Summer Crescendo

"I never got it right,
That's how this breaks down.
I never see things through,
I always carry the weight for you."

-Carolina Liar : All That Shit Is Gone

As blood pooled on the floor inside the house, Draco shot to a more erect stance in surprise. It was definitely a human hand; it was visible from the shoulder down. But to his surprise, the blood was not coming from any source that he was currently able to see. The hair on his neck was standing up; just what was going on in this house? He looked around for another entrance. Walking around the side of the house he spied another window, this one was barely open. He crouched and began to inch his way over to the window.

What a sight I must look, he thought ruefully. Covered in dust and some leaves from the bushes, crouched on the side of a house in Muggle London. Privet Drive was, thankfully, a very quiet street where most neighbors mind their own business otherwise Draco was sure that the police would have been called on him. Nearing the window Draco began to see a few spots of white. Owl droppings, he looked up and saw that there was window directly above the excrement. That must be his room.

If he still had his magic, getting up to that window would be too easy. Now, in his new found predicament, the mere height of fifteen feet seemed insurmountable. Finally, he was crouched under the window; his head barely peeking over the sill, just enough to allow his eyes to see through the panes of glass into the dim room beyond. In the poorly lit space, Draco could make out various tawdry knickknacks littering the décor here and there. The couch appeared to have been draped in a horrendously large, gaudy, knitted, white thing that seemed to be trying to emulate a doily on a coffee table or something like that.

Draco's mouth formed a well pronounced sneer, his problems momentarily forgotten. How utterly middle class. No wonder Potter hates it here. As Draco's nimble fingers pried the screen from the window, quickly and quietly, he considered the covertly spelled wards protecting this horrible residence. I wonder if it's just set up for Wizards only. It's not as if these Muggles would be able to remove them for company or whatever drivel passes for such in this hovel.

He slowly approached the now open window and warily stuck a hand through the plane that had once held the panes of glass in the window. Nothing happened; he felt no odd sensation or painful tingling this time. What more can these foul wards pull out of you, coward! Though they were his thoughts they dripped with the sarcastic drawl of Professor Snape's voice. He exhaled sharply, to steady his nerves, and climbed through the square portal.

As his feet hit the floor, he realized two things simultaneously: he was still alive, and he could smell blood faintly permeating the home. This was unexpected and definitely not good for a magicless wizard with no training in how to defend himself. He felt his nerves go on edge. He had no idea why Potter's house smelt of blood, unless... No! It's bloody Potter, he would never dabble in the Dark Arts! The thought drew a small chuckle from him and relaxed his nerves. That is, until he saw a shod foot, no doubt belonging to the same arm Draco had seen from the front yard.

Unconsciously, his pace quickened until he was practically running to the body. As he looked down to the floor and felt his stomach violently contract. He staggered over to a massive potted fern and retched into the dark soil. So much blood! What happened here? Did Death Eaters get here before me? Merlin, there is so much blood!!! He felt himself growing dizzy and faint. Draco, although young and unsullied, was still a Malfoy and after a few seconds of deep breathing he became accustomed to the grisly sight before him. The anger though...the anger at Potter's attacker was something that he would never become accustomed to. Most students would have thought Malfoy would have the man tracked down and paid him handsomely for Potter's destruction. In truth, Draco felt the smaller boy was too timid for his own good; someone to jibe and prod with insulting humor, but Malfoys were NOT bullies. They had honor.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Draco crouched down and picked up Harry's mangled hand, cradling it gently. Supporting the limb with his legs, he quickly felt for a pulse. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty, forty. Merlin, HE'S DEAD.

* * * * * * *

Harry blinked as bright light permeated the darkness of his abrupt slumber. His hand shot up to cover his face from the offensive brilliant luster. It took a few moments to realize there was quite a startling difference. He didn't hurt! No broken bones or bruises marred his complexion. The blood was gone as well as any aches and pains that had accompanied him through his fall down the stairs.

His eyes squinted as he tried to make out his surroundings. This place looked vaguely familiar, but light poured out of everything around him. The luminescent auras of each individual item seemed to mix together and intensify the brightness until it almost hurt his eyes. All right, this is new. Where in the bloody hell am I? Harry, still lying on the floor, tried to make out anything recognizable.

Slowly, he got to his feet, there was still no pain. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. As he got used to the light he could begin to make out the room he was in...it was very familiar. After a second it hit him, he was still in the Dursleys' living room! The memory of the savage beating he received earlier pummeled his brain with its gruesome images. He dropped back to the ground and hugged his knees for solace. As the tears leaked out he remembered where he really was. This was where he used to go to stop hurting. He had never figured out how it worked, but it always seemed to be there for Harry's darkest moments. That's why it was so bright. Harry feared the dark, not in a typical child's manner, but because the dark sheltered the unknown.

Despair finally took him, his body was broken; Vernon had seen to that. He didn't want to go back and experience the pain of his wounds. He had never wanted this...any of this. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived or Chosen One. Now, as much as he cared, he was dead.

* * * * * * *

"P-Potter?" Draco's body started to tremble; his voice was barely a whisper. The boy lying at his knees was a ghastly sight. Draco hovered next to Harry's still body. There was barely any sign of breathing. Blood was still dripping onto the floor from the many cuts and bruises on his face & arms. He was no mediwizard, but he was sure that Harry's left leg was broken and maybe both of his hands. His head didn't look too good, either, if appearances could be judged. Could all this have been from the fall? He grimaced again as he surveyed the carnage dealt to the innocent boy. Innocent...pah! How can you be so sure that he is innocent? Besides, didn't you plan to betray him to the Dark Lord anyway? The evil voices derision inflamed his anger. Inside, Draco knew that this particular boy was always on the right side of the fight between good and evil. The voice which had whispered thought of betrayal sounded particularly evil; the Dark Lord's voice could have been compared to it.

He felt his stomach contract again as the fear and nausea tried to wrestle his grip on the calm façade he was trying to hold on to. He needed to move. Yes, move! With a growl he silenced the malicious voice and stood up. He paced around the room trying to figure out what he should do. He knew his choices today would influence the outcome of the rest of his life. What was he willing to give up to save Pot...Harry? He gave up that train of though almost instantly, he would deal with those consequences when they came. There would be no consequences if Harry died and, for some strange reason, Draco could not envision that ever being a good thing. He had to move Harry to a hospital. They could save Harry; he just had to get him there.

Quickly, he grasped his wand and spat out, "Mobilicorpus." Nothing happened. A squeak issued from his mouth as the severity of the situation hit him full force. Here was Potter, dying on the floor at Draco's feet, and he was totally unable to do anything. Without magic he was just another hysterical Muggle who could do nothing but wail at the injustice of it all.

Despair was winning. He felt sick as his brain began to give up thinking about saving Potter and began to think about saving himself form inquiry in what would assuredly be the crime of the century. His own selfishness angered him to no ends. He repulsed the thoughts of self preservation from his mind; Potter would make it! You're a Malfoy, goddammit! Nothing beats you! In the echo of that fierce declaration, a small voice echoed behind it. Except Potter. He's the only one that beats you at everything you two compete over. And now, he wants to end himself and you want him to stay. You will not win. The voice was right, Potter always won. Yet, here was the bloody golden boy broken and unable to beat him. He gritted his teeth as determination filled him. No, Potter will not beat me this time.

You have the harder fight, Draco. The small voiced gained strength as it talked. This voice had echoes of his mother's voice; caring, but realistic at the same time. You have to fight for him. You have to find a way through this and hold on to him. All he has to do is let go. Just be calm, my dragon, and let him go into peace.

The frail blonde sunk to his knees and allowed the tears to overwhelm their borders and stream down his cheeks. There had to be another way. Now you're crying!? The Dark Lords voice broke through his sorrow and scornfully laughed at him. I always knew you were not of Salazar's house. You are just a sniveling Hufflepuff riding on your father's money and power. You will never be anything without him.

"SHUT UP!" His voice seemed to exorcize the voice from his thoughts. However, it also made the silence that endured after it more noticeable. For a surreal moment he felt that the lack of noise hurt his ears.

He needed his magic NOW! Searching within himself he tried to feel his center. To him it had always seemed that his magic radiated out from a spot under his belly button. Sometimes, when he cast very powerful spells, that spot would almost vibrate with the aftershock. Some Asian wizard had once told him that his culture referred to this phenomenon as a chi.

Searching...nothing, probing...nothing. Anger built in his heart as his efforts kept turning up nothing. After a few minutes of nothing he let out a growl and punched the nearest wall. The wall caved in easily enough and Draco considered doing it again when he noticed something. The plants on the shelf behind him all shook off their ledges and fell to the floor. Suddenly, he had a way ... no he didn't dare hope until he tried.

Anger, okay anger works! I got tons of anger. He laughed at the irony of the discovery. Harry always had received the brunt of his anger and now that was what would hopefully save his life.

"Tollere." Draco's voice was firm and he tried to exude as much mastery over his anger as he could. Casting Dark magic was never easy, even in the most controlled settings, but Draco figured that the fuel his magic now required would work better with the Dark Arts.

To his surprise (and relief), it worked and Potter rose into the air. He felt the excitement explode through his veins. Before he could soak in his small victory, he realized something else; Harry had stopped breathing.

"No, you will not die!" The rage enveloped him as he yelled. Pointing his finger at the broken hero he furrowed his brow in the concentration the next spell required. "Aequitas Vitae." Potter's body stopped. Everything stopped. His heart, the mild convulsions he had just started going though as his muscles began to fight for oxygen; it all just stopped.

Without a second though, he grabbed Potter's bloodstained shirt, pulled him to him and held him close. Draco, almost spent to the point of passing out, felt his legs start to wobble and threatened to buckle under his weight. A quick burst from the last of his magic and the pair disapparated w/ a boom that shattered the all windows in the house. Now, all the poor blonde had to do was keep consciousness to avoid splinching either one. Potter was there, maybe still alive. Draco's strength gave out.