The Echoes Of Yesterday

The Echoes Of Yesterday…by Samayel

Chapter 11: Silence And Tears


Harry waited in his office quietly, sorting papers for his next classes tomorrow. By now, Hermione must have finished her appointed meeting with young Draco, and the lad would be on his way for a final meeting with Harry for the day. All that remained to be reviewed was his class schedule, adjusted for Hermione’s twice monthly lectures, and a brief overview on how Draco’s ’project’ was coming along.

Harry had already prepared a small side list of uncommon spells, often overlooked in general classes. It was likely that the boy knew at least a few of them, but they gave Harry a good starting point from which to begin actual spell instruction, and that was sufficient for now. Doubtlessly, Draco had begun to receive piles of homework assignments from his teachers, and in tandem with the rather mammoth preparations that Harry had assigned to Draco, it would be a little while before proper mentoring was required of him.

Draco had proven to be quiet and studious in the extreme since his assignments had been decided upon. Each day he sat near the front left corner of the class, writing furiously while reading from a textbook, and sometimes more than one was open on his desk. Harry had to admire the silent determination that had been shown by his erstwhile pupil. There was no question about the boy’s talent, and Harry hoped that the meeting with Hermione had gone well.

There was a soft rap at the edge of his open door. Draco stood at the entrance, his expression neutral, if a trifle wistful.

“Do come in and take a seat. I asked professor Granger-Weasley to send you here after you two had met, to see how this might impact on your schedule. I trust it went well? I had high expectations for you.”

Draco smirked rather genially. It was as much open cheer as Harry had seen on the young man’s face to date. He looked happy, and a trifle smug.

“Two Saturdays a month. First and third, at noon. It went very well, professor. I am glad that I could meet her, and her reputation is entirely deserved. Professor Granger-Weasley has a most formidable mind. Still…she wasn’t quite how I imagined her.”

“How so? I’m very glad to hear that the meeting went well, and I expect you’ll enjoy the challenge, but what did you expect?”

“Well, in truth, given her accomplishments, I expected an arch intellectual, both direct in every statement and utterly neutral in attitude. She was…she was…kind of motherly? It was disconcerting. She kept asking after my well-being. Is she always like that?”

Harry restrained a chuckle and settled for smiling. ”The formidable professor is also the mother of five children. She’s a very caring person once you get to know her. She’s been worrying over me since we were eleven. It’s a well intentioned concern, I assure you.”

“Did you really tell her that I remind you of her when she was a student here?”

Harry hadn’t realized that Hermione might share the compliment with Draco quite so openly, and it took him off his guard. “Well…yes, in some ways. Professor Granger-Weasley, her husband, and I went to this school together. She was always a superb student in every sense of the word. She sometimes neglected her social life in exchange for additional opportunities to learn, and while that worked out well enough for her, I still think you might make the most of your time here by letting yourself make some friends. She, her husband, and I have been friends for a very long time, and that’s as precious an accomplishment to me as the education I received here, if not quite a bit more so.”

“Her husband…you don’t mean the loutish ogre who yelled at me when you fell…ill…”

Draco’s voice trailed off nervously when he noticed the stern look on Harry’s face.

“We’ve already discussed how the staff here should be addressed, Mister Malfoy. You are not a part of the house system, and points cannot be deducted for offenses. It would, however, be an inordinate waste of your time and talent to spend each evening polishing the brass in the trophy hall. Rest assured, this will happen if you speak with undue crudity regarding the staff or students here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir! Understood! My apologies…I did not mean to offend. It’s just…I don’t…I don’t like the way he looks at me. I never did anything to him. Why does he stare himself cross-eyed at me when I’m at meals or when I pass him in the hall? Is it because of my father?”

Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise with apprehension. This was not a subject he was comfortable with, even with potions that greatly reduced his anxiety. So Ron still carried those old grudges…even if he wasn’t acting on them. It had to be addressed, even if it was necessary to keep it short and to the point. Harry’s own inclination toward honesty took hold, and he composed himself quietly before answering.

“I expect so, but I wouldn’t worry over it. Professor Ron Weasley is a very fair man. You aren’t in any of his classes, but even if you were, he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate, irregardless of how he might feel about your father. If you speak to him…respectfully…you might find that he’s a very dedicated instructor as well as a very honest man. Do remember that Hermione Granger-Weasley married him, and she is no one’s fool.”

Draco looked mollified, but uncomfortable. The furrow of his brows hinted at his shifting mood, and his hesitance to open the subject further. It appeared that neither of them were entirely comfortable with speaking of Draco’s parents, but if the boy wanted answers, he had little choice but to push forward.

“I have…gotten the impression that…my father was not, to put it in as politic a way as I can, well-liked here. You don’t seem to share the petty prejudices that others might indulge themselves in. I assume that this is why your reputation for wisdom is well-deserved. May I ask what you thought of my father? You did know him while he was in school here, didn’t you?”

Potions be damned, the question left Harry choked for a moment. Some things couldn’t be made right by spells or potions. Draco deserved an answer of some kind, and Harry silently scrambled for words.

“It would depend on who you asked. Your grandparents, the Malfoys, were killed in the war, serving Voldemort. That event cast a shadow over the family reputation…which your own father struggled to overcome. There were circumstances…things that made some of his choices…questionable…and some…disastrous. I would rather not talk about those times, to be honest, but I can tell you this: your father was not at all what people might have thought of him. He was a better man than many, and he was not a servant of any Dark power. He fought for his family’s freedom from Voldemort at great cost, and at considerable risk to himself, in the only ways that he knew to use. In my own opinion, he was very much a hero in his own right, even though his parents were ultimately killed by Voldemort‘s own hand. I know that this isn’t much comfort…but it is true, and it doesn’t matter what people do or don’t believe…what matters is that his intentions were good, and I can swear to that. Who told you about your father…if I may ask?”

Draco was pensive, but nearly as rapt and attentive as he was during certain lectures. He spoke quietly, eyes boring into Harry’s skull. “My mother’s parents. They said…they said he was Marked. They said he was evil…and other things. Was it true?”

What could be said? It could be couched in gentler terms, but part of it was still true. Draco, ‘the first’, had been Marked by Voldemort, and had carried the stain of it upon his arm until the day he died.

“Yes. Part of it is true. All I can say is that, had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have done it. He was Marked when he was sixteen. His father offered his own son’s service to Voldemort…as an apology for his failure at a task that had been set for him. Your father never would have taken that Mark of his own accord. I promise you that. He was Marked…but he was never…never evil. Anyone who could say so…never really knew him. He was overwhelmingly protective of his family, and for that reason alone, he let himself be Marked. I’m sorry that you were ever led to think such things.”

Draco looked relieved, albeit not as much as Harry had hoped. The boy still looked restless and irritable, but answered calmly.

“Thank you, professor. I’d…I think I’d rather not speak of this anymore. You were very kind to share what you have. I…I have a lot to study…I should probably return to my room and call the house-elves for some supper. May I be excused?”

Harry nodded quietly. “Yes. Do just that. I’ll see you in class again soon enough. Alright?”

Draco nodded and rose from his seat, picking up the books he’d laid aside. As he walked to the door, he paused, turning back to Harry once again.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“With all due respect, there was something else I was curious about.”

“And that would be?”

“In your quarters, just arrived I arrived here, there was a book. Muggle poetry. I didn’t read it all, but when I glanced at it, it struck me oddly. I recall it went something like:

“When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this:

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

“I didn’t finish the rest…but I thought it…beautiful…in its way.”

Harry felt his throat constrict. The rest was well know to him, and came up from his lips like an answering code to some archaic riddle. It was uncanny that the boy had remembered so much from a single glance, and a shame that it had been something so very private.

“They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder come o’er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

“That, Mister Malfoy, was ‘When We Two Parted’, by the Muggle poet Lord Byron. I’m very fond of that book. It is some comfort to those of us who lost people dear to us during the war. If you should like to read the book itself, please ask. You may borrow it…if you wish, but I ask that you handle it with care. Is that all?”

Harry kept his eyes upon his paperwork, his voice carefully controlled. Draco nodded, suddenly uncomfortable with the tension that had very quickly filled the room, suddenly making the atmosphere almost stiflingly close.

“Thank you, sir. I can’t read it just yet, but when I have the leisure, I would like to do just that. I’ve never read any Muggle poetry before…until I read that. I liked it. Good night, professor.”

“Good night, Mister Malfoy.”

Harry spelled the door shut quietly after Draco had gone. He’d done admirably well. By keeping his hand on the side of the desk, he had managed to keep the trembling under control and out of sight. Lord Byron’s words echoed bitterly through centuries, as true for any who had felt such things as they had been to Lord Byron himself. One could only guess at who the poem was inspired by, but for Harry, the meaning was painfully clear. A poem for lovers parted, with cruel words between them at the last, never to meet again as friends in this life.

The parchments on his desk caught small droplets, faintly smearing ink where they struck. Harry wept quietly, one hand across his face, slumped across his desk. If…if it was to be like this…what potion could ever be enough?

TBC!!!