Prologue
A Night Falling

It was the year 2108.

People hurried through the streets, many casting glances over their shoulders.

Dusk approached and the loud, consistent howl of official sirens moaned out over the city streets, a thick, stale reminder that the curfew was about to begin and lock down was almost upon their doors. This was reason enough to hurry, because once lock down had occurred, patrols hit the streets and they shot everything that moved. Everything except the bounty hunters, and they had killing of their own to do.

It had been 23 years since the downfall of the Geniis Government and the revival of the olden Crook's ways that were being enforced by Lord Voldemort. It had been 36 years since the Baltic War had ended with Earth's left over inhabitants of fumbling together the pieces of what remained of their world. Asia had almost completely vanished from the atomic blasts that had rocked the world, changing the environment and climates forever. Most of Canada had been buried underwater, and whatever the oceans hadn't swallowed up had been gripped by a terrific ice age that was threatening to span countless more generations.

Ever since his regime had fallen into place some seven years ago, everyone apposing Lord Voldemort and his stringent ruling had gone to ground. The Urchins and Beggars had moved to the sewers, scavenging during the day for whatever they could find. The Visionaries had moved into cellars and attics, under the floors of older buildings, planning quietly and secretly, and for the most part, left alone. Everyone knew that most of them were cursed with second sight and they helped control the rise and fall of the city, watching the stars that still shone, dully, in the night sky and no one dared interfere.

Explorers came and went; rode in to sleep as the sun set against their backs, and vanished again with its rise. They were the men and women that rode bareback on the illusion of mystery, of discovering hidden treasures and often worked for the rich in all their high rises and glittering world. (Spies were a plenty and they often worked hand-in-glove with the Scientists and Traders; buying and selling city secrets to the highest bidder. All the while they were trying to build up some kind of functioning life for themselves, while trying not to get themselves killed. If they lasted more than two years in their particular business, they were considered Masters, and the bounty on their heads rose.

The Council of Peace and Harmony of All Peoples Against the Regime, often known as the Order of the Phoenix, was working to restore humanity into peoples hearts, trying to build up their own city within the city's cast-iron walls. They were trying to be free from the rules and regulations of the regime, bringing together all the outcasts and misfits of the barren London city streets, however grimy and graffiti riddled they were, but with precious little success.

A cloaked figure strode forcefully though the emptying streets, the hood pulled tight over his face. He was dimly aware of the time and quickened his pace reflexively, trying to beat the sun in its graceful descent over a broken city. He checked his watch automatically and cursed; the bloody thing hadn't worked since he had been forced to swim ashore in one of his more dramatic escapes from a rough, but very determined, bounty hunter. There was a price on his head of 50,000 kubars, a princely sum, but he preferred to keep his head firmly where it belonged.

It was cold; winter spreading its reaching fingers further and further into the city streets and the bony ribs of Harry Potter. His hands, despite the fierce wind, stayed clenched at his sides, need there be any reason to fight his way out of any possible situation. His jade eyes gleamed as the clouds swept over the city, the moon a distant figurine on the blazing horizon of distant fires and burning sunset.

He finally reached his destination, a shabby out of the way inn with a battered, squeaky sign proclaiming it 'The Leaky Cauldron' creaking ominously; the windows dull and thick with grime. He pushed open the door just in time to hear the final dongs of warning bells and could already hear the heavy marching of patrols and bounty hunters alike, as they sought out the crooks and criminals trying to use night as their clock of disguise. The door swung shut behind him, and he began to breathe again.

~~ ~~~ ~~

Inside there was a distant buzz of low conversations and the sharp clatter of knives against battered plates. Tom, the Innkeeper, swiftly glanced up to observe Harry's progress through the crowd, striding with strident ambiguity. The old Innkeeper leaned with the stroke of his cloth across the bar and gave Harry a tooth-gaped smile.

"'Arry," He kept the conversation casual. "You back then?"

"That's right, Tom. Is he in?" Harry sounded brittle, worn from the month of travel that he had been made to endure.

"Out the back," Tom thumbed the direction. "You'll be staying t'night, I reckon."

Harry gave Tom a curt nod as he stepped around the bar. "Usual room if I could, Tom."

"Alrigh'. See ya in the mornin' 'Arry." Reluctant.

Harry stepped out of the smoky bar through a loose rug slung over a bare doorframe, the thick material feeling cool against his face. Many eyes trained themselves on him as he strode into the room, uncertain, untrusting. Harry didn't know any of these eyes, his own jade ones searching for any sign of familiarity. He loosened the knot on his heavy cloak slightly, feeling warm for the first time in months, before a side door opened and a tall, thin man stepped through.

"Sirius!" Harry called out, his face lighting with this unexpected pleasure.

Sirius Black, long hair falling around his face like a curtain, dark night velvet eyes glistening, grinned widely. "Harry!"

They met half way across the room, a one armed, hand shaking hug, all long limbs and hair. The occupants of the room relaxed slightly. Sirius, Harry's Godfather, had been seen, for a long time, as a traitor to the side of the Light; but documents had been gotten possession of, and testimonies recorded, all of which pointed to his innocence and mistrial. Most of the evidence had come from Harry himself and no one had been happier than he was to see his Godfather out from behind bars and close at hand once more.

Harry stepped back to survey the tall, debonair man for a moment, quickly noting that he had lost the waxy, gaunt look to his face and hands, his hair and teeth shone, and he was not as painfully thin as he once had been. This is good, thought Harry to himself, this is right.

Sirius gave him a roughish smile. "You'll be wanting to see Albus, no doubt."

Harry nodded. "Yes, yes. I have some documents that need his attention urgently."

"Come through. He is talking to someone at the moment, but he should be just about finished now."

Sirius drew Harry through the door that he had come from, into a long, sloping down corridor that seemed to disappear into the gloom for quite a way. The low voltage lamps on the walls flickered and shuddered, casting a surreal glow over the shadows and their faces. As they walked, their voices remained low as they talked.

"How did it go in the North, Harry?"

"Not well I'm afraid. They are so much more loyal to Lord Voldemort—" the name was spat out like a foul stench. "—and nothing could be said to change their views. I was lucky to escape with the shirt on my back actually. A rather irritating Bounty Hunter insisted on trying to corner me at every turn."

"Which one?" Sirius sounded amused. Harry's tales of Bounty escapes were legendary in the Leaky Cauldron, and when you got him talking on the subject, everyone would huddle around and listen.

"A new kid on the block, as far as my sources could tell me…Ronald Weasley, who was indeed particularly notable for his flaming red hair and freckles. Not a wise choice of profession if you ask me, with hair like that." Sirius laughed at the face Harry pulled.

"But you got what you needed?"

"Yes," Harry drew his cloak aside to tap at the inside folds. "I have the disk, as well as several paper copies of something that I think Dumbledore will find very interesting reading that someone just happened to leave lying carelessly around."

"It must have been careless, for them to be catching your eye." Sirius scoffed, ribbing his young Godson playfully.

"Indeed." Grinned Harry, as Sirius opened the door for him, mock bowing as Harry passed through.

The room was dimly lit, as most of the rooms were in the tavern and the surrounding underground passages. This was the nerve centre of The Order, where the faceless souls of the city came to eat, drink, talk; trying to find some kind of normality amongst the concrete and graffiti. A pretty face looked up from behind a shabby desk and smiled at the two men.

"Lavender, has Albus finished?" Sirius asked, his tone like melted honey. Harry watched with guarded amusement at the flush that rose up on the young lady's cheeks. She was not much older than himself, and his Godfather was a terrific flirt at the best of times.

"No, he hasn’t," Her eyes lighted on Harry briefly. "But he won't mind if he's interrupted, I'm sure."

She waved them through with a dainty hand and Harry knocked on Dumbledore's door.

"Enter!" Came the jovial voice from inside.

Harry opened the door and stepped into the warm interior of Dumbledore's office. His old, wizened master was standing next to the fire, his long beard securely tucked away from the leaping flames, talking in low tones to someone who was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, just out of Harry's eyesight. Dumbledore smiled with generous warmth when Harry stepped into the room, Sirius hovering behind him slightly.

"Harry! Come in, come in. It's so very nice to see you once more."

"Like wise, Dumbledore. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all. Thankyou, Sirius," Dumbledore stepped forward eagerly, ushering Harry in. "In fact, I think you are already acquainted with my guest."

Harry raised an eyebrow, the high backed chair swinging around to face him as the door was shut firmly on Sirius, who could be heard muttering objections through the thin panel.

There was a bright gleam of too blonde hair; a flash of silvery-grey eyes. A mouth upturned in a familiar and haughty expression on an aristocratic face.

"Hello, Potter." The tone smirked.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Malfoy?"

~~ ~~~ ~~
To Be Continued…
~~ ~~~ ~~

Starting a Harry Potter Alternative Universe fic was never part of the plan when I first started writing fanfiction. In fact, it was so far off the plan that I didn't even recognise how much possibility was actually there. Malfoi, author of Façade, opened up my imagination to AU fics and one rainy Tuesday afternoon, the first line of A Sinister Outlook ran into my head out of nowhere, and an era was born. I originally called it A Dark Future, but hated the name, so I used my ever-present computer thesaurus to change it.

This fic had a rough plan, and so far, I have 6 chapters after this prologue, and hopefully they will be relatively long and with far more content than this. I'm planning on a chapter every month, month-and-a half, taking into consideration writers' block and life.

My fevering thanks go to my beta, Regret, for all her wonderful and dedicated work (and after we sorted out the debacle that I call email). My three collaborators, Angie, Natasha and Cora, for my constant distraction on our combined works; and three of my biggest supporters, Ishuca, Sheron and Amalin, who make the writing all worth it. Thanks also, to Malfoi, for being such an inspiration.

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