'Lo all. I'm just warning everyone that I've only read the first three books (I let a co-worker read Book 4 before me since I had so much school work and she assures me I'm missing the best one -_-;) and I'm pretty much a newbie to the whole wonderful Harry Potter Universe. I'm very susceptible to ship-dom and for a while I was very pro-H/Hr then I went into this obsession with D/Hr, and now I have a dual bias for R/Hr and D/Hr though the R/Hr takes precedence (It's all Sugarquill's fault I say!). Anyway, after reading a multitude of HP fics at ff.net and several sites along with listening to Linkin Park over and over again, I came up with this. The beginning is a little strange, I know but it isn't really the actual beginning of the story . . . you'll see what I mean.
Right now it's just a PG rating but sooner or later that may or may not escalate to an NC-17 rating, depending on whether I decide to add a lemon scene or not.
Also, for those who have read my GW fics and are waiting anxiously for new installments: They are coming. Believe me ^_^
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters therein belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing them for a bit of evil hehehehe.
When Darkness Falls - Prologue
Foreshadow
By Kysra
When darkness falls
She stood impossibly atop the sphere tipped spire, a precariously balanced solitary silhouette against a vast, gray-black sky riddled with lightning flashes and thunder glow. Fluid brown strands of curling hair whipped at the delicate pale skin of an exquisite, youthful face while large cinnamon eyes stared calmly out across the windswept landscape below. She studiously ignored the turbulent air currents tearing at the billowing robes adorning her body, threatening to topple her to the distant ground, but the white hands clasped to her chest confessed her internal nervousness, bloodless fingers clutching the thin, ivory solidity of a genuine magic wand.
Evil will vie for dominance
Lips pursed into a small frown and chin dimpled in a way that suggested the suppression of surfacing tears, she continued her surveillance, searching for something only she could identify, waiting for a sign that was not long in coming.
A flicker against the darkened horizon, a line of black against the solid gray, the vague twinkle of red in the distance, and she knew she had not waited in vain.
"They're here," her lips moved in a useless, soundless whisper, her voice stolen by the savage gusts, the slight vocalization of the obvious destroyed by the shrieking violence of unnatural winds.
She could feel his nearness, the disturbed air prickling, snapping at her vulnerable skin and tear-filled eyes. Her stomach ached with nausea as the rotten stench of stale Death filled her nostrils and visions of laughing skulls and dancing corpses taunted her fragile mind.
He will try to destroy the Light, what makes us separate from him
The black mass gathered at the thin line separating land and sky expanded into a thick band of descending darkness, sluggish molasses slithering across the shadowed green of spring grass.
Watching with a calm she inwardly did not feel, the girl's eyes were drawn to the central figure, the leader of this Dark Army who had so terrorized the wizarding and non-wizarding worlds for decades . . . Voldemort.
He marched ahead of his troops, tall and proud, his body giving off nearly visible smoky fumes of evil as the glowing red of his eyes focused on something beyond her line of sight. She took note of his pale, ashen skin, unkempt black hair, and dirty, war-torn robes even as her eyes mapped out the contours of his coarse, smirking face, her heart slowing to an unhealthy tempo and her breath halting altogether.
But because we are different, he will falter.
There was a movement, something bright and colorful fluttering against the dreary backdrop of stormy sky and blanketing darkness, and she gasped, her eyes breaking away from the dull ebony mass of the oncoming army to take in the image of red, green, blue, and gold cloaked figures, a vast sea of color and youth, marching defiantly toward the deadly invaders and their terrifying lord.
She wanted to scream, to wail, to cry. She needed to be with them, to fight, to bear witness, but she couldn't. Her heart turned to ice, the lively organ freezing in her chest, as a young man with black hair and green eyes (though the glare from his glasses made it impossible to see them clearly) at the front of the opposing forces looked back towards her, his expression unreadable, his mouth forming one word that would forever remain a mystery as he turned forward again, leaving her with nothing but a lack of comprehension, worry and heartbreak.
We are different in that we love
Choking fear wrung a silent cry from her lips as Despair wrapped his frigid arms around her, enclosing her in a paralyzing embrace. Her feet teetered dangerously upon the slick gold plate of the ball-shaped precipice that acted as her support at this great height, and she swayed with the violent wind, the loose strands of her tangling hair catching her eyes and invading her mouth.
Blinded by the sharp sting of wind and hair, she did not see the ghostly shadow rising up behind her, her ears deafened by the haunting scream of vultures repeating the familiar mantra of "He's dead! He's dead!" Her lips formed a silent plea, invoking the name of someone dear and possibly gone to the next world, her arms lifting and stretching out before her in a gesture of supplication and desperate need before a strong force slammed into her back like a battering ram.
And we will not die cowardly deaths
And, when the realization came that she was falling, plummeting to her death blossomed in her mind, a silence fell upon the earth that was at once horrifying and somewhat pleasing. Like a rag doll, her limbs seemed to move with a strange sort of fluid grace as the wind plucked her limp body from the unforgiving air, legs and arms floating upon the harsh, vengeful currents. Frozen fingers tightened about the smooth shaft of her wand as her mind, easily the strongest organ she possessed, became blessedly empty of thought, totally detached from the sorry reality she had suddenly been thrust into. No simple spell could save her. She didn't want to be saved.
Because I love you
Staring up into the solid wall of angry clouds which constituted the sky, she allowed herself a fleeting wish for one more opportunity to say good-bye, to hug, to kiss, to speak, though she knew it was futile. Closing her eyes, she prepared for the imminent meeting with the ground.
However, it was not her day to die, and just as an unexpected force had propelled her into this current predicament so did another equally unexpected blow stop her hurtling descent to the ground. As her befuddled, death clouded brain began to function once more, the confusion of continued life stirring paralyzed cells into action, she registered a cloaking warmth and strong arms around her while the spare, solid width of something beneath her and the stabbing cold of winds brought by extremely fast motion alerted her to two things: 1. Someone had saved her and 2. That same someone had caught her while riding a broomstick.
While these revelations fed themselves to her bewildered mind, she took a deep breath and allowed tired eyes to close for just a moment, her head resting against a hard chest, lulled by the assuring beat of a living heart; and for just a moment, she knew peace in this time of fighting desperation and numbing fear. The moment was gone as soon as it had begun, however, and she opened her eyes again, only half-aware of the sea of color just below them, lifting her head and opening her mouth to thank her savior (even if she hadn't wanted to be saved in the first place. It was only polite and didn't pay to drag others into the pit of depression she currently resided).
Of course, opening her mouth was about as far as she got in thanking her savior since her savior was the very last person she expected to see, considering he had been presumed dead not twenty-four hours prior to this latest incident. In light of this information and the subsequent events, all she could muster was a sort of strangled whimper before all mental functions ceased, her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body fell limp within the circle of secure and gentle arms.
The Savior smiled tenderly at the girl, the expression masking the gut-wrenching fear and anguish which filled his being as her body had approached the ground, "Hermione . . . " he whispered reverently, stroking the windblown brown hair he loved so much.
"Ron," she breathed, burrowing into his body, inhaling his scent deeply though still lost within shock induced unconsciousness, and Ron knew without doubt that this would probably be the last time he would be able to savor the feel of her next to him.
And so, together, they sailed above the conflicting armies under the dubious security of an invisibility cloak as the war they had hoped would never be, began.
When darkness falls