Non Sequitur

Prologue

1998, amongst the ruins of Hogwarts

A storm was coming.

Draco could see the clouds roiling in the ceiling of the Great Hall, their great underbellies dark with thunder, vomiting brief flashes of angry lightning. The flashes struck once, twice, in rapid succession; in the garish brightness a small clearing was illuminated. There stood two figures: one standing tall, one prone on the floor; one triumphant, one defeated at last.

It was silent for an eternity, Death Eaters and students and teachers and Aurors alike frozen where they stood. Was this true...? Was it really over...? Thunder shook the cracked ceiling, yet the multitude was oblivious...

And then Lord Voldemort began to laugh.

The hall, if possible, grew darker still. Each Death Eater stood as a shadow in a nest of darkness. One by one they dropped to their knees, the shadows pooling around them like a cloak, only to coalesce and become a part of some greater beast of blackness. Draco felt his mother's hand on his shoulder and followed suit.

"My loyal followers," said the Dark Lord with cold, maniacal glee; "My greatest friends. Here we have prevailed at last!" He spread his hands, the lightning-slashed image of a benevolent, vicious, victorious king.

Then he turned towards the rest of Hogwarts—the people who had fought for Potter. They had lost, it was over... their Saviour lay dead at his feet.

"Well?" screamed Bellatrix. "KNEEL BEFORE YOUR LORD!"

It was a long, tense moment before the first Potter-supporter knelt. He was an Auror, judging by his robes; a nondescript, balding middle-aged man. There was a hollow look in his brown eyes. His wand fell from his grasp to land with a clatter beside him.

One by one, the others dropped. There was a fleeting sense of—disappointment?—as Draco watched them. These were supposed to be the heroes. They were supposed to be just as foolishly brave as Potter. They weren't supposed to bow in submission to the enemy who had conquered them. This seemed... wrong, even though he knew he was being naive.

And then a howl rose from the crowd. It was the Weasley, of course, Potter's best friend.

"YOU MONSTER! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? HOW COULD ANY OF YOU—YOU—JUST GIVE UP?"

Ah, there was the foolish bravery.

Lord Voldemort eyed him coolly, amusement flickering in his snake-like eyes as Weasley fought his way to the front. He was completely unconcerned. He knew that he was secure—without a crowd of supporters, Weasley was just one solo pest which he could crush between his fingers.

"Kill him," he said quietly.

Green light flashed from at least five different wands, and the Gryffindor crumpled. Draco wondered briefly at the fact that he hadn't even bothered to gloat over the closest friend of his fallen enemy: from his experience, he took an enormous amount of pleasure in flaunting his victories.

But this was the beginning of his reign. He was moving coldly, ruthlessly, efficiently, barely lifting a finger to kill the few red and gold-clad students who still stood in dim-witted defiance. His personal victory had been won; all that was left to do was march forth, flanked by his loyal dogs in sable black cloaks, and conquer the world.

_____

Welcome to my first larger writing project in a long time. This is called procrastinating on studying for midterms.

I've been wanting to write a sort of redemption piece for a while now, and this is what came of it. Hope you enjoy!