AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Dear readers,

Woooooooohoooooooooo! I am back on fanfiction. I am so happy to be back.

Thank you to those who have continued to stay on and follow my stories. Your kind reviews are most appreciated. I hope that you will continue to review my stories, as it would motivate me to go on.

My initial plan was to finish up my old stories, as I have abandoned them for almost a year. I found it hard to write when I am stress or when my schedule is packed. Now, since I have a bit of free time, I would be able to pick up where I left off. However, as I read through what I have written thus far, I realised that I have made a few errors in the plots of the stories. It would take some time for me to correct those errors. The plot of "A Twist of Fate" is also in a mess, as I kept on changing my mind as to how the story should play out. Certain chapters which have already been written but have not been posted on my page would need to be rewritten, and I am afraid that it would take up a lot of time. Nonetheless, I promised that I will finish the story, no matter how long it takes. I hope that all of you would bear with me and be patient. Sorry for disappointing you, my dear readers!

However, there is also a good news for all of you. one of my followers, Queen Voldemort de Riddle has asked me whether I would like to help her out on her story. I have read her work, and found that our writing styles are in some ways similar. So, I decided to put my own work aside for a while and help her out in figuring out the plot of her new story. Our ideas are very much alike, and I figured that it would be a good idea if we put our heads together and come out with an exciting new plot.

Hence, we planned to write this story together. As both of us have not managed to get a beta, we'll work together to ensure that this story would be an enjoyable read to all of you Tomione and Volmione lovers out there. This would be a new twist to the usual plots. We sincerely appologise for any spelling or grammatical mistakes. If you find something that you do not like about this story, do not hesitate to PM either one of us, and we will be happy to rectify it to the best of our abilities.

This story would be posted on both of our pages. We hoped that you would enjoy this new edition to the Tomione/Volmione fanfictions. Please leave us some reviews. We would like to know what you think about our work. It would also inspire us to keep going. Thank you in advance.

The first few chapters are written by Queen Voldemort de Riddle. I found that there is nothing wrong with them. They are just perfect. We will start to write this story together on the fourth chapter. Updates would be very fast, I can promise that, as we have already figured out the plot of the story.

Enough of rambling for now. Let's begin, shall we?

Cheers.

Lady Merope Riddle & Queen Voldemort de Riddle

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Disclaimer: The rights of Harry Potter remain with the respectful writer, J.K. Rowling. We do not own anything, save the plot.

Note: This story is cannon compliant, save for some alterations which we made to suit our story. It does not take into account the final half of Deathly Hallows.

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PROLOGUE

It is our choices . . . that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities – Professor Albus Dumbledore

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Albus Dumbledore let out a long and tired sigh, and leaned back on the soft leather armchair which he sat on for the past four hours. Gently, he eased the chair away from the mahogany table, where stacks of parchment laid neatly on one corner, whilst the other half was littered with his small collection of trinkets and contraptions. He rubbed his temples as he muttered under his breath. His blue eyes had almost lost their twinkle by now. He was so tired. He knew that he was exhausted, physically and mentally exhausted. Yet, he must fight on. He must ensure that all the plans he had developed over the past few months are executed accordingly.

Another sigh escaped Dumbledore's lips as he stretched out his long legs. His muscles were aching, but he ignored it. He cast another glance at his all-too-familiar office. The tall shelves with its respective leather-bound tomes, the other half of his collection, which were emitting low hums and ticks every now and then, Fawkes the phoenix at its usual perch, the sorting hat at the top shelf and a glitter of red – the sword of Godric Gryfindor, displayed in a glass case and placed against the wall opposite from where he was sitting. Thoughts flickered across his mind on their own accord. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his thoughts wandered.

"Yes," he kept on telling himself. "Yes, yes, yes, yes."

He had made too many mistakes in his life. He was an old man, blinded by his own judgment and as much as he hated to admit it, he had allowed his personal feelings to affect his judgments. Hence, the mistakes he made were wholly unforgivable. He should not have taken into account certain risks. He should not have been too careful. He should, as Muggles called it, "strike when the moment was right" and "take risks as they come, despite what it may be".

He kept on assuring himself that his plans were for the greater good. The flaws in his plans were due to unforeseen circumstances. However, such thoughts were merely excuses he conjured up out of necessity, to ease his conscience and gave him a piece of the mind. Nonetheless, the mind is a wonderful mechanism, and never forgets easily. The truth still haunted him on cold lonely nights, such as this one and he did not have the heart nor strength to delude himself from the truth. The cold, hard and bitter truth.

Three words had caused all this, he kept reminding himself. Three tiny words, which, without knowing, had changed his life completely. From the gay, happy and carefree life he had lived up to his teens, the existence of these words in his life dictated his life for him. It shaped his ideology. It gave him a sense of direction. And he knew when all this started.

It all began on a warm summer's afternoon, when he was seventeen. It was nearly a hundred years from now. This was the day that he met the person who changed his life: Gellert Grindelwald.

"No! Don't go there!" he kept on telling himself. It was all over. He should put the past behind him and move on. Yet, the three tiny words kept on ringing in his ears. Try as hard as he might, he could not block them out.

The greater good.

These words had destroyed half of his life. The first major disaster was the death of his sister, Ariana. After that, the years ahead were not easy. The estranged relationship between Aberforth and him was painful. He had begun to repent by then, but Aberforth was not easy on him. Aberforth preferred to put the blame on him forever, for losing Ariana. Of course, Dumbledore did not blame him. How could he? After all, it
was his own selfishness which had lead to Ariana's death. He deserved to be blamed for it.

The duel with Grindelwald represented another milestone in his life. Although the magical world seemed to admire him, praising him for his success and showering him with their compliments, Dumbledore never felt proud of his achievement. He felt that all of this could have ended in a better way. Yes, it could all have ended well. Gellert should not be humiliated for Dumbledore still had a soft spot for his so-called companion. However, as time passed, he tried to forget this as best as possible. Gellard was not the sort of person to be sympathised with. He deserved what he got. Whatever old spark between them was long extinguished, on the day Ariana Dumbledore died. He had vowed to himself that he would do his best and go all out to ensure that Grindalwald was destroyed. Only then he would have the strength to live on as this would ease his conscience a little.

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and polished them.

However, the problem with Gellard Grindalwald was only one of his failures. His second failure concerns Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Tom," the old man sighed as he continued to polish his spectacles. "If only I can do something to make you see reason, if only I can figure out a way to stop you . . ."

Dumbledore had already foreseen what would become of the scrawny young orphan he met back in Wools Orphanage in 1936. The dark aura surrounding him was so strong, that it almost gave him a shock. He had laid out plans to help the boy, even before Tom arrived at Hogwarts. The cold, hard stare in Riddle's eyes was still clear in Dumbledore's mind.

"I can talk to snakes. Is that normal?" the cold, high-pitched voice which is devoid of emotion still rang out clearly in the old professor's head, as though it had only been spoken yesterday. There was a calculating look in those cold gray eyes back then.

Since then, Dumbledore was afraid. He could tell instantly that Riddle was destined to achieve great things in his life. And Dumbledore suddenly felt afraid. Afraid of what lies ahead for the history of the wizzarding world. He had foreseen that Tom Marvolo Riddlee would create history, dark history indeed. Hence, he had set to work, devising strategies and carefully thought out plans. However, much to his chagrin, his plans did not work out as he planned.

Hence, Lord Voldemort rises and dominated the wizzarding world.

"Failure, I am a failure, Fawkes," Dumbledore had once said, as he stroked Fawkes. Fawkes just looked at him with bright fiery eyes, without blinking. After a while, it winked, and nipped Dumbledore's ears affectionately. Dumbledore had known that Fawkes had trusted him all the time and gave him the strength to go on. He patted the bird absent-mindedly while his mind whirled into motion on its own accord, devising more plans to try to bring Lord Voldemort to his downfall.

Before his plans were put into motion, Lord Voldemort had been vanquished temporarily from the wizzarding world. Harry Potter was his next problem. He had known that Lord Voldemort would someday return, and he must learn more about the mystery surrounding the dark lord's disappearance. Most important of all, he must know how Harry Potter, a mere baby of one year of age could defeat the darkest wizard of all time.

Through years of research, he had come upon many theories. Of course, he had a feeling that he knew how this extraordinary thing had happened, but he refused to believe it. He still had some faith in Tom. Or did he? He knew quite well why he had kept on making excuses for Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore had believed at first that the young man was still fresh and did not know fully about the ways of the world. His blood was still young and hot. He could see a shadow of himself in Tom's eye; young, power-hungry, desperate for recognition for the great things he did and the list just wants on and on. However, these excuses were gradually pushed aside when Lord Voldemort rises, and started to gather his own alliance. Dumbledore knew that this was another Grindelwald in the making, and Tom must be stopped. Tom was inhuman, and he may do anything to achieve his goal.

The theory of how Harry Potter managed to destroy Lord Voldemort had remained in the back of his mind for sixteen years, and his theory proved to be right. After sessions of working together with Harry for the past six months, he finally got his theory confirmed. The memory from Horace Slughorn, the completed and unobscured version which Harry had obtained from his dear friend only a few weeks ago had satisfied him. He was right all along.

However, as much as he had enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that what he had predicted was right, he could not evade the other half of the matter. The ugly truth of the matter. The terrible, cold and undeniable truth.

Harry must not know about this, or it would drain the strength out of him. The boy was so determined to fight on, to seek revenge for the ones whom he loved and lost and to protect the ones he treasured now. The truth would break him.

Dumbledore gave his spectacles a final polish before putting them on. It perched lightly on the tip of his crooked nose. The nose where his brother had broke, and which had inflicted upon him a wound which could not be healed for the rest of his life.

Not that he had much longer to live on, he gathered. He cast a sideways glance at his right hand. Limp, blackened, decaying flesh. He chuckled. What a mess he had gotten himself into, he mused. Nonetheless, it was worth it, he decided. It would pay off. His sacrifice is nothing compared to Harry's sacrifice.

He could still remembered clearly the day after the battle at the Ministry of Magic. After he had brought Harry back to his office. The scenes flashed clearly in his mind's eye: Harry, standing by his office door, asking Dumbledore to let him out; his anger; the tantrum he threw; Dumbledore felt the magic crackling around him dangerously; the look he gave Dumbledore when Dumbledore disclosed to him the truth of the matter. He could not forget all this. The betrayed look in Harry's clear and beautiful eyes.

However, he could not bring himself to break yet another unpleasant fact to Harry. The boy would not like it at all.

"Neither would live, while the others survived," Dumbledore mouthed softly.

There was no other way around this.

And this, Dumbledore reflected, was another of his failure. If he had intervened in stopping Lord Voldemort from rising to power earlier, the problem could have been solved. Alternatively, a different outcome may be reached.

How he wish he could end all of this nicely. As he knew that his days were numbered, he must act fast. He must think fast. He must leave no stones unturned. Every possibility would have to be explored. He did not wish it to end the way it was supposed to end.

No matter how hard he tried, the solution just would not come to him. Until last week.

Sybil Trelawney was never a favourite staff of his, but her contributions were less significant to the success and popularity of Hogwarts. Nonetheless, Dumbledore knew deep down the main reason she had got the job. She was the key to everything, for she had made the prophecy. And last week, Sybil Trilawney had proved to be the key to the current problem. He would never forgot their encounter, near the astronomy tower.

He praised his own instincts for taking a midnight stroll on that day. He had felt restless, and decided that it would be a good idea to wander up to the astronomy tower and gazed at the clear midnight sky, decorated with stars. And it was on the astronomy tower that he struck gold.

Dumbledore straightened up, stretched and pushed the chair closer to the table once again. Time is running out and he must work fast. After the encounter with Trilawney, he finally formulated a plan. He knew that there were risks involved, but there was not much time to ponder such points. He had learned from past experiences that brooding would kill off good time. Hence, he had started to devise the plan, outlining the possibilities that may arise if it succeeded and likewise. Thus far, the possibilities outweigh the demerits of it, and he was satisfied. He was sure that the plan would succeed, despite the risks. He was sure that the person assigned to this task would be able to handle the matter efficiently. He had every confidence in that person, and usually his confidence are rewarded.

Sighing, the old man reached for the phoenix feather quill he had put down earlier, rummaged in his desk for a fresh roll of thick parchment, and set to work, penning down a lengthy letter.

It took him approximately two hours to complete the letter. By then, he had used up twelve rolls of parchments. He read through them quickly. Once he was done, he rolled them up nicely, conjured an envelope and placed them into it. He waved his hand, and the envelope was sealed.

The first stage of the plan has been completed. He repeated the process again, penning down yet another letter. This one was evidently shorter than the previous letter, as it only took up a roll of parchment. He repeated the process of sealing the envelope which he had place the letter into.

"There," he hummed softly.

His part was done. He took out a fine golden box from his robe pocket and turned it over in his hands. Nearly done, he reminded himself. After taking another look at it, he placed the box on the table, beside the two letters which he had written earlier and waved his hand. They were gone before his own eyes, tucked away safely in a place he knew would be quite safe.

His part was finally done. Truly and finally done. He hoped all was well. Now, he would have to wait for the right moment and give the appropriate instructions to the person he trusted the most.

"All would be well," Dumbledore mouthed quietly as he gazed out of the window at the far end of his office.

Dawn was slowly approaching. Dumbledore gazed out at the beautiful scenery and smiled. The world is such a beautiful place, he mused. And sadly enough, he only noticed this when his end is near.

It does not matter. It made no difference whatsoever, he gathered. He would live and enjoy life to the fullest. Death is nothing but the next great adventure, he remembered himself telling this to Harry and a few close friends. One must be prepared to face death, for it would come eventually.

Only one person failed to see this. Only one person was afraid of death. And Dumbledore felt sorry for that person.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered as he stretched again and stood up. He had an appointment with the Order of the Phoenix in half an hour, and he should start to get ready to travel again. "All of this is going to change, Tom. I knew my mistakes, and I would correct them, one by one. Let's see how it goes."

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"Severus, now!"

Severus Snape nodded grimly and stood up from the Headmaster's chair. He gave Dumbledore's portrait, which was attached to the back of the chair a small nod.

"I understand," he said.

"Be quick, Severus. You must do it before it is too late. This is a matter of great importance."

"And you still would not tell me why, Dumbledore?"

The bitterness in Snape's voice was apparent.

"I wish I could, Severus. But, I don't think you should know more than it is necessary. Perhaps, you'll know someday, when the time is right."

"Oh well, forget about me," the portrait of Pheanius Nigellus Black snickered. "After all, who would think of thanking old Pheanius for telling about the location of . . ."

"Hush, Pheanius. Thank you," Dumbledore said quickly.

Pheanius sniffed, but kept quiet.

Snape had taken a long travelling cloak out of his pocket. He wrapped the cloak around him as he said, "Very well. I'll do as you said. I would not enquire into this matter if you did not wish me to know about it. After all, you know where my loyalties lie, Dumbledore." He sounded reproachful.

"That's right, Snape. In my time, staffs don't use to talk back to the headmaster, who is their superior. Don't be insolent and disrespectful. My, my, I always have said that Dumbledore is too soft. He will tolerate such nonsense. Hmmmmph." Pheanius Nigellus drawled, snickering at Snape from his portrait. Snape just pursued his lips, and glowered at the portrait.

"Now, now, Pheanius," Dumbledore said from his portrait. "We have some important business to attend to, and I would appreciate it very much if you . . ."

"That's right. Old Pheanius is no longer needed. Just keep your nose out of it, old boy. You know when your opinion is not wanted," Pheanius sneered.

Dumbledore ignored the portrait. He just sighed and closed his eyes.

Snape waved his hands and a wooden box materialised. He shranked it, placed it into his pocket and straightened up.

A few seconds later, he turned on the spot and disappeared into the night.

"All is well," Dumbledore mouthed.

Pheanius Nigellus Black sniffed. He felt offended for the lack of attention or praise which neither Dumbledore nor that insolent brat of a headmaster would offer. Nonetheless, he sighed and slipped into the canvas of his portrait, sulking as he did.

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