PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

12

I was wrong about the time-related incidents blowing over completely. Muggles have an expression, about how elephants never forget. If magical folk have a similar expression, I'm sure they would replace the elephant with a fourth-year Slytherin. After all, Pansy Parkinson has taken every opportunity afforded to her to call me Time-Turning Turner.

It's getting tiring, honestly. People are trying to talk to me. I prefer to keep my head down, but it's impossible when people keep calling your name to get your attention. Mandy is now the least of annoying things which follows me around. Worst of all, Pansy is distracting. The ball on the Sagum has hit me in the face twice now, since the locations of my thoughts are moving about so quickly. I managed to heal a rather nasty bruise on my face.

Soon enough, I lose it. May has arrived, and I am going insane. One day, when I've been hit in the face by the Sagum for a third time, I can no longer take it. So, I stand up, and walk with it. I let it guide me to Malfoy, my fist balling in anger. As long as he doesn't even have the smallest, simplest of cloaking charms on him, I can find him.

The Sagum leads me up to Professor Snape's classroom. The door is shut, but the Sagum points directly into it. This seems more hazardous than it is worth. I put the Sagum into my bag so that it is hidden. My better judgement, my knowledge of Professor Snape, tells me just to keep this door closed. Yet, I find myself opening it. It is unlocked, after all.

Inside, Professor Snape looks up from his desk. My chest tightens. I cannot look away.

"Miss Turner," his voice has such a drawl that each syllable is at an agonizing pace. "Surely you have come to ask for help dealing with whatever dark creature has possessed you. Otherwise, I cannot imagine why you have the gall to come here after hours, although I suppose time is quite strange when you are around, is it not?"

I feel myself swallow.

"She's my guest, Professor Snape," Malfoy offers.

My head turns toward him. He's looking down at a potion, probably too preoccupied to give me any proper glance. So, I look back at Professor Snape and offer a curt nod to him.

"Very well," Professor Snape huffs. He turns back to a book on his table, ignoring us both once more.

So, I move toward Malfoy. He is stirring the contents of his cauldron with a thick wooden stick. His wand lies beside him. They aren't the same object, certainly, so I wonder what corrosive material is in the cauldron. When I am close enough, I can see inside. It is a putrid black liquid, with a terrible smell. It is thick, almost looking thicker than molasses, but not as solid as putty that children play with. The colour is so dark that the rest of the room feels dimmer around it. Heat radiates off the thing. Actually, it's nauseating.

"What is that?" I whisper.

I glance beside him, for the sight of any vials. There is only one, with a granular piss-yellow substance inside.

"It'll be done in a minute," Malfoy insists. "Can't you wait?"

"I'm not here on a social call, as much as you would like that," I keep my voice low.

My eyes turn back to the cauldron. This isn't a potion. It's some sort of alchemical substance. We cannot take the class until sixth year, so I know nothing of alchemy, even barely anything that muggles suppose about alchemy.

"I had hoped you weren't," Malfoy says. He stops stirring, and then looks to Professor Snape. "I need more sulfur. This vial hardly has enough."

Professor Snape's nose scrunches up. Then, he sighs, and puts down his book, "I will go chat with Professor Erubine."