Hello everybody. For those of you who know me and mine, skip ahead. To those of you who don't, my name is 4Eirlys, and this is a rewrite of my longest and most popular crossover fic "Merlin's Guide as to Why You Shouldn't be Voldemort" which remains unfinished. If you ever want to cringe at awful writing or need a laugh, I suggest you read that ; ).

This story has no relation WHATSOEVER to the Justice of the Druid series (which yes, I am still thinking and sketching ideas of shorts in that series). It is only coincidental that both are set in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts (mainly because I love Delores Umbridge and her delicious branch of evil).

This story shall (hopefully and to the best of my ability) be updated once a week. Obviously, university takes precedence over this. However, it is also equally as possible that you might be lucky enough to receive two updates a week. You never know!

Ancient Vices

Prologue

Lughnasadh.

The pagan festival of the harvest.

The ancient castle stood proudly to attention. Although it had long since fallen victim to the ravages of time and nature, with the once formidable walls and turrets which had towered into the sky now lay in great piles of stone, the bricks glowed eerily in the moonlight, a sense of majesty remained. Even the thick hoards of brambles and roses which had grown haphazardly over the ruins only added to the rather grandiose impression, reminiscence of fairytales one could often find in muggle children's story books.

For once, Voldemort unchecked his restrains, and let a smile, a genuine smile full of childlike wonder overtake his face. He breathed in deeply, the kind of action that would have had his nostrils fluttering in his weak, pathetic, old body, but now only served to emphasise the snake like features in the moonlight as he threw his head back slightly. The castle even smelt differently; untouched, unearthly.

Mystical.

The smile stayed on his lips as Voldemort moved forward, his fingers ever so slightly skimming the stones as he strode forward towards the only part of the castle which had remained mostly intact. If he was honest with himself, the barest hint of contact was because the wraith was terrified that the magic imbued in the stones would reject his presence, like it had rejected so many others that had tried over the years. Even Grindleward, in his mission to become Master of Death, had had his magic critically depleted and was been rejected from this hallowed ground when he had visited. But Voldemort was never honest, least of all to himself.

The Dark Lord had always been fascinated with myths; ever since he had found out he had been a wizard. Because if magic existed, what was there to stop some of the older legends from being true too? Yes, whilst the Founders were important – Salazar Slytherin the most – they were not the sole reason he spent hours in the Hogwarts library reading all historical materials, whether myth, legend, or fact. Because he had found her.

Morgana Le Faye.

The one woman who captivated him like no other. Who would understand. For were they not the same, he and she? Both orphans, growing up alone and oppressed. Both finding that their father was alive, and hated their kind, their very existence, their magic? Both who knew the superiority of magical wielders like themselves, who wished to rid the Earth of scum?

Having being recently restored to his body and the events that had subsequently followed had changed Voldemort's outlook on his great cause. He found himself withdrawing and adjusting his plans and had realised that no matter his cunning, he needed stronger allies, and more powerful allies... the darkest ally.

His cloak whispered to the earth his most vile secrets as it slithered across the floor. His footsteps were silent – he found himself detesting footwear in his new body and now preferred to go barefoot - and yet they seemed to echo as he strode down what was once the Great Hall. He stopped at the foot of the dais, where once, in a time of myth and a land of magic, a great throne once sat, overlooking the most powerful Kingdom in Albion.

The air seemed to grow colder as he knelt, and the contrast between the light and the shadows grew crispier as the darkness came to life, writhing with excitement, making the moonlight dance back in an effort to escape.

"Geopenian Avalon, ac un lætan."

The earth let out a powerful tremor as Voldemort started to chant. Slowly, incredibly slowly, a portal of both light and dark began to manifest itself directly where the old throne used to stand. As he began the second line of sacred text, the Old Religion screamed and all light was extinguished.

"Geopenian Avalon, ac un þeostru priestess."

The unearthly, soul shattering cry made Voldemort stumble, and blood dripped into his eyes, blinding him. At that moment, a section of shadow seemed to manifest, giggling as it streaked past him and out into the night, knocking him to the ground, but still resolutely he continued, his breath crystallising.

"Freo Morgana Pendragon!"

The cacophony of noise continued.

And then, he could sense her. A small pinprick of light that grew both darker and light stalked towards him, out from a thousand years of hell to be with him to create their heaven. She stopped, and stared at him.

"Which pathetic weak mortal dared to release me from my punishment?"

Voldemort bared his teeth at her, but remained reverently kneeling before her. "I am not pathetic and I am not weak."

"And yet you kneel before me with blood staining the floor like a fool."

"I kneel out of respect, not weakness. The ritual asked for a sacrifice. I gave my life to revive you."

"And yet you remain?" She asked, obviously curious despite herself.

Voldemort smiled. "I am not mortal, my Dark Queen. Such a cost is insignificant if one acquires a means of living without."

The Dark Lady studied him silently.

"It is impolite to not announce one's presence and intentions."

"I am Lord Voldemort, and on this Lughnasadh I have come to reap what I have sown. Will you help me?"

Her lips drew up into a beautiful patented smirk.

"It will be my pleasure," She purred.

Lughnasadh is the pagan festival held at the beginning of August where harvest would officially begin.

"Geopenian Avalon, ac un lætan. Geopenian Avalon, ac un þeostru priestess. Freo Morgana Pendragon!" This translates as "Open, Avalon, and let one exit your gates. Open, Avalon, and let the Dark Priestess through. Open, Avalon, and release Morgana Pendragon"