Author's Note:
I apologize for the delay in the updating of this fic. To be honest, I lost interest in Harry Potter gasp I know, shocking isn't it? Until I came across the 5th book and my interest was re-sparked. Book 5 is now my favorite in the series - it was worth the wait
I tried to make this part worth the wait as well.
A Special Thanks To: Darcel - thank you for your relentless request for an update!! You're truly an inspiration :)
Hope you enjoy!
Usual disclaimers apply.
Discordant Harmony - Chapter 3
He lay there for an hour.
Four.
The sky darkened.
Draco cursed as he watched the first star twinkle into sight. Of all the damn luck, he thought. His damn luck, that was the cause of it all. Luck was the cause of him ending belly up in the Weasley yard with an invisible hippogriff-like force on top of him. Luck was the reason as to why he couldn't use magic to help him out of his current predicament.
'Yes, easier to do it that way,' a voice whispered in his head. 'Blame it all on something other then yourself, right, Drake? But wouldn't that be the easy way out?'
Draco's lips curved downwards. Easy way out? Of course not. It is the only way out. 'Stop lying' -an image accompanied the voice, an image of the boy in the cardboard hat grinning at him with two front teeth missing and his front shirt covered in chocolate - 'Can you really say that he had nothing to do with it?' That's right – nothing to do with it at all. 'But that's lying, isn't it?' –the same boy on his knees, the dead bodies of his loved ones spilled all around him in grotesque symmetry- 'That boy had everything to do with it.'
Unconsciously, Draco's head shook slowly from side to side. 'You felt disgusted: the whole scene got you disgusted. Voldemort's actions made you sick. His cruelty was wrong, right, Drake?' –the little boy sobbing and twisting on the floor under the Cruciatus Curse- 'That was disgustingly cruel. Even though he was a Mudblood – Mudbloods' "do not deserve this."' Draco's head shook faster. 'So Voldemort disgusts you. Meaning what, Drake?'
Draco closed his eyes.
'Voldemort disgusts you. Your father follows Voldemort.' –his father reading the Daily Prophet in the dining room hall with his hand knowingly or unknowingly caressing his mother's hand- 'Meaning what?' I love my father. 'You disgust your father.'
"Stop it," his voice was growing steadier, his fists curling up into fists.
'But that's not the real problem, though,' the voice continued and Draco's head was slowly beginning to pound. 'No, there's still the main problem, the one you have been avoiding. Do you know the problem, Drake?' I do not hear you... 'You're disgusted at yourself.'
Draco opened his eyes that he had unknowingly closed tight. The sky was dark and dozens more now accompanied that previous lone star. Was he disgusted at himself? The pounding in his head disappeared, the voice gone and the wind in the leaves the only sound to reach his ears. Draco breathed in deeply and for the first time in a long time, he smiled.
'Disgusted at myself?' A small chuckle escaped his dry lips. Ridiculous. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he whispered towards the sky above. The smile grew bigger and, with another first for a long time, he felt energy begin to flood back to his body. That hippogriff-force he had felt forcing him down before even seemed to lessen and he lifted his upper body high enough to turn over and get on all fours. He chuckled again, his spirits lifting. "Disgusted at myself?" he asked aloud, feeling the words on his tongue and found it satisfyingly alien to him. "Disgusted at myself." He crawled forward, crawling on all fours like a baby... like an animal. The thought surprised and amused him, allowing another chuckle to escape his lips. Yes, an animal. Right now he was just like an animal, crawling back towards the Weasley's house. A bloody animal on all fours, disgusted at himself.
He paused in his crawl. No, that was wrong. The smile faded and the pounding sensation he had felt earlier was slowly creeping its way back into his head. 'I'm disgusted at myself...?' "Bloody hell," he whispered as his left hand left the ground to go to his temple in an unconscious attempt to try and soothe the oncoming onslaught in his head. However, his hand never reached his temple. Rather his jaw careened into his hand as his now unsupported left side fell forward towards the floor and his already weakened right side, incapable of supporting all the weight, followed suit.
Draco saw stars and dots and swirls of other images for a while as his jaw joined in the mumbo jumbo that his stomach, head and now hand had began to play. Wonderful, he cursed as he blinked his eyes to 1) try to hold back the tears of pain, and 2) to see what exactly that weird brown shape that seemed to be moving in front of him was. When his eyes cleared, he was staring face to face with what seemed to be a gnome. What confused him at first was that his gnomes were usually very small and skinny. This particular gnome that sat on it's haunches and stared curiously at him was quite the opposite. It was at least twice the size of the gnome's he was used to and twice as wide as well.
"Aren't you well taken care of," he mumbled even though it felt as if fire was racing it's way across his jaw line as he spoke. The gnome cocked his head to the side. "Wish I could do that too without having my head slammed to the ground. Like so," Draco mumbled on, ignoring the pain, trying to ignore everything that was throbbing in his body. "But as you could probably see, I'm pretty much stuck here with my face in the dirt and I can't do anything about it." It was actually working. If he concentrated on talking, the rest of the pains seemed to be lessening. For a time anyway. The gnome now stood up and Draco felt many little hands on the back of his head. "There are more of you behind me?" The fat gnome walked closer to his face. Draco sighed as he closed his eyes. What a befitting way to end this miserable day. To be beaten by garden gnomes. Were gnomes carnivorous creatures? Draco wondered. He peeked open an eye to see if he'd be seeing pointy teeth appear from that fat one's mouth. He was even considering whether he should struggle if he should feel his body being bitten apart...
But instead, he felt stroking. Little caresses were making their ways around his head and this time Draco did feel something rise in him – surprise. He opened his eyes and he saw the fat one bending down, his hands under Draco's head and he was trying to raise his head up. An odd warmth rose from Draco's chest, the same kind of warmth he felt whenever his father would give him that swift curt nod that meant Draco had actually done something that pleased him and when his mother would put that slender hand of hers on his head whenever he returned home from Hogwarts. The gnome was straining harder now, the others behind his head also straining to lift Draco's head, to help him get up...
... Or not.
Draco looked downwards towards the ground and saw that he hadn't landed on his hand as he had believed. No, not at all. He landed on a gnome. A small gnome, it must have been a child. He lay still beneath his head and Draco thought it dead – before it began twitching. The warm feeling vanished. Bloody gnomes weren't trying to help him. They were trying to help this twitching gnome-kid. 'By Merlin, I've become a bloody tart,' he thought. But then an idea struck. Draco Malfoy, after all, cannot be a bloody tart. When his head was high enough for a full gnome to go underneath and grab the twitching gnome-kid, Draco slinked his hand from underneath and grabbed the twitching kid in his palm. The gnomes that were about his head froze.
Draco smiled.
"What are you doing? Don't stop," he said. The gnome-kid underneath his palm was beginning to still again. The gnomes holding his head still didn't move. "If you want this kid back, you better not stop," he said as he tightened his hold over what he held. The gnomes about his head made noises to each other, and even though Draco couldn't understand gnome-talk, he could still understand the tone: they would obey him.
'Disgusting?' that voice whispered to him, but he brushed the question aside.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said and a smile returned to his lips.
i.
"I'd appreciate it, Mudblood," a drawling voice said from the doorway, "if you stop talking about me as if you knew me." Draco Malfoy was leaning against the doorframe dirty as hell and staring daggers at Hermione. Five gnomes were crowded at both his ankles. "Because you don't."
He had meant to say that and then leave, but then Mrs. Weasley stood up and did something he did not expect her to do - nor anyone else. With a swift motion of her arm and thus her wand, she had summoned forth a chair and spellbound him to that said chair.
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, trying to reach for his wand even though he knew it would do no good. The spell was (surprisingly) very strong and even if he had his wand in his hand he couldn't have cast any more spells – he was completely drained.
He hated it.
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Fred, George - kindly make some room for Draco." Fred and George obliged and Mrs. Weasley cast another spell and Draco's chair was dragged to the table.
"You better let me go, Weasley, or I'll-!" But Draco was out of threats and he just let that one go, struggling more against the spell and getting dizzy because of his struggle. His stomach was twisting and turning inside him as his nose inhaled the pleasant scent of fried chicken, but he ignored it.
He'd rather die from starvation then eat food with a Weasley. And a Potter. And a Mudblood.
"Or you'll what?" Ron asked as little pieces of the fried chicken spilled from his mouth as he spoke. Hermione quickly nudged him and he swallowed his food before he continued. "What are you going to do, Draco?"
He didn't respond. This was partly due to the fact that the smell of the food was driving him mad and also partly due because he had nothing else to say. What would... what could he do? 'I could eat,' a little voice whispered inside him and his stomach grumbled as if in agreement. 'The meat must be tender and soft... and look at those potatoes...'
But he shook himself out of it. He won't. He won't-won't-won't-won't... and then Fred took a bite out of a leg in front of him and Draco felt his mouth fill with liquid and his teeth clack against each other in an involuntary chewing motion. His stomach grumbled again, louder this time. 'Never eat with a Weasley...' he thought as his eyes stayed fixated at the table with the plates that were crying out for him, welcoming him, urging him to just shut his fat trap, swallow his pride, and dig his teeth into the tender meat...
He shook his head. Then shook it some more. Mrs. Weasley was still standing, her welcoming smile unwavering as she watched Draco shake his head. Summoning a plate from the kitchen, she briskly began to top it with food. "Come now, Draco, you must be starving if your tummy is making such a protest," Mrs. Weasley said. But he continued to shake his head and she laid the plate in front of him. "What's wrong, Draco dear? Not hungry?" Another rumble filled the room as if in response to that question. "Draco–"
No. Draco stopped shaking his head and looked clearly towards the plate of food in front of him. He would rather eat a pile of shit then rely... receive help from a Weasley. Weasleys: a pureblood family that is disgracing the wizard name by associating with Muggles and Mudbloods. Looking straight at the food his stomach stopped growling. Actually, the pain disappeared altogether. Now he felt weak and tired and more then anything else, he felt like him again. His mind was clear. Looking up into Mrs. Weasley's eyes (such an odd glisten to them) he said, "I don't need anything from a Weasley."
He wasn't sure what to exactly expect as those words left his mouth. Perhaps a yell from that Ron prick or another explosion from that red fireball or possibly even a slap in the face by the mother Weasley (they are such disgraceful wizards after all) but no, none of those possibilities happened. Instead the mother Weasley just put the plate calmly down in front of him and took her seat. Ron said nothing and just continued to eat. That little fireball – Ginny, wasn't it? – began picking at her food (nudging away the peas, Draco observed) and Harry and Hermione were eating away. Not even the Weasley dad – Arthur – said anything to protect the family name. Since surely, they weren't stupid enough to think that he did not mean an insult?
"Well then, I'll leave the food there," Mrs. Weasley finally spoke up as she picked up her fork and spoon. "When you're hungry, you're welcome to eat it and any other food in the house. I just warn you to not touch any inconspicuous jars in the back of the cupboards – I don't know what Fred and George are concocting in those," she said with a half snort. Fred and George smiled at that remark.
Draco sat there and stared at her. Was this lady serious? "What?"
"Make yourself comfortable," the father Weasley answered and Draco, not expecting his response, jumped slightly startled, "is what Molly is trying to say." He gave Draco a smile and stabbed a broccoli with his fork. "But perhaps having you spellbound to a chair must have confused that message, eh, love?" He said to his wife as he took a bite off the broccoli head.
Molly giggled. "Don't worry," she said as she pointed towards him. "I don't plan to have you like that the whole time you're staying here."
"Oh? And how long do you plan to keep me imprisoned here?"
"Imprisoned?" Ron snorted. "We're saving your bloody undeserving ass Malfoy. You're lucky mum was nice enough to let you stay. If Dumbledore asked me, I would have let you rot in the Leaky Cauldron until one of the Death Eaters–"
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley yelled. Ron shut up immediately.
Draco's brows furrowed. 'We're saving your bloody undeserving ass': that's what Ron had said. 'Saving my ass.' Again that flash of the little boy on the floor crying, but this time Draco was standing in front of him – blocking him – because that was the only way the bloody tightness in his chest would disappear... because... 'Muggles do not deserve this.' His head felt the oncoming of yet another headache. Bloody hell... what had he done?! "Voldemort is after me."
Mr. Weasley shared a look with Mrs. Weasley, as if asking for permission on whether being blunt or not with him was okay. It must have been a yes because Mr. Weasley responded with a nod. "Yes, he is. As well as those–"
"Oh look at that! We ran out of mashed potatoes!" Mrs. Weasley briskly interrupted as she leaned forward and refilled the dish. In doing so she nudged Mr. Weasley (practically off his chair) and sent him that quick Shut- Up look that made him turn red.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "As well as those...?"
"It doesn't matter. Those things can be discussed later," Mrs. Weasley said. "So, Draco, dear." Draco looked at her, the pounding in his head thankfully receding to be replaced by that dull numbness that comes when you're starving. "Are you planning to eat?"
'Yes,' his mind answered, but his mouth stayed shut. "I don't need anything from a Weasley," he repeated.
Mrs. Weasley's oddly glistening eyes flinched from his words, but that glisten did not leave. "Well then, if I were to dispel the binds on you, what would you do?"
"What could I do?" Though he didn't like it, actually despised it, Draco knew he was cornered. Which is why he made the gnomes help him crawl his way to the Weasley house and not away from the Weasley house. Obviously he couldn't run away – there was some other sort of spell put into place that prevented him – and plus, he was not sure exactly where he could run to now that he thought of it. Voldemort is after him. Meaning all the Death Eaters are after him. His father... But no, he would not think of that. He couldn't...
"The smartest thing you've said all day," Ron said around his half-chewed food.
Mrs. Weasley clucked her tongue as she sent Ron a disapproving gaze. "Don't talk with your mouth full."
"But ma..."
"What did I just tell you, Ronniekins?" she asked and now her eyes went towards him. Ron grumbled, but did as she asked. Closing his mouth, he began to chew the remainder of his food.
If the circumstances were different, Draco would have laughed. Ron being reprimanded by his ma – it was just too hilarious. And the name? Ronniekins. C'mon! However, since he was starving to death and spellbound to a chair and his (bloody) pride was forbidding him to eat, he did not laugh. All he could muster was a smirk. Which was enough, for Ron at least.
"What are you smirking at, Malfoy?" His mouth still had food in it as he spoke and the smirk on Draco's mouth grew larger.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronniekins," Draco said. Fred and George snorted, George snorting hard enough that a few pieces of chicken left his mouth to land unceremoniously on Ginny's hand. The table became dead quiet as all stared at the half-eaten, saliva-covered, mixed-with-gravy chicken piece. At first Ginny seemed rather calm. Which surprised Draco, considering most of what he's seen come from her was one volcano eruption after another (though it was mostly his fault, but Draco would never admit that). Slowly and almost delicately she took her napkin and wiped it off. The chicken was wiped off first, then the saliva and finally the gravy that had traveled down the length of her thumb.
George gulped. Fred moved away from George. Draco, in the middle of the two twins, felt dread coming from the one on his left (the one who spit out the chicken piece) and pity from the other. "Now, Ginny, my loving, youngest and most favorite sister–"
"I'm your only sister, George," she replied, just as calmly, just as timidly. The dread around the table grew.
"Heh, yes, you are," George said as he nervously began to scrape his chair back. "Did I ever tell you how much you've matured over the years, Gin?"
"Really, George, how so?"
George was now slowly making his way up from the chair. "Well, like how it's been almost a month since you've last exploded. Well," he shared a look with Draco who was staring at the whole situation rather perplexed, "explosions towards your immediate family, of course." He had successfully risen from his chair and was now nervously tapping the back of it as he edged towards the makeshift back door.
Ginny, too, then stood up. Draco's brows lifted. In his interest towards the situation, his nausea, dizziness, and starvation receded slightly and his brain (and eyes) were again functioning properly to notice that the Weasley fireball was actually pretty attractive when she isn't screaming in your face. Though her red hair was flat and her skin dulled by her numerous freckles – by Merlin, even her lips were too thin for her heart shaped face – she was attractive. Draco's smirk grew. 'Wow... I'm really out of it, aren't I? What's next? I'll think Potter is attractive?' He gave an inside chuckle. 'Though he does have such bright green eyes...' Draco's eyes widened and his stomach curled in disgust. What had he just thought?! "Oh fucking hell!"
Ginny, ready to jump and pounce on her older brother to make him pay for spitting that disgusting ('No, Ginny, don't think about it') on her hand, was startled off as Draco Malfoy muttered those three devastatingly anguished words. Mrs. Weasley, concern written all over her face, leaped out of her chair and rushed to Draco's side.
Draco was still groaning and muttering the words over and over. "Dear, are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she placed both her hands on his cheeks so that she could look him face-to-face. "Oh my goodness, Arthur! He's burning up!"
Mr. Weasley got up and stood next to his wife and placed his hand on Draco's forehead. "I'll call for Madame Pomfrey..."
"I'm fine you bloody gits!" Draco mumbled. A fever? He hadn't had a cold since... since forever. As his father had said numerous times: Malfoys don't get sick.
But they ignored him. Mrs. Weasley's (cool and soft, Draco realized) hands still lingered on both his cheeks, soothing him into a somewhat lulled sleep. Arthur's hand was gently moving back and forth on his forehead. Perhaps wiping sweat away, though his head did not feel wet. He thought of his mother then, of how she would rub his forehead the same way Mr. Weasley was rubbing his forehead now whenever he had difficulty going back to sleep (this usually happening whenever he had a nightmare). Though Arthur's hand was much more rough, the motion was just as soothing and his eyes were beginning to get heavy.
"George... Fred... carry him to Ron's bed." Mrs. Weasley's voice was beginning to recede as his eyes closed and as Mr. Weasley's soothing caress refused to waver. Mrs. Weasley then let go of his cheeks, but his head stayed in place with Mr. Weasley's hand. The tightness around his torso and arms disappeared and he swayed forward. He should have opened his eyes and outstretched his arms to help stop the fall downwards, but Mr. Weasley's soothing caress had made him far too tired (added on to the previous exertions he had pulled only hours before) and not even such an elementary reflex could be performed. However, Fred and George seemed to have followed their mother's order because he fell into two pairs of arms.
He was readjusted as a pair of arms took his upper torso while a second his lower. His mind, clouded by black clouds and dots, could no longer halt the weariness enveloping him. Once he felt the soft mattress underneath his body and the blanket wrap around him, Draco succumbed to the darkness.
For the third time in two days, Draco blacked out.
ii.
It had been two days since Draco had fainted in the kitchen. Arthur Weasley sat alone in front of the fireplace. Everyone else in the Weasley household was sleeping in their beds, one particular guest against his will. Arthur grinned as he thought about his new houseguest. Draco Malfoy. He was so much like his father, Lucius, that it was unnerving. Did one of his sons (or did them all) resemble him as much as Draco did to Lucius? Arthur shook his head, his smile widening. He dear hoped not. The world would not be a very safe place if there were 5 Arthur Weasleys running amok. Though the world isn't a very safe place as of now, either...
'No.' Mentally willing himself away from that subject – of Voldemort and the raids and the death scenes that have been plaguing him for the past couple of days – he glanced towards the clock. It was half past midnight. He should be bone tired. And yes, he was. But he couldn't sleep. The lack of attacks made by Voldemort was making him nervous – nervous enough to be unable to get any shuteye. The trend that had been growing before the whole Draco fiasco was a growing amount of attacks against Muggles – not a decline. But ever since Draco had tried to save that boy... ever since Draco had been brought into his home... the attacks did indeed decline as well as everything else. It seemed as if everything was reverting back to normal. As if Voldemort was no longer out there. Which made the whole situation worse – it meant Voldemort was plotting something... something bigger to focus all his attention on...
'Do they know Draco is here?'
Arthur's eyes traveled up towards the ceiling and he visualized the prone body of the teenage boy in Ron's bed. Ginny must still be sitting next to him – or sleeping in a position that will make her ache all day later on today. At the thought of his daughter he couldn't help but smile. When Madame Pomfrey had been called and she announced that Draco had indeed caught a fever, his daughter had been mortified. Feeling responsible for his sickness, she had taken it upon herself to single-handedly nurse him back to health despite the objections of the rest of the family.
Arthur chuckled as his thoughts again strayed back to the Malfoy heir. He had to admit, he was proud of the boy. It took guts to do what he did. It took a hell of a lot of balls to save a Muggle life in front of the eyes of your own Muggle-hating father and that horrible monster. Arthur smiled. Yes, he was very proud of him.
The warmth of the fire and the soft cushion of the couch was finally beginning to take it's effects on his tired mind as it slipped into more pleasant thoughts: of days before Voldemort's rising, of days when all his worries were directed on rogue teapots and other miscellaneous Muggle- enchanted objects.
And then he felt it. It was like a spring breeze as a flow of air brushed against his cheek. Arthur's eyes immediately opened as his hand went to his wand. "Who's there?" he asked as he turned around in a full circle. But there was no one. Again he felt that breeze and he realized it was coming from the front door, seeping through the cracks between the doorframe and door. Arthur moved closer to the door, his hands in front of him making sure the origins were indeed originating from there. As his hand neared the side crack, he indeed felt that breeze. He glanced towards the windows. They were open. The drapes were not moving.
"Who is there?" He now asked, loud enough so that whoever (or whomever) was behind the door could hear, but low enough so that no one upstairs would wake. Maybe he should call down the twins...
There was no answer to his question, but rather the wind just grew stronger. Arthur pictured his sleeping wife, his children in their beds, of Harry and Hermione sleeping peacefully in their cots, and of Draco. Draco. Arthur raised his wand towards the door. It could be nothing and it could be everything. He will not risk it. "Reducto!" A flash of orange shot forth from his wand and at the door and in a matter of seconds, the door was reduced into splinters. But Arthur was not done. With another flick of his wand, he was about to cast his next spell to freeze whoever was there, but as the spell began to leave his mouth, the dust cleared to show he faced an empty front porch. Arthur sputtered the spell to a stop.
"Still as rash and idiotic as ever, I see," a voice said. Lucius Malfoy stepped into view from the side of the door. "Hello, Weasley."
Arthur raised his wand, ready to cast the freezing charm, but Lucius raised both his hands to show that he was not holding a wand. "Don't. It's not needed." Arthur still kept his wand pointed at Lucius's body.
"Why are you here?"
"You know why," Lucius replied, his dark blue eyes staring straight into Arthur's brown ones. "We're both fathers."
Arthur's wand hand faltered slightly, but it did not go down. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."
Lucius lowered his hands to his sides. "Are you going to continue to point that wand of yours at me forever or are you going to be civilized and invite me in to, I don't know, sit down and have tea?"
"Why would I ever do that?"
Lucius chuckled, his teeth appearing to show perfect white rows. "C'mon, Weasley, I thought you were among the 'good guys'. Don't you do such hospitable things?" He chuckled some more, but as he saw that his little joke did nothing to soften Weasley's countenance against him, he once again raised his arms to show he held no wand. "Or we can continue to stand here with my hands up and your wand pointed at me if it makes you feel better."
Arthur grinned, shocking himself. Lucius Malfoy actually made a joke that was neither insulting nor degrading towards him or anybody else. "Give me your wand then."
Lucius's lips turned downwards. "Absolutely not. I don't want your Muggle- loving hands touching–" But then he stopped himself. 'There are more important matters to discuss, Lucius,' he thought to himself and with a lot (an enormous) amount of effort, he drew his wand and for the first time in a very long time, he gave it over to someone else. He was surprised to feel somewhat naked without that length of wood neither in his hands nor in his pocket.
When the wand was in his hand, Arthur turned around and repaired the door with a quick repairing charm. Turning back towards this midnight visitor, Arthur asked, "So what is so urgent that you actually gave up your wand to me, Malfoy?"
Lucius sighed as he took a moment to glance at the night sky above. "You know why, Arthur."
"No, I don't–"
"Yes, you do," Lucius cut in as he now stared directly into Arthur's eyes. "How is he?"
Arthur frowned. There was no way Lucius could have found out that Draco was here. And yet, what he was asking... "If you're referring to my sons, they're fine."
Lucius's thin lips took a downward turn yet again. "How is Draco?"
Arthur's brows rose. He didn't answer. Instead his eyes surveyed the area around his house. Nothing moved. At least, none he could detect. What if this was an ambush? Which would explain why Lucius gave up his wand so easily. He wouldn't need it if he had backup. "Bloody hell," he whispered as he took a step back and raised his wand.
But Lucius, faster then Arthur had ever remembered him, in a swift motion came to him and grabbed hold of his wrists preventing him from casting any spells and tightening them with enough pressure that Arthur's hold on both wands were lost. Both wands dropped to the floor. "I already told you, Weasley, I'm not here to hurt you. If I had, I could have killed you twice over already." Letting go of Arthur's wrists, he stepped back and smoothed out his robes. "I'm not planning on getting Draco back."
Arthur, rubbing his wrists, paused as he looked again into those dark eyes. For years he had always looked into those eyes to be met with a coldness and malice that had him shaking even though he refused to show it. And yet now, that coldness and malice was gone. What was replacing it was something Arthur himself could not believe: Worry, it was worry.
Lucius growled and ran a hand through his sleek blonde hair. "So how is he doing?"
"'We're both fathers', huh?" Arthur said aloud and when he caught Lucius's narrowing eyes, this time Arthur did chuckle. "The Malfoys are full of surprises." Lucius, seeming about to retort with an insult, was forced quiet as Arthur continued before Lucius could ruin the moment of understanding between them. "He's doing fine. Still recovering, but getting better." As those words left his mouth, Arthur caught the visual show of relief pass its way over Lucius's usually emotionless face.
"I'm glad." Just as quickly as the relief was shown on his face, it was quickly erased. But not fast enough. Arthur felt a smile form on his lips. Lucius, catching the smile, scowled some more. "What are you smiling about, Weasley?"
"It's glad to know you have a heart, Malfoy."
Lucius rolled his. "If that's what you call it." Bending down, he picked up his wand and was quickly comforted by the feel of its smooth wooden surface against the palm of his hands. "Don't start thinking that this changes anything between us," he said as he put his wand in his robes.
"But doesn't it?" Arthur asked as he also picked up his wand and pocketed it. "Lucius... the Order could use your help..."
"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius snapped, his eyes back towards the sky. "Me? In the Order? To what? Protect stupid Muggles?"
"Your son did just that. He protected a 'stupid' Muggle."
"And look at what it gets him!" Lucius shook his head. "Now Voldemort is after him. The Death Eaters are after him." Arthur joined Lucius's gaze towards the sky, trying to figure out what exactly it was that Lucius was staring towards. "I was ordered to kill him." Arthur's eyes caught what it was that Lucius was staring at. It was the constellation Draco, the dragon. "And though it's a direct order from Him, even though I know if I don't do it he'd kill me or worse... he'd hurt Narcissa..." His voice faltered and Arthur glanced at this man he thought he knew so well, but realizing that he didn't. "I... I can't..."
"We're both fathers," Arthur repeated that simple phrase that meant so much. He tried to imagine what he would do if Dumbledore asked him to sacrifice Ron or Fred or any of his kids in order to help the cause and he wondered if he could do it... even if it meant the permanent defeat of Voldemort... The thought caused his chest to constrict and the understanding that had begun to form grew between the two men. 'We're both fathers.' "What do you plan to do?"
Lucius again shook his head. "I don't know."
They went silent, their eyes towards the ground, both with the burden of their problems evident and exposed to one another. Arthur was about to speak up, to again offer membership into the Order, even thinking of ways to secure the whole Malfoy family's safety, but before he could say anything, Lucius took a step back and nodded his head towards him in a gesture of farewell.
"You will never knew how hard this is for me to say," Lucius began as he took his wand out of his pocket, "but, thank you. Thank you for helping my son."
"I think I understand your Malfoy shame," Arthur joked and he caught a smirk on Lucius's face at his comment. "And you're welcome," Arthur said.
"This changes nothing between us, you understand? I'm a Death Eater. You're part of the Order. Next time we meet, Arthur Weasley, there will be no chit chat."
Arthur nodded, his eyes holding Lucius's eyes. "I hope then we won't meet till everything is over, Lucius."
Lucius at first did not respond, but then he gave a little nod that would have been missed if Arthur wasn't expecting it. "Tell Draco: Exsisto tutus." And with that, Lucius Disapparated and was gone. Arthur leaned back on the door behind him and stared up towards the constellation that may have been the inspiration of Draco's naming. 'Exsisto tutus, huh? Be safe.' Though matters just got more complicated – the conversation must immediately be retold to Dumbledore and discussed – Arthur couldn't stop the smile on his lips grow.
"Malfoys are full of surprises," he whispered up towards the dragon in the sky.
.:. TBC .:.
So how was that? I'm unsure of the next update considering this story is taking it's own spin into a totally different direction then planned. Stories really do write themselves, huh? But I'll try to get the next part out in less then a year v
Also, I'm doubtful whether 'Exsisto tutus' truly does mean 'Be safe' considering I used one of those online translators, but if you know that it's wrong and know the proper Latin, then I'd be very grateful if you could correct me! Thanks! =)
I hope you all enjoyed.
cyn
I apologize for the delay in the updating of this fic. To be honest, I lost interest in Harry Potter gasp I know, shocking isn't it? Until I came across the 5th book and my interest was re-sparked. Book 5 is now my favorite in the series - it was worth the wait
I tried to make this part worth the wait as well.
A Special Thanks To: Darcel - thank you for your relentless request for an update!! You're truly an inspiration :)
Hope you enjoy!
Usual disclaimers apply.
Discordant Harmony - Chapter 3
He lay there for an hour.
Four.
The sky darkened.
Draco cursed as he watched the first star twinkle into sight. Of all the damn luck, he thought. His damn luck, that was the cause of it all. Luck was the cause of him ending belly up in the Weasley yard with an invisible hippogriff-like force on top of him. Luck was the reason as to why he couldn't use magic to help him out of his current predicament.
'Yes, easier to do it that way,' a voice whispered in his head. 'Blame it all on something other then yourself, right, Drake? But wouldn't that be the easy way out?'
Draco's lips curved downwards. Easy way out? Of course not. It is the only way out. 'Stop lying' -an image accompanied the voice, an image of the boy in the cardboard hat grinning at him with two front teeth missing and his front shirt covered in chocolate - 'Can you really say that he had nothing to do with it?' That's right – nothing to do with it at all. 'But that's lying, isn't it?' –the same boy on his knees, the dead bodies of his loved ones spilled all around him in grotesque symmetry- 'That boy had everything to do with it.'
Unconsciously, Draco's head shook slowly from side to side. 'You felt disgusted: the whole scene got you disgusted. Voldemort's actions made you sick. His cruelty was wrong, right, Drake?' –the little boy sobbing and twisting on the floor under the Cruciatus Curse- 'That was disgustingly cruel. Even though he was a Mudblood – Mudbloods' "do not deserve this."' Draco's head shook faster. 'So Voldemort disgusts you. Meaning what, Drake?'
Draco closed his eyes.
'Voldemort disgusts you. Your father follows Voldemort.' –his father reading the Daily Prophet in the dining room hall with his hand knowingly or unknowingly caressing his mother's hand- 'Meaning what?' I love my father. 'You disgust your father.'
"Stop it," his voice was growing steadier, his fists curling up into fists.
'But that's not the real problem, though,' the voice continued and Draco's head was slowly beginning to pound. 'No, there's still the main problem, the one you have been avoiding. Do you know the problem, Drake?' I do not hear you... 'You're disgusted at yourself.'
Draco opened his eyes that he had unknowingly closed tight. The sky was dark and dozens more now accompanied that previous lone star. Was he disgusted at himself? The pounding in his head disappeared, the voice gone and the wind in the leaves the only sound to reach his ears. Draco breathed in deeply and for the first time in a long time, he smiled.
'Disgusted at myself?' A small chuckle escaped his dry lips. Ridiculous. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he whispered towards the sky above. The smile grew bigger and, with another first for a long time, he felt energy begin to flood back to his body. That hippogriff-force he had felt forcing him down before even seemed to lessen and he lifted his upper body high enough to turn over and get on all fours. He chuckled again, his spirits lifting. "Disgusted at myself?" he asked aloud, feeling the words on his tongue and found it satisfyingly alien to him. "Disgusted at myself." He crawled forward, crawling on all fours like a baby... like an animal. The thought surprised and amused him, allowing another chuckle to escape his lips. Yes, an animal. Right now he was just like an animal, crawling back towards the Weasley's house. A bloody animal on all fours, disgusted at himself.
He paused in his crawl. No, that was wrong. The smile faded and the pounding sensation he had felt earlier was slowly creeping its way back into his head. 'I'm disgusted at myself...?' "Bloody hell," he whispered as his left hand left the ground to go to his temple in an unconscious attempt to try and soothe the oncoming onslaught in his head. However, his hand never reached his temple. Rather his jaw careened into his hand as his now unsupported left side fell forward towards the floor and his already weakened right side, incapable of supporting all the weight, followed suit.
Draco saw stars and dots and swirls of other images for a while as his jaw joined in the mumbo jumbo that his stomach, head and now hand had began to play. Wonderful, he cursed as he blinked his eyes to 1) try to hold back the tears of pain, and 2) to see what exactly that weird brown shape that seemed to be moving in front of him was. When his eyes cleared, he was staring face to face with what seemed to be a gnome. What confused him at first was that his gnomes were usually very small and skinny. This particular gnome that sat on it's haunches and stared curiously at him was quite the opposite. It was at least twice the size of the gnome's he was used to and twice as wide as well.
"Aren't you well taken care of," he mumbled even though it felt as if fire was racing it's way across his jaw line as he spoke. The gnome cocked his head to the side. "Wish I could do that too without having my head slammed to the ground. Like so," Draco mumbled on, ignoring the pain, trying to ignore everything that was throbbing in his body. "But as you could probably see, I'm pretty much stuck here with my face in the dirt and I can't do anything about it." It was actually working. If he concentrated on talking, the rest of the pains seemed to be lessening. For a time anyway. The gnome now stood up and Draco felt many little hands on the back of his head. "There are more of you behind me?" The fat gnome walked closer to his face. Draco sighed as he closed his eyes. What a befitting way to end this miserable day. To be beaten by garden gnomes. Were gnomes carnivorous creatures? Draco wondered. He peeked open an eye to see if he'd be seeing pointy teeth appear from that fat one's mouth. He was even considering whether he should struggle if he should feel his body being bitten apart...
But instead, he felt stroking. Little caresses were making their ways around his head and this time Draco did feel something rise in him – surprise. He opened his eyes and he saw the fat one bending down, his hands under Draco's head and he was trying to raise his head up. An odd warmth rose from Draco's chest, the same kind of warmth he felt whenever his father would give him that swift curt nod that meant Draco had actually done something that pleased him and when his mother would put that slender hand of hers on his head whenever he returned home from Hogwarts. The gnome was straining harder now, the others behind his head also straining to lift Draco's head, to help him get up...
... Or not.
Draco looked downwards towards the ground and saw that he hadn't landed on his hand as he had believed. No, not at all. He landed on a gnome. A small gnome, it must have been a child. He lay still beneath his head and Draco thought it dead – before it began twitching. The warm feeling vanished. Bloody gnomes weren't trying to help him. They were trying to help this twitching gnome-kid. 'By Merlin, I've become a bloody tart,' he thought. But then an idea struck. Draco Malfoy, after all, cannot be a bloody tart. When his head was high enough for a full gnome to go underneath and grab the twitching gnome-kid, Draco slinked his hand from underneath and grabbed the twitching kid in his palm. The gnomes that were about his head froze.
Draco smiled.
"What are you doing? Don't stop," he said. The gnome-kid underneath his palm was beginning to still again. The gnomes holding his head still didn't move. "If you want this kid back, you better not stop," he said as he tightened his hold over what he held. The gnomes about his head made noises to each other, and even though Draco couldn't understand gnome-talk, he could still understand the tone: they would obey him.
'Disgusting?' that voice whispered to him, but he brushed the question aside.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said and a smile returned to his lips.
i.
"I'd appreciate it, Mudblood," a drawling voice said from the doorway, "if you stop talking about me as if you knew me." Draco Malfoy was leaning against the doorframe dirty as hell and staring daggers at Hermione. Five gnomes were crowded at both his ankles. "Because you don't."
He had meant to say that and then leave, but then Mrs. Weasley stood up and did something he did not expect her to do - nor anyone else. With a swift motion of her arm and thus her wand, she had summoned forth a chair and spellbound him to that said chair.
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, trying to reach for his wand even though he knew it would do no good. The spell was (surprisingly) very strong and even if he had his wand in his hand he couldn't have cast any more spells – he was completely drained.
He hated it.
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Fred, George - kindly make some room for Draco." Fred and George obliged and Mrs. Weasley cast another spell and Draco's chair was dragged to the table.
"You better let me go, Weasley, or I'll-!" But Draco was out of threats and he just let that one go, struggling more against the spell and getting dizzy because of his struggle. His stomach was twisting and turning inside him as his nose inhaled the pleasant scent of fried chicken, but he ignored it.
He'd rather die from starvation then eat food with a Weasley. And a Potter. And a Mudblood.
"Or you'll what?" Ron asked as little pieces of the fried chicken spilled from his mouth as he spoke. Hermione quickly nudged him and he swallowed his food before he continued. "What are you going to do, Draco?"
He didn't respond. This was partly due to the fact that the smell of the food was driving him mad and also partly due because he had nothing else to say. What would... what could he do? 'I could eat,' a little voice whispered inside him and his stomach grumbled as if in agreement. 'The meat must be tender and soft... and look at those potatoes...'
But he shook himself out of it. He won't. He won't-won't-won't-won't... and then Fred took a bite out of a leg in front of him and Draco felt his mouth fill with liquid and his teeth clack against each other in an involuntary chewing motion. His stomach grumbled again, louder this time. 'Never eat with a Weasley...' he thought as his eyes stayed fixated at the table with the plates that were crying out for him, welcoming him, urging him to just shut his fat trap, swallow his pride, and dig his teeth into the tender meat...
He shook his head. Then shook it some more. Mrs. Weasley was still standing, her welcoming smile unwavering as she watched Draco shake his head. Summoning a plate from the kitchen, she briskly began to top it with food. "Come now, Draco, you must be starving if your tummy is making such a protest," Mrs. Weasley said. But he continued to shake his head and she laid the plate in front of him. "What's wrong, Draco dear? Not hungry?" Another rumble filled the room as if in response to that question. "Draco–"
No. Draco stopped shaking his head and looked clearly towards the plate of food in front of him. He would rather eat a pile of shit then rely... receive help from a Weasley. Weasleys: a pureblood family that is disgracing the wizard name by associating with Muggles and Mudbloods. Looking straight at the food his stomach stopped growling. Actually, the pain disappeared altogether. Now he felt weak and tired and more then anything else, he felt like him again. His mind was clear. Looking up into Mrs. Weasley's eyes (such an odd glisten to them) he said, "I don't need anything from a Weasley."
He wasn't sure what to exactly expect as those words left his mouth. Perhaps a yell from that Ron prick or another explosion from that red fireball or possibly even a slap in the face by the mother Weasley (they are such disgraceful wizards after all) but no, none of those possibilities happened. Instead the mother Weasley just put the plate calmly down in front of him and took her seat. Ron said nothing and just continued to eat. That little fireball – Ginny, wasn't it? – began picking at her food (nudging away the peas, Draco observed) and Harry and Hermione were eating away. Not even the Weasley dad – Arthur – said anything to protect the family name. Since surely, they weren't stupid enough to think that he did not mean an insult?
"Well then, I'll leave the food there," Mrs. Weasley finally spoke up as she picked up her fork and spoon. "When you're hungry, you're welcome to eat it and any other food in the house. I just warn you to not touch any inconspicuous jars in the back of the cupboards – I don't know what Fred and George are concocting in those," she said with a half snort. Fred and George smiled at that remark.
Draco sat there and stared at her. Was this lady serious? "What?"
"Make yourself comfortable," the father Weasley answered and Draco, not expecting his response, jumped slightly startled, "is what Molly is trying to say." He gave Draco a smile and stabbed a broccoli with his fork. "But perhaps having you spellbound to a chair must have confused that message, eh, love?" He said to his wife as he took a bite off the broccoli head.
Molly giggled. "Don't worry," she said as she pointed towards him. "I don't plan to have you like that the whole time you're staying here."
"Oh? And how long do you plan to keep me imprisoned here?"
"Imprisoned?" Ron snorted. "We're saving your bloody undeserving ass Malfoy. You're lucky mum was nice enough to let you stay. If Dumbledore asked me, I would have let you rot in the Leaky Cauldron until one of the Death Eaters–"
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley yelled. Ron shut up immediately.
Draco's brows furrowed. 'We're saving your bloody undeserving ass': that's what Ron had said. 'Saving my ass.' Again that flash of the little boy on the floor crying, but this time Draco was standing in front of him – blocking him – because that was the only way the bloody tightness in his chest would disappear... because... 'Muggles do not deserve this.' His head felt the oncoming of yet another headache. Bloody hell... what had he done?! "Voldemort is after me."
Mr. Weasley shared a look with Mrs. Weasley, as if asking for permission on whether being blunt or not with him was okay. It must have been a yes because Mr. Weasley responded with a nod. "Yes, he is. As well as those–"
"Oh look at that! We ran out of mashed potatoes!" Mrs. Weasley briskly interrupted as she leaned forward and refilled the dish. In doing so she nudged Mr. Weasley (practically off his chair) and sent him that quick Shut- Up look that made him turn red.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "As well as those...?"
"It doesn't matter. Those things can be discussed later," Mrs. Weasley said. "So, Draco, dear." Draco looked at her, the pounding in his head thankfully receding to be replaced by that dull numbness that comes when you're starving. "Are you planning to eat?"
'Yes,' his mind answered, but his mouth stayed shut. "I don't need anything from a Weasley," he repeated.
Mrs. Weasley's oddly glistening eyes flinched from his words, but that glisten did not leave. "Well then, if I were to dispel the binds on you, what would you do?"
"What could I do?" Though he didn't like it, actually despised it, Draco knew he was cornered. Which is why he made the gnomes help him crawl his way to the Weasley house and not away from the Weasley house. Obviously he couldn't run away – there was some other sort of spell put into place that prevented him – and plus, he was not sure exactly where he could run to now that he thought of it. Voldemort is after him. Meaning all the Death Eaters are after him. His father... But no, he would not think of that. He couldn't...
"The smartest thing you've said all day," Ron said around his half-chewed food.
Mrs. Weasley clucked her tongue as she sent Ron a disapproving gaze. "Don't talk with your mouth full."
"But ma..."
"What did I just tell you, Ronniekins?" she asked and now her eyes went towards him. Ron grumbled, but did as she asked. Closing his mouth, he began to chew the remainder of his food.
If the circumstances were different, Draco would have laughed. Ron being reprimanded by his ma – it was just too hilarious. And the name? Ronniekins. C'mon! However, since he was starving to death and spellbound to a chair and his (bloody) pride was forbidding him to eat, he did not laugh. All he could muster was a smirk. Which was enough, for Ron at least.
"What are you smirking at, Malfoy?" His mouth still had food in it as he spoke and the smirk on Draco's mouth grew larger.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronniekins," Draco said. Fred and George snorted, George snorting hard enough that a few pieces of chicken left his mouth to land unceremoniously on Ginny's hand. The table became dead quiet as all stared at the half-eaten, saliva-covered, mixed-with-gravy chicken piece. At first Ginny seemed rather calm. Which surprised Draco, considering most of what he's seen come from her was one volcano eruption after another (though it was mostly his fault, but Draco would never admit that). Slowly and almost delicately she took her napkin and wiped it off. The chicken was wiped off first, then the saliva and finally the gravy that had traveled down the length of her thumb.
George gulped. Fred moved away from George. Draco, in the middle of the two twins, felt dread coming from the one on his left (the one who spit out the chicken piece) and pity from the other. "Now, Ginny, my loving, youngest and most favorite sister–"
"I'm your only sister, George," she replied, just as calmly, just as timidly. The dread around the table grew.
"Heh, yes, you are," George said as he nervously began to scrape his chair back. "Did I ever tell you how much you've matured over the years, Gin?"
"Really, George, how so?"
George was now slowly making his way up from the chair. "Well, like how it's been almost a month since you've last exploded. Well," he shared a look with Draco who was staring at the whole situation rather perplexed, "explosions towards your immediate family, of course." He had successfully risen from his chair and was now nervously tapping the back of it as he edged towards the makeshift back door.
Ginny, too, then stood up. Draco's brows lifted. In his interest towards the situation, his nausea, dizziness, and starvation receded slightly and his brain (and eyes) were again functioning properly to notice that the Weasley fireball was actually pretty attractive when she isn't screaming in your face. Though her red hair was flat and her skin dulled by her numerous freckles – by Merlin, even her lips were too thin for her heart shaped face – she was attractive. Draco's smirk grew. 'Wow... I'm really out of it, aren't I? What's next? I'll think Potter is attractive?' He gave an inside chuckle. 'Though he does have such bright green eyes...' Draco's eyes widened and his stomach curled in disgust. What had he just thought?! "Oh fucking hell!"
Ginny, ready to jump and pounce on her older brother to make him pay for spitting that disgusting ('No, Ginny, don't think about it') on her hand, was startled off as Draco Malfoy muttered those three devastatingly anguished words. Mrs. Weasley, concern written all over her face, leaped out of her chair and rushed to Draco's side.
Draco was still groaning and muttering the words over and over. "Dear, are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she placed both her hands on his cheeks so that she could look him face-to-face. "Oh my goodness, Arthur! He's burning up!"
Mr. Weasley got up and stood next to his wife and placed his hand on Draco's forehead. "I'll call for Madame Pomfrey..."
"I'm fine you bloody gits!" Draco mumbled. A fever? He hadn't had a cold since... since forever. As his father had said numerous times: Malfoys don't get sick.
But they ignored him. Mrs. Weasley's (cool and soft, Draco realized) hands still lingered on both his cheeks, soothing him into a somewhat lulled sleep. Arthur's hand was gently moving back and forth on his forehead. Perhaps wiping sweat away, though his head did not feel wet. He thought of his mother then, of how she would rub his forehead the same way Mr. Weasley was rubbing his forehead now whenever he had difficulty going back to sleep (this usually happening whenever he had a nightmare). Though Arthur's hand was much more rough, the motion was just as soothing and his eyes were beginning to get heavy.
"George... Fred... carry him to Ron's bed." Mrs. Weasley's voice was beginning to recede as his eyes closed and as Mr. Weasley's soothing caress refused to waver. Mrs. Weasley then let go of his cheeks, but his head stayed in place with Mr. Weasley's hand. The tightness around his torso and arms disappeared and he swayed forward. He should have opened his eyes and outstretched his arms to help stop the fall downwards, but Mr. Weasley's soothing caress had made him far too tired (added on to the previous exertions he had pulled only hours before) and not even such an elementary reflex could be performed. However, Fred and George seemed to have followed their mother's order because he fell into two pairs of arms.
He was readjusted as a pair of arms took his upper torso while a second his lower. His mind, clouded by black clouds and dots, could no longer halt the weariness enveloping him. Once he felt the soft mattress underneath his body and the blanket wrap around him, Draco succumbed to the darkness.
For the third time in two days, Draco blacked out.
ii.
It had been two days since Draco had fainted in the kitchen. Arthur Weasley sat alone in front of the fireplace. Everyone else in the Weasley household was sleeping in their beds, one particular guest against his will. Arthur grinned as he thought about his new houseguest. Draco Malfoy. He was so much like his father, Lucius, that it was unnerving. Did one of his sons (or did them all) resemble him as much as Draco did to Lucius? Arthur shook his head, his smile widening. He dear hoped not. The world would not be a very safe place if there were 5 Arthur Weasleys running amok. Though the world isn't a very safe place as of now, either...
'No.' Mentally willing himself away from that subject – of Voldemort and the raids and the death scenes that have been plaguing him for the past couple of days – he glanced towards the clock. It was half past midnight. He should be bone tired. And yes, he was. But he couldn't sleep. The lack of attacks made by Voldemort was making him nervous – nervous enough to be unable to get any shuteye. The trend that had been growing before the whole Draco fiasco was a growing amount of attacks against Muggles – not a decline. But ever since Draco had tried to save that boy... ever since Draco had been brought into his home... the attacks did indeed decline as well as everything else. It seemed as if everything was reverting back to normal. As if Voldemort was no longer out there. Which made the whole situation worse – it meant Voldemort was plotting something... something bigger to focus all his attention on...
'Do they know Draco is here?'
Arthur's eyes traveled up towards the ceiling and he visualized the prone body of the teenage boy in Ron's bed. Ginny must still be sitting next to him – or sleeping in a position that will make her ache all day later on today. At the thought of his daughter he couldn't help but smile. When Madame Pomfrey had been called and she announced that Draco had indeed caught a fever, his daughter had been mortified. Feeling responsible for his sickness, she had taken it upon herself to single-handedly nurse him back to health despite the objections of the rest of the family.
Arthur chuckled as his thoughts again strayed back to the Malfoy heir. He had to admit, he was proud of the boy. It took guts to do what he did. It took a hell of a lot of balls to save a Muggle life in front of the eyes of your own Muggle-hating father and that horrible monster. Arthur smiled. Yes, he was very proud of him.
The warmth of the fire and the soft cushion of the couch was finally beginning to take it's effects on his tired mind as it slipped into more pleasant thoughts: of days before Voldemort's rising, of days when all his worries were directed on rogue teapots and other miscellaneous Muggle- enchanted objects.
And then he felt it. It was like a spring breeze as a flow of air brushed against his cheek. Arthur's eyes immediately opened as his hand went to his wand. "Who's there?" he asked as he turned around in a full circle. But there was no one. Again he felt that breeze and he realized it was coming from the front door, seeping through the cracks between the doorframe and door. Arthur moved closer to the door, his hands in front of him making sure the origins were indeed originating from there. As his hand neared the side crack, he indeed felt that breeze. He glanced towards the windows. They were open. The drapes were not moving.
"Who is there?" He now asked, loud enough so that whoever (or whomever) was behind the door could hear, but low enough so that no one upstairs would wake. Maybe he should call down the twins...
There was no answer to his question, but rather the wind just grew stronger. Arthur pictured his sleeping wife, his children in their beds, of Harry and Hermione sleeping peacefully in their cots, and of Draco. Draco. Arthur raised his wand towards the door. It could be nothing and it could be everything. He will not risk it. "Reducto!" A flash of orange shot forth from his wand and at the door and in a matter of seconds, the door was reduced into splinters. But Arthur was not done. With another flick of his wand, he was about to cast his next spell to freeze whoever was there, but as the spell began to leave his mouth, the dust cleared to show he faced an empty front porch. Arthur sputtered the spell to a stop.
"Still as rash and idiotic as ever, I see," a voice said. Lucius Malfoy stepped into view from the side of the door. "Hello, Weasley."
Arthur raised his wand, ready to cast the freezing charm, but Lucius raised both his hands to show that he was not holding a wand. "Don't. It's not needed." Arthur still kept his wand pointed at Lucius's body.
"Why are you here?"
"You know why," Lucius replied, his dark blue eyes staring straight into Arthur's brown ones. "We're both fathers."
Arthur's wand hand faltered slightly, but it did not go down. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."
Lucius lowered his hands to his sides. "Are you going to continue to point that wand of yours at me forever or are you going to be civilized and invite me in to, I don't know, sit down and have tea?"
"Why would I ever do that?"
Lucius chuckled, his teeth appearing to show perfect white rows. "C'mon, Weasley, I thought you were among the 'good guys'. Don't you do such hospitable things?" He chuckled some more, but as he saw that his little joke did nothing to soften Weasley's countenance against him, he once again raised his arms to show he held no wand. "Or we can continue to stand here with my hands up and your wand pointed at me if it makes you feel better."
Arthur grinned, shocking himself. Lucius Malfoy actually made a joke that was neither insulting nor degrading towards him or anybody else. "Give me your wand then."
Lucius's lips turned downwards. "Absolutely not. I don't want your Muggle- loving hands touching–" But then he stopped himself. 'There are more important matters to discuss, Lucius,' he thought to himself and with a lot (an enormous) amount of effort, he drew his wand and for the first time in a very long time, he gave it over to someone else. He was surprised to feel somewhat naked without that length of wood neither in his hands nor in his pocket.
When the wand was in his hand, Arthur turned around and repaired the door with a quick repairing charm. Turning back towards this midnight visitor, Arthur asked, "So what is so urgent that you actually gave up your wand to me, Malfoy?"
Lucius sighed as he took a moment to glance at the night sky above. "You know why, Arthur."
"No, I don't–"
"Yes, you do," Lucius cut in as he now stared directly into Arthur's eyes. "How is he?"
Arthur frowned. There was no way Lucius could have found out that Draco was here. And yet, what he was asking... "If you're referring to my sons, they're fine."
Lucius's thin lips took a downward turn yet again. "How is Draco?"
Arthur's brows rose. He didn't answer. Instead his eyes surveyed the area around his house. Nothing moved. At least, none he could detect. What if this was an ambush? Which would explain why Lucius gave up his wand so easily. He wouldn't need it if he had backup. "Bloody hell," he whispered as he took a step back and raised his wand.
But Lucius, faster then Arthur had ever remembered him, in a swift motion came to him and grabbed hold of his wrists preventing him from casting any spells and tightening them with enough pressure that Arthur's hold on both wands were lost. Both wands dropped to the floor. "I already told you, Weasley, I'm not here to hurt you. If I had, I could have killed you twice over already." Letting go of Arthur's wrists, he stepped back and smoothed out his robes. "I'm not planning on getting Draco back."
Arthur, rubbing his wrists, paused as he looked again into those dark eyes. For years he had always looked into those eyes to be met with a coldness and malice that had him shaking even though he refused to show it. And yet now, that coldness and malice was gone. What was replacing it was something Arthur himself could not believe: Worry, it was worry.
Lucius growled and ran a hand through his sleek blonde hair. "So how is he doing?"
"'We're both fathers', huh?" Arthur said aloud and when he caught Lucius's narrowing eyes, this time Arthur did chuckle. "The Malfoys are full of surprises." Lucius, seeming about to retort with an insult, was forced quiet as Arthur continued before Lucius could ruin the moment of understanding between them. "He's doing fine. Still recovering, but getting better." As those words left his mouth, Arthur caught the visual show of relief pass its way over Lucius's usually emotionless face.
"I'm glad." Just as quickly as the relief was shown on his face, it was quickly erased. But not fast enough. Arthur felt a smile form on his lips. Lucius, catching the smile, scowled some more. "What are you smiling about, Weasley?"
"It's glad to know you have a heart, Malfoy."
Lucius rolled his. "If that's what you call it." Bending down, he picked up his wand and was quickly comforted by the feel of its smooth wooden surface against the palm of his hands. "Don't start thinking that this changes anything between us," he said as he put his wand in his robes.
"But doesn't it?" Arthur asked as he also picked up his wand and pocketed it. "Lucius... the Order could use your help..."
"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius snapped, his eyes back towards the sky. "Me? In the Order? To what? Protect stupid Muggles?"
"Your son did just that. He protected a 'stupid' Muggle."
"And look at what it gets him!" Lucius shook his head. "Now Voldemort is after him. The Death Eaters are after him." Arthur joined Lucius's gaze towards the sky, trying to figure out what exactly it was that Lucius was staring towards. "I was ordered to kill him." Arthur's eyes caught what it was that Lucius was staring at. It was the constellation Draco, the dragon. "And though it's a direct order from Him, even though I know if I don't do it he'd kill me or worse... he'd hurt Narcissa..." His voice faltered and Arthur glanced at this man he thought he knew so well, but realizing that he didn't. "I... I can't..."
"We're both fathers," Arthur repeated that simple phrase that meant so much. He tried to imagine what he would do if Dumbledore asked him to sacrifice Ron or Fred or any of his kids in order to help the cause and he wondered if he could do it... even if it meant the permanent defeat of Voldemort... The thought caused his chest to constrict and the understanding that had begun to form grew between the two men. 'We're both fathers.' "What do you plan to do?"
Lucius again shook his head. "I don't know."
They went silent, their eyes towards the ground, both with the burden of their problems evident and exposed to one another. Arthur was about to speak up, to again offer membership into the Order, even thinking of ways to secure the whole Malfoy family's safety, but before he could say anything, Lucius took a step back and nodded his head towards him in a gesture of farewell.
"You will never knew how hard this is for me to say," Lucius began as he took his wand out of his pocket, "but, thank you. Thank you for helping my son."
"I think I understand your Malfoy shame," Arthur joked and he caught a smirk on Lucius's face at his comment. "And you're welcome," Arthur said.
"This changes nothing between us, you understand? I'm a Death Eater. You're part of the Order. Next time we meet, Arthur Weasley, there will be no chit chat."
Arthur nodded, his eyes holding Lucius's eyes. "I hope then we won't meet till everything is over, Lucius."
Lucius at first did not respond, but then he gave a little nod that would have been missed if Arthur wasn't expecting it. "Tell Draco: Exsisto tutus." And with that, Lucius Disapparated and was gone. Arthur leaned back on the door behind him and stared up towards the constellation that may have been the inspiration of Draco's naming. 'Exsisto tutus, huh? Be safe.' Though matters just got more complicated – the conversation must immediately be retold to Dumbledore and discussed – Arthur couldn't stop the smile on his lips grow.
"Malfoys are full of surprises," he whispered up towards the dragon in the sky.
.:. TBC .:.
So how was that? I'm unsure of the next update considering this story is taking it's own spin into a totally different direction then planned. Stories really do write themselves, huh? But I'll try to get the next part out in less then a year v
Also, I'm doubtful whether 'Exsisto tutus' truly does mean 'Be safe' considering I used one of those online translators, but if you know that it's wrong and know the proper Latin, then I'd be very grateful if you could correct me! Thanks! =)
I hope you all enjoyed.
cyn