Whispers Of A Raven

Prologue

Whispers of a Raven: Prologue

June 29th, 2001

The streets of London were as they had always been other than the thick, cold fog that had rolled in almost four years ago and had remained year-round since, regardless of the season. The muggles had decided it was a natural phenomenon, as they could attribute it to nothing else. Harry knew better, as did those of wizarding Britain. The Dementors had been unleashed upon them like a plague mere weeks after the Ministry had fallen.

It had happened with the public none the wiser, at least until it was too late to offer resistance. Voldemort had struck without warning, those who opposed him having been slain. According to the rumours, Amelia Bones had been first, followed by the Aurors loyal to her who refused to bow to the Dark Lord. With the fighting men and women dead or conceding defeat, the rest fell into line and the coup ended as quickly as it had begun.

In one swift move, the country had been placed under heel. Were it not for the unusually selfless act of Rita Skeeter reporting the incident in the Daily Prophet, it was unlikely the public would have learned what had occurred. Voldemort certainly seemed to be in no rush to inform them. However, it was the last publication printed of that nature. Rita Skeeter disappeared soon after and had not been heard of since. Harry had no doubt that she was dead. The Dark Lord always found who he was looking for eventually and she had undeniably provoked his ire.

Uncoincidentally, the paper was the next target of the new regime. Barnabus Cuffe, the editor, had been mysteriously replaced as had most of the reporters, though they did not announce such things. The only difference in the publications were that they were supportive of the new regime, claiming the country had become stagnant and that change was required for progress to be made.

None were fooled but neither were they willing to contradict that narrative. Those who did were quietly disposed of in the night and those that knew them pretended they never existed.

Fear had gripped the nation and it only tightened it's grasp throughout the following months and years.

The highest offices in the land were filled with sympathisers or outright supporters of the Dark Lord. It mattered not which as they no longer had need to work from within the shadows.

Harry had been on the cusp of completing his sixth year of Hogwarts when word of what happened had reached the castle. It had come as a surprise; the preceding months having been quiet with himself and even Dumbledore under the impression Voldemort was preparing. Even the headmaster had not been able to believe he had done so in such an efficient manner and all but seized the advantage.

He shook his head at the thought of the older man.

Harry had been terrified but had taken comfort in the knowledge that he was within Hogwarts and under the protection of the only wizard Voldemort had been wary of engaging, though that comfort was short-lived. In the space of a single conversation, any assurance he felt all but evaporated.

Flashback

As he looked upon Dumbledore, he could not help but notice he was more tired than usual, his posture hunched and the eyes that always seemed so full of life were dull. Before him was not the invincible, unshakable man he had always seen but the product of a life lived, little more than an old man. Nonetheless, the headmaster greeted him with his usual smile as he gestured for him to take a seat.