Balm

Balm

Here tonight I tightly hold you
And enfold you while you sleep;
Why, I wonder, are you smiling,
Smiling in your slumber deep?

It was only early October and already the weather around Hogwarts seemed to be seriously practicing for winter. It was so one Saturday of overcast skies and brief downpours of cold rain. Hermione decided to go for a walk so bundled up in her favorite cloak, she took off alone for a walk. The girl decided to head east to stroll down by the lake. The lake was already becoming one of her favorite places at Hogwarts - besides the library. Although she knew the Forbidden Forest was a dangerous place, the tall trees reminded the homesick girl of the forests near her family's home. So since it was still daytime, and although not much daylight, the girl headed towards the forbidden forest. At the very edge of the forest by the lake, she seated herself on a large flat rock covered with soft moss like a green comforter. She stared out over the lake. Perhaps because Hogwarts was so magical, there were still a few late summer dragonflies hovering above the lake surface, dancing patterns in the air.

The wind played gently along the meadow rippling through the grasses. Hermione began to feel a little sleepy. She stretched out on the mossy softness of the rock, on her side and shut her eyes. She napped lightly and even in her slumber she enjoying the play of the breeze over her hair. Her chestnut hair fluttered and tickled her cheeks and nose. As her hair played about her face, she woke thinking that she must still be floating in a dream because she heard an angel singing. It dawned on Hermione that she was in fact awake. She pushed herself up and still the angel sang. A high, rich voice both loud and clear as steeple bells. Hermione had heard the song before; it was Suo-Gan a Welsh lullaby, that she had heard before when attending music recitals with her parents. But she couldn't remember ever having heard the song sung so lightly, yet powerfully, so full of sweetness. She never had understood the words to Suo-Gan, but that never mattered. The song spoke in a sort of melodic shorthand that travels from the ears straight to the heart, saying what needs to be heard. To Hermione the song applied a balm to her homesick heart that told of how much her parents loved her; that her parents were not too far away really. The song told her of friends that would some day be hers at Hogwarts. Always an emotional child, little silvery tears trickled down Hermione's cheek. The tears were made of joy and pleasant thoughts.

The song stopped. Hermione hopped down from the rock and moved towards the singing, to the south side of the lake. She trotted along, happily, wondering if indeed angels, like ghosts and enchanted ceilings, did indeed roam the grounds of Hogwarts. She stopped momentarily and smiled widely when the high clear voice rang out again, singing a song as beautiful as the last. Hermione didn't know this song, and couldn't even tell the language of the words to the song. Still she felt the song infused her with energy. At the lake's edge, she spied her 'angel'. Out on a rock sat a student at least a quarter of a mile away there was a ledge overhanging the lake waters. Hermione was a bit disappointed because the child was apparently not an angel, but that did mean that she was listening to a potential friend. The other child sat, back to Hermione so the girl could not see the other child's face. Even from the distance she could tell the other child was likely a first year student, as she was. The child wore a heavy black cloak with a hood.

Hermione was disappointed because the other child's head was covered in the hood so she could not even see the color of the child's hair. All she could see of the small figure were the two hands that the child leaned back on. The child still sang on in such a high clear voice, a voice so cleanly sweet and bright, that the sound of it gave Hermione chills that tickled up and down her spine.

"Don't stop singing whom ever you are!" called Hermione with a husky voice. She hadn't spoken in hours and hours. "I know you're going to be my friend here at Hogwarts." She set herself to the task of reaching the ledge. But to do so she had to cut back around a thick copse of willows and gorse brambles that wound away from the lake edge, and then back towards the lake and the ledge where the cloaked singer rested.

Hermione broke into a run, down the thick, impenetrable line of trees, thrilled to pieces as the singer began a third song, even more beautiful than the previous two. Tripping over thick weeds, Hermione didn't take any heed, but picked herself up, laughing out loud for the first time in days. She was joyous. She wondered who the little girl was, or little boy, it was hard to tell really. She wondered if other student was in Gryffindor as she was or in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin. She rounded the thicket of trees that she thought would lead back to the lake's edge. She fought her way through brambles, gamely racing uphill, but when she got to the lake, she could see that the other child was still a distance away. Hermione had cut back to the lake too soon. So she headed back out and stopped momentarily. She couldn't hear the singing. And when she finally got to what she believed was the right spot, her angelic singer was gone. There was a clap of thunder and a fine drizzle began to mist down out of the sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Professor Dumbledore!" called Hagrid across the courtyard. "Professor!"

It was a bright sunny Sunday, rare enough in at Hogwarts on a November morning. It had snowed the previous evening and the light dusting of snow had already melted away on the stone cobbles. Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster and his friend Deputy Headmistress McGonagall took advantage of the excellent weather to take a stroll. Hagrid hurried across the sunny courtyard over to the professors.

"Hello Hagrid," commented Professor McGonagall.

"Hello Hagrid. Lovely day isn't it?" said Dumbledore. "Is there a problem?"

"Good day Professors," Hagrid said politely. "No Professor Dumbledore Sir. I was just wondering. Maybe I ought to have said something about this before, it's not exactly a problem but I thought it might be a problem, what with the 'you know what' being protected by Fluffy and all."

"What is it Hagrid?" Dumbledore smile faded and he gave his utmost attention to Hagrid.

"There's something strange going on at night sir. Yesterday and a few days before that, I was walking with Fang along the back of the castle and I heard something."

"And that was?" Asked Dumbledore looking over his half moon glasses at Hagrid with curious blue eyes.

"Oh. Well just singing Sir. But what singing!" Hagrid's face brightened at the thought of it. "Sounded like an angel come down to earth sir. But I know there are all sort of evil creatures that sing, like sirens that sing to call men to their deaths. I thought to me self, what if we have a Siren at Hogwarts what's been brought here to have a go at stealing the 'you know what'?"

"A siren?" McGonagall looked unconvinced. "Surely not a siren. They are found in water and in deep oceans. Not in a small lake such as we have here Hagrid. Where did you hear the singing?"

"Like I said. Along the back of the castle. Must have been around eleven o'clock at night. But I tell you," Hagrid brightened as he remembered more detail. "There was two, maybe three times in the past month sir that I did hear the same singing from my hut. The last time I heard it there was, oh... maybe a fortnight ago. I heard the singing, but by the time I grabbed me coat and rushed out, the singing was gone. I searched but I couldn't find any one or anything!"

"That is peculiar," said McGonagall. She and Hagrid fixed anxious stares on Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore startled the two with his reaction to the mysterious singing. The sage Headmaster's eyes twinkled and the corners of his lips turned up and he began to chuckle softly. "Have no fears. I can solve that little mystery. That is the voice of one of our first year students; a small child, in possession of a marvelous voice. I've heard the singing myself. I was outside of his Common room late one evening and I too heard singing that stopped me dead in my tracks. Even through the walls I could hear how rich that child's voice is. I'm not ashamed to say that a voice that sweet, that celestial, put me in mind of my boyhood. I stood in the hallway and," Dumbledore leaned forward and said in a confidential voice, "I wept."

McGonagall looked shocked. "You mean the child's voice is enchanted?"

"I mean the child's voice is enchanting."

Dumbledore seemed to close his eyes for a moment while he relived the enchanted night that he heard the 'siren's song.'

"Professor, who is it then?"

"You'll never guess. Neither of you. I couldn't guess myself. But shortly after the singing ceased, a rascal from that particular commons snuck out. I was there to nab the little urchin."

"The child snuck out after curfew sir?" Hagrid was only a tiny bit surprised.

"Yes Hagrid. I asked the little rebel who it was that sung the beautiful songs. As bold as you please the rascal faced me and said, bold as brass, 'I did Headmaster. And what difference does that make to you?'"

In spite of herself, McGonagall smiled, and Hagrid had a good laugh. That sort of blatant cheek from the youngest students was always scandalous and amusing - as long as the child wasn't there with you when you laughed.

"I asked, 'What are you doing out of your Commons after curfew?' and you know the imp told me 'I want to go down to the front hall and sing for a bit, at least until Mrs. Norris shows up, and pardon me Headmaster sir - buggers all.'"

The three shared another good laugh.

"Why ever did would anyone want to sing in the front hall Professor?" asked McGonagall.

"The sound acoustics are apparently very nice in the front hall. I suppose the shape of the high ceiling is just right to accentuate the voice."

"Did you give the student detention or take away any points from their house?" asked McGonagall.

"After having listened to the child sing? Heavens no. I accompanied the child to the front hall, and had several lovely songs sung for me. I had to conjure up a handkerchief." "And as you must realize, Mrs. Norris did indeed run off and fetch Argus Filch. Soon Mr. Filch and I both sat on the stairs that lead up to the Great Hall and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly." Dumbledore leaned forward and with a wicked wink he whispered, "Filch had to bury his head in Mrs. Norris's fur so he couldn't be seen weeping!"

"Professor! That is extraordinary. Who is the child?" asked McGonagall, she smiling broadly.

In order to convince the songbird to sing for me in the first place, I had to swear that I would not reveal the child's identity to any students. I refused to promise that I wouldn't tell school staff. So I may tell you two if you'll also protect the identity of our prodigy. You understand how a child, even a child with a great gift, is terrified of the prospect of being seen as different from the other students. Afraid of the other students will tease or give in to name-calling. The students in the child's own house know all about the singer, and they keep it secret from any other houses. A tribute to the voice is that they won't reveal the secret because they know if they do they won't hear the singing any longer. And even if they were willing to risk that, they'd have the rest of their house to answer too! None of the rascals are willing to risk that. Rather touching really. So, can you two keep a secret, hum?" Dumbledore smiled at McGonagall and Hagrid."

"Well, Professor," Hagrid said uneasily.

"You won't accidentally say anything about the identity of our singer?" Dumbledore peered at Hagrid seriously.

"I understand Professor. Good day," Hagrid strode off. He didn't take any offense at all. He knew himself well enough to know that secret keeping was not his forte.

"I promise not to reveal the identity of our singer Albus," said McGonagall. "Who is it?"

Dumbledore leaned to McGonagall ear and whispered in McGonigall's ear.

"That is amusing Albus," McGonagall chuckled. "Now really. Who is the student?"

"No, I assure you Minerva, that is the truth of it. That is our little singing phoenix."

McGonigall's eyes were wide with shock. Then accompanied by Dumbledore, they both laughed until tears of mirth leaked from their eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was past ten o'clock and Gaius Flint could not sleep. He was a 7^th year Slytherin, who was more than six feet tall. He was as muscular as a Scottish highland bull. Gaius tossed and turned in his four-poster bed and finally sat up rubbing the side of his head, deep in thought. He made up his mind, and threw back the curtains of his four-poster and yelled, "Oi, Jim! Get over here."

A boy from across the room woke with a start, and stumbled across the room to his grumbling roommate. "What Gaius? Can't sleep again?"

"Aye, the Quidditch game tomorrow and all. Look, I've had a thought. I want the lad to sing tonight, just out there at the end of the hall. That'll help quiet my mind; put me to sleep."

"You know he's gets all upset if the others tease him about his singing. He won't sing for you."

"Are you daft? This is Slytherin house; anything can be bought. We just have to reckon his price. He'll sing all right. Sang for us last week, didn't he? Here, fetch a couple of bottles of butterbeer out of my wardrobe there."

Jim did as asked.

"All right," said Gaius confidently. "He's only a first year, but my family knows his family and that little 'un's a tough mite. Here's what you do. When the little ankle biter says 'no' to singing - and you know he'll say no - offer him one bottle of butterbeer. Then here's what you tell him." Gaius spoke softly to Jim for a couple of minutes.

"Yeah, that'll work said the second boy," Jim turned to leave.

"Here. Wait up." Gaius pulled his wand from under his pillow. "Hold out your hand." He waved and flicked his wand saying, "Calix Conforto Gutter." A cup and a saucer appeared in Jim's hand. A bluish cloud of steam and bubbling noises rose from the cup. "All right then. That'll warm the tyke proper. Don't want him singing with a chilled throat. Now off you go," Gaius lay back on his pillow with a big smile. He knew he would be sleeping like a baby inside of a half hour.

Jim left the room, carefully balancing the teacup and saucer in one hand, and clutching two bottles of butter beer by their narrow necks in his other hand, he walked down a very short flight of stone steps. Balancing the teacup he walked down the hallway where he stopped in front of a dorm door. He kicked it with his foot, hollering. "You firsters let me in, right now! It's me, Jim!"

There was the sound of first year voices squabbling over who would climb out of their warm bed. Soon the 'loser', a very beefy, round faced boy pushed open the large door. "What?" grunted the first year boy.

Jim pushed past the boy and went straight to the nearest bed. "You, get up. Right now, come on, don't have all night."

The curtains parted abruptly, and a pale faced boy peered out. He stared up at the older boy. "NO! I'm NOT going to do it!"

"Oh come on, don't be that way. Here, Gaius Flint sent you this nice cup of tea to warm your throat. Just go into the hall, sing two or three songs, and there's a nice end to it." Jim held the two bottles of butterbeer hidden behind his back.

"Forget it." said the small boy, but he took the hot tea, blew on it and sipped.

"Delicious. Excellent. Did Flint make this himself?" the child asked in a lazy voice. A smile twisted the corner of his thin lips. He caught himself in the smile. He quickly set his face to a frown again and drawled, "Well, I'm not a blasted phoenix you know. Why don't you seventh year lot buy yourselves a canary or something. Rent yourselves a bloody singing mermaid."

"Nope," said Jim. "Don't need to when we're lucky enough to have the likes of you. Here. Gaius doesn't expect you to do him a favor for naught. Sent a nice bottle of butterbeer just for you." Jim pulled a bottle from behind his back, holding it up in a grand manner.

The boy lazily motioned for Jim to put the butterbeer on his bedside trunk. The boy eyed the butterbeer with approval, and then irritably shouted, "The answer is still no."

"Don't want word to get round but..." Jim leaned forward and whispered. "You know, Gaius is the Prefect. If you'll sing, Gaius is willing to let you use the Slytherin Prefect's special bathroom for a whole week And a bloody nice bathroom it is too. I've used it a couple of times me self. Giant tub, big as a pool. You miss your pool from home, don't you? This one has a half dozen water taps and each one squirts out a different kind of bath bubble." Jim pretended to turn a water tap. "Some of the taps make pink bubbles, some taps make blue or green bubbles. Humongous bubbles!"

Jim was painting a pretty picture. He waved his fingers like bubbles rising in the air. "And the bubbles smell so sweet you'll be followed by honey bees all week," Jim winked. "So what do you say lad?"

The pale boy looked thoughtful. He was tired of having to share a bathroom space with the other boys. At least once a week his singing in the shower would lead to a fight when some other boy would tease him about being a 'singing canary'. Although he thoroughly enjoyed beating the snot out of other boys at such times, there was a lot to be said for a nice, solitary soak in a warm bubble bath. He could sing and there would be no one to bother him at all. He rubbed his tired face and then gulped down the remainder of the hot tea. He thrust the china teacup into Jim's hand. "I said, NO!"

Jim played his last card. "All right. You win. Gaius says you can use the Slytherin prefect's bathroom for two whole weeks. How would that be? And here's another bottle of butterbeer, just for your trouble boy."

As Gaius instructed him, Jim now added that one last detail that was sure to sway the little boy to compliance.

"And as far as we know, you'll be the only first year student to ever set your ikle footsies in the Prefect's special bathroom. That'd be a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"

The small boy, whom you have likely guessed to be none other than Draco Malfoy, shot the larger boy a withering look and commanded, "Hand me my robe." He pointed to a dark green plush hooded robe hanging on a hook by a wardrobe.

Draco took the robe, donned it and climbed out of his four-poster sliding straight into his thick lamb's wool slippers. As an after thought he added in a petulant voice, "And if anyone outside of Slytherin EVER finds out about this, I will expect Flint to flatten them since it will be his fault. I'm not going to be a laughing stock because of my superlative singing." Draco always knew his own worth.

Draco's roommates threw open their curtains; a couple of them grunted happily like small puppies that could hear someone approaching with their dinner dishes. Draco ran his hands threw his silvery blonde hair, shook his head and marched out into the hallway.

Jim followed him and once in the long corridor, he shouted as loud as he could, "Oi! Malfoy's going to sing us all to sleep!"

Draco loved to sing. Nothing would have pleased him better than to stand in the corridor to sing every single night, if he had not been smart enough to know that he had a valuable bargaining chip in his throat.

Draco's voice was a gift and he treasured it because his voice was his and his alone. His father did not bully important people to wrangle that splendid voice for Draco. Draco's mother did not purchase his voice from an expensive shop in London or Paris. Malfoy's voice was the only thing he owned that was truly his. No one in the ancient Malfoy family line ever had a voice like young Draco Malfoy: perhaps no Malfoy ever would again.

When Draco was only four years old, the first time he opened his mouth to sing a nonsense rhyme along with his old nanny, the voice of an angel tripped off of his tiny tongue. So great was his nanny's surprise that she fell off of her stool. Draco's ancient nanny knew a lot about music and songs, and set about teaching Draco dozens and dozens of songs. Most of the songs she taught him were old Welch and Gallic wizarding songs. The nanny also taught him a fair number of the songs from her wilder days; Draco could sing three different jazz versions of Bye-Bye Blackbird. And aside from Draco's old nanny's tutelage, one of the Malfoy family house-elves taught the child most of the song repertoire of the Beatles. Young Draco assumed the Beatles were a group of enchanted magical scarab beetles. Had the boy discovered that he was singing and greatly enjoying 'muggle tunes' he would have become quite shirty.

It was a sad fact Draco was well aware that his special 'gift' would not last forever. Sooner or later he would grow taller of limb and as a herald to his changing body, his voice would crack, croak and loose it's sweet edge. He would always have a nice voice, but it would cease to ring out the high clear notes of a young and gilded throat.

The doors along the corridor swung open, boys pulling on their robes, bundled out of their rooms, and walked to either end of the long corridor to sit on the steps or on the floor along the wall. All were tired but managed happy, sleepy smiles. There was no malice from any of them, no jokes, no catcalls. Malfoy had a voice that soothed the beasts within their Slytherin hearts. That, and they knew if they teased Draco, Crabb or Goyle would beat the bogeys out of them.

So Malfoy stood in the hall, and by benefit of the soothing hot tea, he opened his mouth and his favorite song, Welsh, an old wizarding language, floated down the corridor, and up the stairwells.

"Huna blentyn, ar fy mynwes,
Clyd a chymes ydyw hon..."

The Slytherin boys on the stair steps, and the Slytherin boys still in their four-posters bundled beneath blankets, all shut their eyes. They felt Malfoy's voice, so powerful; their bones reverberated with it. The Dragon's song, sweeter than any treacle floated into their souls like kisses from their mothers, like hugs from their fathers.

At the top of the far stairs, in his dorm room, Gaius laid back on his pillow, wiping a sentimental tear from his brutish face. The music floated into his room, a healing balm for his troubled thoughts. Before the end of the second chorus Gaius drifted to sleep by the notes of the young Dragon's song.

The End