Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Lord Voldemort
Genres:
Action Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 05/28/2003
Updated: 05/28/2003
Words: 3,389
Chapters: 1
Hits: 579

Riders on the Storm

Peeler

Story Summary:
Takes place approximately one year after "Born Under A Bad Sign", but reading "BUaBS" is not necessary. The threat of Voldemort is inescapable, and his presence takes its toll on everyone. Follow the lives of Draco Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore, and Lord Voldemort himself as the Dark Lord's shadow spreads itself again over the magical people of Great Britain. Will he seize ultimate power, or will fortune prevail once more? THIS CHAPTER: Prologue; opening scenes.

Riders on the Storm Prologue

Chapter Summary:
Takes place approximately one year after "Born Under A Bad Sign", but reading "BUaBS" is not necessary.
Posted:
05/28/2003
Hits:
579

Riders on the Storm

By Peeler

Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Into this house we're born

Into this world we're thrown

Like a dog without a bone

An actor out alone

Riders on the storm

There's a killer on the road

His brain is squirming like a toad

Take a long holiday

Let your children play

If you give this man a ride

Sweet memory will die

Killer on the road

Girl you got to love your man

Girl you got to love your man

Take him by the hand

Make him understand

The world on you depends

Our life will never end

Got to love your man

Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Into this house we're born

Into this world we're thrown

Like a dog without a bone

An actor out alone

Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Prologue

His name was Draco Malfoy, and he was a Death Eater. For nearly a year he had done his Lord's bidding, working to bring down the legitimate wizarding government of England from within. Working to foment revolution and to begin a new age of magical supremacy in which there were no limits, in which the only thing stopping a wizard or witch would be the limitations of the power they were born with. When the Dark Lord took the reins of this new world, Draco Malfoy would be at His side, looking down on the new earth from above. There was no doubt in Draco Malfoy's mind: Lord Voldemort was a great man- indeed, He was more than a man- and for those who strode with Him through the dark times He had suffered, for those who declared their loyalty to Him at the first possible opportunity, the rewards would be great indeed. Perhaps, thought Draco, when the world was changed, and Lord Voldemort had imposed peace, he would receive from his Lord the greatest of all gifts: the gift of eternal life. The gift to sit at his Lord's right hand, and rule with him for all time.

It had been little over a year since that fateful October night, the night Draco had received his Dark Mark. The night he had first used the killing curse successfully on another human being. The night he'd killed Percy Weasley. Odd, thought Draco, I never used to be able to remember his name. He was just another Weasley who had to be constantly reminded of his place. But since I've killed him I've never been able to forget his name, or his face. Of course, Draco had killed others since then, but none bore remembering quite like his first time. Dark Magic- it's like a drug, or sex, perhaps. And I'll always remember the feeling on that first night, no matter how many more fall to my wand. The nights were long in the Scottish winter, and outside Hogwarts the sun was already far away on its journey. Draco flicked his wand lazily, and his soft chair slid closer to the roaring fire in the grate, the only source of warmth in the drafty Slytherin common room. His housemates were all up in their beds, probably with cozy charms keeping their toes warm, but Draco preferred the rawness of the elements most of the time. The icy breeze from an open window met the warm current of air from the fire, picking up a strand of his white hair from behind his ear and depositing it over his eyes. Draco left it there, watching the firelight play across its blurry and indistinct lines. I suppose I could just go to sleep here, thought Draco, his head a little fuzzy from tiredness. The chair's awfully warm, and there are no classes tomorrow anyway. First day of Christmas hols... his thoughts tapered off as he drifted into a comfortable sleep, his face pressed into the dark green fabric of the chair's arm.

~*~

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter was not about to go to sleep. Potions essay abandoned on a footstool across the room, he occupied himself with yet another read-through of the current Daily Prophet. It was too warm, and his pajamas itched his legs something awful. For what must have been the fourth time that night he looked over the headlines: English/Scottish Border still closed, but Hogwarts Express to be permitted through...Four Muggles dead in Dementor attack...Aurors using State of Emergency powers to harass civilians, claim lobbyists...Crouch cousin appointed Deputy Head of MLES...Weird Sisters breakup rumors just that, says bassist... Harry threw down the paper in disgust and took a look around for his latest copy of Pro Quidditch Weekly. It was no-where to be found. Probably in the dorm, thought Harry with a deep sigh of regret. Oh well, might as well go for another shot at sleep. Couldn't hurt any, I suppose... Just so long as he didn't have any more nightmares about Voldemort, that was. It seemed they had been getting longer and clearer every night since the Dark Lord had returned.

~*~

It wasn't the first time Albus Dumbledore had fallen asleep inside of his own pensieve. He was nicely stretched out along the conference table of the International Confederation of Magical Beings, formerly the International Confederation of Warlocks. All about the slumbering Headmaster, indeed directly over him, a rather heated debate was in progress. Some dignitary from a continental European nation had taken offence at a comment from the American ambassador and was raising a very vocal fuss. Not that it disturbed Dumbledore's rest in the least; he knew quite well how the meeting turned out. The only ones willing to send Aurors out of their own forces to assist England's finest in their battle against Voldemort were the Americans, and their "force" was not going to do anyone a lot of good. Of course, twenty well trained Aurors was nothing to be scoffed at, but it was still, as Dumbledore himself had pointed out in the meeting, preventative measures. As was everything else that had been done up to this point. For a year and a half now Voldemort had been back and terrorizing the nation, and still Minister Fudge had yet to take any actual aggressive action against the Death Eaters. Intelligence gathering, to be sure, as much as was possible, and the Aurors had taken plenty of liberties in questioning suspects. But Dumbledore had wanted to see some action; he'd wanted to see Fudge or the MLES find a group of Death Eaters and give them a fair trial and harsh punishment, he wanted things to happen like they had in the forties with Grindelwald, or even like in the seventies. Perhaps he was getting too old- looking back at the troubles he had come through almost with fondness, wishing the new problems could be more like the old, even falling asleep while inside the pensieve. With a ruffled snore, Dumbledore turned over on the conference table and let go of his dream-thoughts on Voldemort, turning instead to an amusing escapade in which Keith Moon taught Potions, and was head of Hufflepuff.

~*~

Lord Voldemort's reflections put him in a relaxed mood, and he slid down slightly in his enormous chair. He watched a large insect scamper across the ceiling, and steepled his fingers. That was one of the problems with an underground hold; one couldn't see the stars at night. The sheer breadth of the security precautions about him made it very difficult for Voldemort to leave the nameless, subterranean fortress to hold gatherings elsewhere. The castle was quite large, nearly the size of Hogwarts, but Voldemort was intimately familiar with its passages, and nearly a month within its confines left him restless and somewhat put out. Do even my own thoughts turn against me? he asked himself silently. Why do I hesitate to leave these walls? Does the greatest wizard of the past millennium quail before the frail Ministry, the Aurors? He shook his head to clear it, feeling the newly grown hair falling behind his ears as he put calming fingers to his temples. It is Slytherin pragmatism, is all. I see the safest path, but it conflicts with my restlessness. I must put it out of mind.

Voldemort stood and walked slowly to the window, grasping the stone rail with his thin hands and surveying the gloomy landscape that made up the little land he held sway over. Not so little for long. And you must not discount the territory of the mind, of course. The lights shining from the castle were few, and served little to illuminate the lightless cavern. The ground was soggy except for immediately around the fortress, and the dark surface of an underground lake reflected the dim lights at the edge of Voldemort's vision. What little green growth there was on the muddy ground consisted of swamp plants, and was low and poisonous. The air was earthy, dim, foggy and smelled of fens, and death.

Voldemort shook his head as he surveyed his realm, and remembered the day in 1941 when he and Grindelwald had apparated into the castle from a spot above it. The former school and residence of Salazar Slytherin had seemed so grand then, a secret palace for the two greatest dark wizards of the age to live in, to build their knowledge and practice their forbidden arts. Now, like Grindelwald's tutelage had, the magnificent castle angered him, constricting his ambition and mocking his efforts. The fact that he still resided in it showed his failure, and the failure of his followers, to break free of the prison the Ministry had set for him. Or did you set it for yourself? Voldemort clenched his left hand into a tight ball. Away, crippling doubt! Until the Ministry was overthrown and the world above cleansed, anywhere in the world would be a prison to him, a prison in which his great ambition and hope remained unrealized. The desire for victory, swift, sweet victory wrapped itself around Voldemort's soul like some great snake, squeezing any thoughts of rest or relaxation he might have had to their death.

~*~

Arienne Clarke finished her diary entry for the 23rd of January, 1997 with a lazy scrawl, and reviewed it: Had to call off meeting with Draco at North Tower due to Transfig. Assignment; will make it up on weekend. Bit worried about Draco- he's been very preoccupied lately, skipping classes and staring off into the distance all the time. He's very much a deep thinker, I know- perhaps he has some idea that's keeping him distracted. In other news- meeting of you-know-what scheduled for one month from now. Fire promised. Something important is going to happen soon, I think. Must get together with others in Hogsmeade asap, discuss how things are going. New robes arrived today; gorgeous, I knew it, and perfect colour too, Draco will be pleased. Hair appointment in Hogsmeade next week. Owl from Cho came back, she says definitely yes to highlights. Must get to bed now.

P.S. still cannot believe Finnigan asked me to Yule Ball. Must pay him back somehow, preferably viscously.

~*~

In the Minister's official residence, 7373 Bureaucratic Alley, Cornelius Fudge carefully reviewed the latest documentation from the Magical Law Enforcement Services, and stifled a yawn. Ernest Chapman, head of the Department of Security and so by default the MLES, was a stickler for details and always sent over reams of paperwork. The State of Emergency Act (9/29/95) gave the head of the DoS control of the Aurors as well as the MLES, and responsibility for integrating the command chains of both. Though giving Chapman more responsibility had meant more paperwork for himself, Fudge gladly took it on: the team of Chapman and the Aurors' tough commander Amanda Conneley was formidable, with the DoS head's mind for details and planning coupled with Conneley's simply immense magical power.

Outside the window, a pigeon or dove cooed with irritating insistence. The Minister sifted through a report on Death Eater recruitment practices among students of Hogwarts and other European magical schools, including higher-learning facilities and the two Auror's colleges. Naturally, thought Fudge, Chapman's organized everything and reported any incidents in full detail, with background checks. The stack of paper was huge, and Fudge resigned himself to skimming it, starting with Hogwarts. Incidences of students receiving recruitment letters from the Death Eaters have gone up...the majority of these seem to be aimed at discrediting students who may have a future with the active forces of the DoS...some, however, should demand our attention: a list was provided, with addendums and postscripts. It should also be noted that only the recruitment letters which have been reported or discovered can be mentioned...doubtless any student who wished to join the Death Eaters would have kept themselves secret...the sheer number of notices arriving is unsettling, and demands further investigation by the Ministry...

Fudge set the pages down. I really ought to finish in the morning, he thought with another yawn, I'm simply not alert enough now. The Minister had noticed age setting in more and more of late; he needed more sleep, which was bad because a Minister's hours were long, and his health was growing questionable. The stress of the job had increased exponentially in the last year and a half, and it had taken a lot out of him: before You-Know-Who's second coming, Fudge would never have allowed a subordinate to gain as much power as he'd given Chapman. As it was, he was almost glad to be rid of some of his power, and wouldn't really mind being rid of more. Fudge shook his head wearily. Dumbledore has an energy that seems to defy his old age; I, on the other hand, have a lack of energy that cripples my comparative youth. It wasn't so much that he disliked Dumbledore, rather he was jealous of him. The man had respect that Fudge had never been able to get, for all his hard work. Some busybody given the job after the Crouch scandal, they'd all said when he got in. Nothing more than a glorified bureaucrat, passing useless laws that sound impressive while anything meaningful is stuck in red tape, they'd said after he'd been in office a while. A soft Minister, used to peace, they'd said of him when he'd announced the imminent threat of You-Know-Who, not strong enough. Not the man for the job. There had been some talk of a coup, some hope for voluntary resignation.

He wished they could see just what he'd managed to do. A group of top people who had the brains and the magical power to resist You-Know-Who, put together by none other than Fudge himself. A chance to stop the spread of the darkness, given by outfitting the Ministry for war. Unions, meshing of England's magical defenses through the very bureaucracy that they all so derided. I may not be a mentor, a symbol of wisdom, like Dumbledore, I may not be a powerful manipulator of political fortune like Crouch, I may not even be a warrior like Conneley, but I have done what I can, all I can, for this nation, and it is far from a little. Fudge yawned yet again, and sorted the papers he had been reading so they would be organized in the morning for a quick read-through.

~*~

The flowing black robes obscured Amanita Lestrange's figure and the expressionless white mask did the same to her voice, but there was no hiding the air of authority she presented. She pointed to the shadows under the window-lattice with its hanging ivy, and the five Death Eaters with her obeyed the gesture, blending seamlessly with the night. The wards of 7373 Bureaucratic Alley were incredibly sensitive to magic, and none of the Death Eaters had their wands at the ready. Lestrange untied the sturdy rope serving her as a belt and tied it firmly to a hook she produced from her robes. The first time she tossed the implement towards the windowsill, it fell back to earth with a clattering, and the Death Eaters immediately took to the shadows, waiting for guards to come by. None were forthcoming, and after a time Lestrange tried again. This time the hook caught on a flowerbasket protruding near the window. Ascending swiftly, she perched on the windowsill, wrapping her hand in her robes, and shattered the window with one swift motion. Motioning to the Death Eaters below her to begin their ascents, she rolled through the now-empty windowframe and took refuge in the shadow of an alabaster bust of a previous Minister of Magic, waiting for the guards that would inevitably be drawn by the sound of the window's breaking. Indeed, a wizard dressed in the gold-and-black uniform of the Minister's guard soon came down the hallway from one side, joined immediately by another. They talked in low tones that Lestrange could not hear, and one went over to the window and looked out. He vanished with a soft cry and a gurgle. Lestrange produced a knife and slit the other's throat from behind before he could react. Five Death Eaters entered the hallway through the window, silent as cats, and proceeded down the hall, wands now drawn and ready, following Lestrange's silent instructions.

Four uniformed guards stood on constant watch outside of the Minister's quarters. They were alert and ready for almost anything, including the sudden sounding of shrieking alarms within the residence of the Minister of Magic. The guards immediately parted and stood flush to the walls of the hallway, wands pointed down its length. When two Death Eaters rolled into the hall, wands ready, the guards reacted instantly. It was not fast enough to save the lives of the two who were targeted by the killing curse; green light flickered in the hallway as two guards fell to the ground.

"Robbantio!" bellowed one of the two survivors, and the end of the hall exploded in flame and shrapnel, enveloping the two masked, robed figures in a lethal storm of fire and chunks of stone and various antiques. The four remaining Death Eaters poured into the hall, one instantly falling to a killing curse fired by a guard. Lestrange shouted "Expelliarmus!" at the top of her lungs, darting sideways across the hall to avoid a second killing curse. One of the guards was struck in the side by the disarming hex and spun sideways, wandless, colliding with his comrade. Both were soon dispatched, and the Death Eaters broke into the Minister's quarters. A quavering voice broke the sudden stillness: "Avada Kedavra!" A Death Eater fell, and Lestrange spun, snatching the wand from the quivering hand of Cornelius Fudge where he stood behind the door. There was fatalism in the Minister's eyes, but he managed to stand up straight and look Lestrange straight in the false semblance of eyes that was her mask.

"I know there's no use begging for my life," he said, "so I'll ask you to make it quick."

"You don't deserve it, old man," snapped Lestrange, her voice distorted and inhuman, "but you shall have your wish all the same." Drawing a dagger from her cloak, she plunged it into the Minister's chest. "Goodbye, Fudge. You are Minister of nothing."

"We've got to move!" The single remaining Death Eater broke the scene, pointing at a grey-robed Auror sprinting down the hall, followed by more, newly arrived. "Reducto!" Lestrange and the Death Eater pointed their wands at the wall of the room in unison, shattering the ancient stone, and fled. "Stupefy!" came a cry from behind, and the Death Eater fell unconscious from Lestrange's side. Stopping sharply on the precipice of the crumbling wall, she pointed her wand at her fallen comrade and cried "Immolatio!" The masked body burst instantly into flame, falling to ashes, and Lestrange leapt from the wall with a backflip, just dodging the killing curse fired at her by an Auror rushing into the room. Landing in a sleek roll, Lestrange shot the Dark Mark into the sky above the Official Residence of the Minister of Magic, and, regaining her feet, sped away into the night seeking the edge of the Apparition Wards, pursued only by the haphazard curses of her pursuers.

~*~ ~*~

Fin

~*~ ~*~