Non Time, O Parve Mage

***If you are in a good mood right now....I\'m sorry that I\'m about to ruin it. If you\'re in a bad mood....then it doesn\'t really matter--maybe you\'ll get a kick out of this chapter.




Shades of green and purple filtered through the gothic, stained glass windows, leaving splashes of color splayed across the walls and floor. The purple velvet curtains shuddered as a cool breeze sneaked beneath them, escaped from the cold recesses of the dungeons. The stone walls held secrets of centuries past. The only protection for bare feet from the chilled stone floor was a solitary rug, which seemed very out of place, with its warmer green hues.
Draco Malfoy lay haphazardly across his bed, amidst a tangle of satin sheets. His delicate silver hair draped gracefully over his pillow and face. His chest rose and fell with every soft, hushed breath he made. His black jeans were crumpled from tossing and turning in the night. His clingy grey shirt was scrunched in odd places. The thumping of footsteps could be heard from below. Draco opened a bleary eye and took in a deep breath through his nose as he stretched his arms. He blinked quickly to clear his vision and threw the sheets from the bed. With an exhausted yawn, he slipped his feet back into his black leather shoes. He stood from the bed, and walked over to the window.
More hurried footsteps.
Draco pulled back the curtain and saw several people in auror uniforms, scampering about the snow. They were shouting something about how dangerous he was, and to use caution.
“Fuck…” he whispered. He hurriedly ran to his closet and pulled out his black leather trench coat. He fumbled about his room picking up various items. He ran to the glass case over his mantle which contained a long, medieval French sword and smashed it. He slipped the saber into his belt and continued to his bathroom. He turned the tap to let the water run. After he left, he locked the door—making it look as though he were in the shower.
He faintly heard what sounded like McGonagall’s voice shouting orders to various people. Arthur Weasley responded. They were close now. He waved at a spot on the wall with his hand, and then ran into the stone which parted like water to allow him escape. As he ran down the old stone steps he heard an explosion. He hurried his pace until he reached a small door. He listened carefully before opening it to reveal the side yards of the manor. After looking left and right, he sprinted for the forest.
From the window above him, he heard yelling. “THERE HE IS; ON THE EAST HALF OF THE GROUNDS!”
He continued running. Every breath he took pained his lungs. His legs hurt too much to consider why he had so many people after him. His vision was blurring slightly. He hadn’t eaten for so long. Just as he was about to throw himself onto the snow and hope for the best, he ran into something; someone. Before he could fall backwards, strong hands held him up. Draco swallowed hard and looked up to see amethyst eyes—furious…but not at him. His shoulder-length, silver hair was swathed carelessly about his face. His jaw was set, making his strong cheek-bones even more prominent. His ivory skin glinted in the light reflected from the snow. His lean, muscular body was tense—poised for battle.
“Get behind me.” He said sharply, yet anxiously—almost as though he were genuinely worried for Draco’s safety. His accent sounded polluted—as one that had been reared in England, but dwelled in France.
With one fluid motion, the mysterious man threw off his coat, pulled out his wand from his belt, and sent out a blaze of white-hot flames that continued for fifty yards at the ministry aurors who were headed toward Draco. Draco looked up in shock to see how familiar he looked—how much like himself he looked. He looked down at Draco, as though double-checking that he was alright. “Draco—“he whispered urgently, “—you cannot go back to Hogwarts, nor can you come back here; not yet.” He turned back to the gaggle of wizards headed toward him, but dispersed them with a large, black cyclone.
He grabbed Draco by the upper arm, pulled him close to his chest, and with a snap of his fingers, he disapparated.
~*~
“No…” Crouch paused thoughtfully and turned to look Harry straight in the eye, “his son.”
Harry stumbled and put his hand to his mouth. He felt a sharp stinging in his eyes and his throat began to tighten as he sharply turned away from Crouch.
McGonagall, however, remained adamant—unyielding. She looked down at Crouch with fire blazing in her eyes. “Where. Is. Dumbledore.” She demanded, stressing every syllable through gritted teeth—her nostrils flaring. Again, Crouch laughed. “Malfoy Manor, of course—where else?”
“Where in Malfoy manor?”
“In the dungeons—the fifth dungeon.”
McGonagall bit her lip. She turned to Remus and said, “Alert the order—tell them to get every auror willing. If Malfoy was able to take down Dumbledore alone, there is no saying what he is capable. Albus would not go down so easily. Her eyes glinted as she watched Remus run for the doors. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could as she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Crouch. “Avada Kedavra.”
~*~
Draco looked around blearily at the shabby cellar. The lamplight flickered listlessly. His rescuer loosened his grip from Draco’s arm and pulled him gently up the cellar stairs. He paused before a shabby wooden door, and pushed it gently open to reveal a large kitchen, where several house elves were working. He looked down at Draco, and motioned for him to sit at the scrubbed wooden table. The elves were busy putting the last finishing touches on a meal of shepherd’s pie, bread and goat’s cheese, and cream.
Draco took a deep sigh and closed his eyes, nearly drifting to sleep, when he heard a sharp clink on the table. The man set a steaming beaker of some potion or other before him. It smelled of peppermint and valerian root. It was warm, so he drank it. The warmth spread through his body—sending energy to his muscles and brain. His vision cleared and he licked his lips.
Draco looked up at him, but before he could ask his question, he answered it.
“You’re in the Riddle Mansion.” He sighed and sat gingerly in a shabby chair across from Draco. “It’s the most warded building next to Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts.” He watched uninterestedly as the elves placed Draco’s meal before him and a steaming mug in front of himself.
“Who are you?” Draco asked; his voice hoarse.
The man across from him laughed and looked down at his coffee. “I didn’t expect you would remember me. Mother refused to hear of me, and father was always so afraid you would go looking for me, he never said much of me to you.” He paused and looked at Draco thoughtfully. “I suppose that, if he did, it would have been some cock and bull story about how I died. From what I understand, he even removed my essence from all of the portraits of me in the manor to make it look as though I died years ago.”
Draco looked up at him unsurely, “Havoc?”
He nodded, sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked no more than twenty, though Draco knew he was older. He had his silver hair and porcelain skin, but his features were softer—like his mother’s; and his eyes gleamed amethyst instead of mercury. He stood abruptly and looked down at Draco. “Eat—all of it.” He looked sharply at the eldest house elf. “See that he cleans his plate. When he has finished his dinner, take him to the jade room.”
With a swirl of his robes, he left.
After Draco had finished his meal (amidst menacing glares from the old house elf), he was led by several elves to “The Jade Room”. To his delight, he saw that it was a beautiful guest bedroom, adorned entirely in green and soft tones of lavender and mahogany. The bed was already turned down for him, and the closet was open to reveal his wardrobe. He had very well-traveled clothes.
Without asking himself or anyone else anymore questions, he collapsed in the bed and went to sleep.
~*~
“Harry—stay close.” Sirius said sharply as he noticed his godson wandering. “Malfoy’s gone, but we don’t know who else may still be lurking around.”
Harry was barely listening to him. He was occupied with thoughts of Draco. He was still in denial that Draco could—let alone would do something so horrible. But he did not want to think about that now—it hurt too much.
Instead, Harry allowed his feet to carry him along the path made by his godfathers, McGonagall, and Moody. It seemed as though they had been roaming “The fifth dungeon” forever, until they stopped at a large, sealed door.
“This must be it!” Sirius said with false joy as he dramatically clapped his hands together.
“How do you reckon?” asked Remus.
“Easy—we looked EVERYWHERE ELSE!”
McGonagall sighed in relief when she found that the door opened after only a few unlocking charms. A glimmer of white hair could be seen from above a chair. They ran to Dumbledore anxiously when he did not respond to their calls. McGonagall stepped forward. “Albus—it’s alright—we—“she stopped abruptly when her hand reached his hair. Remus and Moody called to her, but she would not respond. Harry ran to her, and was horrified to see the terror in her eyes.
Harry turned to Dumbledore, and put a gentle hand to his head. As soon as he touched him, his head nodded back and forth.

It then fell where it was balanced….



And rolled across the floor.




Glimmering blue eyes stared up at them; rolling back and forth; behind half-moon glasses.