Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This prologue has been edited by aervien. For that, and for all the help and sound advice she has given me in regards to this story, she has my deepest gratitude.
EDIT February 2014: I've edited the prologue to make it read a bit smoother than before.
Just a note: Although this story is rated M, there won't be any mature content until much later in the story.
For all his burliness, the Death Eater was surprisingly agile and quick on his feet. Harry tried to attack him from behind, by buckling his knees using a low tackle that Piers Polkiss had favoured in Primary School. The bastard managed to step aside, leaving Harry to fall on his face. Harry was quick to get back on his feet. The Death Eater grabbed him by the shoulders, in a display of primal outrage (which seemed to have made him forget that he was a wizard) and pushed Harry relentlessly backwards. Harry could see the Death Eater's eyes through his mask - they bore through him with determined fury.
A desk clattered over as Neville sprang up to defend him. A red jet of magic cruised harmlessly over the Death Eater's shoulder, merely singing a few hairs on his head and shoving him off-balance. Sent with more accuracy, Hermione's spell hit the offender in the back. A classic Petrificus Totalus pinned his arms to his sides, ripping his hands off the Boy-Who-Lived. He teetered on spot for a few seconds before falling down on his side with a loud crash.
Harry was left to flail in overbalance. He fell backwards, connecting with a shelf too fragile to withstand the impact. There was a crash of glass shattering and the clinking, tingling pitter-patter of shards as they rained over him. Shock clouded his mind. He could hear Hermione approach and call out his name worriedly.
"I'm fine," he called to her, gritting his teeth against the pain in his back. He tried to blink away the haze clouding his vision.
He couldn't see clearly, let alone get up. A cyclone swept into the room, picking up shattered glass and splintered wood to form a lethal whirlpool around Harry. He curled up against the onslaught, the fierce wind stealing his scream. He was left breathless. Afraid for his friends, he tried to drag himself up, fighting against the gale and the pain permeating his battered body. An overwhelming force was pinning him down and pulling him backwards at the same time. Before he fell unconscious, Harry cursed Voldemort, blaming him for the current situation.