So I was looking back over this story and thought that I should have updated a long time ago. However I read through it and felt that it needed a little tweaking here and there, to make it satisfactory to my own standards, e.g. making the chapters longer and fleshing out the storyline properly. And in a year, my writing has (hopefully) developed.

So therefore I am re-writing the existing chapters and also continuing writing. It is a promise to myself that I will not abandon this story.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

She had arrived at the crack of midnight and it wasn't completely without cliché. It was in the Great Hall when it happened and as it was Halloween most of the school was awake and eating in the Great Hall when she had arrived.

Tom Riddle had been one of the people that knew that somehow something was not right on this day. He had walked around the school going to his usual lessons; talking to the same people; eating in the same place, all of which were usual occurrences. But somehow...today was different. He watched the High Table carefully, with a measure of some calculation and saw that most of the teachers looked extremely nervous, as if they too had noticed that today had felt off. They were on edge. As if waiting for something to happen.

Dumbledore in particular had looked increasingly nervous throughout the feast, not eating for once and not talking to any of the other teachers. The Transfiguration teacher's eyes merely scanned the hall, watching and waiting with unveiled impatience and worry.

The seventh year frowned slowly. This was indeed peculiar and for the Transfiguration master it was indeed a little troubling. He didn't even have the hated twinkling of the eyes at the moment. He looked, if he could put a name to it...rather old and vulnerable.

He turned back to his Housemates, keeping a watch on the teachers out of the corner of his eye. The Rosier twins were bickering as usual, Abraxas Malfoy was looking ridiculously pretentious as usual, and Mulciber's manners showed that they were in need of urgent correction. He ignored all of these defects, remaining above the conversation until it drifted back to a more intellectual subject.

"Rotten weather," Lestrange said, looking up in the direction of the enchanted ceiling. Indeed the other boy was right in that currently there was a fierce thunderstorm whistling around the whole castle, slamming against the panes of glass in the windows, "If it doesn't let up then they might have to cancel some lessons for tomorrow," Mulciber immediately perked up at that. Lestrange looked slyly at Tom, "Not that it'll make any difference to the grades of the illustrious Head Boy,"

"Pity the same couldn't be said to you, Lestrange," Tom returned mildly, and the other boy flushed a pale red, inclining his head in a slightly submissive manner. There was a point when gentle banter turned into mockery and insubordination.

Lestrange turned to the others, suitably mollified, "When you do think that Grindelwald will attack Britain?" Malfoy asked Ivan Rosier who had just lost the argument with his sister, "Doesn't your Uncle work in Bulgaria?"

"Uncle Charles?" the other boy nodded, "Yes, he happens to be there now as a matter of fact. He doesn't send word though, something that Father is expressly annoyed about," he tore a piece of bread off from his baguette, chewing it slowly, "I'm unaware of what truly goes on over there apart from what many already know,"

Abraxas Malfoy eyed the smaller boy. Blonde and blue eyed: he was everything a Malfoy should and would be. Arrogant and cruel, he served as a good installer of fear into the school. He was outranked by no one except Tom Riddle. People assumed that the two boys didn't get along with the Malfoy Heir resenting being second best. However those people could not have been more wrong in that respect. Tom Riddle in Abraxas' eyes was the Head of the School, and someone worthy to follow. The Malfoy Heir was impressed by the dark haired orphan's charisma; content with being his right hand man as it were; and if Abraxas was honest with himself- which was a rare occurrence- he would admit to having that faint spark of fear when he looked at the other boy. And it burned.

"That doesn't tell us much," Mulciber said, cutting through the silence.

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and then it happened.

A loud crack from the ceiling made everyone glance up as several panes of glass smashed from the force of the storm outside. There was the sound of something impacting against a hard surface and he craned his head slightly, seeing several teachers stand up. He saw a faintly rivulet of blood, stain the stone floor before seeing a figure stand haphazardly, swaying dangerously. A girl no older than seventeen stood there, a faint trickle of blood dripping onto the floor.

Dumbledore was instantly by her side as she swayed once more violently before collapsing onto the floor, and Tom saw that her eyes were unseeing as Dumbledore crouched down in front of her, "Ella," he said softly and even over the commotion of the younger years, his voice was clearly heard, "What do you see?"

"People," she gasped; her eyes still oddly out of focus, "Lots of people, running...running scared," her voice sounded slightly hoarse as if she had been screaming for hours on end. She was looking through everything, as if another scene was being played out in front of her.

"Tell me what you see, Ella," Dumbledore said, "Tell us what you know,"

When she spoke again, it had a faint lilting quality to it, like she was caressing the words before she spoke them, "The Dark Lord shall fall and another and more terrible shall rise in his place. The times of peace are not of peace but rather the darkness gathering in force. The Dark Lord whose name shall never be spoken will tear the world apart with little to stop him. Immortal and forever, he lacks the knowledge of love and compassion which will ultimately be his downfall. United with the skull and the snake as his Mark, born to those of inferior and superior birth, he will rise to be judge, jury and executioner,"

"And of the light," asked Dumbledore, "What of the light,"

"There is no light but darkness in its place," she spoke rapidly, and Tom could see that while she was so still, her pupils were darting across the hall, "For wherever light travels it finds darkness already in its place. Darkness is in every one of us and the seed of darkness shall become a shoot, which will grow into a tree,"

Dumbledore frowned, "So there is no resistance against such a future,"

"A boy of no particularly or extraordinary talent shall rise up and fight back," she said, "But it's too late, far too late. The Darkness has been waiting for such a long time, it almost wishes for the light," she cocked her head, "But wait..." her eyes stilled, "The light wins above all else if this boy is to succeed and there is no chance for the dark to regain its foothold,"

"Good,"

"No," she shook her head, returning to the frantic searching, "The balance of light and dark are weighted, there has to be endless battle to ensure peace. Peace is so subtle and dull, it blunts knives and axes. War makes us clever and war is the endless suffering of the universe. Forever and eternal, there is no winner and no loser,"

It was then that Tom noticed that blood was dripping down onto the floor was from a cut on her face that was no doubt caused by her fall. She looked nearly ready to faint, "Anything else at all?" Dumbledore pressed.

"She is returning," she said, "She is returning through the dark, and the blood and the cold. She is returning and he is returning and they are returning, but too late, far too late. The lost girl who is so very far from home; she will wither and decay with no chance of ever being truly alive. The weakness and the strength of a few may guide but also fall. She has no chance but to live and let die," she drew in a ragged gasp, her eyes rolling backwards and falling in a dead faint on the cold floor of the Great Hall.

It was several moments before anyone knew what to do. Eventually, the Matron of the School conjured a stretcher and manoeuvred the comatose girl onto it before levitating it out of the Great Hall with the doors slamming shut afterwards. As soon as they did, the whole hall erupted into a louder cacophony of murmurs and whispers. Tom, looking around on the Slytherin table saw that Ivan Rosier looked very pale. Unusually so.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Rosier," said Malfoy from next to Tom, "Something the matter, old boy? Care to share with the rest of us?"

Ivan swallowed, "I-it doesn't matter," he stammered, slightly, wiping his cold and clammy hands on the legs of his trousers, "Just feeling a little ill," Ivan Rosier was renowned for being a brave pupil. He was a member of the pureblood elite, had connections with various famous people, and had the grades to match his brains. However up against Tom Riddle and the rest of Slytherin House, the Rosier heir quickly folded into a quivering wreck.

Lestrange frowned, "Do you know that girl?" he asked, slightly rudely. Always one to gang up on another student, and incredibly quick to assert his own dominating attitude, Rafael Lestrange pinpointed Rosier with a look of deep curiosity and stubbornness.

Ivan paled, "I haven't seen her in a few months," he said, falling back in defeat. For all his connections and pure blood, he was renowned for having a weak backbone. The slightest pressure and he crumbled, "She's my cousin," he looked at his twin, "Our cousin,"

An eyebrow rose slightly, "Cousin?" Tom asked, instantly gaining the full attention of the group, "I didn't realise you had a cousin, Rosier,"

"My father has a brother," he said nervously, "Charles Rosier...the Uncle I was just talking about. He married someone from the Greengrass Family and they had Elladora and her younger brother: Marius. We don't see much of that side of the family; they're always in other countries. Ella and Marius both went to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts,"

Malfoy however, didn't look impressed at the Rosier Heir, "You look rather afraid of her," he informed the other boy boldly, "She's just a girl,"

"She is not," Ivan defended himself, surprising most of the occupants of the table. He wasn't usually this forceful with anyone apart from his sister, "And I am not scared of her, not one bit. She's just unnerving; both of them are unnerving,"

"How so?" asked Tom.

Ivan looked at him, "You heard what she said, what she has seen," he said, "How can you not be unnerved by the world she has described?"

"Ramblings of a concussed girl," Lestrange shrugged, unconcerned with Rosier's claims, "No input on this life or these occurrences,"

Ivan looked torn, "She isn't normal. Neither of them are normal," he answered finally, almost slowly, "She knows things before you tell her. See things that are going to happen before they come to pass. Draws things..." Ivan hesitated, his fingers playing rapidly with the linen tablecloth, a nervous tick that never went away. He felt pressured by the people looking at him, "...that aren't exactly right,"

Tom looked quickly from left to right, seeing that no teachers were watching them. They were sitting at the high table once again, talking, no doubt, about what had just happened. He looked at Ivan carefully, "Why do you suppose she is here without her brother?" Lestrange drawled slowly.

"I wouldn't know," Ivan answered, "They're usually inseparable. He's blind in one eye and so they never go anywhere without each other," he looked at Druella, his twin silently pleading with her to say something to take the pressure off of him. She looked coolly back, not wishing to get involved in the conversation, "I suppose..." he cleared his throat, "I suppose that Marius couldn't come,"

Tom Riddle shook the sudden feel of déjà vu, irritated at the very feel of it, "That in turn, begs the question...if she goes to Durmstrang..." he asked slowly, "...then why is she here now?"

Ivan shrugged, "I don't know," he said, "It is Halloween there as well as here. Grindelwald might have..." he trailed off, "She wouldn't have been stupid enough to have deliberately got into trouble. If she's here it's only because she had no other choice," he flinched slightly as if a cold breeze had been passed over him, "She's not usually caught,"