Philostra's Institute for Young Wizards and Witches.

Prologue

By: Audenti ( Oddy ) Philostra

October 31st, 1990.

Somewhere in Albania.

"Vincent…"

The high raspy voice uttered the name from within a dank and dark cluster of withered and rotting trees. Vincent stood tall and glanced about the woods; mildly startled by the change the environment had overcome. The last time he was here, the trees were full, the bark healthy and moist, the leaves and branches filled with insects, nests and small animals. Moonlight had broken through the canopy and had filtered beautifully along the forest earth.

Of course, that was during a time when he had just moved in.

Now the animals knew well enough to avoid his presence. The trees and the earth weren't so lucky. Like the animals that didn't run, they had the life drained out of them. Even the moon seemed to avoid the area in which he resided.

Vincent had to concede to his power, and if others like him were smart, they'd do the same. Even in his broken form, he still demanded that much.

"I am right here, Maitre," Vincent said half-chidingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

There was low and sharp sounding hiss that emanated somewhere from within the brush. It put the dark hairs on the back of Vincent's head on end. "You dare mock me? You who know full well the extent of my power." the voice whispered quietly. "Have you so soon forgotten?"

For an instant, there was so much malice in the air; so much raw anger that Vincent feared it would obliterate him. It passed over him in a wave, forced him to shudder visibly.

"Forgive me, Maitre," Vincent soothed, and he splayed his smooth fingers across his dark face…an attempt to hide the ridiculous grin that was forming. "I have not forgotten. I do not believe anyone has,"

"Oh…but they have, Vincent," the voice rattled from the darkness. "Those fools in the Ministry, they prattle on as if I had never existed, as if the fear and pain I brought upon their miserable lives were but a memory. How I loathe them. If I were to be restored…"

"I regret… that I have no soul for you to feed on, Maitre."

The voice chuckled slightly. "Ah, yes…I am sure your dead heart weeps…" the voice paused and then continued with, "So tell me, Vincent, why have you blackened my day with your presence?"

Vincent smiled. "The friend I mentioned before…the one who works at Philostra's? He may have found me a way inside."

"You cannot go inside. You are Uninvited."

"Indeed, Maitre," Vincent said, once again hiding the grin on his face. "But, I am sure you know well that there is a loophole." There was a pregnant silence in the air of those dark woods before Vincent added, "She turns twelve tonight…"

Then there was laughter coming from the darkness. Short, raspy, gasping laughter that was utterly without mirth. "Vincent," the voice whispered, "If you can get into Philostra's… I shall be most pleased."

Vincent shrugged, and he grinned again, teeth and fangs gleaming white and the little moonlight there was in the clearing. "Mon seigneur Voldemort, it is no longer a question of 'if'. It is a question of 'when'."

With that, Vincent gathered his black robes, turned and dispapparated, leaving the greatest wizard who ever lived alone in his dying woods.