Anachronism
Chapter 18: Anachronism
After a night of interrupted sleep due to the three hour shifts they took waiting for the sky to illuminate, the three Slytherins could’ve really used a Cheering Charm. They had Potions in the afternoon, which was a relaxing review for a change, and honestly just as pleasant as a Cheering Charm. Draco and Blaise spent the entire class period carefully stirring a perfectly prepared Confusing Concoction before setting it to thicken, and Snape nodded approvingly. It also helped to watch him standing over Potter with an air of vindictive pleasure as he scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before moving away to the next pairing. The boys sniggered at the slight, thoroughly enjoying Potter’s look of dismay.
The next exam was History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which Draco and Pansy raced to scribble everything their parents had ever told them about medieval witch-hunts, while wishing they could finally throw themselves out onto the grassy lawn of the school grounds to escape the stifling classroom. Pansy finished first, but only by two minutes, and though she tried to rub his nose in it, Draco insisted it was only because his quill snapped halfway through his third paragraph. Granger took her exam with them, sitting just in front of Draco. His eyes bored into the back of her mass of curls, but she didn’t pay him a single drop of attention, not even a sideways glance as she turned in her essay and dashed out the door, presumably to time hop back to another exam.
Wednesday afternoon, Professor Trelawney held their Divination exams. Draco met Daphne in the first floor hall after finishing with lunch and they proceeded all the way up to the seventh, where many of their class were sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney’s classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying.
“She’s seeing us all separately,” Tracey informed them as they went to sit down next to her, Millie, and Greg. Greg had his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal gazing. “Have either of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?” he asked them unhappily.
“Nope,” said Draco in an offhand voice.
The line of people outside the classroom shortened very slowly. As each person climbed back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hissed, “What did she ask? Was it okay?”
But they all refused to say.
“She says the crystal ball’s told her that if I tell you, I’ll have a horrible accident!” squeaked Millicent as she clambered back down the ladder toward Daphne and Draco, who had now reached the landing.
“That’s convenient,” snorted Daphne. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re right about her” — he jabbed his thumb toward the trapdoor overhead — “she’s a right old fraud.”
“Yeah,” said Draco, looking at his watch, anxious to be finished with exams for the day. It was now two o’clock. “Wish she’d hurry up...” Tracey came back down the ladder glowing with pride.
“She says I’ve got all the makings of a true Seer,” she informed Daphne and Draco. “I saw loads of stuff... Well, good luck!” She hurried off down the spiral staircase toward Millie and Greg who were waiting for her.
“Daphne Greengrass,” said the familiar, misty voice from over their heads. Daphne grimaced at Draco and climbed the silver ladder out of sight. Draco was now the only person left to be tested. He settled himself on the floor with his back against the wall, watching the birds swoop in front of the sunny window.
Finally, after about twenty minutes, Daphne’s shiny black heels reappeared on the ladder. “How’d it go?” Draco asked him, standing up.
“Nonsense,” she said. “Couldn’t see a thing, so I made some stuff up. Don’t think she was convinced, though...”
“Meet you in the common room,” Draco nodded resolutely as Professor Trelawney’s voice called, “Draco Malfoy!”
The tower room was hotter than ever before; the curtains were closed, the fire was alight, and the usual sickly scent made Draco cough as he stumbled through the clutter of chairs and table to where Professor Trelawney sat waiting for him before a large crystal ball.
“Good day, my dear,” she said softly. “If you would kindly gaze into the Orb... Take your time, now... then tell me what you see within it...”
Draco bent over the crystal ball and stared, stared as hard as he could, willing it to show him something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happened.
“Well?” Professor Trelawney prompted delicately. “What do you see?”
The heat was overpowering and his nostrils were stinging with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. He thought of what Daphne had just said, and decided to pretend, except when he looked back at the crystal ball, a familiar shape took form in the fog.
“It’s...” Draco tried to focus on the shape, it was moving…flapping? “It’s a bird…” he whispered under his breath, but Professor Trelawney nodded encouragingly, hearing him easily.
“What bird does it resemble?” whispered Professor Trelawney. “Think, now...” Draco cast his mind around as he tried to compare the shape to anything he’d seen before.
“I—I’m not sure. I don’t think I remember seeing a bird like this before…” he admitted, downtrodden at the prospect he would probably fail now. He shouldn’t just made something up like Daph did.
“Indeed! Are you absolutely certain? Perhaps it is a Hippogriff…” whispered Professor Trelawney, scribbling keenly on the parchment perched upon her knees. “My boy, you may well be seeing the outcome of poor Hagrid’s trouble with the Ministry of Magic! Look closer... Does the Hippogriff appear to... have its head?”
“Yes,” said Draco firmly, “but it’s definitely not a Hippogriff. It’s a bird. Just a bird.”
“Are you sure?” Professor Trelawney urged him again. “Are you quite sure, dear? You don’t see it writhing on the ground, perhaps, and a shadowy figure raising an axe behind it?”
“No!” said Draco dully, starting to feel frustrated at the obvious leading she was doing, and slightly sick from the noxious smells of the room. “No blood? No weeping Hagrid?”
“No!” said Draco again, wanting more than ever to leave the room and the heat. “It looks fine, it’s — flying away...”
Professor Trelawney sighed.
“Well, dear, I think we’ll leave it there... A little disappointing... but I’m sure you did your best.”
Relieved, Draco got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud, harsh voice spoke behind him.
“IT WILL HAPPEN TOMORROW.”
Draco wheeled around. Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were
unfocused and her mouth sagging. “S — sorry?” said Draco.
But Professor Trelawney didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. Draco sat there in shock and disgust. She looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. He hesitated, thinking of running to the dungeons and pretending he hadn’t heard anything — and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own:
“ON THE MORROW LIGHTNING WILL STRIKE... WOLVES WILL HOWL AND BIRDS TAKE FLIGHT... DEATH’S KISS WILL HEAL AND TIME WILL REARRANGE…A CHANGE…A CHANGE…”
Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Draco sat there, staring at her, feeling extremely uncomfortable and unsure of what just happened. Then, quite suddenly, Professor Trelawney’s head snapped up again.
“I’m so sorry, dear boy,” she said dreamily, “the heat of the day, you know... I drifted off for a moment...”
Draco’s jaw dropped open at the absurdity.
“Is there anything wrong, my dear?”
“You — you — never mind,” Draco flew down the ladder and the spiral staircase, wondering... had he just heard Professor Trelawney make a real prediction?
Blaise and Daphne were talking in the hall nearly halfway back to the commonroom, and Draco nearly plowed them over in his haste to get somewhere he could write down what Professor Trelawney had just said.
“Blaise! We need Theo, now!” Draco started to move again, but Daphne grabbed his arm.
“Hey! You know Pansy tells me everything, right?” The blonde witch pouted at always being left out of their schemes. “Theo does too, sometimes…”
“Fine, come on,” Draco reluctantly agreed as he repetitively mumbled the prophecy over and over under his breath so as not to forget any of it.
Theo and Pansy were lounging on the chaise, flipping through magazines in the commonroom when they arrived, having already finished their exams for the day.
“Why so winded?” Pansy asked without sparing them a glance.
Blaise and Daphne just shrugged, still not knowing what was going on. Draco looked around for any unwanted eyes or ears before ushering them all to the boys’ dorm.
“Wha—“ Theo started to ask, but Draco violently shushed him while yanking a piece of parchment and his self-inking quill out of his trunk. He knelt on the floor next to it and scratched furiously, making sure he didn’t miss a single detail of Trelawney’s vision.
“Seriously, Draco, what’s all this about?” Blaise asked nervously.
Draco held up a finger as he finished writing out the last few words before holding it up for them.
“On the morrow lightning will strike
Wolves will howl and birds take flight
Death’s kiss will heal and time will rearrange
A change
A change”
The four friends read silently, confused by what he was showing them.
“You’re writing poetry now?” Pansy scoffed the same time Daphne squealed, “is this a prophecy?”
“No and yes,” Draco narrowed his eyes at Pansy before nodding at Daphne.
“Did you make it for your exam?” She asked skeptically.
“No! Trelawney made it as I was trying to leave! She went into some sort of trance, and I honestly thought she was having a fit or something, but—“
“But it made too much sense—well part of it anyway,” Blaise said knowingly.
“So wait, I’m gonna be a wolf tomorrow?!” Theo asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“A wolf?” Daphne said in horror.
“Yeah, probably, but that’s not what concerns me,” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Who’s gonna be a bird, you or me?” Blaise looked at Draco expectantly.
“I don’t wanna be a stupid bird!” Draco scowled at the insinuation.
“Oh, you’re definitely going to be a peacock!” Blaise cackled loudly, and Draco lunged to grab him before being jerked away from an unknown arm.
“EXCUSE ME! IS ANYONE GOING TO TELL ME WHY THEO IS GOING TO BE A WOLF TOMORROW?! AND WHY THE BLOODY FUCK ARE YOU TWO ARGUING OVER BIRDS?!” Daphne shouted, effectively shutting the rest of the group up.
“They’re turning into Animagi, and we’re all very confident Theo’s gonna be a wolf since his mother was—“ Pansy cut off abruptly at the rising anger in Theo’s harsh stare.
“Theo’s mother was a what?” Daphne asked impatiently.
“I—I—“ Pansy floundered, looking for a way to cover her tracks, but it was too late, Daphne wouldn’t let this slide.
Theo sighed from behind her, and Daphne turned to look at the tall lanky boy as he carded a hand through his chestnut locks. “A werewolf.” He answered bluntly.
She gasped, a hand fluttering to her chest, as she unconsciously stepped back from him.
Theo reached for her, sadness glinting in his eyes, but Daphne was looking at every face but his. “Is Theo a—“
“Daph, I’m right here, ya know,” Theo grunted aggravated at her response, “and no I’m not.” Her shoulder sagged slightly at the news, but her guard was still up and she refused to meet Theo’s gaze. “She’s not what you’re thinking of either. She was one of the wolves born under a full moon in the forest here, she couldn’t transform.”
“But then, how…”
“Narcissa made her an amulet,” Theo pulled the moonstone out from under his shirt, holding it up to let her see before dropping it back onto his chest. “She could be a human, but my father found out and…well, you can imagine.” Theo turned away, his turn now to avoid her look of pity.
“Theo, I’m—I’m so sorry,” Daphne said softly, looking down at her feet uncomfortably.
“It’s fine, Daph,” Theo said gently in a tone of finality, the spark faded from his eyes.
“So you’re all gonna be wolves and birds tomorrow, great,” Pansy jumped in, “what about the rest of it?”
Draco’s face twisted up in confusion at the reminder they still had no idea what the rest of the prophecy meant, “I don’t know.”
…
Later that evening, the Slytherins climbed the hundreds of stairs to the Astronomy tower for the exam at midnight, up on the tallest tower. It mostly went without trouble, although Daphne couldn’t help but whisper to him all of the meanings behind her findings. She pointed out the full moon would rise tomorrow night, which was obvious and he ignored, she continued to whisper feverishly about Mercury being sextile with Chiron and she caught his attention.
“What?”
“It means you’d be open to other worldly things like say…a psychic message or—“
“Prophesy…” Draco whispered.
“Theo,” Daphne had leaned over the other direction, “you really shouldn’t be wearing that moonstone with our Slytherin robes. Mercury isn’t compatible with the moon.”
“Quiet please!” Professor Sinistra called across the tower.
“Venus square with Lilith…” Draco mumbled to himself as he scratched out his chart on his parchment.
“Oooh seduction!” Daphne grinned and Draco grimaced. “Mars is opposing the north node,” she looked at him meaningfully before continuing to make her own chart.
“Fine. What does that mean, then?” Draco sighed resigned to hear her out.
“You’re dwelling on the past but looking toward the future—-focus more on the future,” she said with a smile.
“Okaaay,” Draco said, wanting a bit more insight, but deciding he’d come back to that and prompted her with the next planet. “And Saturn in retrograde?”
“Breaking down barriers and building new ones,” she whispered thoughtfully.
“How do you know all this?” Draco asked, confused. They’d never gone this in depth in Divination or Astronomy.
“Pansy and I have been keeping up with a few Muggle magazines that talk about a lot of it. It’s quite interesting—“
“Quiet or I will grade your charts as-is!” Sinistra called out, slightly more frustrated than her last warning.
…
By the time the Slytherins made it back to sleep, they were only going to get maybe a few hours of sleep before their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. It simply wouldn’t do to be sleep deprived and have to prove himself against the likes of Potter and Granger. Draco set his alarm with grand plans to use the time turner to get a few extra hours of sleep in the morning.
Naturally, nothing went to plan. Draco woke to his alarm buzzing, and he quickly re-set it, and pulled out the pocket watch. The moment he touched it, the sand began to flip over of its own accord. He was jolted backward, the world thrashing wildly around him. Draco could do no more than try not to vomit as his insides twisted and lurched with each violent spin.
“Please stop…please stop,” he cried to himself. The time turner’s sporadic trips to the past were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and he could only imagine what he would see next.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
A young boy was crying in the corner. He looked to be about the age to be starting at Hogwarts soon. His raven hair was cropped short and smoothed neatly. The dirt under his nails suggested he’d been playing outside in the earth. It was warm, mostly like summertime outside, but you’d never know it by how dark and cold the room was. Draco recognized the wallpaper as that of Château Noir he had seen in a past vision of his mother and aunts.
The boy looked up, as if staring straight through Draco. He turned around to see a small girl tip-toeing into the room, quickly closing the door behind her and walking straight through Draco as if he were a ghost. Well that answers that question whether they can see me. I suppose I looked pretty dumb the last few times trying to hide and sneak around…
“Marius?” The little girl’s voice rang out in contrast to the silence of the rest of the house.
“Go away, Dori, before they find you in here,” he whispered vehemently.
“But—“ she protested.
“No, Dorea, you need to go. Father might try to send you away too, okay? Do you understand, Dori? You have to forget about me. I’m not like you or Cassi or Pollux. I don’t have any magic!” He tried to push her gently toward the door.
“No Marius! I won’t forget you! You’re my brother!” The girl, Dorea, stamped her foot in indignation before promptly plopping down on the floor and crossing her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Dori, please. You know I love you, but I have to go. Father would never let me stay, I’d be a stain on the family name forever. I don’t belong in this world anymore—not like this,” he said sadly, dropping back to his huddled place on the floor.
“But who’s gonna tell me stories?” Dorea sniffled, and Marius wiped away a stray tear threatening to drip off the tip of her button nose.
“Cassi and Pollux will have loads of stories for you from school, and in two years, it’ll be your turn to go,” he tried to give the girl a reassuring smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes and she started to cry again.
Marius pulled her in close and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She twisted in his grasp and flung both of her pale little arms around him, crying into his neck. “Cassi’s mean and Pollux doesn’t like me!” Dorea mumbled into his skin through broken sobs.
“It’ll be okay, Dori,” he muttered, as he gently combed his fingers through her hair. “It’ll be okay,” he said half to her and half to himself.
Time sped up for a moment and a large man stormed into the room, grabbing the boy out of the girl’s grasp and dragging him away as both children cried and reached out for each other. It was too much. A tear slipped from Draco’s cheek. It was so reminiscent of his mother being dragged away…
Draco, too, was dragged behind the pair and he found himself being yanked behind his navel as a blue light flashed ahead of him, circling the boy. Draco fell through the air, landing with a thud next to the boy in the middle of London—confused and broken.
A man watched the boy from across the street. He looked to be relatively well off from his dress, and Draco thought he looked a bit familiar. He had the same aristocratic face they all seemed to have in these trips through time—the Black bloodline raging prominently in their cheeks and eyes. Marius stood on wobbly feet, clearly having never traveled in such a way. Draco particularly didn’t care for traveling by Portkey but it served a purpose, he supposed.
Seeing the boy’s discombobulation, the man carefully crossed the street, carefully avoiding the other pedestrians and the motorized buggies rolling along. Draco realized he wasn’t entirely sure what they were. He’d seen something that served a similar purpose in Muggle Studies, but it definitely didn’t look like that—at least not anymore, he corrected. The self-pulling carriages rolled on, noisily and the man approached Marius. The boy scrunched his face up at him, squinting to get a good look, but the man pulled out something in his pocket that surprised the boy. He led him down an alleyway and Draco followed.
“Phineas,” the man held his hand out to Marius, who took it hesitantly.
“Marius,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you, nephew,” the man flashed a charming grin and pulled his wand out of his pocket. “I’d reckon you can’t do magic, can you? That’s why they sent you away?”
Marius nodded, his eyes cast downward to the cobblestones beneath his feet. “I‘m a Squib,” he spat, mimicking the disgusted tone his father used.
“Hey now,” Phineas chastised, “there’s nothing wrong with that, y’know.” He lifted the boy's chin with a finger. “Even Muggles have magic that even wizards can’t do.”
Marius’s eyes shot up to meet his uncle’s—molten steel matching with the like. “Really?” Hope laced in each letter and glowing across his face.
“Really. What do you know of science?” Phineas clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and they began to walk down the busy street. Draco tried to follow, but found his feet glued in place. He looked around frantically, and realized the earth was shifting again and he was being thrown back through time.
With a harsh lurch forward, Draco’s feet unstuck from beneath him and he wretched on the ground, the contents of his stomach emptying onto the steps he was suddenly perched on. Panting, Draco’s eyes lifted to take in the new surroundings. He felt more disoriented than he ever had from one of these trips—visions—whatever they were. He was in Grimmauld Place. Horror registered on his face as he came to the realization he was in a completely new event—and still not back at Hogwarts.
Deliriously, Draco wiped at the corners of his tired eyes. He really hadn’t gotten enough sleep for his exams, let alone the intense memories he was intruding on. He lifted himself up onto his knees, noticing that the mess he had just made had already disappeared. Draco peeked through the rungs of the staircase and looking down on the sitting room, saw a group of men standing in a semicircle. At the center a young boy with long, shaggy black hair was being held down by a man and a woman onto a large ornate Persian rug.
Draco immediately recognized the shrill voice of the woman as his aunt, Walburga, therefore he thought it safe to assume the man as his uncle, Orion, and the boy as Sirius. From the teenage boy’s heavy breathing and weakened thrashing against their hold, Draco could tell he’d been fighting his constraints for quite some time.
“JUST LAY STILL!” Walburga shrieked as she landed a cracking slap over the back of her son’s head.
“You’re only making it worse,” Orion droned, detached, as he waved his wand and ropes slithered around the boy, effectively holding him down.
“Why didn’t you just do that to begin with?” A very familiar man’s voice said icily from the half-circle. He stepped forward as he spoke, and Draco recognized the man even through his mask—Lucius Malfoy. He was much younger, just like Sirius, but certainly in charge of the operation at hand. All the other masks turned toward him as he spoke, “present his left arm.”
Walburga ripped Sirius’s arm free from the conjured ropes, holding it out with his sleeve pushed up. Sirius wrestled with her, trying to pull his arm back, but she pulled out her own wand, flicking it with a Diffindo. The boy’s back sliced open, scarlet quickly seeping through his shirt, mixing with the varying colors of the rug beneath. Sirius cried out in agony, but Walburga only cackled.
“YOU COULD’VE MADE THIS EASY AND GIVEN YOURSELF WILLINGLY! INSTEAD, YOU DISGRACED THE ENTIRE HOUSE OF BLACK! YOU WILL JOIN US NOW AND TAKE YOUR PLACE AS THE HEIR,” she crowed harshly, malice dripping from every word she uttered. Walburga kicked Sirius in the ribs and what little stability he had left gave out. He collapsed, flattened to the floor now soaked in his pure blood.
A hoarse crackling bounced off the floor, and Draco was sure Sirius was near death now. But the sound grew from a crackle to a raspy, barking laugh. He was actually laughing at his mother. His eyes were barely opened, his back spasming from the damage and ragged breathing, but he grinned devilishly up at the woman.
“No.”
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!” Walburga screeched in outrage.
“I—said—NO,” Sirius stated slowly, and as clearly as he could in his condition. His face was sullen and serious, the laughter gone, replaced with his strict defiance.
“HOW DARE YOU!” The plump woman shouted. She rocked back before flinging her foot solidly into her son’s side, a sickening crack echoed through the silent parlor as at least three ribs were shattered to pieces.
Draco dry heaved. He couldn’t recall a scene more repulsive than a parent physically destroying their child. He also couldn’t—wouldn’t forget the fact that his father seemed to be in charge of the situation at hand.
As if hearing his thoughts, Lucius stepped forward and sneered at the woman. “The Dark Lord has no use for broken things, you vile woman.” Lucius slapped the woman hard across the cheek and she cowered, clutching her face in shock. The woman’s own defiance blazed in her dull gray eyes, but at the inconspicuous touch of her husband’s fingertips on her elbow, she reigned any indignation that may have been unleashed. Lucius grinned wickedly at the submission, before using the toe of his dragon hide boots to inspect Sirius’s head as it lolled to the side.
“He’s useless,” Lucius scowled. “Call us when he’s been properly healed and can behave.”
The Floo roared to life, green flames licking at the feminine heeled boots of none other than his aunt. Her hair was much wilder than the last memory she was in—her eyes more sunken, ringed with a darkness that matched her soulless aura. She looked empty, as if someone had poured everything she used to be out and replaced it with…well a Dementor. Her presence was soul-sucking. Draco could feel the cold that radiated from her person, the whole room immediately shifted to turn to her—all except for Lucius.
“Lucy,” she barely regarded her brother-in-law with an upturned lip. “I see you’ve failed to do as you’re told yet again. I’m surprised the Dark Lord still keeps you around as useless as you are,” she cackled grotesquely.
Bellatrix nudged Sirius with her boot and he grunted in pain. “So not dead then,” Bellatrix licked her lips as she crouched low to the boy’s face. “Ready to give in, cousin? Grow up—leave behind those children you waste your time with—blood traitors and Mudbloods. Come join the most powerful wizard in all of history—become the pride of the House of Black!” she whispered seductively in his ear.
Sirius’s head whipped away with a groan as he tried to distance himself from the shell of a woman his cousin had become. She was unhinged. Draco could see that now—see why his mother feared her; mourned for who she was. Bellatrix wasn’t human anymore, she was something else, something other; a vessel for the Dark Lord to fill with whatever he pleased.
Sirius’s face scrunched, a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, no doubt, but Lucius intervened. “Bella, he’s in no shape to accept the Mark. Your aunt made sure of that,” he growled the last statement as he eyed Walburga with disdain.
“There is no more time. He must take the Mark now, or the Dark Lord will choose another family and the House of Black will be worth nothing! Is that the legacy you want your wife to bear every time she goes out to your precious society events? Cissy will be shamed—you will be shamed!” Bellatrix crooned threateningly. “Wouldn’t want that now would you, Lucy?”
“Stop—calling me—that,” he ground out with practiced control. For someone who had absolutely no ability to use Occlumency, it was somewhat impressive as Draco knew for a fact his father would never put up with that nickname unless there was a legitimate reason.
“Oh, need a reminder who’s really in charge here, brother?” She spat the last word with disgust, her thick and unyielding wand tip jutting into his chin.
“No.” Lucius’s nostrils flared in his hatred. Draco now understood—the nickname and taunting, or torture.
“Lovely!” She grinned impishly. “Now,” her attention returned to Sirius, still held in place under the heel of her boot, “wakey wakey!”
Sirius didn’t move.
“Take it like a man, you pathetic excuse for a—“ her wand had moved to Sirius’s exposed temple where his hair had parted.
“Stop!” A smaller voice came from behind Draco. A boy of only fourteen or fifteen slowly descended the stairs behind him, and Draco was uncertain of how Sirius would escape this scene. Bellatrix stood at the intruder’s arrival, wand trained on him, her boot returning to Sirius’s head.
“I’ll take his place,” the younger boy—Regulus, Draco now realized—continued, garnering the attention of all the Black family members present.
“He is not the heir,” Orion said nervously, but Bellatrix appraised the younger boy with scrutiny.
“When do you turn sixteen?” She asked harshly.
“Next June,” he said, eyes staring straight back at Bellatrix, not once wavering toward his parents huddled in the corner—their faces pleading him to shut his mouth.
“Reg—“ Sirius’s gravelly voice was the only sound in the room.
“Shhh!” Bellatrix silenced him with her wand while simultaneously crushing his skull under her foot. “I need to think.”
“What does it matter, Bella, you’d be trading one child for another,” Lucius drawled, inspecting his nails and feigning disinterest. “Although, I’m quite certain the Dark Lord would never give you the authority to delay his plans another year.” Lucius smirked at the crazed witch.
“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Bellatrix’s voice rang out with authority, “you are hereby bound by your word to the service of the Dark Lord until the time of your sixteenth birthday at which you will seal the bond by oath, by blood, and by flesh.
“I pledge myself to the Dark Lord,” Regulus responded flatly, void of any emotion. He’s occluding.
“Well, now that that’s finished,” Bellatrix spun back around and looked down her pointed nose at Sirius. “What to do with you,” she tapped her wand against her chin in thought. “Well, while I’m thinking…Crucio!”
The curse made contact with Sirius and he writhed on the ground, his joints moving at odd angles and face contorting. His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head and his mouth was pried open in a silent scream. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably, and Draco felt the bile rising in his throat again. He knew Sirius would make it out alive, but his skin crawled with the scene below him. Regulus clenched his fists, the only subtle hint that he was in opposition to the torture taking place before him, but he stood frozen—unmoving.
Draco yelled out, “STOP IT! STOP!” None of the people acknowledged his presence—not a muscle twitched in response.
“Well this is no fun,” Bellatrix chuckled, then promptly canceling her silencing spell with a wave of her wand.
Sirius’s screams reverberated around the house, melding themselves into the very walls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The sound echoed in Draco’s bones, and he knew it would never leave. He’d never be able to look Sirius-the man in the face, knowing that he had witnessed the breaking of Sirius-the boy. Finally, the boy went limp, his body giving out. Sweat and blood dripped from his face and mouth.
“Leave him, I’m sure he’ll die soon anyway,” Bellatrix said callously. “The Dark Lord calls us to gather,” she said with a wicked glint in her eye.
One by one, the band of Death Eaters disapparated into thick black smoke, until only Bellatrix and Lucius remained in the family home. “Run along, Lucy, like the lapdog you are,” she cackled heartily.
“B—“ his father started to retaliate when Orion stepped in, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“Give Narcissa our best, will you?” He asked, giving a pointed stare, and Lucius nodded in understanding.
“I will, Walburga, I’m sure she’d love to visit with you for tea soon, if you’d like—an open invitation,” he offered with a placating smile.
“Lovely, dear,” Walburga trembled without making eye contact and Bellatrix snorted at the niceties.
Lucius stepped through the Floo, calling out “Malfoy Manor” as he stepped into the emerald flames.
Bellatrix looked over Regulus once more before whispering, “I’ll be seeing you soon, young cousin.” She disappeared in black smoke like the others, and the moment she was gone, Regulus deflated into a heap on the ground, and his parents rushed to his side, stepping over their other son—unconscious and barely alive on the rug.
“You have to take it back, you don’t know what you’ve just done!” Walburga wailed at her youngest boy.
“I can’t, mother. You know that. A promise to the Dark Lord is not broken. If I go back on my word, father goes back on his. A Black heir was promised and I will deliver it,” Regulus said despondently.
“Son,” Orion began, “we can try to offer the other one again—“
“No, father. They’ll kill him!” Regulus growled, enraged.
“He’d be significantly less troublesome that way…” Walburga stage-whispered to her husband. And Regulus grimaced in time with Draco. These people were disgusting as parents and never should’ve been allowed to reproduce, even if it was his own family. “Perhaps your father should just take your place, dear?” Orion looked affronted at the suggestion.
“It’s done. I’ll deal with him,” Regulus said with finality as he gestured to his distorted brother next to him.
“Fine. But he’s given up all rights to this family—take heed of his choices and where they got him!” Orion growled, dragging a sobbing Walburga behind him.
When the room was empty, Regulus leant over, whispering, “oh Sirius, what did you get yourself into?”
Sirius didn’t open his eyes, but grinned with blood-stained teeth, “I could ask you the same thing.”
Regulus dragged the large rug, with Sirius on it, over to the Floo. He threw in the powder and stuck his head into the flames, shouting “Potter Manor!” A moment later, none other than James Potter came tumbling out of the Floo. Potter has a Manor?!
“Reggie, what happened?” Potter’s father asked accusingly.
“They tried to Mark him,” the boy answered bluntly, looking away.
Potter stared in horror, carefully reaching for Sirius’s left arm, but Regulus stopped him. “It’s not there, I stopped them.”
“You?” Potter asked incredulously. “How did you—“
“It doesn’t matter. Just—just take care of him alright? He can’t come back here anymore. If they—if any of them see him again, they’ll kill him. You guys have one year to figure all this shit out, got it?” Regulus pleaded, eyes brimming with hope at the boy who was the spitting image of his future son.
“What d’you mean a year? Reggie, what happens in a year?” Potter asked, immediately suspicious.
“They take me instead,” he whispered sadly. “Now go, Potter. Take him, and go.”
Potter watched the boy, clearly trying to sort out his hero complex, before deciding the more pressing issue was to take care of Sirius. He had a year to help Regulus after all…
The ground lurched again, and Draco squeezed his eyes tightly. This time, the world only spun for a few seconds and he was deposited in Potter Manor based on all the Gryffindor colors and lions in the decor. Alphard was there, shaking Sirius’s hand and assuring him he’d be well taken care off. “You may be blasted off the family tree, but I am the only one, now, who can financially disown you and I have no intention of doing so.
Draco’s vision flipped upside down, and he saw more flashes of memories, some upside down and others moving past him, just fleeting moments.
A woman kneeling in front of Phineas Nigellus, begging him, “please, Phineas, Bob’s a good man!” The future Headmaster sneered at her, “he is a Muggle.”
Alphard being threatened at wand-point by Orion and Cygnus. “Cut him off! He is no longer the heir to the House of Black!”
The same woman from before in a church, putting a ring on the finger of a man, and snapping her wand and dropping it at their feet, the biggest smile touching her glistening eyes.
Regulus was in a large, black cavern, gliding over a glassy lake with a greenish hue. Kreacher was with him, pointing straight ahead.
Alphard’s face being blasted off the Black family tapestry by Cygnus as he muttered “serves you right, brother.”
Regulus was drinking from a silver goblet, tears streaming down his face, shouting “Sirius! No! Please, no!”
The woman was laying in a bed, framed with wood carved into the French Provincial style to match the furniture all around. Another, much younger woman—a granddaughter perhaps—was holding a baby girl in her arms, the name Isla stitched in pink on her white blanket.
Regulus lay on the shore of the glassy lake very near to the water, with Kreacher leaning over him. “Go, Kreacher. Take the locket and leave me here. It’s—an—order…” White hands had risen out of the lake, scratching at the pebbled beach—reaching—reaching—grabbing. The hands grabbed hold, finding purchase on Regulus’s long black…Death Eater robes. He was dragged silently into the water, disappearing into its depths.
Sirius’s face was obliterated off the family tapestry when a fireball flew from Walburga’s fingertips.
Draco’s knees hit stone. He was hunched over on all fours in his dormitory, and flattened himself to the stones as he wept. He had never witnessed such tragedy and pain.
“Draco?” Theo’s changing timbre was shockingly loud against Draco’s ringing ears.
“I…I just need a…minute,” Draco gasped out.
When the ringing and spinning had subsided, Draco tried to gather his composure, but images of his ancestors and especially Sirius and Regulus were tattooed on his eyelids. Every blink was another flash of the memories he wished he had never seen.
“I traveled again…” Draco began to recount the many lifetimes he’d lived…in such a short length of measurable time…yet at the same time…and in no time at all… The rest of the Slytherins looked just as confused trying to understand Draco’s tales as much as he was confused trying to explain them chronologically. He was certain it wasn’t even possible.
“Time is out of order—“ Theo said slowly. “It’s rearranged!” He popped off his bed excitedly. Looking from Blaise to Draco and back. “Oh come on! How am I the one to work this out?” He chucked at the irony.
Finally, the words sunk in and the other two caught on. The prophecy! So Trelawney isn’t a total fraud…I definitely can’t tell Daphne.
…
Draco went ahead with the lack of sleep, feeling much too hesitant to even look at the pocket watch any time soon. Their Herbology exam went smoothly, with Pansy preening at Professor Sprout’s praises over her potting technique.
While Draco felt the greenhouses were close to sweltering under a baking-hot sun, he was glad to have the distraction as the heat made it difficult to focus on any of the horrific memories from that morning.
The Slytherins trudged back to the Great Hall for lunch with sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it would all be over. Draco, Theo, and Blaise would be newly transformed Animagi, and they would be free for the summer to do as they pleased.
Their second to last exam, on Thursday, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken—a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart.
Draco was proud to say he felt sufficiently ready for the exam, having been preparing with Sirius for something like this over the past two months. To Draco’s great dismay, Potter shone brightly above the rest of the class, passing with flying colors and earning numerous compliments from Professor Lupin.
“Excellent, Harry,” Lupin muttered as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. “Full marks.”
Flushed with his success, Potter hung around to watch the rest of the class and smirk when anyone made a mistake. Weasley did decently until he reached the Hinkypunk, which successfully confused the dimwit into sinking waist-high into the quagmire. Surprisingly, Granger did everything perfectly until she reached the trunk with the Boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she burst out again, screaming.
“Hermione!” said Lupin, startled. “What’s the matter?”
“P-P-Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. “Sh-she said I’d failed everything!”
It took a little while to calm Hermione down, and the whole of Slytherin were crying from laughing so hard. Draco tried to stifle his laugh when she glared over at him, but his hand couldn’t quite muffle the sound. When at last she had regained a grip on herself, she dragged the two Gryffindorks away, and went back to the castle.
Draco, too, passed with full marks, although this time instead of thinking of Dementors, Draco saw Bellatrix…standing over a bloodied body…not Sirius this time though…it was him. It took him only a few seconds to remember his task and he Occluded as hard as he could to push out the memory.
Theo, like the Weasel, was led astray, but eventually righted himself to regain some points. Blaise also did well, but got hung up with the Grindylows for a bit too long.
As they walked back to the castle, wasting time until the next exam, Draco spotted Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic standing at the top of the steps.
“What d’ya think he’s here for?” Theo asked a little too loudly, but their question was soon answered when the grimy Walden Macnair ambled up with his sharpened axe gleaming in the sunlight.
“He’s here, my dear Theo, to serve up some long overdue justice!” Draco said excitedly.
Draco’s last exam was Muggle Studies, and he had an extra spring in his step, knowing what would happen by the end of the day. Theo and Blaise walked up the marble staircase with him, stopping at the first landing. Draco kept checking his wrist watch—the Hippogriff’s last appeal was scheduled for any minute and he really had hoped to watch the beast be executed. Call it morbid curiosity or what-not, but he needed to see the beast put to an end. Draco scratched at his right arm absentmindedly.
“You alright?” Blaise asked, concerned.
“Never better,” Draco grinned, realizing this would be his easiest exam and it’d be done in less than an hour. He and Theo marched into the last exam. The moment Draco entered the classroom, however, Granger’s narrowed eyes punctured and properly deflated his feeling of buoyancy. No one else seemed to notice however, as Draco’s high canceled out Granger’s low, and as long as the two didn’t make eye contact again, nothing would explode.