Battlefield of Heart and Soul
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Story by: Divine Shadow
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E-Mail: willka_99@yahoo.com
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Category: Drama, Suspense , Romance, Action-Adventure, Angst
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Spoilers: Identity of Characters in Book 4 revealed. None really, seeing as
how this has absolutely nothing to do with the main storyline of any of the
HP Books and occurs about 40 years before HP and the Sorceror's Stone.
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Rating: R
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Summary: This is the tale of Darren Delacour, grandfather of Fleur
Delacour and his struggles during WW2. He is sent on a mission by the High
Council of Elders of the Conclave of Lazerus to deter the Nazi's progress
into the French Countryside and keep them from discovering Beauxbaton's
Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardy. This story also tells the tale of how
Fleur Delacour came to be the granddaughter of a Veela, a bit of their
family's history. This story is intended to illustrate how the Wizarding
Community dealt with such issues as International War and how it affected
them. Questions come to mind. Why didn't the Wizard's help with such issues
as the persecution of Jews during the War? Did they not care? Did they
choose to ignore the atrocities of the Third Reich? Or did they help in a
different way? This is the story of but one of the Wizarding Heros of WW2.
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Disclaimer: I DO NOT own copyrights to Harry Potter, the character's
described within or their exploits and have no intention whatsoever of
publishing what is written here. Please do me a favor and don't sue, I
couldn't afford to pay up anyways.
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Note: As befitting of a pre-modern Serialized Fiction Story, the chapters
may seem abysmally short. This is an experiment. I plan to release a new
chapter every Monday. Look at this as an experiment, a retro-bringing back
of the old serial novellas from the 50s.
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Dedications: This story is dedicated in whole to my best friend, fellow
collaborator and most dear person to me right now, Ms. Thursday Saint Giles
of Harry Potter Fandom, authoress of "Where the Demon Resides", the
"Something Must Be Wrong" series and various other Harry
Potter/Angel/Buffy fanfictions. Do me a favor and check her out. Love you
Thursday...best wishes.
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BR ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- br Prologuep The rain pounded the roof of the tin shack like a giant fist upon a door of stout oak. The concussion of the thunder shook the foundation of the small building, stirring it's lone occupant. As he slowly arose from the dark caverns of sleep, Darren Delacour, Dominar of the Thirteenth Sect of the Sacred Conclave of Lazerus, began remember to where he was. The High Council had chosen him for this mission, specifically of his relation to an agent of the Third Reich, his twin brother Mathus. br p The year was 1940. The Nazi's occupation of France had brought their Stormtroopers, dangerously close to the wizarding community in the French countryside. Any closer and the infamous Beauxbaton's Academy of Witchcraft and Magic, second only to the infamous Hogwart's of Great Britain, would have to be shut down, probably forever. He was an outcast, he had taken an oath to his order, swearing never to meddle in the affairs of muggles. That oath was rescinded in this time of crisis, but he was still troubled.br Why had they chosen him? Couldn't they have picked another, maybe another Delacour, someone with a bit more field experience. His high position within his Sect was a right of birth anyways, not a a position earned through hard work and dedication. It had absolutely nothing to do with how skilled he was in dealing with the affairs of the wizarding world or the world of muggles. He was confused, they had said this small assignment shouldn't cause him any trouble.br Why then was he so damned stressed? It was simple task, he was to replace his muggle-twin brother, Mathus, in the servitude of the Third Reich, after subduing him with a specially-licensed, one-time use of the Imperius Curse. After doing so, he was to remain in this position for the next six months, substituting certain documents of war with false information, leading the Nazis far away from the French wizarding community. Mathus's reasons for betraying his family were largely unknown.br It was suspected-widely that he was simply jealous of his brother's accomplishments and his family's prominence in a community he could never be part of. He was a Squib, born to the one of the most prominent wizading families in France, an utter disgrace to his name and rank. Darren suspected the reason for his brother's change of heart went deeper than this. As a child he had always been the most pleasant of souls, always willing to respect his families wishes, happy to spend the days in the family library, serving as a scribe and librarian, taking care of all the family's non-magic business, making sure their social standing didn't falter and that they always had plenty of money to burn.br He was never ill treated because of his disability, in fact quite the opposite was true. He was treasured by his parents, a medical curiosity and even made his fully-magical brother jealous. He was solely responsible for solving the financial problems his family suffered during their failed business dealings in the United States during the depression. He was responsible for restoring honor to the Delacour name. Why then did Mathus betray his trust, his revered position, his revered name to this abomination, The Third Reich?br It was these questions and others that were running though the head of Darren as he journeyed through the French countryside. It was only the first night of his long journey, after a long day of walking, he had decided to take shelter in an abandoned chicken coop, the only shelter he could find that didn't look occupied. He had been instructed NOT to use magic, unless there was dire need, and he was to stay away from the general populace, less he give away his purpose. br He was cold, wet and hungry. The hunger gnawed at his soul like rats through rotten meat. The few rations the High Council had provided him had already run out. Those poor bastards, they new nothing of this muggle concept called war, except with their slight involvement in the Crusades thousands of years ago, and their dealings with the Spanish Inquisition. "Oh well", he sighed, "What can one do?" According to his muggle timepiece, which he glanced at unimpressed, a silly little metallic device one carried in one's pocket, used to tell time, it was 3:00. Since it was still dark, he guessed it was 3 AM. With a sigh, he rolled back over, in his little nest, wrapped in a filthy woolen blanket and allowed the veil of sleep to overtake him. pbr
BR ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- br Prologuep The rain pounded the roof of the tin shack like a giant fist upon a door of stout oak. The concussion of the thunder shook the foundation of the small building, stirring it's lone occupant. As he slowly arose from the dark caverns of sleep, Darren Delacour, Dominar of the Thirteenth Sect of the Sacred Conclave of Lazerus, began remember to where he was. The High Council had chosen him for this mission, specifically of his relation to an agent of the Third Reich, his twin brother Mathus. br p The year was 1940. The Nazi's occupation of France had brought their Stormtroopers, dangerously close to the wizarding community in the French countryside. Any closer and the infamous Beauxbaton's Academy of Witchcraft and Magic, second only to the infamous Hogwart's of Great Britain, would have to be shut down, probably forever. He was an outcast, he had taken an oath to his order, swearing never to meddle in the affairs of muggles. That oath was rescinded in this time of crisis, but he was still troubled.br Why had they chosen him? Couldn't they have picked another, maybe another Delacour, someone with a bit more field experience. His high position within his Sect was a right of birth anyways, not a a position earned through hard work and dedication. It had absolutely nothing to do with how skilled he was in dealing with the affairs of the wizarding world or the world of muggles. He was confused, they had said this small assignment shouldn't cause him any trouble.br Why then was he so damned stressed? It was simple task, he was to replace his muggle-twin brother, Mathus, in the servitude of the Third Reich, after subduing him with a specially-licensed, one-time use of the Imperius Curse. After doing so, he was to remain in this position for the next six months, substituting certain documents of war with false information, leading the Nazis far away from the French wizarding community. Mathus's reasons for betraying his family were largely unknown.br It was suspected-widely that he was simply jealous of his brother's accomplishments and his family's prominence in a community he could never be part of. He was a Squib, born to the one of the most prominent wizading families in France, an utter disgrace to his name and rank. Darren suspected the reason for his brother's change of heart went deeper than this. As a child he had always been the most pleasant of souls, always willing to respect his families wishes, happy to spend the days in the family library, serving as a scribe and librarian, taking care of all the family's non-magic business, making sure their social standing didn't falter and that they always had plenty of money to burn.br He was never ill treated because of his disability, in fact quite the opposite was true. He was treasured by his parents, a medical curiosity and even made his fully-magical brother jealous. He was solely responsible for solving the financial problems his family suffered during their failed business dealings in the United States during the depression. He was responsible for restoring honor to the Delacour name. Why then did Mathus betray his trust, his revered position, his revered name to this abomination, The Third Reich?br It was these questions and others that were running though the head of Darren as he journeyed through the French countryside. It was only the first night of his long journey, after a long day of walking, he had decided to take shelter in an abandoned chicken coop, the only shelter he could find that didn't look occupied. He had been instructed NOT to use magic, unless there was dire need, and he was to stay away from the general populace, less he give away his purpose. br He was cold, wet and hungry. The hunger gnawed at his soul like rats through rotten meat. The few rations the High Council had provided him had already run out. Those poor bastards, they new nothing of this muggle concept called war, except with their slight involvement in the Crusades thousands of years ago, and their dealings with the Spanish Inquisition. "Oh well", he sighed, "What can one do?" According to his muggle timepiece, which he glanced at unimpressed, a silly little metallic device one carried in one's pocket, used to tell time, it was 3:00. Since it was still dark, he guessed it was 3 AM. With a sigh, he rolled back over, in his little nest, wrapped in a filthy woolen blanket and allowed the veil of sleep to overtake him. pbr