"Temporis Et Spatii"
PART 2.
CHAPTER 4.
Most consternating about this spell was its headlong plunge into the unknown. It befit Draco in its impetuousness, vaulting our next bearings into place with precious little warning. Presently, imprecise cobblestone proliferated beneath our feet to bank down a hill toward an aggregation of buttery stone buildings looking out to a chaste cobalt ocean. A sinewy tree loomed chartreuse olives over us, and on approach was a simple wooden cart teetering on two large spindlewheels, driven by a sooty wool-cloaked man on a donkey. I glanced down at my coat pocket bearing the pressure of new weight and discovered the Necronomicon.
"The stealing hex," Draco murmured, steadfastly unmoved. "It'll stay with me until the hex is countered. Or ..."
"That's not going to happen."
Until the cart driver stopped to scrutinize us, I had been elated at the prospect of help.
"Yes?" I asked when he didn't speak, shielding my eyes from the unassailable sun.
Draco hacked blood onto his knuckle.
"Leeches!" the man squawked with unrestrained delight, rummaging the village of mottled tarps on his cart. "My dear boy, leeches are the cure for every ail! Three jaws! Tiny rows of teeth! They suckle all the demons from the body, they do!" He exalted a squirming jar triumphantly. "Would you like some? Only six shillings to save your life!"
His listless flourish landed effectively.
. . .
Sleek amber tiles incarnated beneath us, pine steepled above daffodil-swirled wallpaper, and a stone hearth arched to engorge the room. An amethyst-haired woman stood over a steaming iron pot bearing a wooden spoon, the latter clattering to the floor when Draco's slackened hip struck the table.
"Draco Malfoy!"
"Tonks," he answered anemically. "Lookin' good. Not a day over … however old you are."
I blinked, but entreated to Tonks, "Please, we need your help. I can't do spells."
"You can't - do -" She flashed dark eyes at me, then Draco. And peeled into laughter. "You and a muggle! What is she, Draco, sixteen?"
"I'm twenty-one," I ruffled. "What's a muggle?"
Nary more than a scuff of his boot announced Draco's avalanche to the floor.
I dove for him as Tonks rounded the table. "Hold him," she instructed. "Hold his arms. Diffindo!" His shirt halved cleanly. She parted the bituminous silks and faltered.
His head at my lap, biceps under my hands, I gasped at the flicker of glass crowning just above his left nipple, the dark tide still pulsing from it. His eyes writhed in a ghastly haze.
Tonks' gaze scrambled the room, but floundered, so she looked me straight in the eyes. "What is your name?"
"C-Cora."
"Okay, Cora," she counseled steadily. "I need you to hold him down as hard as you can - because he is not going to like this - but I need him perfectly still. Can you do that?"
A tremor rocked my whole body. My lungs tautly spurned air.
"Cora. Can you do that?"
I nodded fervently.
"Okay." She straddled him and pinched her bare fingers on the jagged crest. "It's cold," she whispered in amazement. I propped the whole of my fortitude over his arms.
Draco jolted with a howl, his limbs waging war against us, thrashing convulsions as the stake begrudgingly sludged from his body. I tried not to witness the pulpous sparkle burgeoning as it ascended. His barks and whimpers scalped the taciturn air.
No sooner did it clangor to the floor than Tonks retrieved her wand and, rigidly grimacing, pressed it to the cadent heart of the carnage and squealed an incantation. His vital molasses retreated back into the chasm, which resolutely closed as if never having been. She huffed and tumbled off him. I sat back, deflated. Draco coughed miserably.
"Pretty lucky of you to find me," she remarked. "Mind telling me what you're doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" Draco retorted lazily.
Tonks' hair seethed burgundy, but she took in a breath and it diffused. "You first."
I intervened: "He can - apparate? - to random times in history."
"You don't mean … Temporis Et Spatii?"
"You know it?" I asked.
Her hair ignited again. "Merlin, Malfoy! What the hell are you thinking? That spell is very powerful and it is not supposed to be random. Clearly, you can't handle it very well. I'm not surprised you got hurt." She turned to me and I shrank. "Does this boy not realize his actions affect outcomes?"
Draco rose to slump forward, face clustered in a scowl. "Don't start with me, hothead."
She stood instead and returned to the hearth, muttering, "Merlin's beard, a Malfoy. Here. Of all places." The cauldron clonked on the table. "I suppose you must be hungry. Here; I think I have enough."
Lumbering clammily, he arrived as the fractured bowl crossed the table. "I'm sorry," he conceded, arctic eyes finally shining open. "I do want to hear what brought you here."
Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, fingers enclosing the iron handle. "I'm - running from my problems. But I at least have the guts to admit it." The globe scraped the whorled wood as she gestured toward a doorway, beyond which stairs ascended the same sprightly wallpaper. "You can wash up and rest on the sleeping porch. First door. Cora?"
She led me through a primly paneled sitting room, making a straight path behind two rosy armchairs observing an amber-cobbled fireplace and, cauldron swiveling from the crook of her elbow, swept open the wainscotted door. Sloping magnificently to the horizon, rows of halcyon periwinkle reclined beneath a lustrously billowing bronze sky. From the west, a mild sun incandesced the tawny wall of the house.
I thought of my mother. An Irishwoman fortified by quiet strength, she'd labored her final months wistful for her childhood farm. The simplicity of it, she recounted, the magic of a midwest sunset. Sky forever, she used to dream. If only she could see this.
Tonks upturned the cauldron and advanced to a steel chest against the house, hoisted the top of it. Within, rocky ice kept variegated food items.
"Please don't mind him," I appealed as she cast me an apple. "I reckon he's just astonished to be alive."
"So where do you come from, Cora?" She leaned against the chest, regarding only her gilt-stippled sanguine snack.
"1889 Arizona," I obliged. "I'm told it's the wild west."
"Well. Your bimbo boyfriend has whisked you to a lavender farm in 1713 France, so you may be in for a period of adjustment if you stay." She rotated her apple, as if ruminating where to bite first. "He's … good to you, right?"
"Draco isn't perfect," I granted, "but he's the single best thing that ever happened to me. I would accompany him to all the corners of creation if that's where he notioned to go." I couldn't restrain a small smile. "Helps that he smells nice, too."
"Have you ever heard of the Coronacurse?" Her opaque eyes startled me.
"No?"
"Nevermind." She shook her head. "That's good to hear. I was never close to him when I knew him, but it's good to hear he's at least got some manners."
I observed her curiously. "Why did you save his life if you don't like him?"
"Well - I mean - I don't want him to die," she flustered, hair tinging saffron. "I just don't want him barging in here out of nowhere and disrespecting me in my own kitchen. That stew was supposed to be my dinner, you know." She reevaluated me and sighed. "I know, this isn't your fault. I have a spare dress that should fit you. I was also intrigued to learn how you clean - if it's all right."
I laughed. It really wasn't that interesting.