FOUNDERS I Give Me Thy Hand
"Give me thy hand, 'tis late; farewell, good night"
William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet, Act iii, Sc.3
Summary: In the year 1297 the Death Eaters are gathering at Azkaban as the old king grows weaker by the day. The Order of the Dragon must protect Prince Draco as he journeys to Hogwarts for his coronation. For Harry Potter, falling in love with the crown prince is not an option.
Warnings: Language, violence, gore, angst, het. (male/female), slash (male/male), supernatural themes, mature content and death/murder.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is the first story in the FOUNDERS seriesand it will have only one sequel called In Exchange for My Heart. This story is set in Fictional Medieval Europe and my history might not be up to scratch but I was a history student in high school and have/will do the necessary research in order to get my facts straight. In addition, my fencing terminology should be correct as I have friends who do the sport.
ORDER OF THE DRAGON Non-fiction Reference: "The Order of the Dragon was an elite Chivalric order for selected royalty and nobility of Europe... Founded in 1408 by Emperor Sigismund, King of Hungary and his wife Queen Barbara of Celje, the Order was upheld within the territories of the Holy Roman Empire and primarily flourished in Germany and Italy. The members of the Order were known as Draconists."
Source: Wikipedia, 'Order of the Dragon'.
IMPORTANT: THIS IS SLASH! Slash, as in a homosexual relationship between two males. If you do not like or find the idea offensive or against your culture/belief system and are unsettled about the content of this story, then please leave. I don't appreciate criticism or flames that try to belittle, insult or debate moral/social/religious issues. I obviously have no problem with it as I am writing a fictional – people seem to forget that part quite often – story that contains slash.
If you are underage and do not have your parents permission, I would also ask you to cease reading as some of the ideas of this story may not suitable for minors.
Big thanks to Twilight's Call, vampyreice and my mum for being my beta readers for this chapter.
Prologue
The Port of Diagon was shrouded in a veil of eerie mist. The sun's rays that reflected down onto the barren streets of the town were barely able to peek through the fog that hovered over the area. The murky smell of the smoke and soot that puffed unseen from the chimneys and the underlying hint of salt that had drifted in with the chilly sea breeze filled the air. The sound of a horse's hooves on the cobblestone path echoed off the ash-blackened buildings. It was this noise that aroused Frank from his slumber.
From inside the gatekeeper's cabin a harsh cough erupted from Frank's chest. He rose shakily from the stiff-backed wooden chair. On any other night the chair would have made it impossible for the crippled man to drift off, but the alcohol in his blood had slowly coaxed his wrinkled eyes to close and his head to rest on the table's rough surface when sleep overtook him.
As Frank shuffled to the window he kicked a stray mug that had been knocked to the floor during the night into the far corner of the shack. The last dregs of ale sloshed out, creating a murky puddle on the cobblestones beneath Frank's leather-clad feet. Outside was bleak and miserable, and he cursed the Founders as he wished for a break from the dismal weather. He limped to grasp his cloak and pulled it over his hunched form, drawing the hood up to shade his disfigured face. Frank retrieved his cane from its spot in the corner and hobbled out of the door just as the horse's hooves stopped outside the port's gate.
Frank had been the gatekeeper of Port Diagon for as long as the town's residents could remember. He had once been a revered sailor, known for his bravery on the high seas. Yet it had been on the very ocean that he loved that he had been injured beyond recognition.
The townspeople avoided the sea veteran and told their children to steer clear of Frank and his cold, beady eyes – not that the children would have ever dared to draw close to the man anyway. In their minds his appearance resembled that of wicked goblins from the tales their parents recited to them from the days of the Founders. He was far too intimidating for them to approach. Frank had long ago grown use to the loneliness and he had sought refuge in the numbing sensations that a good flask of ale could bring. Horrid scars and wrinkles had long since replaced the laughter and light that had once been etched into his face.
As Frank groped for the flap that covered the peephole in the gate another cough escaped his dry lips. His beady eyes widened at the sight of the dark horse and its rider staring back. The horse was large with a powerful body and angry eyes that flickered about madly in the dim light. The man straddling the stead was settled within the folds of a thick black cloak, which was draped over a set of broad shoulders. Beneath the figure's hood, the sun's rays caught a glimpse of a pale mask covering his face. It was deathly white and glowed in the shadows cast by the cloak's cowl. The stranger reminded Frank of the demons that had once served the Dark Lord Grindelwald in the time of the Founders. He felt a shiver of fear run up his spine. The rider and his dark mount were unlike any other travellers the residents of the small Port of Diagon had seen before.
"Who goes there?" Frank managed to croak, his eyes on the figure's mask. He half expected the rider to transform into a mighty and terrifying beast at any given moment. The rider remained silent, preferring to study the frail man before him. After a moment, he turned his head and Frank breathed a sigh of relief at the shift, as he was no longer under the scrutiny of those cold eyes.
"My name would be of little importance to the likes of you, drunkard," the man sneered in the regal voice that was often used by the kingdom's nobility when addressing those of a lower status. Frank stiffened at the man's tone and, noble or not, Frank drew himself up to defend his honour. His shift in stance may have caused the rider to continue on curtly before Frank had the chance to speak, "I seek shelter at the Inn, old man. Allow me to pass," he ordered.
Frank grumbled but could find no reason except his poor mannerisms to deny the man passage into the town. Cursing the Founders once again, he pulled the ring of keys that had jangled from his belt loop free and fumbled for the correct one. Despite Frank's desire to reproach the man for his behaviour, he felt that the rider was not one to either forgive easily or forget the face of anyone who would insult him. Frank was not the young man he once was and even if he were, he would not dare to cross swords with the imposing enigma who had awoken from his slumber.
The cold metal hinges protested with a dull creak as Frank tugged the wooden gate open, scraping it along the cobblestone road. Urging his horse forward, the man entered the town seemingly with caution; his head turning back and forth until he gazed steadily up the main street. In a few hours that street would be bustling with activity but at the moment it was still far too early for the townspeople to rise. Frank grunted as he pushed the gate closed after the rider and the firm click confirmed that he had locked it securely once more.
"When does the next ferry due to cross the Merm depart?" The man's rough voice turned Frank's attention to where he remained astride upon the large animal.
The crippled man paused to think for a moment before he replied, "A few days, I suppose." His words were slurred from the lingering effects of the alcohol he had drunk the night before.
The rider's gaze was still fixated on the streets of the town but he nodded and replied brusquely, "I'll need accommodation until then. Direct me to suitable lodgings." His gloved hand disappeared into the linings of his cloak before it retracted with three silver coins in its grasp. Frank eyed them greedily as the stranger scattered them at his feet.
"The Leaky Cauldron is what you want," Frank replied, gripping his cane firmly as he doubled over to retrieve the coins. "It's just down the Main Road there." When he straightened Frank gestured to the road before them. "Ask for Tom. He'll set you up."
The man peered at the street before glancing back at Frank. "Payment for your silence." The rider gestured to the silver clutched within Frank's hand before he wielded his horse towards the main street and was lost in the heavy mist. With the coins grasped firmly in his sweaty hand, Frank tottered back towards the shack. Glad that the morning's encounter with the mysterious stranger was over, he glanced out the small window at the clouded sky and grunted as he fumbled for his mug. The town would be waking soon and he had just enough time for a swig of ale before he could return home to his bed with hopes that by nightfall, all thoughts of the dark rider would be gone from his mind.
Many months earlier, long before the crippled gatekeeper had ever laid eyes on the cloaked rider, a young man woke from his slumber. He had fallen asleep at his window and grimaced as he stretched his stiff back. Green eyes flickered open and he squinted as the sun fell on his tanned face. For Harry Potter, today was starting out like any other, but little did he know that today marked the day when his whole world would change and the fate that had been laid out for him since the time of the Founders would be set into motion.
Fate was the last thing on Harry's mind as he kicked the ginger-haired youth out of his bed. He laughed when his best friend landed on the hard floor of Harry's chambers and stared up at him indignantly through sleep filled eyes. Today would be the day that changed both of their lives and not even the Founders knew where destiny would take them.
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