Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: Probably my fav. - H/D - eventually.

Plot: Harry 'kind of' defeated the Dark Lord (voldy), but in a way nobody had even suspected he would.

This is about the repercussions of what happened, and how people begin to cope with these results.

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Chapter Two - Frikosto

The town wasn't what it used to be. That was putting it mildly, to say the least. After the Spread of Fire, nothing had ever been the same. The sky was perpetually grey, if not black. No clouds could be seen, not even during its lighter moments. The grey ash which floated everywhere, was reminiscent of that issued from a volcano, but as it never landed on anything, including people, there was no danger to be had from inhalation.

The Spread of Fire. Funny name. The best anybody could think of at the time, and since then it had just…stuck. There was so much else to worry about, that people had long since given up on thinking it a crappy title, and now it was something only whispered about during the lightest times of the day. If people hadn't lost loved ones during it, the remembered terror of the event was enough to keep people from casually uttering it.

Reorganising had taken priority of course, and the governments and local leaders world-wide had immediately attempted to do so, initiating damage control as only they could.

Unfortunately, it took the criminals and gangsters of the world a lot less time to get organised than the official authorities, and they struck with deadly accuracy once they realised they could.

All of the major leaders had been hit only hours after the original disaster, the minor authorities, such as; police, doctors, firemen, secret service, rallied as quickly as possible, but the carnage had already been added to. With no major rulers existing, the world looked like a very dangerous place to be, and the people still standing adapted to the situation as quickly as they could.

By the time he had taken power, he was too late. The majority of people had fled, escaping into the very shadows that now terrified them so. Word of mouth had replaced the more modern equivalents, with a speed and ease that showed it had never completely disappeared. A good thing though, as it enabled people to keep up to date, despite all modern communications being destroyed. The people heard when the leaders were taken out, they heard when the criminals tried to seize control, and they also heard when someone managed it.

Despite his protestations to not being a criminal, too much had happened too soon for the people to so easily align their trust to someone new. So they vanished. Some had fled in the aftermath of the Spread of Fire, but many more slipped out quietly in the dead of night later on. The trickle of people was so small, and so steady, that it wasn't until it was too late that he realised just how many people had vanished from under his reign.

Immediately after the realisation, security had been tightened. Employing the services of police, firemen, assassins, mercenaries, and any other people he could lay his hands on, he ordered them split the countries up. No one could use what transport they had left, and no one could cross borders without permission directly from him.

Following a trail so minute as to be invisible to all but him, he had crossed an ocean, setting up his base here. In Los Angeles.

Leaving the other countries to their own devices was risky business, but he had lieutenants he trusted, and he made weekly trips to the worst countries, calming any mutinies he came across.

Unfortunately for him, the minute trail had vanished completely once within the city. Several of his employees had ventured the guess that it had been a trick - despite not understanding what it was he was trying to find. Afterall, they argued, if the trail could be erased so easily, why hadn't it been erased before whatever it was went to Los Angeles?

A few public…demonstrations, had put a stop to the questioning of his methods, and shown those remaining what kind of a ruler they had obtained.

No longer able to sense what he was after, he had had to resort to the old-fashioned approach. Under the guise of making the countries safer, he had ordered all towns and cities to be split up into sections, starting with Los Angeles, and radiating outwards.

Walls of stone had been hastily erected, with all of the remaining citizens forced to partake of the task. Working from the moment the sky even appeared to lighten slightly, to the moment it was indisputable that it was dark again, the people had been downgraded to slaves, forced to engineer their own captivity.

Those who had escaped early on tried their best to help, tearing down as much of the stone and mortar as they could whilst the workers had to stop for the 'night'. This seemed to work at the beginning, slowing down the progress so that it went at a snails crawl - with the previous days work having to be redone at every rising. Then he had been informed of the problem, and armed guards were set to watch over the walls whilst the workers rested. Several 'free' people had been caught and thrown into holding, before the people gave up their rebellion, and the walls were built unhindered.

Expending the majority of his energy on finding what he wanted, he barely had any time left over for his 'people'. What little time was left, was spent quelling uprisings, and rooting out insubordination among his own ranks. This no doubt left him very drained, which probably explains why he agreed to the proposition presented to him by the gangsters and criminals roaming free.

A partnership. That was what they said it would. One, which he just so happened to be in charge of. All business deals had to passed before him, and in exchange for some of those deals being given the go-ahead, he would gain their services, in any task that needed doing.

The extra meat no doubt came in handy with controlling the people, and those criminals had connections with other criminals. Extending a hand to the loners, they offered them a choice. Pledge your services to him, or be killed. Free dental.

Soon enough those that lived under his rule fell into gangs. A council of gang leaders ensured the gangs behaved, and family units vanished, transforming one group of people into several gang members. Those who didn't belong to a gang were tracked down, and forced to pick a group to belong to. Those who refused were thrown into holding, a.k.a; prison.

It sounded organised in theory, but the reality was a lot more haphazard and cutthroat than that. A gang is still a gang - known for chaos and destruction. Those that were weak were anybodies meat, unless tougher gang members felt the urge to intervene. Most didn't. Scavenging, and fighting became the way of the world, the more food or scars you had the more respect you earned. In theory. Yet again, it was slightly different in reality. True, you gained more respect in your gang for those things, but in the eye of other gangs you posed more of a threat, and as such many were often assassinated before they could reach a position of power in their gangs, at which point they would have become too powerful to risk assassinating.

Those who lived in the shadows were little better. Ragged, motley groups of people ran together, never staying in one place for too long, for fear of discovery. Unlike the gangs, they did protect one another, but all strangers were treated with suspicion and often aggression. You had to prove yourself before you were welcomed into any group, and the only way of proving yourself was to help them if they got in trouble.

That task had a nasty habit of being deadly, so all it generally got you was a quick mark of respect before the group moved on. The majority of people stuck with those they'd grouped up with when they first ran, or else tried their luck on their own. Encounters were kept to a minimum, with everybody feeling safer just avoiding others.

Despite their understandable need for secrecy, the people who lived in the shadows had understood the need to know what was happening in the world, and as such had gone to great lengths to set up a link of informants.

Some of the people had family who had been forced to join the gangs, and these provided the link between that world and theirs. Brave, young people had volunteered to be the bridge between the two, sneaking into the gang's world, in order to contact their informants and see if there was any news.

The method for spreading what that news was, was very unorganised though, due mainly to their dislike of staying in the same place all of the time. Word had reached most people's ears that that was all about to change. Someone had had the bright idea of setting up a secure meeting place for all those who survived in the shadows, and organising monthly meetings there.

Cutting off his musings on the matter, the man in the shadows returned his wandering attention to the sight before him.

Rebuilding the cities had seemed like a waste of time to him, and due to the extent of the damage caused by the Spread of Fire, it was probably true. So, instead, he had relocated all of the people under his rule to the areas damaged the least. Half-hearted patching-up had been made, before he had given the rubble up for lost, and promptly banned his people from wandering around in it, claiming it a safety hazard. Which it was. Still, not all of it was unsalvageable, but the buildings that did remain were so deep among the ruins, that he had cordoned them off with the rest anyway.

Directly in front of the man stood one such building. Once upon a time it was probably a hotel, judging from its height, and the elaborate stonework decorating the front. The left side of the building faced the direction leading out of the disaster area, and that was the side that had been damaged the most. Anybody coming from outside of the ruins would see the crumbling brickwork, and the gaping holes in the building, and give it up for destroyed. No doubt a tactical choice, then, this building, and it looked fairly easy to defend as well. Only one clear entrance at the front, but no doubt lots of bolt holes hidden at the back.

Doubt and reluctance pounded at the man, and for a moment he welcomed the torment. Shaking his head minutely, he took a shaking breath, before his features hardened in resolution. He had to go through with it. He had a purpose now, and he needed to make things right again. If everything was happening the way it was here, he dreaded thinking how much worse it must be in the other countries where there was even fewer signs of authority.

Fingers combed dusty black hair, rumpling it enough to shelter his features from view. Hands tweaked black jeans and black shirt, ensuring the daggers where completely hidden. Whilst he was sure nobody would be foolish enough to arrive completely unarmed, he didn't want to cause an unnecessary ruckus by flashing the weapons by accident.

Slipping down from his perch on the roof of the building opposite the meeting place, he landed in a light crouch, then cautiously approached the building. Ignoring the entrance, he made for the left side of the building, navigating the scattered debris with silent steps.

Reaching the point where the building became stable again, the man listened carefully, following the faint sound of voices until he had ascertained approximately where in the building the meeting was being held. Moving away from there, he searched for a way into the other half of the hotel, checking for guards before he then made his way to where the voices had been.

The corridor he found himself in was lined with dust, but none of the unusual dust that coated the air outside was present, kept out by the roof and walls. Footprints littered the ground, a clear indication he was heading in the right direction. He would definitely have to make sure someone brought that up during the meeting. Not only was it proof that people had been there, recently, but it would also give him a rough estimate of how many people had been there. It wasn't much of a leap past that to figure out they had been holding a meeting of some kind, and from there that they were getting organised. Definitely needed to be mentioned.

Following the wooden panelling, he couldn't help feeling that he wasn't meant to be here. After spending so many years being hunted and hiding in decrepit piles of rubble, to find himself standing in something so…together, was almost like being in the twilight zone.

A door stood at the end of the corridor, wood still managing to gleam despite the gloom coating the place due to the absence of light.

Reaching out, he lightly turned the door handle, half expecting it to fall off in his hand, like so many things had before. The door still worked though, and his light touch was enough to make it swing open, framing his form in the doorway.

The sound of voices had grown louder as the door opened, but at the sight of his dark-clad figure, the noise immediately cut off, almost strangled by the suddenness of it.

"Sorry I'm late." His voice held no hint that the apology was meant, but the mere fact that he had said it was enough to make a couple of people start to relax.

Stepping forward from the rest of the people gathered in little groups around the large room, came a large man with a small, dainty woman at his side. Taking in the man's air of purpose, he came to the conclusion that this must be at least one of the people in charge of the meeting. The confidence with which he carried himself, bespoke of a capable fighter, and the man was probably the leader of a group of 'shadow' people.

"And you are?" The sound of suspicion was clearly evident behind the tone of false civility, and the man's muscles tensed automatically in preparation of a fight.

"A wanderer, like yourselves. I heard tell of your meeting, and thought to come and offer my services. If I was mistaken, I will gladly take my leave…" Not waiting for a response, he turned to exit the room. This had been a bad idea anyway. What could he accomplish with their help, that he couldn't on his own? Sure the company would have been a novelty, but it wasn't like he wasn't used to the solitude by now. Besides, it was a lot safer that way. It any of them figured out who he was…

The small woman reached out to catch my arm, "Wait!" flying from her lips. At the movement the man unconsciously swung into action, twisting away from the hand, and whipping out a blade.

Realising just in time, he stopped the sharp metal a bare inch before it impacted with her throat. Mentally cursing his slip, nothing of his inner battle showed on his face. A moment passed in silence, as the room's occupants struggled to catch up with events. Winning against his instincts, he carefully withdrew his dagger from the woman's delicate throat, sheathing it so quickly none of the watchers could make out where he had put it.

"Sorry, again." Dipping his head slightly in apology, he made to exit the room again.

"Hold up young 'un! How did you get in without the guards noticing you?"

Turning back slightly, he dared to risk looking the other man in the eye. "I came from the left. I have a problem with front doors." Lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug, the closest to casual he came, he ignored the look of shock that crossed the man's face at the sight of his emerald green eyes.

"You came to offer your services, huh?" Nodding at the question, he waited as the man seemed to turn something over in his head. "Stella, what do you think?"

The delicate woman, whose throat the man had almost cut, pondered the question silently, then nodded, a small smile breaking out on her face. Looking between the man and the woman for a moment, he hesitated before stepping away from the hall, further into the room.

Peeking up at him from light blue eyes, the woman smiled shyly at him, before heading back to where she'd been before he'd entered the room. The silence prevailed for a while longer, but people started talking amongst themselves again when the larger man ushered him further in the room.

Walking through the groups, he ignored the strange looks he garnered, completely taking back the idea that he'd missed being around other people. Resisting the urge to bolt, he placed himself in the corner farthest away from the door, wrapping the shadows tighter around him, as he attempted to fade from people's view. The chatter lasted a while longer, and he silently took in his surroundings as much as he could without moving.

The room had obviously been used either as a ballroom, or to host meetings, before the Spread of Fire had driven people away. Wood panelling ran around the room, as it had in the corridor. Grimy paint, which looked like it used to be a light shade of brown, although it was impossible to tell anymore, covered the walls. Big and spacious, the room had a carpet, also of indeterminable colour, on which rested several wooden tables and chairs.

Some people were sat at the tables, other huddled in groups around the room. All held the same feeling of nervous anticipation, as they struggled to find a balance between their cynicism and their new-found hope.

At the head of the room was a long table with chairs behind it, looking reminiscent of the table of a judging panel. The man and women, Stella, were standing just in front of the table, talking to some people he couldn't see from his position. At a guess though, they were probably the other people who had thought of setting this meeting up.

Eventually Stella broke away from the huddle, and turned to address the occupants of the room.

"If I can have everybody's attention, please? I'd just like to introduce you to the people who put this idea in motion, then we'll start the meeting. I know I for one don't want to stay in one place for too long, so we'll try to make it as quick as possible." Pausing for any comments, she motioned to one of the people behind her. "First, this is Steven. I know quite a lot of you have already met him at one point or another, but for those of you who don't he came up with the idea of having informants among the gangs and looks after my group - Sleita."

A few people murmured their acknowledgement of the man who had challenged him, and he mentally sighed to himself. At least the biography was slightly condensed, who knew how long it would have been otherwise? Afterall, the man was apparently a veritable hero to these people.

"This is someone else you all know, or at least know of. Draco. Head of our spies in the gangs, he is also the closest one to out 'sovereign', having worked his way up through the ranks."

At her gesture someone stepped forward from the group behind her, revealing his identity to the crowd before him, and putting himself in danger of an assassination attempt. Incredibly stupid thing to do really, as anybody in this room could be a spy as well, only for the wrong side.

All this and more ran through his mind, but the body leaning against the wall, in a faux casual manner, gave away none of his feelings. And with his eyes half-closed, it looked more like he was going to sleep rather than listening, and scanning the crowd for any sign of a spy. Something he'd gotten rather good at over the years.

The blond man at the front of the room swept the crowd with his icy grey eyes, a small smile of acknowledgement softening his features at the gasps of amazement from the people. It probably wasn't everyday that they were introduced to such a gorgeous guy, and then told he risked his life daily in the gang lifestyle, not just in the daily fights that broke out in the ranks, but as a spy there as well. Probably they deserved their amazement.

Unfortunately though, their open expressions of surprise made it quite impossible to pick out any traitors, as everybody was wearing surprisingly similar looks on their faces.

The small, downward movement of someone's hand, was the only warning he got.

Whipping both daggers, he flung one with deadly accuracy, and held the other in a ready pose at his hip.

Silence fell over the room, and people slowly drew back like an ebbing tide. Everybody, bar one, was looking at his target, watching as the man on the floor gasped, gagging on the knife sticking into his throat. The gun lay on the carpet of indeterminable colour, the man having dropped it when the dagger had struck him.

Grey eyes as cold-looking as winter, watched the man standing in the shadows, an evaluating look hiding in their depths.

When no other assassins made a move, everybody simply staring in shock at the writhing figure on the floor, he moved out of the shadows. Stepping towards the crowd of unwilling spectators, he noted how most started at his appearance, and realised he had drawn the shadows around himself maybe too tightly. Oh, well, being unnoticed could only be a good thing, what with the bounty on his head.

Crouching by the man's side, he reached out for the dagger and gripped the handle. Ignoring the shock radiating from the rest of the people in the room, he twisted the handle slightly, knowing with the ease of practise just what to do.

"Are there any more in here?"

A cry of pain strangled off in the man's throat, and he stared up with shock in his gaze. Twisting a bit more, he watched as the rationality came flooding back into the man's eyes with the pain.

"N…nno…more…"

Hearing what he needed to hear, the man ripped his dagger out of the other man's throat, ignoring the geyser of blood which spurted out of the wound.

Shocked gasps, and the sounds of someone throwing up met his action, but he ignored them all in favour of wiping his blade clean on the dying man's shirt. Re-sheathing the weapons, he rose to his feet. Making a makeshift bandage out of the man's tie, he quickly stopped the bleeding, and hefted the man onto his shoulder in a fire-man's lift.

"Excuse me a moment."

Nobody made a move to stop him, and he took advantage of their shock to get out of the building. Exiting the same way he had entered, he broke out into a fast jog as soon as he hit the street. Calling the shadows to his aid, he ran, hidden from all view, and picking up speed as he moved.

Almost at his destination, he gently laid the injured man down on the ground, and checked for any patrols. Seeing the coast was clear, he picked his burden up with one hand, and moved forwards again, the other hand hovering near his daggers should the situation change.

Placing the knifed man down on the steps leading to the gang headquarters in this city, he removed the man's tie from the wound, letting the blood drip down onto the stone steps beneath him. Ignoring the gargling noises of desperation issuing from the man's torn throat, he removed one of the daggers from his chest.

A quick downward thrust ended the man's life, splitting the heart in two, and ripping his front open in the process. Despite being dead, the man's blood continued to pour out of his wounds, spreading in a pool around him. Dodging the incriminating liquid, he wiped his blade off again, then headed back to the meeting, satisfied the message was clear and brutal enough for him.

Hello! I hope that was as good as the first chapter, but I can't really tell - too biased! ^_^ I chose the city mainly because of what I read and watch, you know? Angel (Los Angeles), Dark Angel (was Seattle), Charmed (San Francisco - I think), etc. I guess I picked Los Angeles because it is one of the most well-known cities or whatever in America, and I just decided on spur of the moment.

If you think - wrecked, like Seattle in Dark Angel, you'll get the kind of thing I mean with all the bad guys in control, but it's more derelict than that as well. I can't really explain it, so I hope my writing is descriptive enough.

R&R, please? I love hearing from everybody, and those who reviewed me for my biggest fanfic 'How to tame a dragon' were soo supportive about a bas**** review I got, it really cheered me up! *virtual chocolates to all - 'cause I feel like dancing*