Disclaimer: It's mine! All mine! I won't let you have it- Hey, what are doing with that- (two mediwizards approach with a long muggle needle…) OW! Stop! Nooooo…

A/N: I was very disappointed by the lack of reviews. Here's hoping I'll get more for this chapter. A warning, incase you didn't read the note in my profile. If you don't review, I don't update. Simple as that. C'mon, you guys are my muse! Happy reviews are like caffeine for me!

Okay, think of this chapter as a second prologue. It explain a little of the back-story, mostly stuff from JK's books, but in more detail. It also gives you a hint of the state of the wizarding world now. Hopefully, this will clear up any confusion. For those of you asking about Harry/Ana, it's not gonna happen. Read and you'll see why.

Little Hangleton was a place of mystery. It was a close-knit village, the type of quaint little town where everyone knows each other, and the gossip mill runs rampant… and Little Hangleton had its fair share of rumors. Perhaps one of its best-known legends was of the Riddle House, a once grand manor perched on the hill over-looking the town.

In the early 1940s, it had belonged to a wealthy and influential family, the Riddles. They were the well-to-do type that paid for half the town and were always in the public eye. That was even more so when their son, Tom Riddle, became involved with the bastard daughter of a squalid family living on the edge of town.

The Gaunts were everything the Riddles were not: poor, filthy, rude, and a bit psychotic. It is not hard for one to imagine the type of scandal caused by Tom Riddle's sudden infatuation with Merope Gaunt. His devotion to her became almost fanatic at one point, and some of the more suspicious folks hinted at witchery.

Riddle came to his senses quite suddenly, abandoning the girl and all her attempts to reclaim his love. No one heard or saw the wench for several months, until she turned up at St. Mary's Orphanage. Mrs. Cole, whose family had built the large house some time in the 1800s, told of that night after a few drinks at the local pub, The Hangman.

She recalled waking to the incessant knocks on the front door. Mrs. Cole called impatiently for the visitor to wait, but the desperate booming persisted. She finally opened the door, only to jump back and clutch her heart in surprise at the sight of the wild-eyed girl, standing in the pouring rain, lips tinged blue, and icy fingers clutching her cloak.

The freezing girl stumbled inside, collapsing on the welcome mat. Before Mrs. Cole could get a word out, the girl began having contractions. She gave birth to a little boy with coal black hair, and hazel eyes. With her dying breath, she named him Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr.

Mrs. Cole was not happy at the prospect of another mouth to feed in the already over-crowded orphanage. She always said the baby was the spitting image of his father, although Riddle denied any claim to the child. The boy was left to grow up in St. Mary's.

Things settled down in Little Hangleton after that. Riddle married a beautiful and proper young woman, named Cecilia, from the neighboring town of Great Hangleton. They had one child, a boy, who was raised in the wealth and elegance of his family. Merope Gaunt was all but forgotten, and her brother, Morfin, had not been seen in public since his assault on Tom Riddle, Sr. Marvolo Gaunt was ignored as well, not even coming to claim his own daughter's body. Life went back to its usual sleepy calm. However, at St. Mary's, things took a turn in the opposite direction.

At first, it was only one or two incidents. Children complained about young Tom. Mrs. Cole pushed it off as kids being kids. Then some of her helpers came forward, saying that Tom was causing trouble among his peers. Mrs. Cole punished him. She gave him a few whacks with her cane, and sent him to bed without supper. But it didn't stop there.

Strange things happened around the orphanage that no one could explain. Someone's belongings went missing, or a child was found crying. Tom was always accused of the crime. He was either a witness, or the stolen toy was found stashed in his room. Mrs. Cole punished him again and again. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to get through to Tom. He was a quiet boy compared to the other children. He refused to speak to anyone half the time, or spent all of his time glaring around him with a disdainful air. His only change in mood seemed to come at the most disturbing times.

A boy named Billy fell down the stairs and broke his leg. Tom watched from up on the second flight with a look of satisfaction. A white rabbit was lying dead outside, red eyes frozen open. Tom stood nearby with a grin of triumph.

When the boy was ten, the children were out wandering the forest on a hot afternoon. Tom dared two others to explore the cave up there. Little Sally ran back to the orphanage four hours later in near hysterics. Tom walked her friend, Jake, back before curfew. It would have seemed a kind thing to do if the boy hadn't been in what couldn't only be described as a state of shock, and Sally screamed at the sight of him.

It took a lot to shake up Mrs. Cole, who was a stern old woman and maybe a bit harsh at times. But what she would never admit to a soul was that the little boy terrified her. Perhaps the most horrifying part of her confession, was that Tom seemed to realize this… and he enjoyed it.

When Tom was eleven, a harassed-looking Mrs. Cole sat in the living room with a strange old man in an eccentric purple suit. She didn't remember much of that day, only a fine bottle of whisky, and the man, Dumbly-door, explaining his reason for being there. After that, Tom Riddle left for some private school in Scotland every September. It was a day more than one person looked forward to. The orphanage would always settle down while he was gone, dreading his return in June.

After seven years at that school, Tom returned to St. Mary's for the last time. He gathered what few belongings he had, including the heavy trunk he carried as though it were feather-light, and a vicious-looking snake draped around his shoulders. He walked out of the orphanage without a single farewell, and they never saw him again.

One month later, the Riddle family was found dead in their home. The maid had come to serve dinner, and found all five lying still, eyes wide and glassy, their mouths hanging open in surprise. Doctors could find no clue as to what killed them, no history of illness, nor visible signs of injury. They were given a proper burial in the family plot behind the house.

The manor itself dropped into disrepair. Frank Bryce, the Riddles' aged gardener, still watched over the property, taking care of the grounds and keeping out the local misfits. It was a big job for one man, but it was all he had.

Frank disappeared one night, though it took some time for any of the townsfolk to realize. No one had bothered to consort with him after the deaths of his employers. Some still suspected him as the culprit, though there was no solid proof. Then Frank's body was found floating in the stream leading out of the Riddle property. It was at least several weeks old according to the coroner, but the cause of death was determined to have been a heart attack. Old age was the reason his body lie pale and frozen on the examining table, eyes wide open in fear…

Again, Riddle Manor was forgotten, becoming just a legend told on dark, stormy nights, even a tourist attraction, though none dared get too close. No one entered the old house, afraid it was cursed. Some teenagers attempted to sneak in, but ran off at the first glimpse of a hunched figure in the second floor window. They laughed it off later as a trick of the moonlight, but none wanted to go back and check.

It wasn't until six years after Frank's death that anything of interest happened in Little Hangleton. It shouldn't have been a surprise to any of the older residents that it took place at the ruined manor looming over the town.

Most shops had closed by then. It was that time of night, just after dinner, when most are tucked safely in their beds, and the last stragglers from The Hangman were toddling home. It wasn't until the next morning, when the sun came up, that the people noticed the thin trail of smoke dissipating into the air. A cloud of the gray fog hovered over the remains of Riddle Manor, which was still standing, despite its charred appearance.

A mere ten minutes later, the police showed up, called by the frantic citizens. The slightly dazed-looking police chief assured the crowd in a quiet monotone that everything was under control. A rogue gang had been arrested that night, and the house caught fire when the police were attempting to subdue them. No more was said, although quite a few asked for details. Different scenarios were discussed, but none came close to the truth. What the townsfolk couldn't comprehend, was how did a bunch of gang members turn up out of nowhere? In a place where you know everyone from your neighbors to the cashier at the grocery store by name, how could a pack of troublemakers escape notice?

It didn't help matters when Officer Gentry was heard telling a couple friends about the two children rescued. It was assumed they were kidnapped, although neither the little boy, nor his sister, were answering any questions. They'd finally been dropped off at St. Mary's as a last resort. Miss Delilah Cole ran the home now, after her grandmother retired. The old woman was still living there, but was certainly in no shape to take care of children. She was slightly mad as well, if the rumors were anything to go by.

Delilah was a cheerful young woman, even more so than any person should be. She always had a bright smile on herself, chattered excitedly, and used baby talk with some of the children. It could get a bit annoying at times, but no one was about to try explaining that to Delilah.

No one could figure out where the children had come from, and there were no reports of any missing. They said the two were unnaturally pale and quiet, but that was to be expected after such an ordeal. However, what made some people begin to wonder was the reaction the children got after meeting the elderly Mrs. Cole. The old hag pointed at the boy with a small shriek, and promptly passed out. Her nurse blamed it on the meds she was taking.

The children were the recipients of many stares and whispers from the other orphans. Everyone was curious about them. However, Tom and Ana, the only names they had given when asked, completely ignored the attention. They spoke only amongst themselves for the first few years, and shied away from the adults.

Tom was unnaturally serious for a five-year-old. He spent most of his time reading old books he found around the house or talking to his sister in hushed tones. He didn't seem the least bit sorrowful over his situation, but none of the children missed the odd gleam in his eyes every now and then.

Three-year-old Ana was a bit more approachable than her brother, but the second she caught his disapproving eye, she would stop talking and walk off. She could usually be found in the overgrown courtyard, sitting against one of the trees, with a ragged doll in her lap. She'd had it when they found her and refused to give it up, despite the numerous stitching it needed, and the multiple stains, some a suspicious dark brown color.

Delilah tried to get them to open up, but her attempts were even more unsuccessful. Tom would sneer in revulsion every time she approached, and Ana would try to hide behind her brother, or hold up her doll as some kind of shield against evil. It wasn't much of a surprise when Delilah told her acquaintances about the failed communications. They almost pitied the children.

Over the years, the two grew older, and strange things began happening again at the orphanage. It was nothing as dramatic as seventy years ago, but it was still odd. Things tended to happen around the children, who tried to be discreet. The other orphans called Ana a freak and teased her constantly. Then her brother spoke with some of them. No one knew what was said, but the older kids stayed away after that, and flinched every time he entered a room. Only one thing could truly be said about the mysterious brother and sister. Others scorned Ana, but it was certain that they feared Tom.

Lucky for them, he received a letter on his eleventh birthday. From that day on, he went away to boarding school every year, leaving Ana to defend herself. But when he came back, things were twice as bad, and the children stayed far away from the boy. He gave everyone the cold shoulder, and when his dark eyes glared, it was as though they burned through your very soul. The only time he changed was around his sister. Then he was every bit the perfect older brother, kind, caring, and over-protective. It was impossible to figure the siblings out, but things were about to become clearer soon enough. Fate was running its course, and many lives would be changed, for the better… and the worse.

Present Day, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

Minerva McGonagall signed off the last first year letter with a flourish and sat back in her chair, groaning as the joints in her back cracked from the hunched posture. As Headmistress, it wasn't really necessary for her to personally send out the Hogwarts invitations every year, but she chose to do it. It had been hard leaving her old position as Head of Gryffindor House and Headmistress, and this was just one of those things she'd always missed.

Staring around the circular office, McGonagall's eyes landed on the snoozing portrait of her old friend. Albus Dumbledore slept in the frame farthest to the right, his appearance forever frozen with the long silver beard, half-moon spectacles, and those lurid violet robes. It gave her a small smile to remember the conversation they'd had when his portrait was first painted, and she'd pleaded with him to change clothes. It had been a fruitless endeavor, but at least he hadn't worn the yellow ones. They made him look like a giant chicken.

"Oh, Albus, I miss you…" she sighed.

Her current role as Headmistress had been a temporary thing after Albus's death, but the following year, it had been a unanimous vote among the staff for her to take it. They'd said he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

That had been a trying year for both the teachers and students. The entire castle was in need of repairs after the attack, and many children had not returned the following semester in accordance with their parents' wishes. The staff had needed replacements as well. Miss Clearwater, or Weasley, as it was now, had taken over Transfiguration. As to defense, Remus Lupin had taught it for just a year, until he'd received a howler from his pregnant fiancé, threatening to remove all his extremities if he did not get to the hospital right away. He decided to leave the next year, not wanting to leave Tonks and the baby alone in such dangerous times. After that, they'd had several different wizards and witches teach the class, though all left for some reason or another. Horace Slughorn had stayed on as Potion's Master, becoming the Head of Slytherin, as well.

'Ah, Severus… How could you betray us all?'

Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy had escaped the grounds and apparated away that night. The Order discovered later on that Draco was punished by Voldemort for his failure, and deemed useless to the cause. His remains were sent by owl post to the minister, along with a letter bearing the dark mark. Snape disappeared completely. Spies for the Order reported him still working under Lord Voldemort, and as one of his most trusted followers. After Voldemort's defeat, most death eaters were apprehended or killed in the final battle. Snape was not among them. To this day, it was unknown whether he was even alive.

McGonagall's painful thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

"Come in."

A young man in his early thirties entered the office. He was dressed in casual muggle clothes, with a pair round spectacles perched in front of emerald green eyes that sparkled with mischief. He ran a nervous hand through untidy black hair, revealing the faint impression of a lighting bolt scar.

"I hope I'm not late, Professor," Harry Potter asked, taking the seat in front of her desk.

"Not at all, Harry, and how many times have I told you to call me Minerva?" she said teasingly, her normally stern face softening.

He ducked his head sheepishly, "Sorry, old habit."

"Well, you'll have to get used to it, won't you Professor Potter?"

"Wow, never thought I'd hear that," he commented, then shook his head. "I can't wait for school to start, though. I'm really looking forward to teaching D.A.D.A. Hogwarts always has been my home."

"Don't let Mrs. Potter hear you say that," McGonagall warned. "Speaking of Ginny, how is she?"

"Fine, she's due any day now. Still can't believe we're going to have another one running around the house. As if the twins weren't enough, and they're not even four yet!" Harry said with some exasperation.

"Yes, Jamie and Siri certainly take after their namesakes."

"You're telling me! I should have expected it, what with who their uncles are."

"I shudder to think what they'll be like once they get their first wands. So what about the new arrival, a girl is it?"

"Yes, we agreed to name her Lily," he said with a sad smile.

"A full set, then."

"Yeah… But you want to talk about collecting children, have you seen Ron and Hermione?" Harry threw up his hands for affect, "I swear, by the time they're done, they'll have beaten Molly's record. You'd think they'd take a break! Four already, and another coming right after Lily's born!"

McGonagall laughed at the young man. It was nice to have him back. The school had been almost too quiet since he and his friends graduated. Still reminiscing, she picked up the envelope she'd been writing and slipped it into a gilded box bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. It would be magically addressed and sent to the owlery for delivery.

"Is that the last of them?" Harry asked.

"Yes, now all we have to do is wait for the replies to start coming in…"

Up in one of the highest towers of Hogwarts castle, a stack of thick envelopes written in green ink appeared on a tall pedestal in the center of the floor. There was a ruffling of feathers, and then hundreds of owls poured off the rafters, snatching up one letter each, and taking off out of the dozen open archways. A single letter was left afterwards, the very last. It read:

Ana (last name unknown)
Courtyard
St. Mary's Orphanage
Little Hangleton

A large, tawny owl swooped down on the letter, talons snagging the parchment, and flew out into the sky.

REVIEW!

Whew! What do you think? My dad said it was kind of morbid. I'm so glad! I was so freaking sick of my other stories coming out all perky. I am determined to give this one a healthy dose of angst. How am I doing?