An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction
Dawn.
The dark army made its way through woods, through swamps, through plains. Two miles down before the sun even crested the hills for the true dawning, thirteen more to go. Thirteen, the unlucky number - Lord Samael frowned. A bad omen, an owl's shrieking call. Death would come upon his army today, Samael noted, if you believed the old sayings. No matter. Perched upon his midnight steed, he watched the flag unfurl in the wind, striking cobra seeming to snap at the wind. Samael smiled. The bad luck of today would not be on his army, but on the opponent...
Thirteen miles away from the spot where Lord Samael smiled into the rising sun, another face met the rising dawn.
The General frowned, fingering his longbow. "A fell wind blows today, Captain."
"Yes, sir." Captain Terraine responded automatically. The General could always be a bit strange. Terraine took a calculating look at his superior, as he often did. Broad shoulders, silver-blonde hair cut long in a ponytail, sharp eyes seeing everything. Terraine still couldn't figure how he could reject all support of the new-forming freedom army, even going so far as to refer to them as 'the rabble'. Perhaps it was the army's head? Anyone could be suspicious of Voldemort, but most grudgingly took his help because being alive was better than being dead. Yet Terraine's superior rejected all of the army's help. Not what you'd suspect of a Malfoy, after all that -
"If you have an opinion, speak it, Captain." General Malfoy's voice interrupted Terraine's train of thought, and he paled, stammering a reply.
"No, sir..."
"No what?" Malfoy shot back quickly.
"N-no, I don't have an opinion." Terraine relaxed a bit when Malfoy's calculating, harsh look turned away from him. It was a lie, of course, but a well needed one.
General Malfoy turned to the map on the table, releasing the tent-flap and blocking out most of the light from the dawn. "The dark army's encampment lies fifteen miles from here. They have begun to march at dawn today." Malfoy glanced at each of his captains as he spoke. "Many died to bring us this information. We must now act upon it. All archers will keep watch at the earthworks and an armed patrol will be on alert..." He pointed to another spot on the map. "Should this battle go ... badly... all survivors will apparate to this spot. A group of healers are tending a bonfire for Fire-types to apparate to and for Water-types there is a lake nearby." Malfoy glared across the table. "Is everything clear?"
None of the captains got a chance to answer. A horn-call split the quiet camp, warcries scarred the silence. The dark army was here! How could it be?
"Damn them," Draco Malfoy hissed, shouldering his longbow as he rushed out of the tent. A controlled group apparition! The singing of his bow-string reached his ears, water-arrows from his bow arced through the air.
"Arran c'saai romanoth! Victiari tsas y'raan!" The battlecry, almost song, rippled through the morning battle. Death riddles the air! Victory will be ours! The ancient mode slipped quietly off the tounge and served Draco's army well. Yet even the strongest of armies found thier match here. Not listening to the battle-calls, the dark army advanced. Draco glanced up and saw thier flag, his flag, burning... they had taken the flag bearer. His heart sank as he numbly watched the blue hearaldry-dragon on a field of green go up in flames. Grasping the silver horn at his belt, he blew into it three times. The call for retreat.
Retreat, throught Draco. He had been beaten by Potter again. Perhaps he would be, no matter what he did... Closing his eyes, he calmed his mind, focusing on his goal, and apparated.
A rush of water closed in around him, instinctively he gasped at the cold. You shouldn't have done that, Draco. You're a water-element, true, but it won't keep you from drowning. Struggling for the surface, he thrashed, and then... the sweet sensation of air. Choking and gasping, he forced his body to be calm, and then dove back into the depths, swimming for the beach of the lake. Dimly aware of other water-elementals apparating near him, he only focused on his goal.
There, his feet touched gravel. Struggling out of the water,
it was only now Draco became aware of the shaft in his shoulder
and the gash on his arm. He didn't remember any pain until now...
His world was spiraling, out of his control. Were those healers
or his soldiers rushing up to him? Draco never knew, slipping
into feverish and tortured dreams as he fell onto the beach, unconcious.