Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The poem The Night-mare Death in Life belongs to Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The play Salome: A Tragedy in One Act belongs to Oscar Wilde.

Warning: Disturbing imagery.

Ravens Cry in Dissonance

Prologue: "Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me?" (1)

Day turned into night, and once more a blanket of velvet black enveloped the earth. Thousands of miles away in the desolate open sea, where light could never reach into its depth, a lone isle erected beyond the reaches of the crushing tides, on which loomed a decaying stone tower like a lone survivor taking his proud stand before facing the gallows.

It was Azkaban, the wizard's prison whose name had always been an object of fear among the wizarding mass. There was nothing but endless nights within these walls that were marked by violence and madness; even though the Dementors had departed, Azkaban continued to be reeked with the remnant of their foul presence.

In one of the massive security cells which housed the most dangerous of criminals, Lucius Malfoy sat cross-legged upon the thin mattress of his cot, his hands placed casually on his knees, eyes closed in meditation. He was clad in plain grey robe, his cheeks hollow, his face haggard, and yet despite the unpleasant life of incarceration, Lucius Malfoy had retained the air of arrogance and sophistication that he had inherited from his esteemed father, Abraxas Malfoy.

The chamber was dark, what little light could come through from the narrow window high above cast a sliver of misty white upon the grimy stone floor before Lucius. When he opened his eyes, the dark figure of Draco Malfoy was standing beneath the light, like an apparition that had suddenly materialized. The black robe clad on Draco was like shadows, and his face pale as a ghost. It was a terrible sight to behold, and yet Lucius faced him with such composure as befits of a man who was cold as ice.

"Hello, Father," Draco said while he bowed his head briefly in respect, his voice as clear as raindrops falling upon green leaves.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius calmly responded, feeling no fear except a sense of inevitability. A pale eyebrow arched in inquiry. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of such a visitation?"

"I know everything, Father," Draco replied in such coolness as rivalling his father's voice. His face beheld no accusation, no condemnation, only terrible calmness that belied little emotions.

Silence stretched within the oppressive chamber beyond eternity, until Lucius finally spoke in a soft tone, "I see." Impassivity was all Draco could discern from the face before him that was so much like his own, and yet so unlike his own. No one, not even Draco, who had lived through three other lifetimes, could tell what was going through the mind of the Malfoy patriarch as he studied Draco in contemplation.

"Why?" was Draco's only question, and the only one ever needed answering.

Those same cold eyes much like his own were reflecting Draco's spectre in their depths like an unyielding mirror. "It was necessary," Lucius said quietly.

Such simple words, and yet how much it had conveyed to Draco. Draco would not, could not forget the bitter taste of betrayal and despair that had drowned his soul when he realized what his beloved father was about to do. But forgotten he had, hadn't he? Lucius had sealed away his memory of those weeks when Draco was at the tender age of five, until the seal was irrevocably broken by the capricious Augustus Grindelwald, who had shown Draco what true despair really was.

"I will never forgive you for that," Draco utterly vehemently. "Never." Harsh eyes burnt with cold fire that threatened to smoulder Lucius with his gaze.

"I am not seeking for forgiveness or redemption, Draco," Lucius spoke in frightening serenity, and had Draco been more sound in mind, he would have noticed the turbulent waves flowing through his father's grey eyes. "If you find it justified to exact revenge against me, then do as your soul tells you so."

Draco felt as though he was being slapped, and for the longest time he stared blankly at the man who was his father, as his eyes seemed clouded by memories: a lightless chamber, the dead grey sky, a flash of the dagger...

"No," Draco furiously proclaimed as he pushed aside the painful memories with every ounce of his will. "No, I won't." And then like smoke he vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind but empty words.

Lucius stared at the strand of melancholic moonbeam lingering lethargically on the harsh floor where the apparition of his son had stood moments ago, before his low voice rang out within these prison walls in a soft whisper, "Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind, Draco."--

Grey eyes veiled with a film of mist slowly opened to the world of the living, and Draco Malfoy woke up on his bed, where drapes were pulled over to cover the bed. A raven was croaking by his window, but he hardly noticed it as he was desperately trying to fight down the nausea that was threatening to drown out every last shred of his sanity.

Every part of his being was trembling, as though suddenly he was that ignorant and untried child of five once again, blissfully unaware of the dagger that was ever hanging over his head.

"The living has their own world, and the dead has their resting place beyond the veil. But you, who is trapped between the two worlds, like a ghost wandering on this earth, unliving and undead, where do you belong?"

Biting hard on his lips until he drew blood, Draco clutched at his midriff tightly as he waited for the twisting agony in his body to subside. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the nearly unbearable pain, along with the delirious heat, had died away. He remained curl up on his side, as perspiration soaked into his clothes and began to dry. When his breathing had finally eased, he threw aside the blanket that was beginning to suffocate him, and got up.

His room in the Malfoy Manor was much like his dorm room in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: elegantly crafted rosewood furniture strewn tastefully about the chamber, a burnt-out fireplace in front, directly facing the bed quarter that was located at the back of the room, and a side door leading to his private bathroom. A set of glass windows lined one wall, and the bright moon outside the windows showered the room with a tint of pale blue.

Draco walked barefooted upon the soft carpet towards the window, where a raven sat perched outside the window. Without hesitation he opened the window, letting the raven in. The raven flew noiselessly into the room, and settled itself on the desk with blank eyes staring at Draco, who narrowed his eyes as though the raven was conveying some hidden message to him. Silently he changed into his robe and grabbed his wand from the nightstand, before he vanished without a trace, leaving behind a window opened to the cold, winter night.

Faint noises like those of conspiring whispers from night creatures flowed into the ears of Harry Potter, as he lay awake in the makeshift bed that was kindly provided for by the Weasley family. On the other side of the cluttered attic, Ron Weasley was sound asleep, snoring faintly as he delved into a peaceful slumber.

Harry opened his eyes, and stared at the steep ceiling, which was painted with a sliver of ethereal moonbeam that had crept into the room uninvited through the unshaded window -- it was all he could make out without his glasses. Unconsciously his hand flew up to clutch at something that was hidden beneath his collar, and somehow, he felt a shred of strange comfort that was still foreign to his mind. For reasons he could not fathom, the pulsing coolness pressing into his palm reminded him of his godfather, Sirius Black, and by extension, Draco Malfoy. As he recalled all that had transpired that one Hallowe'en, his brows knotted itself into an unsettling frown.

It had been half a month since Draco Malfoy came back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after his escapade. Gossips and rumours had finally died down, and in all appearance, life at Hogwarts had settled back to its normal routine once more. Yet something had changed; students and professors alike could acutely feel the change in the wind, and none could sense it more keenly than Harry, and the respected headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. The one that brought forth such a change was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have grown in stature, but at the same time faded into the shadow of his former self.

The disquieting feeling did not leave Harry; it had grown into a monstrosity liken to that of a certain creature created by a tormented scientist. Draco Malfoy was no longer Draco Malfoy, but a foreign creature for whom Harry felt both oddly drawn to and repulsed by.

The many riddles surrounding the truth behind the possession were haunting Harry like a ghost, and yet the subject of which was unwilling to provide answers to his query. With the help of his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry had yielded some disturbing information concerning the incident surrounding the possession, which carried certain unsettling implications for him...

Furiously Harry blinked his eyes, willing his mind to travel down a less perilous path. However, before he could direct his thoughts elsewhere, a sudden heightened sense of alertness informed him of danger near at hand. Staying as still as he possibly could, his hand discreetly crept under the mattress to where he hid his wand. As his heartbeat raised into a crescendo, he squinted his eyes in a futile attempt to see clearly what was happening. But all he saw were shadows and moonlight, until a dark figure entered his peripheral line of sight.

A figure wrapped in impenetrable shadow, and a face as transparent as a corpse -- it was Draco Malfoy. The world before Harry's eye suddenly snapped into focus, and what he saw chilled his blood -- Draco Malfoy was standing over him with dagger drawn, which was reflecting the merciless moonlight that seemed able to cut through darkness. Terror seized Harry in its strangling grip, rendering him unable to move nor speak, his wand lay forgotten.

As though contemplating his course of action, Draco crouched down before Harry's prone form in tantalizing slowness. A strange expression appeared on Draco's face as Harry had never seen before, and in a quiet whisper that seemed to spell many different meanings, Draco said, "Forgive me."--

With an abrupt start, Harry jumped up from his mattress, his breathing ragged, and his heart skipping several tempo too fast. Frantically he pulled out his wand, his eyes roamed about the room like a hunted prey. Nothing seemed amiss in the room; there was no dark figures or pale faces lurking about, and Ron was still in his restful slumber. Looking down his front, he saw no blood on his chest, and yet he could feel a chill in his chest, as though he was being grazed by a phantom blade.

Violently he pulled off his top, and examined himself under the faint wandlight. There was no wound on his chest, nor anywhere on his body. The jade pendant, in the shape of a bird spreading its wings, was swinging slightly against his chest, but that was all.

As he began to recover, his mind finally woke up to reasons. In his panic, he had quite forgotten that the Burrows was being protected by experienced Aurors from day to night and night to day. Surely Draco Malfoy could never get past the guardians or the wards that were placed upon the Burrows?

It was just a dream, nothing more. And yet Harry was gravely unnerved by its vividness, the flash of the dagger was burnt deeply in his mind. A shiver coursed through Harry's veins as he was reminded of those other times when such visions had struck him without warning. For a long time, he sat unsleeping, curled up on the mattress, with the thick blanket enveloping him like a cocoon; but no amount of physical warmth could chase away the brisk chill that was threatening to freeze every part of his very being.

Dead silence permeated the air, as the half moon shone its eerie pale rays upon the earth, lighting the opening of the catacomb with secretive indigo. Before the mouth of the underground stood a boy of sixteen, clad in black, in his hand was a slender elder-wood wand, its tip emitting a blue glow that rivalled the sparks from ancient bones, illuminating the boy's face with a deathly pallor.

Without fear he ventured forth into the underbelly of earth, and was soon devoured by darkness. Stench of decaying flesh and damp mud floated into his nostrils, but it did not seem to bother Draco, as he confidently navigated through the winding passageways filled with rotting bones and ancient stonework, armed with naught but his wand.

At last he came to a small alcove where a single unadorned sarcophagus lay in wait for the one who was willing to awake the ghost within. The sarcophagus was covered with dirt and cobwebs, a testament of past forgotten in the great flow of time.

With a wave of his wand and a silent command, the lid of the sarcophagus slid to the side, revealing what it has been hiding all along. Without hesitation Draco walked up to the sarcophagus, and looked inside the sarcophagus with hard eyes that seemed suddenly to spark a glimmer of sinister gold.

When the moon was beginning to fall, the sarcophagus was slammed shut, creating an echoing boom beneath the underground cemetery that was reminiscent of god's fury. It was sealed once more, for it had accomplished its purpose, and here it shall remain sealed until the end of time.

Emerging from the chipped stone staircase was Draco, his right hand gripping his lit wand. Moonlight caressed his face with its soft touch, basking him in an oddly otherworldly light, as though he was a being unknown to this solid earth. When the flapping of wings and the harsh cries of the raven ripped through the silence in the deserted chapel ground, a mystical half-smile appeared upon his thin lips, and he spoke with clear amusement, "'The moon is like the moon,' hmm?" (2)

Hazy clouds moved swiftly to cover the moon like a maid hastening to cover up the naked form of her mistress. Soon the earth was invaded by utter darkness, and as the bell from a distant church tolled thrice, Draco Malfoy melted back into the shadow's cool embrace.

To be continued...

1. Chapter title comes from Coleridge's poem, The Night-mare Death in Life.

2. A line spoken by Herodias in Oscar Wilde's play, Salome: A Tragedy in One Act. In the play, most of the characters compare the moon to various things and persons, such as a little princess and a mad woman. But Herodias, perhaps the most sensible character in the whole play, is the only one who thinks the moon is just the moon.

A/N: Happy Beltane, or Happy May Day! Thank you very much for those of you who have read and reviewed my fics, and a further thanks to those who are reading this. First, a caution: there will be several different subplots woven into this story, so I hope you are up for the challenge. As for the DH element, I sincerely ask for your patience still.