Okay. Here's what going on. I haven't written fan fiction in a VERY long time. Years, in fact. Like four. On a whim, I went back and looked at some of my old stuff.

I nearly vomited. Is there really a bunch of crap floating around the internet with my name on it? I'll be honest with you, the writing is terrible. I couldn't finish a single chapter, let alone rereading the whole story.

I can do better. So I am. And because I didn't read the whole story, this version is going to be quite a lot different than the last. It will be a little more mature, I hope.

I'm posting this as an experiment. I'm not sure about doing this whole "writing fanfics" thing again. I'd mostly be writing for readers, since I feel a sort of obligation towards them. I read fan fiction all the time when I was younger and it really inspired me to write my own things.

So if you like, if you approve, tell me. Depending on the number of reviews, I may or may not finish this.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Grave Decisions

Damn it was cold. Why was it always so cold?

Lanny Rupert rubbed his hands together and blew into them. Bloody cemetery. No one came in during the day. Certainly not the night. Yet here he was, guarding the bloody graves.

Lanny stamped his feet and blew on his hands again. He was so concerned with his frigid fingers that he almost missed the four figures walking by his little security hut.

He was almost relieved to see signs of life after three hours in the pitch black, moonless night. This sentiment was quickly retracted however upon seeing what the individuals in question were hooded and wearing—Lanny did a double take—some sort of black robes.

He watched them for a moment suspiciously. Probably just a bunch of kids out for a scare. Still, most of them looked pretty tall and he would bet money that no group of kids could be that silent.

He grabbed night vision glasses just in case and followed them, keeping behind, but within earshot.

Lanny crouched low, squinting through the darkness. Three more figures appeared. They made no greeting to the four figures that Lanny was following but they were clearly together. All of them were wearing those ludicrous robes.

They came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the graves and began to encircle it. Lanny dove behind a grave to prevent his discovery. He hit his hip a little too hard against the unforgiving ground, a painful reminder that he was nowhere near as young as he used to be.

"Beautiful night," said a deep voice from the circle of figures. It was certainly not a teenage voice.

"Agreed," said another voice, this one female.

The first figure spoke again. "Don't you think so, Mr. Rupert?"

Lanny froze. Clearly he hadn't been as quiet as he'd thought. There was nothing for it.

"Indeed," he said loudly, standing up. His old knees protested. "I thought I might ask you what you what you're doing in this cemetery in the middle of the night."

"You're a Mudblood, is that not correct, Mr. Rupert?" said the female voice.

"Eh? What's that you said?"

"You're parents. They, and thus you, are descended from Muggles."

"Some of the last," Lanny said proudly. "What's that to you?"

There was a brief silence before the first voice spoke out again. "Everything, Mr. Rupert."

The figure with the female voice reached into her robes and withdrew what appeared to be some sort of necklace. She held it by the chain and Lanny saw that some sort of ornament hung from it—silver with a gleaming "S" carved into the front.

"Tonight is no random night, Mr. Rupert," she said. She tossed the necklace onto the grave. As if on cue, the other six figures reached into their own robes and withdrew other items. Lanny could find no pattern in the items they had. One appeared to be shards from some sort of china. There was also a long, wicked fang that must have come from a very large animal, a small black book with a hole sizzled through it, another was a piece of very thin jewelry that appeared to be some sort of bracelet, or maybe a very thin crown. There also appeared to be a ring, split into two pieces. On very top was a long thin wand.

"Tonight, Mr. Rupert," said the woman. "Is the very night, almost 1000 years ago, that the greatest dark lord of all time fell from his holy pedestal."

Lanny was beginning to feel nervous about this. Knowing his friends would probably make fun of him latter for being scared of a couple people and their junk, he straightened himself up and spoke with as much authority as he could muster.

"As you all know, the city reserves the right to deny access to any public place from any individual or individuals that appear to be using said space for illegal or immoral purposes, to be decided 

at the time by the judgment of the leading authority figure." He had had to memorize this law as part of his training. "I have decided that your purposes here are contrary to the interests of the state and I ask that you leave immediately. You will be escorted from the premises by the closest authority figure. In this case, that figure is myself. Please gather your belongings and follow me towards the exit."

A figure that had not spoken pulled forth from within the folds of his cloak a dagger. It was a wicked blade, with a deep black, curved handle that blended so perfectly with the night that Lanny only knew it was there because the figure's hand disappeared behind it. The blade itself was clean, bright silver that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Lanny drew his gun. "Drop your weapon!"

Holy Shit! He thought desperately. I'm a bloody night watchman! I'm not trained to deal with this!

The figure did not drop his weapon and did not approach Lanny. The woman spoke again.

"Mr. Rupert, would you be so kind as to stand on top of this grave?"

"I most certainly will not," Lanny said. "Tell your friend to drop his weapon. You're all to leave the park immediately."

"Now, now, Mr. Rupert," said the woman softly. "We're all friends here." She drew a wand out of her pocket and pointed it at him.

Lanny did not drop his gun. What was she going to do? Shoot water at him? Give him a bouquet of flowers? Wands weren't weapons.

"Imperio," the woman whispered.

Lanny Rupert's face slacked.

"Drop your weapon, Mr. Rupert," said the woman calmly.

The gun fell to the ground.

"Now please move onto the grave."

He did so. His arms were at his side, his face blank.

The knife flashed.

"Lord of Darkness," the woman whispered. Blood oozed into the soft ground. "Lord of Magic. Lord of Death. A thousand years you have waited beneath the earth. Your servants have waited, too. Tonight the last of the missing pieces have been returned to you. Tonight you will rise and the sun will die."