A/N: Hello! Welcome to my very first Drarry fan-fic. I'll try not to make it to dark, despite most of it being set in a war, and I'll either give it a happy ending or an uplifting epilogue. As you should have gathered from the summary, this story is about Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter being, eventually, together, in the 'romantic' sense of the word. Basically, if you don't want to read about that, go and read something else. As for the rating, it is currently set at 'T', but I may put it up later on if the language or content gets too violent or dark. There will be no explicit 'bedroom scenes' in this story, simply because the characters are going to be spending most of it at war, and therefore wouldn't actually have time anyway. All that said, I'd better let you get on with reading the story. In case you didn't understand from the chapter title, this is a prologue, and so will be slightly confusing. Don't panic, all will become clear.
The wind shrieked through the barren trees, sending the dead leaves on the ground spiralling up into the air, as the rain poured mercilessly down through the roof of the wrecked church, and bounced off of the gravestones and oppressive granite tombs, backlit by the occasional fork of lightning. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, but any reply was lost in a rumble of thunder. The heavy wrought-iron gates screeched as then swung in the gale, and water poured from the broken guttering down onto the path, flooding the already sodden wilderness beyond.
It was as the thunder gave another great booming rumble that a figure could be seen approaching the bleak place, silhouetted against the momentarily lit sky. It was a man, dressed in a long black cloak, struggling against wind and rain. As he staggered down the rows of gravestones and statues, his hood flew off, revealing a pointed, haggard face, and a head of sodden blonde hair. He kept going, his hand fruitlessly trying to shield his eyes against the storm. Practically bent double against the wind, the figure appeared to reach the grave he had been looking for, where a simple, badly engraved stone stood, half covered in ivy and moss.
The man bent down, and with his bare hands scratched at the rock, drawing blood but seeming not to care. At last the greenery had been cleared enough for the worn inscription to become legible. The man sat back on his heels, and the tears that began to fall from his haunted grey eyes were washed away by the relentless storm almost as soon as they appeared. With a shaking finger, he slowly traced the letters of the name carved into the stone, then pulled a stick of wood from beneath his cloak, and placed it at the foot of the grave. Having nearly completed his purpose at the cemetery, the man stood, and pulled what appeared to be a golden locket from beneath his robes, which he tapped with another wooden stick, all the while murmuring incomprehensibly under his breath. He looked back towards the grave and spoke, before tapping the locket once more, and vanishing in a bright blue light which lit up the stone, and the stick, and the graveyard. Though the stranger's words were lost to the wind, their meaning was clear.
"I'm sorry. I'll make things right again. I promise."
And so the wind howled, and the rain poured, and all that remained was earth and storm.