Hey you guys! I'M BACK! And with an entirely new story that I have to say, I'm actually pretty proud of. It is truly my opus magnum, and I really really hope you guys like it. First of all, it is LONG. It's going to be 60 chapters, more or less, so hold onto your socks. Second of all, it is a crossover between two of my favorite things ever: PLL and Harry Potter. This story takes place in the next generation of Harry Potter, so you'll see familiar characters such as Harry's children, Neville as a professor, McGonagall as headmistress, etc. And of course a whole lot of the characters from PLL, because that's what we're all here for, right? So this first chapter is a preface, and the first chapter should be posted later tonight. I'll put it this way: the sooner you all review, the faster I post ;) so if you enjoy this chapter, favorite, follow, review, do WHATEVER to let me know you like it! And if you want the full description, check my profile!

As I stalk down the dimly lit corridor of the wretched school, my mind wanders. It's all so perfect. That old hag Voldemort wasn't able to end up on top. But that doesn't mean I can't. See, his problem was that he did it all wrong. Everything was laid out in black and white, perfectly planned so that there was no room for error. Except there was plenty of room since he laid everything out in all the wrong places.

But that won't happen with me. I'm here to finish what he started. I'm here to make everything right.

I soon reach my destination, and pivot my feet so that I'm facing it. There's a spider web in the corner of the doorframe, carefully crafted by the rarest of black widows, and I can ever so faintly hear the sound of water dripping slowly from one of the rusty old faucets on the inside.

The girl's bathroom on the second floor. This is it.

With each step I take, the drip, drip of the faucet becomes more prominent, as well as the smell of sulfur. I ignore it as I approach the sink tap in question.

There it is. The snake, so carefully carved into the granite.

I open my mouth to mutter the sacred word, but something stops me in my tracks. A cry. A whimper. Almost… a whine?

"You're not seriously going to open up that god-awful place again, are you?"

I whip around. "Myrtle!"

There's a whoosh, and a nearly transparent figure swirls through the air effortlessly before landing swiftly in front of me. Moaning Myrtle, in all her glory. Same dark rimmed glasses, same mousy pigtails, and same tattered old robe. Same everything.

You'd think after having to float around forever, ghosts would learn to shake things up a bit.

I hold up my wand threateningly. "Not a word to anyone about this Myrtle. Got it?"

"Oh, what are you going to do, kill me?" she simpers. "So sad, that's already happened."

I roll my eyes. Again with the self-pity. These ghosts need to get it together.

After a minute of thought, a devilish grin spreads across my face. I lower my wand, and then take a generous step toward her hovering frame so that I'm directly in her face. "So," I begin breezily, "how are things, Myrtle?"

"Not too great, really," she complains quietly. That's all she does, see. Complain. There's always something wrong. She's predictable like that.

Which works in my favor.

"Really?" I cock my eyebrows up in mock surprise. She doesn't catch on to the fact that I'm teasing her, of course. She isn't known for being all too bright, despite being sorted into Ravenclaw. "How so? Could it have to do with a certain other ghost?" I look left, I look right. Then I lean forward secretly, sympathetically. "Is it Peeves?"

"Yes, now that you mention it!" she exclaims. "That old prankster. He upset me so much the other day, oh it was terrible. I simply wanted to kill myself! But then I realized that I'm – "

"Already dead, right," I say, irritated. I don't have much time. I need to skip to the point. Rip it off like a bandaid.

"Myrtle, once I get back up here, I have to bolt. But I'll come back. And I'll help you get back at Peeves. But only if you promise not to tell anyone about what I'm about to do."

"Will you now?" she says, intrigued. "Why, that would be marvelous. Absolutely marvelous. I won't tell a soul, dead of alive." She holds up her fading grey hand to symbolize a scout's honor.

"Great," I say with a salute as I turn back around, getting ready to say it. Say the words that will change my life forever.

But before I can…

"What are we going to do?" Myrtle says excitedly in the background. "Are we going to scare his ghost pants off? Perhaps if we stole a Bludger from the Quidditch shed, we could – "

"Yeah, Myrtle, sure," I say, waving her off.

"Oh, I get it," she says, and I can hear her wilting behind me. "You're busy. Too busy for me. No one wants me. No one – "

"Myrtle," I say forcefully, turning around to face her now. Normally, I'd try to comfort her - or at least pretend to in order to get her to shut up - but I have to get to business. Tomorrow, eager witches and wizards will enter the building, and I have to get out of here before they come. Before they see me.

Myrtle finally shuts her mouth and sulks behind one of the stalls, crying softly. I turn back around, and am finally able to say it.

"Open."

At my command, the solid stone snakes slither apart, creating a clear path for me to slip into.

I manage to slide down gracefully to the bottom, or at least as gracefully as you can, and then reach into the pocket of my robe, pulling out the shattered remains of a stone that, while apart, would be insignificant, but together will hold so much power. I wave my wand up through the air, only to tap it against the cold, smooth surface.

"Reparo," I whisper, and the small shards glisten before coming together as a whole, forming a completely new stone altogether.

The Resurrection Stone.

It's amazing that no one has tried this before. But then again, they don't hold my power. And they will never hold the power that I will soon possess. For I will soon be the most powerful wizard of all time. I will be the next Dark Lord.

How do I know? It's obvious. Because I am the official next heir of Slytherin. Just like the great Tom Riddle before my time.

I press my lips to the stone, delivering a quick kiss for good luck. Not that I need it. I then release, holding it a mere centimeter away from my face, examining it. Admiring it.

"You know what to do, little guy," I whisper, before flipping it over three times in my hand, as procedure calls.

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