Discordant Harmony

Discordant Harmony - Prologue

"... at least twenty Muggles killed ...."

"... must have been a celebration ...."

"... we were too late ..."

"... caught...?"

"... they ran away ..."

"... he was on the floor, shielding a body ..."

Jumbled. That was one way of describing it. Everything felt jumbled - distorted, mutated, and unreal. But one thing was prominent in all of it: with everything there was pain. Such pain. The lids of his eyes burned as did his ears and he felt a throbbing at the bridge of his nose. Not just throbbing, really, more like something was clenching the bridge of his nose hard.

"... Him?"

Draco tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn't. His lids were heavy and the effort hurt. He then tried his tongue, to utter some sound to let them (whoever 'them' were) know he was awake, but his lips would not parnd his tongue would not budge. If anything he would have growled in aggravation, but even his vocal cords seemed paralyzed. His sense of hearing, however, was already beginning to sharpen the once blurred words into intelligible sentences.

"You're sure that what you saw was accurate? Was he really trying to shield the boy?"

That voice. He knew that voice. Even in his jumbled state with half his senses not working he could never not be able to distinguish that voice. 'Dumbledore,' he thought and he was surprised to find an odd flutter of relief make its way through him. 'Why is Dumbledore here? Where is here?'

"We found him with the boy in his arms." The voice belonged to a man, but he did not recognize it. "It looked as if he was trying to use his body as a shield against whatever may have been directed at the boy before the Aurors arrived."

"And the boy?" Dumbledore.

"In the care of his grandparents. Memory charms were issued accordingly." Another male's voice. "The boy, Ashton, however, will not talk despite the memory charms cast on him. It's reported he has frequent nightmares at night."

'Shield...?' Draco thought. Were they talking about him? Again he felt his head throb in pain at the effort of trying to remember. 'I was trying to shield a boy...? With my own body?!' It was blank. What boy? What celebration? What were they talking about?! But again that throb came and with it an image of a little boy with a ridiculous cardboard hat on his head and the largest grin Draco had ever seen in his life.

The party was large with all the family members gathered for the celebration of a little boy's fifth birthday. He sat in the front surrounded by his parents and elder relatives, squirming and smiling at all the attention he was receiving. His sandy hair had been slicked back for the occasion, but he was an active kid - you could tell by the constant jerking of his wrist as if he just itched to do something - and, 20 minutes in, his once impeccable hairdo was in disarray.

His two front teeth were missing and he was wearing a shirt covered in chocolate ice cream. He was laughing.

Draco started to feel pinpricks jabbing in his wand hand and he let that image go. The pain inside his body was growing the more he woke up. He did not like it.

"The Killing Curse...

The large room filled with adults and kids went dark. Slight cries of surprise were heard, followed by the younger kids wailing. The adults were assuring everyone it was fine ("A power outage, surely") d was about to make it to the doors to fix the problem when a large 'bang' was issued and green light exploded inward from the door. Higher wails now and then high-pitched screams of terror...

... screams ...

And more green lights.

... was being issued," this voice Draco could distinguish and he knew it was Professor Lupin, his third year werewolf Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "I'm unsure of the events before we came, but I have reasons to believe he was being tesed to be initiated...

"Avada Kedavra"

Those two words were echoing everywhere followed by either "Crucio" or another curse that inflicted pain. More screams, even more crying, and laughter.

They were all laughing and looking at him. They were looking at him as if he was to laugh as well. They were telling him to laugh as well - to laugh at the crying, the screaming, and the pain... to laugh at the stupid Muggles.

But instead he stared at the celebrant of the party, his once practically toothless, goofy smile wiped away by eyes so stripped from innocence. So like his. So much like his... Just as gray, just as deep, just as shocked and confused...

He could not laugh.

"Such meek, pathetic things, aren't they?" A cold voice said from behind him. "Your father asks for you to be initiated, young Malfoy," his voice whispered to his ear, "and as I stand here and watch I wonder where your wishes lie."

His tongue would not work. He stood frozen.

"I sense confusion from you, young Malfoy," his father's Master continued, "a confusion I'm unsure whether I like. However, your father has proven his merit once again to me," Lucius bowed, "and in return I shall award him with his one wish - your initiation to me."

Cold shivers. Those scared gray eyes. Those defiant gray eyes. The young celebrant sat alone, shaking, dead bodies spilled around him in such a way that it lookricate design of grotesque beauty. The room was silent by the dead and the young little boy at the age of 5 stood alone in the room, all that was left of this supposedly beautiful, unforgettable moment in his life shattered.

"Show me how true you are to me, young Malfoy," Voldemort said. "Kill him."

The 'him' did not need to be defined for the little boy stood in front of him with that absurd cardboard birthday hat dangling from his head. His father stared at him expectantly, as did the other Death Eaters, and he could feel Voldemort's eyes bearing down on his wand arm.

ext-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; "> He raised his wand and inhaled. 'Avada Kedavra,' he thought. The boy before him cringed.

Those two words. Those simple two words and then the switch and flick. 'Avada Kedavra.' He had to say it. Voldemort was staring at him harder now, those snake-like nostrils widening. 'Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra.'

His wand hand twitched.

'Avada Kedavra!Aviv>

He felt two warm hands grip his wrist and then the cool air as his sleeve was pushed back. His arm was overturned and he felt fingers prodding against his skin. "He does not hold the mark." Again Draco could distinguish that voice and he couldn't help but feel the old familiar distaste fill him. 'A Weasley,' he thought. If only his lips could move, he would have accomplished his usual sneer. However, the nerves on his face were still deadened and his immobility still intact. He then felt as Arthur Weasley pulled the sleeve back down and his warm touch left his wrist.

...and his words once more faltered on his tongue.

"What's wrong, young Malfoy?" Voldemort asked.

He could not respond. His eyes were set on the little boy, staring at him, the young boy's eyes wide with such fright and so much loss. Why couldn't he do it? Why couldn't he say those damn two words? This boy is worthless. He's a Muggle. Muggles are worthless, lowly and pathetic - the pinnacle of disgrace. But they do not deserve this. Draco's raised arm faltered. Muggles are pitiful, mundane, low, and weak... But they do not deserve this.

"Draco!" His father's voice snapped at him. "Master," he now turned his attention to Voldemort, "I do not know what's wrong with my son. Too much excitement, perhaps, or pleasure has obviously impaired him..."

Voldemort looked from Draco to Lucius and then gave a quick nod. "Perhaps you're right, Lucius," Voldemort said as he turned. "I'll leave it to you to take care of the boy, then."

"Thank you, Master," Lucius replied as his wand was raised. "Crucio!" Light flashed from his wand the five year old child and his tiny frame instantly began to jerk. Cries cut through the air once more, mingled with laughter. Draco watched as the young boy twisted and curled, jerked and stilled, cried and wept. He tried to shut out the image as a feeling in him rose. Disgust. He felt such utter disgust at this scene. It was so appalling - so sickening. So wrong.

"Stop." It was a whisper, but it was heard. Voldemort spun to stare at him and his father stopped laughing at once. "Stop it!" He raised his wand to put force to his words, but Voldemort's voice stopped the curse about to be muttered.

"Young Malfoy," Voldemort's cool voice cruised the air to his ear and Draco felt the effects immediately. His nerves racked and his skin prickled. "Stop, you say?"

Draco's teeth clenched and he felt as his feet moved his frame to block the twitching boy from the rest. "This... this isn't..."

"Isn't what?" Voldemort asked, his forked tongue visible between his thin lips in a way that made him look hungry.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be!" The young boy behind him seemed to begin recovering himself since he stopped twitching and started to curl up into a ball. Little sobs were heard. "This... This is just a kid!"

"He's a Muggle. He's a worthless Muggle, pathetic and weak," Voldemort hissed out. His eyes were beginning to gleam. "Are you really willing to die for a Muggle, young Malfoy?"

Draco saw as his father's eyes gave a frantic glance to his Master. "Master, y-"

"Silent, Lucius!" Voldemort yelled. His attention returned to Draco. "Are you really willing to die with that piece of filth?" No response. "So be it." Voldemort raised his wand. Draco, reflexes borne from being Slytherin's Seeker for the past 4 years, grabbed the boy behind him and was ready to dodge the curse. "Avada-!" But the speinished and Draco, in mid-leap, already slightly unbalanced, became more so when the windows opposite the room burst into little fragments and an almighty burst of air blew its way inside. The sweep of air that could have knocked over a Hippogriff swept him up and in a second, he was banged against the opposite wall with the little boy still in his arms.

Then there was darkness...

Someone was pacing near him since he could hear the continuous 'click, clack' of that owner's shoes. "He can't stay here," Lupin said. "The Leaky Cauldron isn't exactly the most secure place we can house him. Even more so now that Voldemort is showing signs of... vindication."

"Hogwarts is too far - the journey there will be too precarious," Professor Snape said. "We cannot risk it - I am sure he is going to try and get him back. The Hogwarts Express can be safe, but it certainly isn't safe enough on such a long voyage. The extra wards are not yet up."

"He might know what Voldemort is planning, as well," another male voice said. "His information is too valuable. Voldemort must know that making him even more at risk."

"If he's willing to share," Arthur Weasley said. "Then there's no other place, is there?" The room was silent. "There is only one place left where he is modestly safe."

"Arthur..." This was Dumbledore. "It is your choice. We can keep him here at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Headmaster," Arthur said, chuckling, "the Leaky Cauldron is not safe at all since the parting." A sigh escaped his lips, but it was a resolute one. "The Burrow really is the closest, safest place, isn't it? And who would ever expect a Weasley protecting a Malfoy?"

'You got that right,' Draco thought before he felt his upper torso being pulled up and warm arms wrap around him. Someone parted his lips and a cold and cooling liquid was flowing down his throat. "This will help his wounds," a feminine voice - Mad Pomfrey - said before he was again washed into darkness. But a comforting and soothing one he did not fight.