Chapter 1:London, England 2017


Lifting his binoculars to his face, and pressing them firmly against his eyes, Harry Potter scanned the bleak land before him. Searching the massive black for any signs of movement. Charred land and gray rock hills stretched for miles, no vegetation or any sign of life peeked among the endless black depression of death. Under Harry's bent knees rested the ruins of the once great city of London, small debris of life rested among the ash and rubble, the last signs of organized life. The blood red sun was setting behind him as dark clouds rolled in from the east, a rumbling of thunder breaking the eternal silence.

Harry we'd better be getting back, night'll be on us soon, and they'll be coming out sooner, with no moon and all Ron muttered beside him, his rosy face streaked with dirt, his unwashed crimson hair matted to his head. Ron peeked over their shelter of hard cold rock, his misty blue eyes scanning the land slowly, then sighing, fell back resting his head against the black charred hill. Harry lowered the binoculars slowly, running a filthy hand through his shoulder length, messy black hair, his pale red scar barely visible beneath the dirt and grime. The areas clear, he started, Phone back and see if R.J's seen anything, he commanded Ron, his eyes never leaving the dreary land before him. Ron sighed again, tired and nervous, then pulled a walky-talky from his belt, leaving Harry to his twisted, depressed thoughts.

It had been fourteen years since the rise of Lord Voldemort in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, which was now only a memory, forever buried in ash. Fourteen years since the Muggle world had become aware of the Wizards that had rested under their noses for hundreds of years, a discovery realized in the most unpleasant way. Fourteen years since, first London, then the rest of the world had been over run by the dark forces of Voldemort. Now the world of both Muggles and Wizards hid in fear, as dark creatures of pure evil prowled the nights and killed all in their path. It had been a year since Harry had heard from the four other refuges in England, and there was little hope left that anyone else had survived the endless onslaught of the Dark Lord. Life was lived in constant fear of death and eternal captivity, the open land was unsafe and retched, the night holding all the nightmares of men. No where was safe. No where was un scathed. No where was free. Lord Voldemort had purged the land of its life and fertility, reigning with his Death Eaters, now numbering thousands, destroying everything and ruling all. Now Harry Potter hid in the shadows of Voldemort's wrath, fighting for survival in the most primitive ways and giving his all for the people he protected and sheltered. No one was safe. No one was free. And it was all Harry Potter's, the , the boy who was to have defeated Lord Voldemorted, it was his fault.

Harry, R.J checks all clear, we best be getting back, Ron said shacking Harry's shoulder gently, pulling him from his wretched cold thoughts. Harry nodded solemnly and stuffed his binoculars in his belt, pulling his thick, patched, black cloak more fully around him. Ron rose stiffly, flicking his black hood deafly over his head, and made his way towards their waiting horses.

Its funny isn't it Ron, the way the world works, Harry said rising to his feet, his eyes locked on the dead land before him. Ron turned back to his friend a sad expression in his eyes, surveying his stiff body and wind tossed hair. Harry continued, his eyes squinted as the last traces of sunlight disappeared behind black mountains, One moment everything seems perfect, and the next second everything you worked so hard to gain is pulled out from under you, like no matter how hard you try you'll always fail, lose everything. Ron was silent behind him, his sad, light less eyes resting on his hardened best friend, he stepped forward and rested his hand on Harry's stiff shoulder, Come on Harry, they'll be waitin' for us, he whispered, feeling the pain that vibrated from his friend in hot deep waves. Harry sighed wearily and rose, glancing at his friend swiftly before mounting his horse. Ron followed in suit, shifting under his thick cloak as a chilly, ash born breeze drifted over them.

Well Harry look at the bright side, Ron said as they turned their backs on the desolation behind them, At least there's no more Snape. Harry turned his head to his friend in surprise and gave a shocked bark of laughter that echoed loudly off the stony hills. And no more detentions, he said with a grin and kicked his horse in to a gallop, racing along the wide bending trail that led home, Ron gaining fast on his heels.


The steel gates of the old castle creaked open as the first stars appeared in the black sky. Harry and Ron dismounted swiftly and handed their horses to the nervous looking men who excepted them hastily. Night always made people nervous, night was when death crept over the land and life was sucked from all who stayed in the dark clutches of evening.

The old castle, with its crumbling stoney walls, was Harry's home, his refuge, also home to over two hundred others. A man came towards them from the shadows, throwing back his hood to reveal a bush of red hair, short beard, and vibrant blue eyes peeking from a dirt covered rosy face. Is everything all locked up George, everyone accounted for? Harry whispered as the man fell in step with Ron and his self, their thick leather boots carefully silent on the rocky loose ground. Ay, these two are the last of the older Weasly replied motioning to the shivering men as they hastily ushered their horses into the steel stables. Harry nodded as Ron stepped forward to unlatch a large circular door near a large pile of rocks that rested in the deep shadows of the castle, one of the many secret entrances to the refuge, but perhaps everyone's least favorite. Hurry along now you two, I'll make sure the others get in all right, George said motioning them in. Ron nodded and both he and Harry pulled small flashlights from their pockets, shinning them down the long chasm below. I hate going this way, Ron muttered switching on his light and setting it firmly between his teeth before beginning the long decent downwards. Harry followed after as his friends light began to disappeared down the tunnel. Be quick George they might be on us tonight, don't dawdle and watch for an laggers, Harry said flashing the older man a grin before climbing down the long steal latter.

Harry paused half way down the tunnel and looked up to see a couple of faint lights above, signs of George and the other two heading down, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding . Life had been allot simpler when he'd only himself to care for, but the weight of two hundred lives now rested on Harry's shoulders and worry was a familiar feeling in days like these.

Waves of heat coursed up the passage as he grew near to the dim lights below, the smells of life reached his nostrils and the sounds of muffled voices echoed up the shaft. Harry stepped from the tunnel moments later and was greeted by a smiling young girl with fiery hair pulled back in a tight bun. Welcome back Harry I've saved you a bit of dinner, Ginny Weasly said and helped him out of his cloak. Thanks Gin, are the children all right? he asked shacking his hair from his face. Ginny smiled warmly and nodded, Don't worry about them, their fine, you look wasted, go get some sleep I'll have someone bring you your food. Harry gave her a small, rare smile, That'll be great Gin, he replied and headed down the warm tunnel before him.

The Refuge was called the Burrow, after the Weasly's old home. It was a huge complexion of tunnels that led under ground, up into the castle, and under the firm mountains to their east. Over two-hundred souls lived in the caverns, of all races, from Dwarves to Pixies. Muggles and Wizards alike worked along side each other as they dug and harvested the lower, and upper ground crops. The living quarters lay at the highest level, the eating, learning, and artillery, lay below that, and the dump, storage, and crops were located under it all. It had taken a decade to dig, and furnish it all, beginning long before Harry had arrived. But the small group of people had been leaderless and slow, their efforts merely a desperate attempt to survive. But with Harry's and Ron's help they'd made it a home, a community of people working together for the benefit of all.

Magic was useless against the creatures of the Dark Lord, but it was helpful for ever day things, such as washing and fixing, but few wands were left, many too old, broken or damaged, Harry carried one of the reaming few, along with a shinny silver sword, a ruby encrusted in the hilt, the Sword of Gridroc Gryffindor. And so they lived, in fear and doubt, but with a with standing hope that some day, the answer to their prayers would come upon them and rescue them from the death that plagued their lives.

Harry followed the well lit tunnel for a while longer till he ran into a four way break off, turning deafly down the right passage and was almost immediately met with a huge case of stairs, wooden at the bottom and stone at the top. These stairs led up to the old stone castle above. The stairs were blocked off by huge metal bars with a thick door that could only be opened by Harry and few others, along with the kitchen detail. All the people of importance, such as a few guards, the watch, and Harry slept in the lower parts of the castle, ready to sound the alarm if needed. The upper parts of the castle were closed off at night but were usable in the day, and were mostly held as training yards and gathering places, but at night the evil creatures could reach the upper levels, the lower to heavily protected.

With a small click Harry unlocked the heavy door and proceeded up the steps, locking it behind him with a fluid practiced motion before proceeding up the steps. The stair case ended at a thick oak door with a large black steel lock that Harry opened wearily, movements slow.

His bed room was located in the dungeon parts of the castle, not the most comfortable part for sure, but the safest. The halls were cold, and dimly lit but had been lightened with a few hangings and pictures by the children in an effort to make the place more livable. Harry's room had been the jailers office which sat in the middle of the long row of cells that stretched on for fifty feet in either direction. A few guards stood alert at the dungeon doors, holding heavy spears, and brandishing naked blades at their sides, Harry gave them a swift nod in passing eager for the warmth of his room against the cold of the stone tunnel.

Few people were awake as he slipped inside his room, finding a warm steamy basin of water and a tray of warm stew and pumpkin juice resting on his table. Harry changed quickly from his ragged, dirty black clothing , which consisted of a patched sweater and thick jeans with quite a few tears along his knees and ankles. His thick dragon hide boots proved to be a bit difficult to remove but at last came loose with a loud sucking sound.

Grabbing a cloth he washed him self and slipped into a fresh pair of jeans and a black sweater much like the other. Harry always slept in his cloths, as did many others, you didn't want to be caught in an emergency undressed. With a fierce appetite Harry ate the generous amount of stew and gulped down the sweet, but slightly old tasting pumpkin juice, his stomach quieted but not fully satisfied, something one grew used to in such desperate times.

His room consisted of a low bed with a broken mattress left naked with a plain white pillow and a patch quilt. An oak desk lay against the left wall an old ink well and sheets of parchment littering the oak face. His clothing lay in a pile near the door and a small table with his few possessions and necessities sat at the end of his bed, a small mirror hanging above it. Harry stood before the old chipped mirror, and combed his hair with his fingers staring at the reflection before him.

Glasses had been replaced by contacts, and his long straggly black hair fell into his world weary, sad, deep green eyes. Eyes that had once held a devious spark to them, eyes that had held that hint of caring and happiness that had so often comforted those who need it. Now those eyes held dread and the weight of the past, they held an endless guilt that he would never be rid of.

A thin black stubble ran along his hardened jaw and high deep cheek bones, his sharp nose and tan face giving him the commanding appearance he needed. But his face was that of someone who had seen much pain, and had witness much sorrow, a face that had little hope for the future but had yet to give up completly.

With a sad sigh Harry turned from the mirror and let his eyes rest on the photo taped right next to it. The picture depicted a young girl, about sixteen, sitting on a grassy hill. A warm breeze was blowing through her busy, light brow hair, the sun making it shine a deep blonde. Her doe brown eyes were giddy and playful as she flashed a bright happy smile. It was a Muggle photo graph, something that Harry wished was not so, for the picture was still and frozen. The girl in the picture was someone who had haunted his dreams for the past thirteen years, someone who lived in the back of his head and tickled at his thoughts every moment of the day. Her name was Hermione Granger, a name that Harry would never forget. He could remember that day, the sunny grassy hill, a warm breeze settleing over the grounds of Hogwarts stering the once still lake. It was just after the rise of Voldemort, but before his full corruption had issued and taken hold. It had been a sunny day, full of happy times and laughter, barely shadowed by the darkness that lay ahead. Hermione, Ron, and himself had just returned from Hogsmead, and had decided to spend the rest of the day out doors, happy to escape theirs classes that day. Harry still remembered so clearly the way she had looked at him that day, so different from before, with so much care, so much love and trust. And he had let her down, he had failed her.......

With a loud thwack and Harry hit himself fiercely in the head, drawing himself from the thoughts that would drive him insane if he were to focused on them for to long. Turning from the photo he quickly slipped beneath the warm quilt and buried his head in his pillow, closing his eyes in an effort to drive away the thoughts that ebbed at his mind. It was a long time before Harry Potter, the boy who lived', fell asleep.