on to their new issues and new enemies and new problems.

Albus Dumbledore was the only one who knew the truth. He carefully lifted the several sheets of parchment from the stained and tainted desk and inspected them closely. The same scrawl adorned each and every page.

Harry Potter, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whining

He crumpled the pages in disgust. Harry Potter was being watched, of course, and there had been no sign of any disturbances save for those originating from the boy's wretched Aunt and Uncle. These pages, though, were still a cause for concern because somehow, the Potter address had been compromised.

He set the papers back on the desk and withdrew his wand almost daintily before tapping the pages. He grimaced slightly and turned back towards the door as the pages quickly went up in smoke. He waved his wand once more and a slight wisp of silvery material appeared before him.

"Double the watch on Number 4."

The gruff words were swallowed by the mist and carried quickly to those atop the chain of command in the Order. The old man pocketed his wand once more and placed his hand against the frame of the old oak door. He closed his eyes and felt for any trace of residue or unwanted magical influence but found none. The information was as he expected supported his strengthening hypothesis. He pushed lightly against the knob and the door swung slowly open. He inspected the lock and concluded that the door had previously been locked by mere muggle means and not by magic at all.

He stepped out into the hallway and could not help but notice the decrepit carpeting and faded wallpaper. The muggle at the entrance desk to the old inn had looked haggard to the extreme and Albus could not help but feel pity for the man. Times were tough everywhere, it seemed. Dumbledore raised his hand and swept it out before him. The stains on the floor began slipping away from the carpet as the wallpaper seemed to swiftly find its old shine. Within seconds the hallway seemed almost new again.

Albus smiled slightly and then vanished with a pop.

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.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

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Severus Snape was not feeling well, not well at all. He'd spent the better part of the evening grading the horrific results of the first year's exams and was hardly in a forgiving sort of mood.

"That's a T for you, Miss Tonks. A Bezoar is NOT found in the stomach of a lamb, or in the 'rectums' of your classmates".

"I don't know, Severus. I think it deserves at least an Acceptable for creativity alone."

Snape turned in his chair and faced the Headmaster's face in the fireplace. "Is there something you want? I find myself a bit occupied this evening."

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, the trace of a smile sliding from his face, "I've stumbled across something that we need to discuss. In person. Please come to my office."

Snape sighed. "Now?"

"Now." Dumbledore's tone allowed for no argument.

The Potions Master nodded, "I'll be there in a moment."

Without another word the headmaster's face vanished from the fireplace.

Snape set aside the failing exam and stood to grab his cloak. He could have simply stepped into the fireplace, but on this particular evening he favored a trip through the hallways on foot. Perhaps he would even find an errant student out of bounds along the way.

The chill of the night's air caused him to pull his cloak tightly around his shoulders as he prowled up from the dungeons towards the Headmaster's tower. It was nearly midwinter, and students would soon be heading home for the holidays. In truth, this was Severus Snape's favorite time of the year. During the summer there was much expected of him – specifically from Dumbledore. He was always off on one assignment or another, and when those little 'projects' were finished he was forced to prepare his curriculum for the upcoming year. The winter break was generally the only time he had to work on his own experiments outside of the very late evenings or very early mornings during the school year.

As he traversed the hallways he could not help but feel a strange touch of nostalgia come over him. He'd spent more years at Hogwarts than he had away from it, but still he could not put aside occasional moments such as this one – moments of sadness, moments of longing. He had expected himself to grow calluses given the time and the multitude of years, but still the memories of times gone by could not be shaken in their entirety.

As he shook his head to chase away the cobwebs he found himself at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Cotton Candy," Snape spoke derisively and the Gargoyle jumped aside. He shook his head as he started up the stairs. The Headmaster's penchant for muggle candies was something he knew he'd never understand. Dumbledore had presented him with a hand full of this 'Cotton Candy' roughly a month before, and frankly Severus couldn't see the appeal. The stuff was disgusting.

Before he could knock he heard Dumbledore's voice bidding him to enter. As he swept into the room, he could not help but note that the room was quite a bit messier than usual – books were left open atop the Headmaster's desk, papers were strewn everywhere.

"Care for a Lemon Drop, Severus?"

Snape took a seat across from Dumbledore, who was seated at the desk with his hands folded in a way that made the old man seem positively serene, despite the mess about him.

"No thank you."

"Pity," Dumbledore said, "they really are quite something."

Snape shook his head. "Your new fascination, Albus?"

The old man laughed aloud, "One always needs some variation in life."

The Potions Master sighed loudly and shifted in his seat. There was something always vaguely unsettling about sitting across from the Headmaster despite the fact that he'd done it many times before. Something about the man made it seem as if he could see right through you. Severus did not enjoy being seen through.

"I'm sure you are curious about the cause for this late meeting."

Snape nodded. "Indeed."

Dumbledore stroked his long beard slowly. "I had a rather interesting experience this evening. I would like your input on the matter."

Severus nodded once again, and Dumbledore continued on. "I assume you got my message."

"I did. It is done."

Dumbledore smiled. "Good. It is for the best, although at the moment I do not believe that there is a real threat."

Snape furrowed his brow. "And what is this potential or false threat?"

"Severus, this might come as a shock to you. But you need to know, and I need your help."

"I would prefer it, Albus, if you would quit stalling and just come out with it."

The wizened headmaster nodded slowly. "Certainly, Severus. I have learned without a doubt that Tom Riddle is not gone as the world has imagined. Indeed, the man is quite certainly still alive."

A look of pure terror flashed across the Potions Master's face as he stood up. "The Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is still alive?"

Dumbledore sat still. "Yes and no."

"What does that mean?" Snape growled in frustration as the Headmaster began to smile. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Albus."

"Too true, too true. The Dark Lord is no more, Severus. You do not need to worry. Tom Riddle, however, is indeed still out there. He is on the run."

Snape rubbed his eyes. "I do not understand."

"It seems," Dumbledore started, "that Tom Riddle did not lose his life in his attempt on the Potters as we all thought. He lost something much, much worse.

"And what was that, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled a cold smile. "He lost his magic, Severus. Tom Riddle is now, in my estimation, no more magical than your father or my brother's pet goat. And I would like it very much, my friend, if you would help me catch him."

Snape could only nod.

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.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

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"How many did you make, Tom?"

He was trapped. Cornered. Caged. The net had tightened leaving him no place to run. And standing before him now was none other than his greatest adversary. His one-time equal.

And he was defenseless.

It was not the first moment in which Tom Riddle wished he had the capacity to take his own life, and it would not be the last.

"I will ask you again," the venerable Headmaster said, "how many did you make?"

Riddle shook his head, eyes desperate. "I don't know what you're talking about, Albus."

The old man had a weary look about him. As Tom looked in to the man's eyes he could find nothing but sadness, contempt, and pity. He had never hated the man more than he did in that moment.

"Let us not play games – not at this late hour. Your time is up, your era over. You have very little left to do but talk to me."

Riddle took a step back and felt his hands brush against the rough stone of the monastery walls. His long and tattered gray hair fell and framed his gaunt and aging face. His skin was pulled tight against his cheekbones, it was clear the man had been living precious little food. He'd never planned on being captured – that was something that had never crossed his mind, not even once. He hadn't even known that anyone was looking for him. Riddle swore out loud, cursing himself for not anticipating the Dumbledore's obsession. After all, he was the old man's greatest mistake.

"I could force you to speak, Tom. We both know this. Let us attempt to be civil for a change."

Rage erupted from the former Dark Lord's chest and he spat at the man's face. Dumbledore proceeded to wave his wand almost lazily and words began to tumble unbidden from Tom Riddle's lips.

"I was intending to make seven."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "And how many did you make successfully?"

Try as he might, Riddle could not stop himself from speaking. "Five. Five pieces including the one still left in this body.

"And that is how you survived."

Riddle nodded. "Yes."

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Do you know where Harry Potter lives?"

He nodded once more. "Yes."

"How did you learn this information?"

The man shrugged. "Your man – Fletcher, I believe – is a complete fool."

"And were you planning on returning to attack Harry Potter?"

Riddle shook his head. "A pipe dream. Nothing more."

Albus waved his wand once more and Tom fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, his voice returned to his control.

"Just end it." Riddle said softly, his voice cracking.

Albus furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

Riddle clenched his jaw, a combination of anger, frustration, and desperation coursing through his veins. "You know what I said. Just end it. Kill me."

"And deprive you of your quite fitting punishment?" Dumbledore shook his head, "I think not."

Riddle paused for a moment before speaking again. "Does it gall you, Professor?"

Albus frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"Does it make you furious to know that a little boy accomplished what you could not? Does it shame you to know that without Potter, you would have been helpless to protect all the people you love, all the people you care about?"

Dumbledore did not respond. Instead he turned to the door. "Severus, you may enter."

Riddle's eyes widened. "I should have known he'd return to you, Albus. You always were too forgiving by far."

Snape grimaced. "I was always his. Always."

Dumbledore took a step towards his Potions Master and put a hand on his shoulder. "And I appreciate all that you did."

Tom Riddle shook his head and clenched his fists almost unconsciously. "Albus, do you know the things this man has done? Do you know the muggles he tortured, the women he raped, the men he killed?"

Snape raised his wand and pointed it at the haggard man sitting at the base of the wall. "You are truly pathetic."

"Do it." Riddle's words were soft but striking. "Do it. You know you want to. Kill me, Snape. If you have the courage."

Severus Snape waved his wand and a jet of light struck the frail man directly in the chest. He slumped forwards. Snape lowered his wand. He was breathing heavily, and sweat could be seen on the tip of his brow.

Albus clasped Snape's shoulder. "Thank you, my friend." Severus could not help but look away.

Dumbledore stepped forward and clutched what was left of Tom Riddle. He nodded at Snape and the two of them vanished from the stone chamber.

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.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

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NOTE: So, this is just the prologue, but I'm glad you've read this much! This is my first story in over a year and a half (I think) and I'm excited to work on it. Should be lots of fun, and hopefully you'll keep reading as the story keeps being written! I know this was short, but chapters in the future should be at least twice as long.