The Lord of Shadows Arc: Apocrypha

Those few of you who might remember the original prologue will note some small differences, but nothing big.

Pairings: HP/DM, others mentioned

Warnings: this prologue takes place many years after Hogwarts, after many things have happened, so considerable OOC, esp. on the part of Draco. Mention of original characters and events to be explained in LoS Books I and II (this bit takes place sometime in Book III), but they're not the focus. Angst. Mention of self-destructive behavior.

Rating: this bit would be, oh, PG, I suppose. . .

Notes: As mentioned earlier, this is a sorta in media res prologue. I know there will be some weird things here, but it will all (eventually) get explained. Kinda bear with, in the meantime. Maybe these things will intrigue you. OCs (Laughing Crow Jones and Helen "TrinnyT" Mulhulland) don't get explained until Book II, sorry, but the more the reviews, the faster I write, so help me write fast!! And see the backstories to learn more about them!

Summary: Harry gets some crappy news during the war. Everyone is scared about his possible reactions. This is a crappy summary. It's a bloody prologue to an Arc that's gonna cover many, many years. This is one evening during the war, way into the Arc.

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I am always careful to watch him when the reports come in. We all are, actually, but I know I'm their first warning if something is wrong. We watch as he listens and reads, watching for that telltale flicker that warns us that tonight will be a tough night. But they also watch me, because I will know before any of them.

I watch as he reads the parchments while Ron debriefs the muggle soldier. The kid is terrified, wanting to go back to his barracks and sleep the battles into mere nightmares. Instead, he is stuck in a shelter surrounded by generals with fearsome reputations, not the least of which is Harry. Harry is on the last page, and I see his lips moving silently, forming names as he paces slowly across the floor. Only eight this time, thank the Lord and Lady. His mantra of the dead won't be much longer for the moment.

I am about to feel relief for the shortness of the list when feel a surge against my mind, like a dark tide trying to rise, and my ears detect a faintly audible hiss.

"Harry," I say, keeping my voice cool and calm. "What's wrong?"

Ron stops speaking mid-question and all other activity in the shelter freezes. Everyone is staring at Harry now, looking for the telltales. And they find them, those who know what they're looking for. A tiny speck of oily blackness floats first across one eye, then the other. So small, the soldier doesn't notice. But Ron and Greg do, and they now wait for his answer.

It comes as a whisper. "They were children, Drake. The oldest was ten years old."

Ron has the presence of mind to dismiss the soldier, who spares a second for a crisp salute, then all but runs from our presences. Greg looks at me, then at Harry. Neither he nor Ron move an inch. These moments are so delicate.

I sit carefully on a camp stool, and hold my arms out to him. Always a dangerous move after something like this has happened. He has been known to literally spit venom when he gets angry enough. But the anger hasn't surfaced yet, which means there's still time help him.

It takes a moment for him to see me, then he stops his pacing for a second, head bowed, hands trembling. His eyes seek out mine, and I see in their depths the forsaken helplessness of someone called to finish a fight he didn't start. My mind reaches out to his again, beckoning, and with a sigh weary as winter's winds, he collapses into my arms, the inky blackness of his regulation dragonhide overcoat clinging to the snowy paleness of my own.

Ron and Greg quietly find their own stools, relieved on the one hand that his rage seems to be forestalled, yet still concerned for a mutual friend.

I look down into the wild black pressed against my stomach. "Harry, my love," I say it softly, to not startle him. "What happened?"

He gives a great shuddering sigh, and speaks. "That building with all the curse-bombs that we demolished. . . there were kids there. We didn't know, we just razed it to the ground. And the kids were inside. . ." his voice trailed off, tightened to the point of silence.

Ron grimaces, for he knows better than anyone but me or Hermione just how deeply this cuts into Harry's psyche. "Shit." he says, and I can think of nothing to better to add.

So I just hold him, stroking his hair. They are altogether too rare, our times when Harry can just be Harry, and only within this one place. If he were to walk through those doors, he'd have to be Lord Harry Potter, General of His Majesty's Armed Wizarding Forces. Lord Harry, whom the Order of the Phoenix serves out of friendship, and the Death Eaters serve out of fear. Black Harry, one time rock-star turned soldier of necessity, whose rage will save the world, or destroy it. And not one of them Harry as he truly is. No one talks about Harry who knows the names of all who die from his commands. No one talks about Harry who laughs and finds inordinate pleasure in tickling the hell out of every baby-- grown or otherwise-- in sight. Harry who sings in the shower, swearing that one day he'll just drop out of the war and tour again. Harry who likes to cook, now that he isn't forced to, and makes a smashing chocolate-raspberry torte. Harry who plays jokes on snake charmers.

And right then I vow that when this is all over-- if we're still alive, that is-- I will talk about that Harry. If I weren't already one of the wealthiest bastards in Europe, I'd still be able to retire forever off the book money alone. And people would know who Harry really is, and was. So we'll be able to sit at cafes, eating croissants, and kissing in front of straight muggles and no one would care.

My musing is interrupted as the door opens to admit 'Crow and Trinny. As usual, Trinny had her hands full of print-outs for us to read. She instantly read the mood in the room, and spoke in a whisper. "Mail call, y'all," she said.

Turning to Ron, she handed him a thick stack. "Hermione sent most of those. You should maybe write her back?"

Then to Greg. "Neville says stay safe or he'll kick your ass. Ginny adds that once he's done, she'll start."

Then she steps over to us, leaving 'Crow, impassive as ever, by the door. "Well, guys, looks like the Lonely Housewives of Kent Club has decided the two of you are their new favorite targets." She fans the sheets so I can see the addresses, and sure enough, every single one is from a female in Kent. As it was supposed to, this comment rouses Harry from his contemplation of bad things, and he pushes himself up into my lap.

"Jesus, Drake," he said. "What did you do last time you were there?"

I chuckle as I nuzzle his neck. "Nothing I couldn't share with you. Which is why I left so quickly, I was about to pine away into nothingness. . ."

I see a faint smile touch his lips, and then he leans in to give me a quick kiss, sweet for all its brevity. We're interrupted by 'Crow clearing his throat. Trinny sighs, nodding.

"And one of the local village women has requested to see you. Your standing orders are to let her in to do so." Her face is a mask of disapproval, looking more like an overprotective sister than the slickest effing techno-witch in the world.

I feel a slight scowl mar my own features. "Since when," I ask, "do Americans follow Harry's orders?" Standard operating procedure had been, for the most part, to listen patiently while our forces suggested something, nodding encouragingly every once in a while, and then going to off to do whatever they felt like. Which in this case would mean simply "forgetting" about the woman outside.

Trinny shared a look with 'Crow. "Since Cent COM decided that as the primary liaison between our forces, it would make things simpler for us to simply fall under y'alls command unless we received specific orders to the contrary. Even though we're not military, our bosses agreed."

Ron tsk-ed. "Bloody CIA. Have to go all co-operative only when I'd rather they didn't. Tch!"

Trinny rolled her eyes in agreement, skipping her usual I'm-not-bloody-CIA, Dammit!-rant. "Anyway," she said. "Should I send her in now?"

Harry stood slowly, weariness fairly rolling off him. "Yeah," he replied, straightening his uniform.

I regretted losing his warmth, but I also knew he had to get this over with. 'Crow paused in the middle of leaving with Trinny.

"When she is done," he said, "you need to sleep. We will take care of anything that happens until morning." Harry nodded, and 'Crow left.

Presently, Trinny returned with a short, very pregnant, young local woman. She looked around at us, and then at Harry, taking in his permanently disheveled hair, stooped shoulders, and red-rimmed eyes. Apparently she made some decision, because after a moment, she stepped forward and began speaking. Trinny listened for a moment, and then began translating.

"She says that her name is Hadiya, that she is has lived in this village all her life. Her husband was killed by the 'Evil Soldiers' two weeks ago. She is glad that you have avenged him since she could not, but now asks another favor of you."

The woman rushed on with her words, gesturing placatingly. "She says it is a small thing, and will not endanger your troops or your mission."

There was a pause as Harry nodded. "Tell her that if it will not harm my troops, my mission, or the village, I will do what I can for her."

Trinny translated, and the woman smiled as she replied. Trinny blinked in surprise, then spoke. "She says that she wants your permission to name her baby after you. Apparently they already know it to be a boy, and she thinks that by giving her son your name, he will grow up to be as courageous and handsome as you."

Greg exhaled sharply, and he wasn't the only one to register surprise at this request. Harry's eyes widened and I felt one of my eyebrows ascend. Then Harry snorted bitterly. "My name killed those children today. Perhaps another name would be better. Maybe his father."

Hadiya's smile faltered as she caught his tone. As Trinny translated, she looked first puzzled, then enlightened, and she started gesticulating wildly as she replied.

Trinny cocked her head as she listened, an "ohhhh," of understanding escaping her lips.

"Get this," she said. "The kids were already dead. When they heard yesterday that you were coming, the soldiers went out and shot eight kids at random, then hauled the bodies into the building since they knew you'd know about the curse-bombs and tear it down. They thought that if you found children's bodies in the rubble, you'd search next time before tearing them down, and that way they could set traps for you. They knew that standard procedure with curse-bombs is to level the building, without entering. So they set up this deception to change that procedure so they could kill you later."

Greg swore a sulfurous oath. "What kind of evil fucks are these guys?!"

Ron laid a calming hand on his arm. "That is why this whole war is happening, you know."

But I barely noticed as I watched Harry. He seemed stunned. "Already dead?"

Trinny nodded.

"I didn't kill them?"

She nodded again.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Tell her. . ." he paused, searching for words. "Tell her that I am relieved to hear that the deaths of the children were not a result of my actions, and that I am horrified beyond words that our opponents would go to such depraved lengths. Tell her also that she may name her son whatever she desires, though I can think of far braver and better-looking men." His eyes flickered briefly over to me, and I confess to a slight blush at this.

Trinny gave the woman her answer. The reply was short. "She thanks you, and will now leave so you can rest."

As soon as Trinny finished translating, the woman turned and left. Trinny moved to follow, but I stopped her before she reached the door.

"Trin," I said. "Can you see to it that Hadiya's news is spread all over the 'Net?"

She gave me a wide grin. "Did it as soon as she said it. The pundits are eating it up like cops in a doughnut factory." She gave me a saucy wink. "Don't worry, I also hacked a live webcast of the little interview over on CNN dot com and BBC dot com. Their server admins don't know what hit them. But everyone saw it as it happened. By dawn I expect y'alls approval ratings to be at least seventy four percent. Good night, gentlemen."

There was silence when she left.

"Wow," Greg said, rising. "Techno-witches sure are useful. Well, I'll be off, I've got to call home before I get some sleep."

Ron stood as well. "I should be leaving as well. Hermione's apt to send a Howler if I don't contact her soon. G'night."

The two left, leaving Harry and I alone at last. I wasted no time in getting up and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"Well," I murmured into his ear. "This has been an eventful evening."

I felt him sigh. "I prefer the eventful evenings we had when we were touring. Never knowing what bizarre food we'd get for dinner, what obsessed stalker would sneak through a window to do gods knew what. . .kissing each other in front of screaming fangirls. . ."

I take the not so subtle hint and slant my mouth over his, gently caressing his lips with mine.

They were right, you know. My thoughts mingle into his like a soft April shower. You need rest.

There is a faint, struggling protest. The conviction of responsibility, needing to make sure things got done.

You're no use to anyone, love, if you loose your mind from exhaustion. I maneuver him over to the cot in the corner, stripping his overcoat off in the process. Our lips parted as I step back to shed mine own.

"You know," I said, as we both took of mud-stained silk cravats. "I've decided that when this is all done, assuming we're alive of course, I'm going to write a book about my life with you. I'll make a fortune and then retire somewhere like Bermuda. You can come, if you want."

He chuckled as he look off his belt. "If I want? I'll have to think about that. . . " We both removed our boots, but remained otherwise clothed. This close to the front, you never knew what emergencies would happen at an inconvenient time, and dodging grenades, unforgivables and other curses barefoot in your skivvies is quite un-fun.

We curled up, not even considering dimming the lights or locking the door. Such luxuries had no place in a war zone.

"Hmm," Harry mused, nuzzling my neck. "A salacious tell-all about the secret lives of Draco Malfoy-Potter and Harry Potter-Malfoy? I might even buy a copy. Hell, might even write my own. . . I'll brag about you, of course, and our more scandalous activities during the last two years at Hogwarts. . ."

Harry's voice trailed off as sleep washed over him. I carefully wrapped his mind in my love, just as I wrapped my arms about him. I could still feel the shadows lurking in the corners, but for now their creeping had abated.

Someday, they would finally go away. Not tomorrow, not the next day, or even the day after that. But someday. And until then, and even after, I would always be there for Harry, to chase the shadows away.