- Prologue -

The Beginning Of The End

- HBP -

Thursday 30th October 1997

- HBP -

With a sharp crack that echoed across the graveyard, a figure in a dark cloak whirled into view. The glint of a silver mask shone in the moonlight. It dropped to its knees the instant it arrived, head bent to the floor, as if bowing to some unknown God. Even knowing that it was alone in the darkness, the figure did not rise from its place, bent forwards and kneeling, eyes seemingly glued to the muddy ground.

A slight hissing sound could be heard after ten minutes of silence. The figure stiffened slightly, but otherwise gave no indication of hearing the noise. Another few minutes passed in silence before another hiss was heard. This time the source was visible. Had any sane person stood in the darkened cemetery, it would have been plain to see a large, olive green python winding its way through the tombs. The snake approached the figure with certainty, carefully circling it. It - the snake - hissed loudly, before very deliberately biting its own tail. Both snake and cloaked figure disappeared.

- HBP -

Thursday 14th August 1997

Eleven Weeks Earlier

- HBP -

Harry, Ron and Hermione had huddled together in an upstairs bathroom at the top of Grimmauld Place. Hermione had reasoned that, if seen leaving from a bathroom, it would be assumed that the three of them had been engaging in the wild sexual exploits that Rita Skeeter's gossip columns alluded to. The 'adult' members of the Order had been conspiring to separate the three, on the basis that bad things tended to happen around Harry. All three of the trio thought the idea codswallop. Not that trouble didn't happen around Harry, more that splitting them up would diminish the amount of trouble. In actual fact, both Ron and Hermione had separately come to the conclusion that when Harry was left on his own, he tended to attract more trouble; hence the covert meetings in bathrooms.

Most of their meetings had tended to follow the same pattern. Each of the three would outline the things they had done since the previous meeting, the secrets they had overheard, and any books of research they had managed to get through. Harry told the others of the spells he had researched, learnt, and the things that Remus had let slip in their conversations. Ron told the others of the Death Eater profiles he had updated with the skirmish information he had overheard at Order meetings using his brothers' extendable ears, and the books of war strategy, Muggle and Magical that 'just might save us', pinpointing magical locations he found references to in a world atlas. Hermione told the others of the wards she had broken to get to yet another secret store of decidedly Dark books of the Black family, which so much as implied anything to do with Horcruxes, tallying that back with Harry's account of Voldemort's younger years.

Usually, they spoke in that order too, Harry being the most isolated and therefore the most in need of attention, Ron wanting to feel even the slightest bit more important than anyone else, and Hermione not really caring when she spoke, as long as she did so. However, the day in question, it was Hermione who first broke the silence.

"I think I've reached a standstill," she said from her perch on the closed toilet seat (Harry was sitting on the side of the bath while Ron lay in it). "but I think I know where we need to go to move forwards." Harry leant forwards, resting his chin in his hand, elbow propped up on his knee.

"Where, 'Mione?" he asked. Hermione scowled.

"Don't call me that," she snapped, causing both boys to laugh at her pout. "And we need to go to Albania." Ron sat up straight away, shocking Harry so much that he promptly fell backwards into the bath, and onto Ron's lap. The pair froze uncomfortably as Hermione continued talking. "I think that's where he learned about Horcruxes, and we need to learn how to make them to destroy them. There are rumours about the vampires there…" Harry interrupted, waving his hand as he pushed himself up and out of the bath.

"Hermione, we can't even manage to meet every day, how on Earth could we manage to get to Romania?" Harry shook his head in a manner reminiscent of Sirius; rather similar to a wet dog. "You'll have to find another way to get information. Maybe there's another store of books we haven't found yet…"

"Harry, there isn'tanother store of books. There just isn't. I've combed every part of this damn house, and the only place to go next is Albania. I can't go on my own…" Hermione trailed off hopefully, ducking her head and looking up through her lashes. "You know that the both of you are better than me if we get attacked."

"She can't go on her own," Ron repeated. "We'll have to go with her."

"And what do we say to the Order?" Harry asked hotly. "They'll go nuts if we just disappear."

"We tell them," Ron said simply.

"Tell them what? That Dumbledore left us a secret mission, that we need to go to the wilds of Albania to research?" Harry was standing now, pacing up and down the room, a very short circuit to be sure.

"Yeah. Tell them that."

- HBP -

Thursday 30th October 1997

- HBP -

Both the figure and the snake reappeared in front of a throne. If the figure had looked up, it would have noted the lack of furniture, or furnishings. Other than the ornate, gilded throne there was only one small footstool that stood to the left of the throne. Any person sitting on it would clearly be at a severe disadvantage to the person seated on the throne.

And the man who sat on the throne would take every advantage he could. His face was disfigured, for reasons that none dared to ask. Perhaps a misfired curse, or the strange process by which he had returned to life, had left a crater in his face instead of a nose, his eyes a glowing red, and his skull completely hairless. It was widely known that he had to have seen at least one half century through, although privately many of his servants thought he must have lived for thousands of years to have aged as dramatically as he had. The figure at his feet breathed heavily, the raised mark on its arm alerting it that it was in the presence of its Master.

"My lord," came a deep baritone. "I have news of the Potter boy." The man on the throne breathed in deeply through his mouth, throwing his head back and his chest out as he breathed out again. His eyes flicked back down to the still kneeling figure.

"Rise, my servant." His voice was a hoarse, sibilant whisper, as snake-like as the man himself. "Remove your mask, I would see your face as you report to me." The man at his feet stood slowly, standing straight and tall before he raised a gloved hand to the shining mask.

- HBP -

Thursday 21st August 1997

Ten Weeks Earlier

- HBP -

"We're going to Albania," Harry had taken Ron's advice on being simple and direct. "Dumbledore gave me, gave the three of us a task. We believe that the means to complete this task is in Albania. So we're going." As Ron had predicted, the Order descended into a whirl of noise and chaos.

"You're too young!" cawed Molly Weasley, ever the over protective mother hen.

"Too dangerous," Moody chimed in gruffly.

"Perhaps if Albus were still here…" Minerva McGonagall trailed off with a sigh. Harry stood stock still waiting for Ron to tap his leg; a prearranged signal for when Harry should continue with the rest of his short speech. It came just as the hush was dying down into coherent arguments.

"We're going to Albania." Harry repeated simply. "Try and stop us."

This declaration had prompted a mass warding of Grimmauld Place. Harry, Ron and Hermione had merely gritted their teeth, then continued with their escape plans. Hermione left first, taking advantage of Snape's constant need for ingredients. Being one of the few Order members who had carried on past OWL level Potions, she was often seen in the company of the dour Potions Master, helping him to brew. Hence, when she rushed through the front door babbling about newt eyes and wormwood extract nobody batted an eyelid. It wasn't until four hours later that they realised that Hermione had successfully escaped.

Harry went next. The order of escapes had been carefully discussed, and rowed over but in the end they had all come to the realization that if Hermione didn't manage to escape, there would be no point to the trip to Albania. And Harry would clearly be needed to destroy the Horcruxes, whilst Ron could take his time in escaping and join them in Albania when the time came. So, Harry took his escape as soon as he could, faking a vision from Voldemort that sent the Order out in droves to ward the houses of Muggle-borns. Whilst they were busy, Harry left.

Ron was, of course, the last to leave. Being the strategist, it had also been decided that he would be the most likely to find a way out of an impossible situation. Despite their earlier worries that it would take Ron a long time to get out, he managed it just a single day after Harry. It was little known just how many failed pranks his twin brothers had actually amassed over the years. Ron, as the younger sibling had ended up sort of collecting them. He had a wide range of different items that he used to cause confusion over the entirety of Grimmauld Place, before he got on a broom and flew out from a window in the attic.

In days to come, they would wish that Ron hadn't gotten out.

- HBP -

Thursday 30th October 1997

- HBP -

With the removal of his mask, the man was revealed to be little more than a boy. The skin on his face was baby smooth, almost as if he hadn't grown enough to shave. No lines crossed his forehead, and his eyes were bright with wonder.

"My lord," he said, deferentially, before dipping his head in reverence.

"You will tell me what you know of the Potter boy,"

"We have found a house, in Muggle London, that is heavily warded," the boy began.

"There are many houses in London that are heavily warded. What's so special about thisone?"

"We believe it is the home of Potter's Mudblood friend, my lord."

"Is that all?"

"No, my lord. The wards are… different. We - I - think that they are keyed to Parseltongue, my lord. Potter awaits you." The boy froze as his master stood in front of him, one skeletal hand reaching out to grasp his chin.

"Think of the house, boy. I would see this for myself." Cold red eyes stared unwaveringly into his own, as the boy tried frantically to conjure up the memory. As he brought the image to the front of his mind, the fairly large suburban house, with a duck pond in the front garden. And then he felt himin his mind!

All grace and darkness, like a shadow crossing the borders of his consciousness. The Dark Lord gently directed his thoughts to remember the spells he had cast to reveal the wards. A glowing green snake appeared in front of an gold glowing archway, it hissed loudly. He almost thought that he could hear his master gaspin his mind. And then the shadow was gone, and he fell back into the real world. His lord stood in front of him, eyes narrowed.

"Who else knows of this?" He hissed, leaning forwards.

"N-n-nobody else saw the snake, master, or the arch. They didn't think to look." The boy stammered nervously.

"You will come with me. You will wait outside whilst I kill the Potter boy." His master ordered, taking his arm and pulling him into a joint apparition to the house. Strong apparition wards meant they landed at the end of the street, and both wizards could feel the wards alert Potter in the house. "Wait here." The Dark Lord ordered, walking forwards without hesitation.

He stopped, just outside the house. Just as he had seen in the boy's mind, a golden archway appeared, with a glowing green snake acting as a guard.

"What right do you have to walk here, stranger?" It spoke the ancient, formal words in Parseltongue. The Dark Lord smirked, easily recognizing the correct response.

"The right as your brethren, through this tongue. Let me pass, brother," he whispered, a sibilant hiss in the night. The snake, obligingly dissipated into nothingness, and he stepped through the arch, wand in hand as he approached the door.

Surprisingly the front door was unlocked, and it swung open at his touch. He stepped quietly through the darkened house, noting dispassionately that the kitchen, dining and sitting rooms were all covered in dust. He frowned as his mind processed the decreasing likelihood that Potter was still there.

He carefully navigated the flight of stairs, finding the first two bedrooms also empty and dust-covered. The door to the final bedroom, however, was closed, the first door in the house to be so. He sneered at the door, a painted pink plaque resided on it, reading Hermione, surrounded by Muggle imitations of fairies. He opened the door using a charm, not wanting to risk any hexes that may have been placed on the handle.

His face fell at the darkened room, although he still entered, cautiously checking for signs of life. He was so focused on the dust in the room, it took him a moment to notice the girl in the rocking chair. The chair was completely still, and her head hung forwards, long brown hair obscuring her face.

She wore a long white dress that only just failed to conceal her feet, which were small and dainty, the dust nearly obscuring the painted red toenails. The Dark Lord, reached forwards to touch the perfect, porcelain skin of her bare shoulder, intending to tilt her head upwards, to find out who she was, but as soon as his fingers brushed against the cool flesh, the girl took a deep shuddering breath.

He jumped back, eyes wide. The girl hadn't been breathing the entire time he had been in the room, a matter of some minutes, his wand rising at the same time that her head snapped upwards. One part of his mind catalogued the black eyes, the cherubic nose, and barely parted red lips, while another part frantically wondered what kind of creature she was.

"Hello, Voldemort," she said, eyes glued to him. "I was hoping you'd come to visit me."

And then, as if the whole thing didn't just reek of one of those terrible Muggle horror films that he had been forced to watch at the orphanage as a boy, the girl smiled widely, exposing pearlescent white teeth - and fangs.