Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I just enjoy messing with her characters.
Warnings : strong language, lemon, rape (non descriptive and not H/D), dub-con, violence, drug use, hints of prostitution, multiple pairings, OCs. And this is SLASH, so expect a lot of boy on boy love.
Translation: All my thanks to white_serpent who translated the whole chapter beautifully, and Avenalanon who gave the final touches to it.
Summary: After magic has disappeared, all of wizardkind is forced to integrate into the muggle world, finding only fear and hostility. It is in this unstable climate that Draco and Harry meet again. The dangerous game of seduction and manipulation begins.
A/N: Here is the prologue of "Dead End". This is the English translation of my very first fanfiction and I'm so glad I can finally post it here! I have little to do with the translation of the prologue and the first chapter, but I rolled up my sleeves and translated the next ones, with the help of my lovely betas, Avenalanon and Mslefay. It is hard work, but I'm quite content with it, and I promise I'll do my best to update regularly.
Suspense is the heart of the story, so I won't give any answers about the ending, but I can tell you now that the magic won't come back after this prologue. I don't want you to get wrong ideas about it. This prologue sets up the story but the next chapters will be very different...
This story is pretty dark at times, and there will be a lot of angst but this is romance, so I promise plenty of H/D goodness. Just be prepared for a wild ride between these two…
That terrible day of 2 May 1998 was engraved in all memories. Everyone remembered what they were doing and where they were at that fateful moment when the sky tore open and a powerful shockwave drained the entire Wizarding World, changing everyone's destiny forever. That day which plunged them into an endless, irreversible darkness, leaving only desolation and despair. That day when The Boy Who Lived and He Who Must Not Be Named faced each other for the last time, the air charged with so much magical power that the surrounding inhabitants, more than six hundred miles away, could barely breathe, the atmosphere heavy and electrically charged with power and energy. That day when Voldemort was defeated.
That day when, at 7:03 p.m., magic disappeared.
The shockwave literally destroyed everything in its path, sucking away all trace of magic;the majority of magical creatures perished under the blow, the implacable wave reducing them to dust. Many houses simply collapsed, forests were razed. Everything that stood or survived by the grace of magic was automatically consumed.
Voldemort perished like the other creatures which dared defy the laws of death, instantly decomposed, their ashes merging with the dust of a forever devastated world. Even the oldest wizards were lost in the wave's wake: their bodies, drained of magic, couldn't sustain them.
Some werewolves survived the death of the wolf within them, after long illness. In the saddest cases, mutations occurred: the extraction of their magic created a deficiency. Their bodies were too weak. They were left disfigured: half-beast, half-human. If these unfortunates still lived, it had been better to simply put an end to their suffering.
Wands returned to their original state: nothing more than pieces of wood. Ex-wizards were henceforth like Muggles, one held a simple broom in his hand, another stood in front of his fireplace, powder in his palm. Nothing made sense anymore. Many people, unable to live without magic, took their lives, seeing no way out and no reason to exist.
The entire Wizarding community had collapsed.
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
Only Harry knew exactly what had happened that day, and even he had nological explanation. The final duel between Harry and Voldemort was epic. They had both unleashed spells of immeasurable power, resulting in a real cataclysm. The two enemies were completely exhausted but filled with defiance and rage; they sent spell upon spell, trying to bypass the other's shield, feinting right and left, but it was impossible to say which of the two had the upper hand. The battle was fierce and ferocious. Unfortunately, Harry weakened first. As Harry stared into the scarlet eyes of Voldemort, a vision rose in his mind: his mother crying in a green flash. Shaken by this unexpected assault, he lowered his guard for a second, sufficient time for Voldemort to hit him with Avada Kedavra.
That's when everything broke. The spell hit Harry on the head, but instead of collapsing, he seemed to rise a few centimeters above the ground. His scar began to shine, then a beam of light emerged from the lightning bolt engraved on his forehead. Harry yelled more from surprise than pain.
Voldemort was stunned.
Suddenly, the Dark Lord let out a piercing cry: his head fell back, his feet left the ground, a beam of light like the other rose from his mouth. The two beams shot into the sky, entangling, blinding. The beams left their hosts, their feet falling gently back to earth... and then suddenly there was nothing. Silence.
Harry and Voldemort froze, still facing each other. Harry let loosethe breath he'd been holding, and their spells raged again, Voldemort taking the lead. This time, everything was different; the battle turned more violent and frenetic, as if a second wave of energy had invaded.
The two adversaries, absorbed in combat, didn't notice the change in their magic, the aura surrounding them crackled dangerously, its color quickly turning to black. The violence around them grew to disquieting proportions, sucking up plants and uprooting trees around the perimeter, creating a crater around the two antagonists. They continued to launch attack after attack, calling their magic to its maximum... to its breaking point.
Soon, a breach formed above their heads. A roar followed by an explosion in the sky forced them violently from their bubble and threw them to the ground. Stunned, Harry lifted his head and was instantly hypnotized by the chaos before his eyes. The horizon had been sliced in two by a black hole, and it was expanding before his eyes. He felt goose bumps rising all over his body, his hair was beaten by the storm. A sensation almost like the Dementors Kiss seized his chest, only worse; his magic was sucked from his body but he had no way to prevent it, no anchor. It felt as if his soul had left his body. Utter helplessness. Harry had no doubts.
When he returned to his senses hours later, he almost wished that had been the case. All around him, the landscape was unrecognizable. A spreading desert and ruins in the distance. But what made him lose all color was the blackness studded with lightning overhead which had swallowed the sky. No trace of blue. Nothing but black. The entire horizon veiled. A world of shadows.
Then Harry remembered that he wasn't alone. He leapt to his feet, grabbing his wand and turning in a quick movement: no one. He turned to the other side: nothing.
Then slowly, Harry lowered his head, his fear-filled eyes looking slowly at his hand and his tightly-gripped wand. He turned his wrist as if to study his weapon. His heart beat fast, now. He no longer felt magic coursing beneath his fingers. The more he looked at his wand, the more it appeared to be an ordinary piece of wood. He felt nothing inside, and his hand loosed its grip to drop the wand on the ground. Panic froze him in place.
I've lost my magic. No, it can't be. But the breach, the explosion… Could that have destroyed it?
He remained lost in thought, his head bubbling with questions, but the strangely heavy silence and the stale air dragged him from his torpor. He took up the piece of wood again and began to walk. He walked on and on.
Far in front of him he could see columns of travelers. Families in tears. He ran to get closer to a couple and their two children and was about to ask what had happened, but the woman turned on him with such sorrow and such despair on her face that his voice remained stuck in his throat. It was with horror that he understood that something terrible happened while he fought.
The days passed and the columns were filled with more nomads. A veritable exodus. Little by little, as the travelers moved on, they discovered the true extent of the damage. With each new defeated face, each house in dust, hope thinned. Almost nothing was left. The more time passed, the more a terrible realization took hold of their spirits: the Wizarding World was no more. Even the Savior, the Boy Who Lived, was among their ranks. There was nothing to do but leave. But where would they go?
Discussions mired them in place in the evenings- they had to find a solution. Harry himself took no part in the discussions. His mind was completely numb, far from what was happening around him. He found some familiar faces, but none of his close friends, and in his darker moments, he told himself he deserved this solitude. After all, wasn't it his fault? He felt responsible, and yet, although everyone should have suspected that he had played a role in this apocalypse, no one had come to blame him, nor even ask him questions. No, because everyone knew that the battle had been necessary, and that he also had lost everything. No one spoke the name of the Dark Lord. Not because it was taboo, but because the darkness was everywhere, and their only battle was surviving.
After several heated debates, the solution came: they must integrate into the world of Muggles.