Non Time, O Parve Mage

“Crucio!” hissed Voldemort’s cruel voice. Lucius Malfoy began writhing on the onyx carpet of the Malfoy Drawing room—his wand had been lost when he was hit by his master’s curse for the umpteenth time. Every muscle in his body twisted agonizingly, red-hot knifes sliced through his skin, and the tattoo on his left arm burned painfully. He gripped the carpet with his fists, trying desperately not to bite through his lip when the curse stopped.
Voldemort strode over to the helpless man, one leg on either side of him, and bent down to stroke his porcelain face with the side of his hand. He smiled as Lucius blearily opened his silver eyes. “Lucius…why do you make me do this to you?” he pulled his hand back to his shoulder, and slapped the man across the face, causing blood to shoot out from his mouth. Lucius tried to speak, but could not in his weakened state. “He—he…”
“Yes…?” he drawled impatiently.
Lucius contorted his face in pain as he felt his lungs rupture from his effort. Voldemort leaned on top of him, and pressed an ear to his bloody mouth. Lucius swallowed and whispered, “He’s… n…not… m…me.” He closed his eyes, and scarlet tears ran down his cheeks. Voldemort stood up abruptly, and with an angry sweep of his robes, he disapparated, leaving a dying Lucius to fend for himself in a pool of his and his son’s blood.


Draco gasped and shot off of his pillow in the hospital wing. He began muttering “father” repeatedly after Eara pushed him back down onto the bed. She began gently stroking his hair, bringing him solace as best she could, but he refused to be quieted. “I….need to g—go home!” he choked as he tried to release himself from Eara’s steady grip, but she was too strong for him. “Draco, you need rest. You only started breathing properly a few—“
“I need to see my father!”
“You can’t!” she said, trying to hold onto her patience, but it was steadily leaving her.
“I have to go see my father!” he yelled more insistently. Eara grabbed him by his shoulders, and said, “he’s dead, Draco, he’s not there anymore—“
“No!” he growled, “he’s not dead—I just saw him!”
“He was left to duel with Voldemort—do you honestly think he could have survived that?” she calmed down considerably when she felt Dumbledore’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder. “Eara, if Draco claims to have seen his father, then it is worth investigating.” He said calmly. Eara looked up at him in disbelief. “what—you mean help him? Him; that merciless, dastardly excuse for a human-being? No!” she stood abruptly to face Dumbledore. She may have been six-feet tall, but she managed to seem a foot tall before him. “I don’t care if he’s lying in a ditch being eaten alive by fire-ants! I refuse to help him—and don’t think for a moment that I don’t know what you’re implying!”
“You’re an empath, Eara; you can see what really happened.”
“I refuse to go to that dreadful place.” Dumbledore frowned and glared down at her. “Draco needs closure. If his father is dead, so be it—prove it.” She looked down at Draco’s beaten form and sighed. “Alright—but only because you scare me, Albus.”

Broken glass crunched beneath her boots as she walked across the marble dance-floor. She closed her eyes and breather in her surroundings. She saw dozens of masked couples dancing…and briefly a vision of scarlet eyes glaring from behind a serpent mask. She blinked her eyes several times until she was returned to the empty hall. She allowed her feet to carry her to a broken gargoyle in the back corner of the room near a buffet table. She stretched out her hand, and began to feel the stone wings. “Draco…” she muttered to her self. She allowed herself to be drifted off into the night’s events……………………….
She was scared and nervous—she had been drinking heavily, and the champagne glass felt abnormally heavy in her hand. Hoping that she would not see Voldemort after all, she headed toward the stairs, only to be met by scarlet eyes. She blinked, and was up in the drawing room, being ravished by the older wizard. She blinked again, and she was Voldemort, clawing at Draco’s tunic. She stroked a scar—my scar—and was overcome by fury. Harry Potter had been touching him…….she blinked again, and she was a tall man in long black robes, running up the drive toward Malfoy manor. She threw the doors open, and began looking for Lucius among the sea of masks—she spotted him, and knew what she had to do—end the confundus charm………..she was a slender, blonde man, lying on the floor, recovering from the curse-breaking spell. He stood, and yelled to everyone in the room. “EVERYONE---OUT! NOW!” and ran toward the stairs, followed by his wife. “Lucius!” she began worriedly. “no!” he snapped at her. “Go to your chambers, and lock yourself in. if I don’t come for you in an hour, leave the manor!” he pushed her aside and continued to run toward the study. He brandished his wand, and threw Voldemort against the wall, to see his best friend shielding his son protectively. He yelled for Snape to take Draco and leave. He screamed “I’m sorry” tohis son, but Voldemort had already hit him with the crucatius curse—he could only mouth it. She turned to the spot where Draco and the other man once were, but they had already apparated away……………
Eara collapsed against the door of the drawing room, panting for breath. Tears streamed down her face as she came to grips with what she had just seen. She had to see it—where it happened. She pushed herself from the floor, with difficulty, and opened the door. She walked slowly but surely toward the spot where Draco was almost raped, but tripped. She looked down, her eyes wide in horror to see Lucius Malfoy’s body lying in a crumpled heap on the ground.
Eara knelt beside him, and turned his face over. He didn’t move, and he felt cold. She placed her index and middle fingers underneath his jaw to feel for a pulse. She sat there for thirty seconds until she felt a soft, but distinct beat. She hurriedly turned him all the way over, and glided her hands over his chest. She closed her eyes and felt that his lungs had collapsed—if she gave him mouth-to-mouth, she could kill him. Quickly, she reached for a broken piece of glass from the broken lamp, and dragged it across her wrist. As the blood erupted from her ivory skin, she ripped open the man’s robes, and let the blood drip onto his chest. She moved her bleeding wrist up to his mouth and let the precious liquid drop onto his lips and over his tongue as she heard his lungs expanding to their normal state.
Still unmoving, she pressed her lips together firmly and began to hum loudly on one solid note. The sound began to reverberate through the room and caused the walls and floor to vibrate. She continued humming, and placed her fingers under his jaw. When satisfied that his pulse was up to a satisfactory rate, she stopped humming and the room stopped shuddering. Certain that he’d live without further assistance from her, she left the room and headed out the hallway.
She clasped her right hand firmly about her bleeding wrist, and allowed herself to absorb the energies of the manor. She felt a pang of distress as she absorbed the emotions of Draco’s mother. She saw her running down the halls, searching for her husband. She reached the open door of the drawing room and slammed it shut when her gaze fell upon the crumpled, bleeding heap that was her husband. Though she was told to leave the manor, she ran to her son’s room. Eara took the same path that she did, walking carefully as not to lose her. Suddenly, all sense of Narcissa Malfoy dissipated when she reached the large door that led to Draco’s room.
She pushed the door open apprehensively, and screamed as she nearly walked into the dangling feet of Narcissa. She looked up to see that she had hanged herself from the chandelier, using her son’s bed sheets. Eara put a hand to her heart to still its rapid beating. She reached out a shaking had to touch the porcelain foot of the dead woman. She was also under Voldemort’s confundus charm…though she knew….and did nothing to stop the incessant raping of her son by Lucifer incarnate….because she was afraid…so she hung herself.
“She probably believes Draco and Lucius are dead…and that she was going to see them—to apologize,” she wondered aloud. Eara pulled out her wand and removed Narcissa from the ceiling. She gently floated her onto Draco’s bed, and covered her with a satin sheet. “She was never really the maternal type,” whispered Lucius in his hoarse voice from the doorway. Eara turned quickly to see that Lucius had been healed enough by her to awaken, retrieve his wand, and heal himself entirely.
He walked slowly toward the bed, and sat down upon it. He pulled the sheet down enough to see her face. He began gently stroking her fair hair and whispered, “I’ll come for you.” He bent down, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Lucius pulled the sheet back over her face and turned toward Eara. “Is Draco safe?” he asked, appearing nonchalant. She folded her arms crossly over her chest and nodded, “from Voldemort and you.”
Lucius smiled and stood. He began to walk toward Eara, until he was only a few inched away from her. “And is he safe from you?”
Eara’s eyes widened, and she pulled out her wand to curse the bastard into oblivion, but he had already disappeared. She closed her eyes and sighed. She walke over to Draco’s desk, pulled open a drawer, and removed his ink and parchment. With a determined sigh, she began to write:
Dear Dumbledore….
She finished her letter with a flourish, and replaced his ink and quill. She rolled up the three letters she had written, and tied them in string. She whistled softly, and in a few minutes, a large eagle owl landed on the back of her chair. She slipped the letters into the leather pouch it bore, and told him to bring the letters to Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts.
As she watched the large bird sore out the window, Eara leaned back in the chair and sighed. A tear trickle down her face as she walked steadily to the hearth of Draco’s room. She lit the fire with a wave of her wand, and reached for the glittering floo-powder on the mantle. As the flames turned green, she shouted, “Kingman’s Port!” and disappeared in a whirl of ash and flame.

It was dinner time at Hogwarts. Hundreds of students hustled through the stone halls of the castle to make their way to the warm, and welcoming Great Hall to join their peers in a warm meal. However, one student was sitting in the infirmary, drinking club soda, because it was the only thing his stomach could tolerate. That, actually, is an overstatement—no part of Draco could tolerate, but it was forced down on him by the vulture Madame Pomfrey.
Though still very weak, Draco now managed to sit up straight, and speak when he felt the need to…which wasn’t often. Snape was still unconscious; he had all of his energy drained when apparating him and Draco to Hogwarts. Though he would live, it would be a long time before he was fully recovered.
Draco did not want to awake; it was only that he did not want to remain unconscious even more so, that stirred him. When his body was at rest, his mind was not—it was plagued by numerous visions and apparitions, none of which should ever be shown to a human being. Dreadful visions they were—his father’s torture, his mother’s suicide—they were what woke him up; not Eara’s siren song. He had not seen her in years. Thinking of her brought only pain. The only thing that brought him solace was the knowledge that Harry would destroy Voldemort in time. It wasn’t based on fact, and not that he had faith in Harry Potter; it was his lack of faith in Voldemort. That man could not, and would not triumph. He would not let him.
Harry would save him from Voldemort, and it was a refreshing feeling….to know he was going to be saved. Draco knew that Harry wasn’t saving ‘him’, but it was comforting nonetheless; he just didn’t want to lose anyone else in the process. He had already lost enough.
Draco growled inwardly. If Harry hadn’t ran to his Precious Dumbledore, his parents would be alive; not burning in hell, as they most likely were. Yes—Voldemort was going to rape him—it wasn’t as though it was the first time—he dealt with it then, as he would have dealt with it this time around as well. Now he had lost his mother, father, and probably his godfather all in one night. Was it so much to ask that he be allowed to keep something at his heart? No…obviously, fate did not see him as worthy of love.

Harry walked determinedly toward the hospital wing; the most warded area in the school—he even had an amethyst charm to guarantee he was free of psychic intrusion. Once and for all, Harry would know if he had feelings for Draco, or merely echoes of another man’s lust.

Draco looked up, startled to see Harry Potter striding toward him. He maintained a countenance of coldness as he sat himself up in his bed. Harry pulled up a stool, and sat beside him—staring into Draco’s eyes intently as though searching for something.
“What can I do for you, Potter? I’m going to go to the bathroom for a moment to freshen up, just incase you want to go tell Dumbledore and have another member of my family killed…” Harry looked taken aback—this was not the reaction he had been expecting. Draco continued. “Oh…wait; it seems as though I have no family left…how about that.” Harry bit his lip and turned away from the wounded boy. “Draco…I thought—“
“What? That you were going to be my knight in shining armor—riding in to save the day? That by telling Dumbledore, you weren’t going to worsen the situation ten-fold?” Draco grabbed his chin and forced it toward him. “Well—you did. Now I’m parentless, Voldemort now not only wants to rape me—which, mind you, he already has; you’re a little late there, golden boy—“ Harry closed his eyes as the stinging behind them became unbearable, and began shaking as Draco continued, “ He wants to torture and kill me. Well? Did you do what you set out to do?” Harry looked up at him with teary green eyes to find bitter silver ones. “You can’t save everyone, Potter, you need to realize that!” he spat venomously.
Harry bit his lip, holding back tears as Draco forcefully removed his hand from his face. He reached out a shaking hand and placed it on Draco’s. His voice quivered as he spoke. “The one person I want to save, I can’t.” he paused to look up at Draco pleadingly, “Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”
Draco clenched his jaw and removed his hand from under Harry’s. He spoke calmly and collectively, but his words were filled with so much spite, it hurt to listen to. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts, knowing that you are the one who can’t be saved?” Draco turned away from him and looked out the window. “Just…just go, Harry.”
Harry bowed his head, and left Draco to his misery.
A small Hogwarts’ owl landed softly on Draco’s knee. He turned to it, and pulled the letter from his leg. It was written in his own stationary. He furrowed his bow and unrolled the parchment to see Eara’s firm hand.


Dear Draco,
I’m writing this letter to you from your desk at Malfoy Manor. Dumbledore has asked me to inspect the place—to see what happened. Your father is alive, though barely; though he wouldn’t have been had I arrived a moment later. Your mother is dead; she committed suicide (she believed you and Lucius to be dead).
I know that this letter must sound terribly harsh to you, but one way or the other, you had to find out. You see, the reason I left a few years ago, was not because I feared Voldemort, rather, myself. Ever since I was a little girl, I was plagued with visions of my parent’s death at your father’s hand. A prophecy came from your mother, aunt, and several others, that I would avenge my parent’s by way of your father’s flesh…namely his first born son; you.
Your father did not forbid you to see me out of spite for my parents, but out of fear and love for you. He did not tell you the truth, because he did not want you to fear for your life. I’m sorry.
As you know, I am an empath. I picked up some things in the manor which I thought you should know. Your father and mother were under confundi charms, to ignore any passes that Voldemort made at you. He could have taken you on the dining table during supper, and there was no way they could have known.
Again, I am so sorry for lying to you. I’m sure you felt it, but now I am telling you. I love you, Draco, and I don’t want to hurt you. That is why I left two years ago, and is why I am leaving now.
Eara
Draco crumpled the parchment into a ball, and threw it in the waste bin nearest to him. He tugged at his blanket impatiently, and laid his head on his pillow. Without another thought of Eara, Voldemort, or Harry, he slept—soundly; knowing that his father really did love him after all.