Non Time, O Parve Mage

Pale morning light stretched across the white walls and floor of the infirmary. It crept gently over the sleeping form of

the pale boy who lye on white cotton sheets. His left eye was a blur of black and blue. His lips were swollen and bleeding. Dried

blood was caked in his once-gleaming hair, giving him the look of a corpse yet to be prepared by the mortician.

A huffy old woman stood over him, muttering nonsense under her breath. Every so often, she would tap him with her

wand, put her hands on her hips, wait a moment, shake her head and repeat the process.

She sighed and shook her head, and turned around to the man lying on the bed next to the pale boy’s. He had long,

black hair tied back in a ponytail, and was clad in black robes. Every now and then, he would groan and roll over. The nurse sat next

to him, and placed a healing hand on his brow. She muttered an incantation, and closed her eyes as her hand radiated with blue

healing energy. Then the man lye still and his breathing became regular.

Madame Pomfrey, though usually strict and stringent, turned around to her other ward, and placed a comforting hand on

the pale boy’s forehead. No healing energies emanated from her hands, but she believed that the boy needed a mother’s touch.

She closed her eyes and a single tear ran down her cheek at the prospect of what he had just been through—so young—too young.

She looked up, teary eyed, when she felt Albus Dumbledore’s hand on her shoulder. His blue eyes twinkled down at her,

and filled her with confidence. With a resolute sigh, she stood and began reciting a long-forgotten incantation: Dei—tibi peto, curate

eum puerum…

Dumbledore looked down gravely at Draco Malfoy. He was not asleep, but trapped. He sighed tiredly—an old man’s

sigh—and sat down beside Snape. He had done well; he thought to himself, not many people could have apparated in his state, let

alone with another person. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Old friend…” he began, his voice hoarse, “I

have never been more proud of you.” He closed his eyes, and two pearly tears ran down his wrinkled face—a map of his life cut out

in laugh-lines and crow’s feet.

He gently stroked his hair with paternal love. Albus looked up when he heard footsteps headed toward him. Remus

placed a gentle hand on his teacher’s shoulder. “How is he faring?” he whispered. Albus sighed, “He’ll live. Poppy does not believe

he will sustain any permanent injuries, but…” Remus squeezed the older man’s shoulder reassuringly. “I know he is like a son to

you, Albus.” Dumbledore looked up at Remus and placed his hand on his. “So are you.” Remus’ eyes began to sting

uncomfortably, and he pulled Albus into a heart-felt hug. He held him at arms length, and gave him a comforting smile; Remus

had a gift for solace.

He glanced over at Draco, and Poppy, who was casting charms over him untiringly. “Is Draco going to…?” Dumbledore

sighed. “We don’t know. He has been through a tragic ordeal. We believe he could come back easily…but he doesn’t seem to find it

worth it.”

Remus’ eyes widened in a blend of anxiety and epiphany; “I think I know something that can help.” Without another

word to Albus, he ran out of the room, his tattered cloak flying after him. He ran through the halls toward his office. He threw the

door open and grabbed a large scroll from atop his bookcase and laid it out on his desk to reveal a world map. Remus pulled out a

piece of chalk from his pocket, and began tracing lines, beginning at Northern Ireland. He stared at the map, his brow furrowed in

frustration, as he drew the chalk along the parchment.

His eyes widened and he fled the room. Abandoned, the map slowly began to roll into itself, concealing the ogham

symbol that pointed to New England.


Crows and ravens began to call each other, as a faint red line became visible past the trees, from the horizon. Flurries

of snow gently fell from the gray skies of Providence, Rhode Island and stuck to the wool cloak of the hooded man who walked

determinedly down the cobbled street. His eyes were closed, and snow caught onto his eyelashes. Every so often, he would pause,

and raise his head to smell the air.

His senses led him to an old Victorian house. He opened his eyes and pushed back his hood to reveal graying brown

hair, and amber eyes. He smiled as he pushed open the wrought iron gate that protected the stone path which led to large, oak

doors. He rapped on the door, and hastily returned his chilled hands to the sanctuary of his pockets.

He peeked through the stained glass as he heard footsteps falling hastily toward the door. It swung open to reveal a tall

blonde girl of fifteen, clad in a long jean skirt, and black tank top covered by a grey duster. Her hair was pulled back into a loose

bun, revealing pierced ears. A necklace bearing a Celtic triskele dangled loosely from her neck. She put her hand to her mouth in

shock; “Uncle Remus?” he smiled as she threw her arms around his neck. “Hello, Eara,” he whispered into her golden hair. She

pulled away from the hug and held him out at arm’s length. “What’s wrong?”

Remus frowned and sighed, “You need to come with me—I’ll explain on the way.”

Remus sat in a compartment of the Hogwarts express, his hand holding his dear niece’s. He had just explained to her

the situation. She had not said a word since then. Eara merely stared out the window, watching the trees fly by in a blur of green.

She closed her eyes as the stinging behind them became unbearable.

“I’m afraid, Eara” said Draco nervously.

“Don’t worry, Draco,” she pulled him into a protective hug, “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she clasped her hand possessively to the charm of her necklace—the one Draco had

given her. Remus felt her panged shudder, and patted her knee reassuringly. She fell back so she was lying in his arms. He kissed

her head affectionately. “Everything will be alright, Eara.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, teary-eyed. He turned to her and put a gentle hand to her face, “because it has

to be.”

When they arrived at the castle, it was already nightfall. They walked through the labyrinthine halls arm-in-arm; Remus

whispering reassuring words to her, whenever he felt she might just lose her grip.

When they reached the infirmary, Remus turned to her. “Brace yourself.” She nodded resolutely, and followed her uncle

into the infirmary. Immediately, she spotted Draco and ran over to him. She did not need to ask the nurse what had happened…

she had already been informed of the ghastly ordeal. She placed a soft hand on his brow, as though he were made of glass, and

began stroking his hair. “Shhh….” She placed her other hand over his heart, closed her eyes and began to sing softly to him in her

sweet Celtic voice:

Do not fret, my maiden child,

the Fay will come again.

They have departed for willow halls,

But will return, my friend.

Do not cry, my maiden child

your pumpkin carriage awaits

to take you to your Elvin prince

behind sunflower gates.

Slumber now, my maiden child

spring will come anew.

Every rose shall be in bloom,

but none as fair as you.

After she finished her song, she continued to hum softly. “Head…master…” came a soft voice from behind them. Snape

had awakened. Quickly, Poppy rushed over to him and began administering various remedies to keep him that way. He tried to

speak, but Poppy stopped him. “What…was that…voice…that voice…!” he rose suddenly, only to be pushed back into the bed by

Dumbledore. “It’s alright, Severus, you’re safe.”

Dumbledore turned to Draco’s bed to find Eara gently stroking his hair. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was

steady. Eara felt his gaze on her, and turned. Dumbledore gave her a warming smile which she returned. Remus watched as Eara

soothed Draco. Dumbledore coughed pointedly, and he brought his attention to the headmaster. “Remus,” he began softly, “Sirius

came here looking for you earlier. He was worried, seeing as how you weren’t on the continent. Madame Pomfrey, much to her

distress, was forced to give him a sedative.” He nodded his head toward a hospital bed a few yards away. Remus laughed despite

himself when he saw his husband splayed out on a bed, muttering something about sausages and how they build character. He

walked over to him, and sat beside him, still laughing. “Oh, Sirius; you dolt.”

Madame Pomfrey brushed passed him quickly, on her way to delivering antiseptic to Snape, and muttered, “oh, sweetie—

he can’t hear you—he thinks you’re a balloon.”





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