Dark Empire

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling. Nothing belongs to me. Except my collection of pennies.

Rating: R, perhaps even NC-17 later on.

Summary: This is an Alternate Universe ficcie. Just pretend that you are in the late 1930's to the 1940's, and that the Nazi's were instead rampaging wizards.

"blah"- talking

* blah *- thoughts

 WARNING: (skip if you feel fit to do so) There are no wands in this story. Magic is generated through the palms of one's hand, making a duel, or and kind of wizard conflict much more of a battle of skill, instead of a 'who can say a word faster game'. Wizards, since there are no wands, prefer to use Muggle mechanisms such as cars, boats, and airplanes instead of levitating themselves everywhere (there really are no brooms either, because while they can be made, they are seen as gaudy, outclassed, and inefficient). Guns are used instead of 'Avada Kedavra', simply because it's a hell of a lot easier to pull a trigger than to mumble a bunch of words and hope that the spell works. At this point, Voldemort has started a movement to purify the world of Muggles and Mudbloods, setting up massive killing factories, or enslaving them as workers on farms. He believes that it is because of Muggles that the world has fallen into such disarray and is set on eliminating them all.

DOUBLE WARNING: While there will be a comfortable quantity of heterosexual relationships in this story, there will also be a comfy level of homosexual ones too. Because that's just how life is, baby.

Prologue: Rebellion in the Air

                "SURPRISE!!!"

                Harry Potter jumped three feet into the air and instinctively fumbled for his revolver. The lights flashed on and he was greeted by the smiling faces of his best friends, Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger, who at this moment were both clothed in the only festive clothes they owned. Hermione in a gingham dress with pink rosebuds patterned all over it, and Ron in…a sweater that looked like it had been barfed on by every participant in the latest Pot Luck dinner.

                "Happy Birthday, Harry!!" They both yelled at the top of their lungs, and loud swearing, along with scuffling behind the couch could be heard.

                Harry blinked.

                "Birthday?" he repeated. Was it really his birthday today? It was, wasn't it! How could he forget his own birthday? He slapped his forehead and immediately regretted it.

                "Hey, Harry!" Sirius Black jumped our from behind the couch, followed by Remus Lupin, who was nursing a bruised elbow, and Neville Longbottom, who looked apologetically at his former teacher. Fred and George Weasly squeezed out from behind the radio, Mr. and Mrs. Weasly, along with the rest of the Weasly family climbed delicately from under the table, and Dean and Seamus poked their heads out from the kitchen, already beginning on what Harry supposed was his birthday cake.

                "Happy Birthday, kid." Sirius gave Harry a hard slap on the back, and pulled a bottle of wine from under his shirt. "Here's something that'll ease those nerves of yours."

                In a fluid motion he popped the cork, and to everyone's further surprise, removed a wine glass from his shirt as well. Crimson alcohol poured from the green opaque bottle and into the crystal glass, for a few moments Harry was fascinated by all the swirling colors, and by the possibility that he would finally get a taste of real wine.

                "Got it from France." Sirius winked at Harry, shoved the glass into his godson's hand and turned to assuage Remus Lupin who was eyeing Harry like a worried mother hen.

                "Jesus, Moony, its not like it's going to kill him…" Sirius said under the angry glare of his friend as he walked Remus out of earshot. "Just a little sip won't—"

                Harry was immediately distracted from his godfather and his teacher as he became swarmed with freckled faces and red hair. The Weasly family crowded around him, each holding trinkets and kind words. Everyone knew hard times had befallen London, not to mention Britain, and Harry almost cried, knowing that each person in the room had starved for the money to buy such things. Ever since Voldemort had conquered France and Finland, all the remaining ports to foreign nations had closed, cutting off desperately needed food and fuel supplies. Despite its power, England was not able to function only on its own goods. It did not have enough energy resources, nor did it have the valuable produce that could only be grown in warmer climates. It had been at least a year since the stores had stopped stocking fresh oranges and spices. Fresh food was sold at insanely high prices and for that matter, so was wine; they could only be bought if one had the appropriate ration coupons. Yet Mrs. Weasly strode forward, a small carton of clementines in her arms. A sly smile plastered her face. All doubts of Molly Weasly's intelligence were erased form Harry's mind.

                "Thought we might enjoy these, seeing as how its your party and all…" she beamed, putting the box in Harry's other arm.

                "Oomph!" He replied, and struggled to balance his wine glass in one hand, and the clementines in the other. Cautiously, he began to shuffle in the direction of any stable surface, wary of being surrounded by so many people all carrying packages. In an ungainly manner, he staggered into the kitchen and let Dean and Seamus rip open the carton for him. He took a plump fruit and shoved it in his pocket before returning to the "party". It was an enjoyable experience. A shining light of happiness in a storm of sorrow. Harry hadn't felt so at ease in years, when he had been going to boarding school with friends now dead, and had studied under Albus Dumbledore himself. He cried sporadically throughout the party; when Lupin gave him the framed picture of his parents, when Hermione gave him a Best Friends locket, and when Neville had handed him a wrapped Remembrall. Fred and George Weasly had pulled a gag gift by installing a new toilet seat in his bathroom, and Ron had given him more alcohol.

It wasn't until the party had begun to wind down, with everyone relaxing at the dining table, having feasted on his "birthday bread" (there was no sugar, so Mrs. Weasly had to bake something more akin to bread) that Harry's last guest arrived.  There was a light knock at the door, and a grim faced Dumbledore walked in. In his hands he carried a small box, and his worn, olive green overcoat.

"Happy Birthday, Harry." Dumbledore smile, eyes twinkling, "I can hardly believe that you are eighteen. You don't look a day over twelve."

Everyone groaned, especially Harry.

"Gee, thanks, I guess." Harry replied, rising from his seat to greet his mentor and trusted friend. The old man drew him into a hug, patting the boy's back affectionately.

"How are you my boy, well?"
                Harry shrugged, "As fine as a rebel commander can be, I guess."

"Good, good…"Dumbledore smiled, the stared off into the distance, a look of regret on his face as the smile melted away. "I am afraid that I do not come bearing the best of gifts, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged again.

"That's okay. I'm still used to getting nothing on my birthday. Really."

"No, no, I'm afraid that's not what I meant, Harry…" The elder wizard shook his head sadly. At this point, the room was silent and everyone watched their exalted leader carefully. They had learned that only a great tragedy could muffle Dumbledore's mirth. Sirius Black, Head of the French Resistance, spoke first.

"What is it, Albus?"

The old man hunched against the doorway, dark lines of shadow played on his face making him appear even older and more tired.

"I have terrible news."

Sirius, jumped to his feet, followed by Remus and Arthur Weasly. All were prominent resistance members that worked throughout Europe to glitch Voldemort's plans. Many of their loved ones had been lost in the war, and they were dedicated to grinding the Dark Lord's war machine to a halt. Arthur gathered support by having secret rallies, using his charisma to convince the neutral nations to serve as smuggling stations for supplies and refugees. Remus was a refugee runner, and he helped Muggles, Mudbloods, anyone on the run from sure execution across the English Channel. Sirius Black of course, was the biggest hell raiser of them all, and he headed the resistance in France, which contained over one million members. Sirius was the most wanted man in Europe; he came second only to Dumbledore and Harry Potter. 

Albus continued.

"Voldemort has become suspicious of our leads in the Schutzstaffel fold. He has replaced Avery."

Sirius swore. Arthur Weasly shook his head in relief.

"I don't see how that changes anything. Avery was never on our side anyway. Besides, he never found anything on any of our leads. Even the ones who work as janitors and conspicuously gather all the trash." He breathed a deep sigh.

"I disagree." Remus frowned. "Avery was inept. What if they put a man in that is…well…competent? If Voldemort already suspects our main leads, not only are they in danger, but the whole operation could be discovered. We need to know who the new assignment is, and pray he doesn't have anything larger than a plum in his cranium."

"Right." Sirius nodded, "Dumbledore, is the new assignment on our files?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore replied, still hunched in the doorway, "Very much so."

"Will he be a problem?" Sirius replied, curling and uncurling his fists.

"Worse, I'm afraid."

"How?"

Dumbledore sighed again, rose from the doorway, and gingerly sat in an offered chair. He gave young Ginny Weasly a short smile as she handed a cup of steaming tea. He sat ominously at the table, everyone waiting on his answer.

"We have reason to believe…that Voldemort has called in his replacement from East. The only man fit for supervision there is…"

He took a sip of the steaming tea. The room was silent.

"…Lucius Malfoy." He finished.

The house exploded in swear words and the tapping of hurrying feet. Sirius gave Harry a goodbye kiss on the forehead and ran straight out the door. Mrs. Weasly began wailing as she and Arthur Weasly grabbed their coats, and Remus Lupin smiled sadly and he gave Harry one last hug. Fred and George let out a war yawp, and told Harry to enjoy his toilet seat and that they were sorry they couldn't stay for tea. Hermione mumbled about having to run file checks for Minerva McGonagall, head of the Resistance Intelligence. She waved and flounced off with Ginny. Ron looked torn, but his older brothers Bill and Charlie barked a few orders in his direction and he went flying out the door.

"I'm awfully sorry, Harry." Dumbledore said over the great din, "I told you I didn't have the best of presents."

"Its-it's okay." Harry tried to smile, but for some reason his lips wouldn't move. Perhaps it was because he was back in a war again. He fingered his revolver, and looked out the window to survey the smoldering ruins of London, the result of multiple bombing raids. Hermione and Ginny were walking under the Ridgeway; they stopped to buy a newspaper, then disappeared. Harry knew he would not be called for until the morning, but it was still disconcerting to not have to run out the door as well. All his friends were successful, even Neville. He was only a figurehead, far to valuable to risk sending out on the frontlines, far to recognizable to go undercover. Oh, but how he wished he could do something. Suddenly, it felt as though the whole world was resting on his shoulders.

"I think I'll go to bed." He said quietly. Only then did he notice that he was alone again. The small brown package Dumbledore had walked in with sat on his dinner table. Ripped wrapping paper was strewn everywhere.  He stepped gingerly over the mess and walked to the table. The wine bottle Sirius had given him was still half full, and he poured himself another glass. He sat down at the head of the table and pulled the package towards him. Spidery writing scrolled over its cover:

Dearest Harry, the times grow ever darker and I feel that everything will come to an end soon. Therefore, in order to tip the scales in our favor, I feel it is time for you join in the fight. With this gift comes the heaviest of responsibilities, although I feel you are capable of handling such things. While I cannot walk the streets with your present in my arms, I can give you the capability to gather it on your own. It belonged to your father, and his father before him. This world is no longer safe, Harry. Please take care.

Dumbledore.

Harry ripped the package open, and found two tickets to Rumania. Underneath them, wrapped in tissue paper was a little, shiny gold key, covered in tiny engravings. When he squinted, Harry could just make out a tiny 'P' on the center of the golden key.

* I've got to go all the way to Rumania to open my 'present'? *

Harry groaned.

Dumbledore had been right, he decided later on while packing clothes for the boat ride across the English Channel. He really didn't have the best of presents.  

That night, after he had cleaned all the wrappings off the ground and the mess Dean had made in the kitchen, he sat in bed staring out the giant dining room window. He looked out in awe as the first snowflakes of the year fell past the glass panes. He wondered if it was snowing in France.  

 The bright spark of happiness flickered and died out.

Prologue Fin.

A/N: Hmm.. This is for your future reference in these stories, so take note. Harry and Co. did go to Hogwarts, however, there was no Slytherin House. Slytherin, in this story, broke off from the Hogwarts Four, and founded his own school, Hausser, in central Europe. Therefore, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pansy, ect, know each other, but they do not know of Ron, or Hermione (or vice versa). Of course, everyone knows about Harry.

LMC