A/N: Ok guys and gals, this is the prologue for a work in progress. I'd like your feed back on improvements or what you think so far. Its set in the year 2000, which, going on info from the harry potter lexicon and the books (i dont own either) makes Hermione around 21. The prologue is a diary entry of sorts but the rest (or most of it) will be a third person type thing. Thanks a bunch of daisies!

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Summary: Lets go back to a time when the seeds where being sown, when the evil started to brew in the loins of one love-starved squib from her passionate embraces with one Tom Riddle of the Riddle House. Sort out the whole mess that ensued from that point. Lets see what'll happen when someone sacrifices themselves for the good of the millions affected by that one baby.

Prologue:

Dumbledore…my old headmaster. His grave rests in the grounds of Hogwarts, the merpeople in the lake that protected it are now all gone- slaughtered by the Deatheaters for sport when they overran the ancient castle. The castle, what remains of it at least, is just a shell of its former glory. Werewolves run rampant through the woods, exiled by the tyranny of the dark lord.

I live in exile myself, hiding with the few survivors still against him. Muggles – well, in England, there's no freedom for them. Slaves, whores, target practise. America and the reaches of Europe fair no better. He's turned his sights on the Far East now – what chance do they have?

I have watched many of my friends die at the hands of their captors, enemies, a few by their own doing. I've tried it myself a few times, but I'm a coward. I could not bring myself to destroy something so hard worked for. I pen this with the few ink reserves I can get a hold of, stolen from a blind muggle as he dragged the heavy cart to his destination. He'll be beaten, possibly killed for it. What is one more to the countless millions?

Food is scarce for us, we eat what we kill and we kill what we find. In the highlands of Scotland, that's not a lot. To be honest, Scotland has been transformed into a prison of sorts. A barrier splits England and Scotland from coast to coast, reaching thousands of feet high. It is in here that the few lucky enough to survive tortures or death are thrown to be devoured by roaming wild beasts. Dragons, Manticores, Kappas, Kelpies, Lethifolds, Trolls, Hellhounds, Acromantulas, Banshees, Basilisks, Chimaeras, Erklings, Graphorns, Giants, Nundus, Occamies, Quintapeds and Runespoors to name the few that I have seen.

We, only twenty eight in number, have a small colony going, around a network of caves. Our eldest reaching no more than fifty three to our youngest, a new arrival who is now six weeks old. She's a fighter, I'll tell you. We have a small farm of sorts with a healthy crop – if not small – of carrots, wild onions and cabbage. We even found a few sheep a few months back.

Well, to go back to my reason for writing in these dark times. I have found I cannot sit nor can Iwork in this meagre environment. I can't help but let my thoughts wander to what Dumbledore found. Horcruxes. He destroyed many, but the last – the last was destroyed by Voldemort himself. Harry Potter, the sixth and final horcrux was sapped of his life before my very eyes. A horror that haunts my dreams to this day. I must get to his works. I must for the sake of all of our lives, for all that is good and just in this foul and warped world. His study, after all, remains, to this day untouched, guarded by the now headless golden Phoenix statue. I know that to venture to the castle means certain death. Fenrir Greyback holds his Werewolf colonies tightly regimented, despite his sick and depraved acts of murder and cannibalism. He is an adversary most difficult to overcome. If I can reach the two of the old Order of the Phoenix that were deported there, maybe they are not too far gone to the wild to help me. They are Bill Weasley and Remus Lupin.

I must close my writings for now. Maybe I can find something of use but now it is far too late. The scratching of my quill is disturbing the children sleeping peacefully around me. There's seven of them. Six week old Starlight Haverbrook, three year old Alfie McCorwin, the two ten year old boys Davith Alesbury and Patrick O'Shea, seven year old Donna Griffiths, eight year old Astasia Marlowe and sixteen year old Akshay Jagdeep sleeps in a room accessable by one route only and guarded nightly bythe adults. It is my watch this night.

Signed Hermione Jane Granger

21 Years of Age.

Date: 12th May 2000