A/N Okay, so this might not make much sense at first, but believe me it all ties in. Please review. ^_^

Chapter Two

Seventeen Dark Years Ago. – The Beginning of our Tale.

The Dark Side was growing, the shadow that touched the ground was now so large it had engulfed the entire of England. There was not a single family, muggle or otherwise, who hadn't been touched by it. No one could run from it, hide or escape, it touched the lives of every mortal. These years were known as the Second Dark Age, and those who lived through it had many tales to tell.

It seemed that the armies that tormented the good were too powerful to oppose, and spirits broke easier then bones. People knew they had to follow the Dark Lord, or suffer the consequences. Normally, this expression means death, but not it this case. Death was too easy for the victims of the Dark Lord. Too quick, and too simple. Their problems would be over in a matter of seconds. Instead the Dark Lord did, as was done hundreds of years ago, a purification act. There souls were cleansed of good by the pain they suffered before finally dying at the hands of his Death Eaters.

Yet, some rose out of this, high in his esteem. Those who had once belonged to Slytherin House, those who thought muggles were no better then the dirt they walked on. Those who believed the Dark Lord was a saviour. Indeed, there were some who followed him like a god, whether this was from fear or love, it is uncertain, but they followed like a horde of rats.

And so it seemed no one remained who could challenge Him, He had warn down the entire resistance, reduced his enemies to a lifeless heap, and still the desire for more power ate away inside of Him. But he was wrong, he underestimated the determination, the will for freedom that exists in every caged being. He did not see the attack coming from Hogwarts. It was just a school, full of adolescent children, who cared nothing for politics and ruling, and the occasional teacher that felt strongly on the subject but dared not voice an opinion. He did not bank on the strength of Albus Dumbledore.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, as he had once been known, had suffered a difficult life. His childhood days had been spent residing in a gritty orphanage that supplied neither essentials nor comforts. He passed through Hogwarts as a clever Slytherin student, who worked hard and well, interested in the Dark Arts, but who wasn't? Nothing to show cause for alarm.

It was after he left that school that something happened to him. He disappeared from the public eye, touring the world. He found darkness hidden away in many corners, darkness he could wield to his power.

He resurfaced as the dreaded, and feared Lord Voldemort, a name that would inspire chills into the hearts of his enemies. Many supporters came quickly, they saw a fresh power, that looked sure to succeed and were ready to back. Others took longer to adapt to the idea, some were confuzzled by the wand of the Dark Lord himself. But through whatever method, his supporters came quickly and in plentiful numbers.

But with supporters will always come those opposed. Dumbledore led them in a secret organisation called the Order of the Phoenix.

A young woman of about twenty six years bobbed her head slightly. Her auburn bushy hair knotted down her back, her face had grubby dirt marks stretching across it, and a smile revealed slightly yellowing teeth. Beside her stood her husband, he was quieter, more reserved, and willing to take a back seat, in view of his wife.

"We have them, My Lord." She said, silkily.

He smiled, cruelly. "Dumbledore and his Order shall be crushed." He hissed, as a snake slithered out of nowhere. The woman did not flinch at the sight of the enormous beast, that seemed to float across the floor. In fact she hardly gave it a glance.

She turned and smiled to her husband, he caught her hand. "Dumbledore talks of killing members of your society, my liege. He believes that Azkaban is no longer a safe hold for those they apprehend."

The Dark Lord did not look up.

"Sir?" She persisted, stepping forward, her husband pulled her back, she dropped his hand.

He stood up, and stared at her through his thin slit eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

She stared down at the floor. "We should save them, get them out of there."

"They were foolish enough to get caught I shall not waste time saving them."

"But my Lord. . ."

"Enough!"

Murka and her husband bowed and left. They knew better then to argue their point forward. They apparated back to their cosy London apartment.

"You okay?" He asked her.

She nodded. "It's nothing. It's just I'd want to be saved, if I was caught."

"You won't be." He laughed, throwing off his cloak. It landed neatly on the hook.

"You will be careful at the Order's meeting?" She asked. "Last time. . ."

"I am not a great speaker Murka, and Dumbledore was pressurising me, it was a mere slip of the tongue, nothing else."

"You are lucky he did not find out." She said, almost threateningly.

"You mean I am lucky you did not tell Him." He spoke stiffly.

The relationship of the two was certainly a strange one. Normally they were very cold and distant from each other. Murka hated a display of emotions, she thought things through before acting. In fact gripping his hand when in front of the Dark Lord had been an action which had shocked herself. She had not meant to do it, and felt foolish for doing so, But it had been a comfort, a reassure, to be aware of his presence beside her. And although he did not speak, she felt he was agreeing with her.

He flicked his wand across the room, opening the blinds and letting light pour into the room, revealing the mess of the lounge. There were books littered across the lamented floor, absently flicking their pages, papers littering the table, and a fierce looking cat shedding hairs all over the couch.

Herbert sat down, and, with the tips of his fingers, stroked it's head. The feline purred softly.

Murka, however, could not rest so easily. She clattered around the kitchen, banging pots and pans in an attempt to make sense of everything she had just heard.

At exactly eight o'clock, an alarm went off. It was not attached to anything, and sounded like it was coming from deep within. It worked, in theory, similar to the Dark Mark. When Dumbledore wanted to summon to Order for a meeting he would ring the alarm. There were a few glitches, such as one could be walking down a muggle street and suddenly start ringing out this loud tune. At least the Dark Mark did not make a sound, and was not visible to those around you.

Herbert got up slowly, causing the cat to slide down from his knee.

"Remember, watch your tongue!" She barked as he left the house.

And that was there relationship, when he left the house it was not a cherished goodbye, but a reminder of the dangers of speaking out of turn. And that was the age the Forsters lived in. An age of great pain and misery, fear and shadow. The Second Dark Age.