Non Time, O Parve Mage
Chapter IV: Aude Ploratum Meum
underneath his arm, and sat down in the back row. “Sum victi.” He stated plainly. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed his
sleeve. “c’mon—let’s get a seat in front.” Draco allowed himself to be dragged to the front of the room.
No one else was there yet, seeing as how they ran to get there, and they sat next to each other, randomly poking the
other and saying, “poke.” Despite its apparent simplicity, it was very enjoyable and passed the time until the rest of the students
filtered in. They had this class with the “1st caucus” so they were soon joined by Seamus, Justin, Goyle, Hermione, and several
other sixth years. Hermione beamed when she saw Harry, and took a seat next to him. Draco hadn’t noticed, because he was
absent-mindedly drawing a picture of a dragon, perched on a large red rose on his notebook. Harry glanced over at him to admire
his work. He had a very skilled hand.
Hermione looked over to see what Harry was staring at, and gazed in awe, as she watched Draco magically transform his
ink, so that it put down the desired color where he wished. “Wow, Malfoy,” she began in disbelief, “I never would have thought of
you as an artist.” Draco looked up startled—he wasn’t aware he had an audience. “Oh—“he smiled and turned back to his
drawing, “thanks.” Before Hermione could comment on Draco’s lack of malice, Remus Lupin strode into the class room,
accompanied by Tonks and Moody (the actual Moody) who were carrying in a large crate of some sort. They grinned and nodded at
Hermione and Harry when they came in. Harry was shocked to see Tonks wink amiably at Draco. He smiled and waved.
They set the crate on the large desk in the front of the room, as Lupin began writing something on the board in bold
letters. When he was finished, he turned to face the class, brushing chalk from his hands and front. Everyone looked to the front of
the room to see what he had written: GALLIUS SIRENIS MARINUS
As Tonks and Moody left, Remus bowed to them, “Sum gratus.”
He smiled and turned back top his students. “Now—can anyone tell me what that means?” to everyone’s surprise,
Hermione did not raise her hand, but Seamus and Draco did. Remus smiled and raised his eyebrows at the sudden change. “Yes—
Mr. Finnegan?”
“Irish siren.”
“Very good; five points to…whatever the hell caucus you’re in.” he waved his hand impatiently and the class
laughed. “Now; the Irish siren is…well, a siren that lives in Ireland, but aside from that—can anyone tell me the spiritual significance
of the siren?”
Again, Seamus raised his hand. Remus nodded to him. “They’re related to the banshee—only the siren is less benign.
They are beautiful—with skin like ivory and hair of gold—““down, boy!” interrupted Terry. Seamus laughed, “Shut up, Boot. Anyway,
they sing beautiful songs that often lead sailors to their deaths, but they don’t mean to. The siren is said to represent the
wickedness and self-disdain of beauty…but I disagree.”
“Really?” said Lupin, intrigued.
Seamus straightened himself up. “I think it’s just an old-wives tail, made up by ugly old broads that were jealous
because they couldn’t hold up to the competition.” Lupin laughed, and began unhinging the box. “I believe I am correct in saying
that your great-grandmother was a siren?”
“Yes, professor.”
“Could that possibly have anything to do with why you’re so defensive?”
Seamus smiled and shrugged innocently. Lupin turned his attentions to the box. He pulled out a large conch shell. He
walked to the front of the room, and handed it to Parvati, who was sitting in the front corner. “Alright,” he clapped his hands
together and continued. “I’m going to pass this conch around. When it comes to you, hold it up to your ear.” Parvati did so, and
after a moment, began smiling idiotically. “Oh, my…it’s so beautiful!” after a moment, it stopped, and she frowned. Remus
smiled. “I’ve charmed it, so the siren song only lasts fifteen seconds or so. We don’t want any conch-pigs, do we?”
Parvati reluctantly passed on the conch to Draco. He put it up to his ear, and was met with the familiar sound of a siren’s
song…
~~~ “Draco?” asked a lovely girl with blue eyes, and long blonde hair. Fourteen year old Draco turned to her, “Yes, Eara?”
She looked across the ocean, sadly. “When do you have to go?”
“Tomorrow,”
She turned back to him and put her hand on his, “why?”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “Because; I have to go back to school.”
“I wish you didn’t,”
“So do I.” ~~~~
“Draco…earth to Draco…” came Harry’s insistent voice. Draco jumped and nearly dropped the conch, but Harry steadied
his hand. “You okay?”
Draco turned startled toward Harry, “what? Yea—yea, sure. I’m fine.”
Draco didn’t hear what Lupin was saying for the rest of the class. He was still thinking about Eara; his best friend in the
whole world….but he hadn’t seen her in over two years. After Voldemort came back, she had to flee with her family; they had helped
Dumbledore several times in the past. When his father found out he was fraternizing with her, he forbid her to ever see her again,
and locked him in his room for a month.
They had met when he was ten. His great-aunt owned a castle in north-western Ireland on the coast. He would go there
every summer for a month or two while his parents traveled god-knows where. When he was ten, he tripped in the water. He was a
decent swimmer, but there was a storm out at sea, and the tide dragged him out. He was sucked under water, and before he lost
consciousness, he remembered seeing two big blue eyes.
He awoke to see a nine year old girl in a tattered white dress, singing him a lullaby in the most beautiful voice he had
ever heard:
“Do not fret my maiden child,
The Fay will come again;
They have departed for willow halls
But will return, my friend.”
Ever since then, they’d meet on the rocks of the beach to talk, collect sea-shells, and whatever else they felt like at the
moment. When he was at school, they’d write each other letters. But when he was fourteen…he received his last letter.
Dearest Draco,
The tides have changed—there is blood in the water. My Grandmother fears the worst is about to happen. She says that
the isles aren’t safe for us anymore. Don’t write back, your owl won’t be able to find us, Brighid willing. You are my best friend, and
I will always love you.
I’ll pray for you,
Eara
“There’s no homework, just make sure you don’t die from all of the purple before next class!”
Draco awoke from his reverie with a start. The rest of the class was already shuffling out of the room. Harry had left with
Hermione. He was startled to see Remus sitting on his desk, looking straight down at him like a vulture.
“You okay?” he asked concernedly. Draco nodded. Lupin sighed, “Bad memories?” Draco looked up at him
suspiciously, “what do you mean?”
“Eara Branwen.”
Draco stood from his seat. “What do you know about her?” he demanded. Lupin smiled. “She’s my niece. Her father was
my older brother—her mother was a siren. Her parents were killed by Voldemort because they helped the order. She moved with her
grandmother to god-knows where when Voldemort came back.”
Draco sat back down. “Your…niece?” Lupin smiled, “that’s right,”
Draco leaned forward in his chair. “Do you know where she is?” Lupin shook his head. “No idea—I suppose it’s for the
best. If her friends and family don’t even know where she is, it doesn’t seem likely her enemies would.”
“What does Voldemort want with Eara?”
“revenge.” He said grimly as he began to repack the conch. “This shell is actually her mother’s voice.” He paused
thoughtfully. “It’ll be in my office—in a chest underneath my desk, if you ever want to come in and listen to it when I’m not there.”
“Wow…thanks,” Draco said smiling. “Well, I have to get to lunch. I’ll see you Monday?”
“Bright and early!” Draco leaned forward to shake his hand. “Good lesson, professor.”
Lupin smiled, “thanks—now hurry up before Snape throws a hissy-fit.”
Draco grinned and ran out the room toward the dungeons.
Potion’s passed in a blur. He barely noticed when Snape took away fifty points from Longbottom, who was now in the 4th
caucus. He had showed up ten minutes late, but Snape pretended not to notice. Pansy had saved a seat for him—the last seat—so
he had no choice but to sit next to her…despite her severe obnoxiousness and stalker-like qualities.
He could feel Harry’s emerald eyes burning on his neck the entire class. He was like an annoying watchdog—afraid he
would pick up the boline in front of him and slit his wrists.
After the bell rang, he absentmindedly shoved all of his books into his black, leather bag, and rushed toward the door.
He pushed through the crowd and ran out the door. He made his way quickly to the common room. Despite Blaise’ calling after him,
he rushed through the entrance.
Draco stood before the common room…and the purple…obnoxious, loud purple. He hated purple. He whipped out his
wand determinedly and began waving it at the offending color. With a flick of his wand, the purple armchairs before the hearth
became black, along with the curtains and “II” flag above the mantle. Another flick of his wand, and the metal changed from
bronze to silver. He crossed his arms, satisfied with himself as he heard Blaise finally catch up to him and look around. “That’s hot.”
Soon, Terry, Parvati, Hanna, and Harry were standing behind him as well. “I hate to admit it,” began Terry, “but I agree
with Blaise. This is much better than the constant purple.”
Draco blew on the tip of his wand as if it were a smoking gun, and shoved it dramatically into his pocket. “My work here
is done.” He walked over to his favorite chair (which was once again black-leather) and picked up the book he had been reading,
The Scarlet Letter. A timid first year boy walked up to him. “Draco…could you do our room too?” Draco smiled. “I already did.” The
boy smiled at his fellows and Draco heard gleeful yelling when they had reached their room.
He heard Harry sit on the chair opposite him. “I don’t think black is discriminatory, do you?
“No, of course not.” added Terry Boot. “the colorless color” said Blaise, “I think we could learn to survive together, don’t
you?”
Ernie put his hands on the back of Harry’s chair. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think it was definitely the purple
that got me riled up.” Draco snorted. “yea, okay, Macmillan.”
“Hey—“started Blaise—“you guys want to go play some quidditch?” Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m going to stay here and
maybe hop in the shower.” Blaise, Ernie, and Terry however, already had begun to recruit other players. Harry remained seated. He
turned to Draco, “what do you think they’re going to do about quidditch; now that there aren’t any houses, that is?”
Draco sighed. “There was a notice pinned on the board. There’s going to be tryouts next week. Each caucus has a team.
We’re the wolves.” He said uninterestedly as he continued reading. Harry looked disappointed. Draco scoffed, “you really need to
get a new hobby—besides quidditch and saving the world.” Harry smiled and threw a scarlet pillow at Draco’s head. “I’m going to go
work on my potions homework.”
Draco placed a piece of parchment in the book to save his place, and put the book down. “I think I’ll take a shower.”
They walked up the stairs to there dorm. Harry plopped himself on his bed, and dumped out the contents of his bag in
front of him. Draco stepped into the bathroom to take his shower.
Harry heard the sound of running water and glanced over at Draco’s bed. He could see the corner of the journal he had
been writing in on the train, sticking out from underneath his pillow. Looking around him to make sure he was alone, Harry walked
over to his bed, and gently pulled out the book. He sat down upon Draco’s bed, and began flipping through the pages. There was
merit to his artistic ability on every page. Though, each picture brought a pang to the heart. There were beautifully sad drawings of
angels with broken wings, a pretty young girl with no hands, and a particularly horrifying drawing of two scarlet, snake-like eyes. He
stopped at that page. “Voldemort…” he whispered to himself.
He stroked the page lightly with his fingers. The poem above the picture was in the same color as the eyes. Harry
squinted his eyes to get a closer look. To his horror, he found that the entire thing was written in blood—Draco’s blood. Harry’s eyes
widened. “There is no way you could have gotten that much blood with those little cuts he has…”
“Surrounded by plush velvet,
polished oak, and brass
Lain upon my back,
arms crossed carelessly
athwart my chest
Stiff fingers clasped possessively
about the space
where a mother’s hand should have rested
Eyes looking to a void,
as the void stares back.
Abandoned of soul,
for it too has given up hope;
Forever a corpse,
but never a ghost.”
Harry could feel stinging in his eyes as he fought back tears. He threw the book aside and hurried to the trunk at the
end of Draco’s bed. He rummaged through its contents haphazardly, until he came upon what felt like a blade wrapped in velvet.
He let the knife roll out onto his hand. There was dried blood on the fabric sheath. He slammed the trunk shut when he heard
Draco step out of the bathroom, his hair wet, in just a pair of grey jogging pants. His eyes widened in shock when he saw Harry
sitting at the end of his bed, holding his silver knife. He was too scared to be angry.
Harry looked up at him, scarlet fire blazing in his eyes. “Show me.” Draco frowned in confusion, but before he could ask,
Harry interrupted him; “your scars—show me your scars!”
Draco walked over to him apprehensively. “Harry…you’ve seen them…you’re looking at them now…I don’t under—“
“Your OTHER scars,” he growled impatiently. “From when you tried to kill yourself.”
Draco crossed his arms, “what? I don’t know what you’re—“Harry threw the journal angrily. It hit him in the chest, and
landed on the floor, opened to the page with the blood-poem.
“Well?” Harry demanded as he stood abruptly to face Draco. “Show me.” He hissed. Draco winced. He could feel a harsh
tightening in his throat, and his eyes began to sting painfully, but he ignored it. He didn’t know why, but he hated having Harry
angry with him. He closed his eyes, and held out his wrists for Harry to see. He felt careful fingers trace the wounds. He opened his
eyes again to see tears flowing from his green eyes. “Draco…what happened to you this summer?” Draco closed his eyes as he felt
tears rain down his own face. “I…I can’t—“he fell into Harry’s arms. Harry pulled him to the end of his bed, and began cradling him
like an infant who had just had a horrible nightmare…in a way, he had. Harry began to stroke his hair comfortingly, and kissed the
top of his head.
When Draco calmed down, he looked up at Harry despairingly—desperately. Harry brushed away his silver hair from his
face, and kissed him gently on his soft lips. Draco put his arms around his neck and pulled him on top of him, deepening the kiss.
Harry lay on top of him, Draco stroking up and down his firm back with articulate, but strong, hands. Harry groaned at the close
contact, and began gently stroking Draco’s bottom lip with his tongue, requesting entrance. Draco opened his mouth to allow Harry
access. He began exploring every inch of his mouth; taking him in, tasting him.
Draco pulled away from the kiss, and pulled himself further up onto the bed, such that his entire body was up on the
mattress. Harry grinned and crawled on top of him. He once again began to explore Draco’s mouth. Now that they were both all the
way on the bed, they had more freedom. Harry began rubbing his hands up and down Draco’s toned chest as Draco began clawing
at his back. Harry pulled away from the kiss as he moved to his neck. Between hot kisses on the slope of his sensitive skin, he
whispered in his silver hair, “Do you—have any—idea how—beautiful you are?” Draco froze** Voldemort smiled coyly and began
running his hand gently up Draco’s slender body. “I know.” He turned to better see Draco, pushed his legs from his lap, and leaned
over, such that he was lying on top of him, their noses almost touching. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”**
Harry looked up at Draco when he felt him stiffen underneath him with concerned, emerald eyes. But suddenly, his eyes
weren’t warm green—they were cold red—his skin paled—his mouth turned from a concerned frown to a cruel grin. Draco squirmed
out from underneath Harry and abruptly stood from the bed, almost pushing him off. He put his hand to his head as it began to
pound with the familiar pain of a migraine. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he gasped, closing his eyes. “I can’t do this.” He turned around, and
grabbed his cloak from the bed post. He hurriedly slipped on his shoes, and rushed out the door. Harry faintly heard Millicent shout
after him, “Drake—where could you possibly be going this late?” followed by the slamming of the door.
Harry still lay on Draco’s bed, staring after him. “Was it something I said…?”