Summer Crescendo

All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where

Confused about how as well

Just know that these things will never change for us at all

-Snow Patrol : Chasing Cars

Draco's feet hit the cement with a soft thud. His body, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar Muggle attire and footwear, lacked its usual grace. He peered warily up the street of Little Whinging's Privet Drive. The street was absolutely ordinary and indistinguishable from any other street in a suburb anywhere in Great Britain or the Americas. Dumbledore was indeed a genius to have found such a normal environment to make Potter rather impossible to find. However, Draco couldn't help thinking, these Muggles are like fish in a barrel and easily extinguished if the Dark Lord ever found his way here. Dumbledore's precious bird brigade could never assemble here in time to protect Harry from a Death Eater attack. But that possible future's outcome was left up to Draco's whim. He had yet to decide what he would do with this information.

For now, Draco had to contend with the unfamiliar habits and mannerisms of Muggles so as not to appear out of place or mad. He had never before been out in the Muggle world, especially by himself. He felt adventurous and unafraid, yet he was still cautious. He began to walk down the street, his mind silently mulling over his own thoughts as he passed the first homes on this boring street.

In retrospect, it had not taken him long to disappear from Malfoy Manor. His parents were too preoccupied with other matters to pay him any mind. His mother had removed herself from the Manor shortly after the Dark Lords resurrection. She detested the vile man and his methods. So when Lucius offered the Manor as a base of operations for Voldemort, Narcissa left without notice.

Lucius, now back in the presence of his master, was reduced to a shell of his former self. Gone was the cold heartless sneer from his pallid face. His haughtiness shattered; there was now a constant aura of paranoia emitted from this once fierce man. Constant vigilance was recommended when around the Dark Lord and it was slowly draining Lucius. Now to see Lucius at home in his Manor under the unblinking eye of the Dark Lord was akin to gazing at a very unstable man.

The poised older gentleman had accumulated a much more somber visage. Crow's feet, earned from endless bouts with insomnia, now adorned his steel grey eyes. His fine platinum blonde hair was always disheveled and grimy. The cool, calculating glare that could stop the Minister of Magic himself while in midstride was no longer present. His posture had suffered as well as his normally very fit physique. To Draco this gaunt, shadow-eyed, nervous paranoid held no more resemblance to the once great Lord of Malfoy Manor than the equally deranged and slovenly Wormtail. His father now disgusted him to no end.

Draco spent the long days and nights sequestered in his rooms to plot his actions when he found Potter. Draco knew what kind of Muggles Dumbledore had stashed his Boy Wonder with; the epitome of what's wrong with Muggles according to Draco, but then again; anyone who mistreats Potter might be a potential ally to him. The Boy Who Lived would most definitely not be having such an easy time of things even if Draco never found him.

His eyes flicked to their familiar position, trained on the dot of red smoke hovering above his map of Great Britain.

"It won't be long now. I shan't keep you waiting much longer Potter." The words resembled those of a cat to a mouse caught unawares.

Sneaking out had been easy. If you weren't a Death Eater no one paid you much attention. They were getting sloppy and over confident, but that was of no consequence to Draco. He no longer cared for the war. He had his own fun to pursue.

He had carefully planned out his traveling accommodations and purchased the necessary passes and tickets ahead of time. He was on his way to claim his prey.

* * * * * * *

Upon reaching Number Four, Draco felt a hint of anxiety as his finger reached for the bell. Suddenly he remembered he had no plan, a very un-Slytherin occurrence indeed. He had not thought about actually being in front of this plain house and what would occur after he made his presence felt. What would he say to Potter? Should he say anything or just observe undetected? He had no idea what Harry was like without the other two thirds of the gilded triumvirate. He rang the bell and waited. After a minute, he rang again, his patience quickly melting away as the seconds ticked by. Finally, after three more rings, he pulled his wand and pointed it at the door.

"Alohomora," he commanded. The lock, surprisingly, did not budge an inch. He repeated the spell again...louder and more forceful. Still nothing, the door just sat there in insolence. Draco was getting heated, he was not known for the longevity of his temper. The heat of his anger overrode his brain and with a frustrated growl he changed his stance and drew up to his full height. Raising his wand above his head he summoned all the control he could. His magic would dominate the wards set on this measly door. Mere protection spells would not keep him out now, not after all he had done to get to here. Focusing his magic on the tip of his wand, the latent power built into an invisible maelstrom of energy.

"Expositus Ostium!"

This time something did happen. The dark magic exploded from his wand and blew the first spell completely into smithereens. However, in his fury, he did not notice that there was another lying below the softer primary ward. He tried to overload this hindrance, but to no avail. Draco began to worry as red tendrils reached out from the ward and clasped his wand and began to engulf it. A buzzing pain engulfed his arm as spell backlash assaulted his magical center. His wand began to vibrate in his hand and jolted his bones together as the pain increased to agony. Gritting his teeth to stifle a scream, he relaxed his magic and tried to make it let go of the door knob.

The throbbing pain increased as the dueling forces clashed across Draco's body. His knees began to quiver as he quickly reached his pain threshold. Gritting his teeth, he willed his magic back into his body. Slowly it began to retreat and let go of the ward. Finally, he contained his magic inside his body and his mind could finally try to relax. But to his horror, once he relaxed, the protection spell stole into his body like water overpowering a dam. It snuck into his body riding on the tail currents of Draco's own magic.

An empty feeling quickly entered his hand and began to grow until it filled his whole body. The void left him feeling naked and magicless. The hex dissipated, its job done, with a grey wisp of smoke. To Draco, the disappearance of the hex seemed to cut off all magic and he was alone, in the Muggle world, defenseless.

Panic rose in his chest, squeezing his heart and cutting off his breath. It felt as if he were encased in a great block of ice, frigid and cut off from the world as he knew it. Draco glanced at the wand in his hand expecting it to implode any second.

"What's happened to me?" His voice quivered as the panic reached his throat. Tears slowly leaked out of his eyes as his terror set in. His eyes darted around the neighborhood in terror. He half expected a Muggle mob, complete with torches and a noose, to turn the corner and burn him at the stake.

Suddenly, from inside he heard a set of dull thuds as if something heavy was falling down a flight of stairs. Quickly, he ducked behind the hedges in next to the front door and waited. From what he had heard of these Dursley's, it would not seem safe to meet them unannounced and without magic; and so, being the Slytherin that he was, he opted to hide and wait for danger to pass.

The seconds ticked by like hours, but slowly his heart rate returned to normal and with it came sanity. As the panic leaked away he felt his rational thought take over from the sudden panic which had held him in its icy grasp. As he sat there in the leaves and dirt trying to talk himself into doing something he heard a vase break inside the house and his curiosity got the best of him. Throwing caution to the wind, apparently that was turning to a habit with all endeavors concerning Potter, he stood up and peeked in the window. There was a pool of water slowly spreading on the carpet and Draco thought he might have seen the edge of a hand lying limp on the floor, but he couldn't be sure as the body that should be connected to this hand was hidden by a massive tawdry couch. Draco wasn't sure, but it looked like the hand might be smeared with blood.

* * * * * * *

As Harry slowly returned to consciousness, he realized two things: One, he was, in fact, NOT dead. And two, he had never wished more vehemently that he was dead. Every part of his body was wracked with wave after wave of pain. His brain, barely managing to keep him breathing, was in no shape to figure out anything. He had no idea how bad the damage he had received had been or how long he had been lying on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. All he knew was that he needed to get out of here before his 'family' returned home. Preparing himself for the wave of pain, he reached out his hand to try and grasp the sink. Instantly he was engulfed in pain. He had to bite his tongue to stifle the scream that was adamantly trying to push its way out of his throat. He had no idea if he was alone in the house or not. If someone was home, they would most likely leave him alone as long as they thought he was still passed out.

He finally reached his feet and turned on the lights to gather his bearings. The floor was pooled with blood where his head had lain. There were spatters of it on the walls, and there was a particular mess on the side of the toilet. He deliberately avoided the mirror; not wanting to see the physical proof of the beating on his face. Every time he moved his head balance became a very real issue to contend with. Finally, after minutes of dizziness and nausea, his legs buckles and he vomited into the toilet. Blood filled the toilet water giving a sickening pink hue. He leaned back against the tub to rest. Harry struggled to remain calm as hopelessness washed over him.

How am I going to survive this? Harry's tears streaked the matted blood on his cheeks; the pink tears adorned the white floor in a pattern befitting Jackson Pollock. Drawing his knees to his chest he began to quietly sob to himself.

The sound of the doorbell tore through the silence shattering Harry's nerves causing him to hug his knees tighter. Maybe, if he was quiet, whoever was there would go away. No Muggle would be able to help him and any wizarding help was miles away, totally oblivious to the plight of their beloved savior.

Some savior, Potter, you can't even protect yourself from one fat Muggle let alone the darkest wizard of the last century. You're hopeless. The tears stung the cuts on his cheeks. How much blood have I lost? I really need to get out of here. He heard the doorbell ring multiple times in the space of time he was thinking. Their peals were coming quicker now as if the ringer was getting impatient.

Slowly, he pulled himself back onto his feet. The pain won this time and he let out an enormous gush of air which should have been a wall shaking scream, but for some reason his vocal cords would not make noise. The echoes of pain were residing now and he staggered to the edge of the stairs. There was no way in hell he would be able to make it down all those stairs.

From the entryway he heard a muffled voice angrily cast the familiar unlocking charm and Harry's heart skipped a beat as he recognized those familiar syllables. He tried to call out for help, but his throat clenched in pain at each attempt. Frantically, he tried to make his legs obey his actions. He made it to the edge of the stairs when his leg rebelled and sent his knee crashing into the banister. Pain lanced up his side causing him to double over. His broken ribs connected with the rail. The pain overwhelmed Harry and he felt himself start to pass out. Everything happened in slow motion. His hands reached out, but only managed to grab air. The world began to tilt as he fell forward. Everything stopped briefly as his head connected with the stairs and then everything turned upside down and blurry. The stabs of pain were making him flick in and out of consciousness.

Just give up, you sod! What are you fighting for anything? You either die here or at the hands of the same thing that killed your parents. You will not survive Voldemort you inadequate poncy git. Harry closed his eyes and allowed oblivion to take him.