Edit 5/2/12: Fixed some of the grammatical errors in chapters 1-4. Ending of Chapter 4 has been rewritten!

Within the magical world it was needless to say, one rather recently raised Dark Lord was . . . quite simply put: up to no good. And such a day indeed it was to initiate his latest scandal, which by all means was intended to send his rather saucy teenaged arch-nemesis scampering in a most undignified manner into a hideously drawn out death, much to Lord Voldemort's giddy pleasure - not that he'd admit, of course, he could possibly be giddy in any fashion whatsoever.

The Day, as the Dark Lord's watery-eyed minion has come to refer this particular day as in his quite disturbed little mind, was much like any other. The evening sun currently painted the skies in several warm hues, making the perfect setting for romantics to stop and indulge themselves in their passions - of course, not that the Dark Lord cared. In fact, in almost an attempt to refute the existence of the sun, he slithered across the room he plagued and pushed open a rather worn and torn door and proceeded to slither, for it certainly could not be called walking, down an ill illuminated staircase to a vast basement which sported only an occasional flicker of dying candle light.

Seven persons watched with baited breath as their Lord seemingly hissed at the window and fled into the basement, leaving no parting grace. The seven were cloaked in long black robes, each with their currently pocketed masks to complete their costumes when necessary. They glanced wearily between one another, except for two, whom merely fidgeted amidst themselves, eyes darting to the door their master had just escaped to.

"Our Lord beckons . . . Let us make haste," a dark haired woman with wild eyes and an almost hysterical voice commanded. And certainly enough, all seven of their left forearms stung painfully. Three others nodded and followed the dark haired woman past the door Lord Voldemort had entered merely moments prior. Three blondes stayed behind momentarily, the youngest of which eyed the basement with a dawning fear. The woman of the group eyed her husband in worry at his haggled appearance and hesitation to follow his sister-in-law. He caught her eye and nodded and they proceeded down the stairs. The boy's grey eyes widened in terror as he sprung forward to catch pace with his parents.

In the basement, Lord Voldemort's lips stretched up in the corners of his mouth in an almost mock of a smile as seven of his followers flanked into a circular position around the room. The room of which, upon closer inspection, had foreign symbols and sentences engraved and inked into the walls, floor, and ceiling. Most notably of which being the large circular symbol painted in a suspicious red on the floor inches in front of Lord Voldemort.

The watery-eyed minion gulped audibly as The Day progressed into Stage Two, as he conveniently named their current predicament. Stage Two in his book was far worse than Stage One, which was simply preparation and waiting. Now Stage Two was where The Day truly began, much to his dismay. His eyes shifted to the burly man several feet to his left and then to the hook nosed man to his right, and began to whimper.

"Wormtail, cease your foolishness at once," snapped Voldemort.

"Y-Yes master, at once sir, of c-course!" Wormtail managed to squeak out before squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around himself, much as a man in a straight jacket held himself.

"Is it finally time, M' Lord?" asked the dark haired woman.

"Yes . . . the time has indeed arrived. I will soon usurp control over the most powerful weapon this pitiful dimension could possibly imagine . . ." Voldemort replied, lips twisting even further up his face eerily near to where his nose would have resided, but currently occupied by two vertical slits. His crimson eyes seemingly glowed in delight as he imagined his future power.

The hooked nosed man sneered in distaste for a small moment, before glancing over at the blonde man who certainly looked worse for wear. He looked away immediately and set his face into a perfect mask of apathy. His eyes resumed watching his master skim over the words on a scroll – how the Dark Lord was reading, he was caught unaware, as the lighting in the room was barely enough to see one another. He shrugged it off as a glowing red eye side-effect.

"Yes, yes . . . now is the time. Down on your knees at once, and do not say a word!" The order was carried out, with no qualms other than a pathetic whimper from Wormtail.

Stage Two was the worst, Wormtail believed. Stage Two carried out the action, and it was the fear of Stage Three which was to come in mere moments that drove him off the edge. If everything went according to plan, Stage Three would be a relief . . . and if not, well, he'd be dead, and couldn't care less. So he continued to whimper as quietly as possible as he fixed his face in his lap and covered his head with his hands. Voldemort stood tall as he held one arm out, and began to speak.

"Ego excito vox ultra meus understading, ultra meus vox. vitualamen erant paciscor, paratus universa. Transporto ut mihi plurrimi validus res ex a universitas ultra mei, quod redimio macies mos ut mei!"

The room was silent as Voldemort used his free hand to pull out a knife, which he promptly slit down the palm of his hand. Blood pooled down onto the floor, onto the large red circle which spanned throughout the majority of the room.

It glowed.

Wormtail shrieked as a sickening lurch of noises made themselves heard, and the floor no longer felt steady under his knees. Screaming, shouting, anger, despair, death, all of it coveted by the glowing array on the floor. Voldemort laughed.

The blonde boy fell backwards from his position as he looked desperately at his mother and father, both of them wide eyed and frantically glancing about. His mother caught his eye and crawled over, unable to stand with the tremors overtaking the room. She held him as Voldemort continued cackling while a black portal opened in front of him.

Voldemort's face contorted into a sickening, leering grin as he watched in morbid fascination as the portal bulged and receded. After several repeats of such behavior, the bulge broke, and several long black arms and hands spun around one another spun forth what seemed in appearance to be a light absorbing black hole. The arms and hands then began to unravel. And as they were receding, a crimson stare met gold.

Ed could certainly say he was not having a good day. Not within 5,000 miles of a good day, to be precise in his opinion. To begin with, Kimbley and the Furher attempted blackmailing him into cooperation using Winry as a hostage. Not to mention, she went willingly with them, blissfully unaware of the fact that indeed, she was hostage. And so, he had 'agreed' to following those bastards' instructions for the time being, the instructions being to become a human weapon. Like hell he would actually comply. However, for some reason which entirely baffled Ed, Al had not seen through his little lie, and became unnaturally furious with Ed. Al reached through the bars he was currently behind and grabbed Ed by the front of his jacket and yanked him head first into the bars.

"How could you! Brother! You told me you could never become like that! You're just going to let them walk all over you like this?"

Ed stared, utterly bewildered at his brother's outburst, and he ignored the physical pain in his building in his head, and the emotional pain in exploding in his chest over the fact that Al was unable to see through his lie and reacted so violently. Winry took a step backwards and looked between the two brothers.

"I-You-Al . . ." Ed mouthed words, trying to complete a sentence, but he was unable to as his mind was lost in a state of incoherency. Al glared, a feat indeed for a suit of armor, and he roughly pushed Ed backwards into the wall. Ed may have been baffled, but his quarrel with Al was soon pushed aside as he found he was being pulled. Pulled away. Pulled away by the gate. And soon all thoughts of Al were replaced with a well thought, oh shit.