My Stupid Mouth

Prologue

"Today, by the request of the headmaster, we will be discussing and actually experimenting with a rare potion that sends you back in time," Snape drawled, standing before the board, long fingers clasped together as his dark eyes scanned over his class. Almost immediately they began to whisper back and forth. He cleared his throat, saying loudly with an air of authority, "Quiet, class, quiet."

Draco Malfoy smirked as he sat by himself at a table, raising a silver eyebrow. Traveling back in time? This could prove to be very interesting.

Just then, the door to the Potion Master's classroom opened, and in stumbled a fourth year Gryffindor who was a year in advance--meaning she shared her classes with all the fifth years.

Draco didn't bother trying to hide rolling his icy, blue eyes.

It was Melissa Jones.

The girl had transferred from America earlier in the year, and she didn't cope too well with Britain, that was for sure. However, Draco knew she was friends with that Weasley's younger sister, Virginia. But while Ginny pinned over Potter, Melissa showed no interest in him whatsoever.

"Miss Jones." Snape's dark eyes glinted. "What is the reason for you being late to class this time?"

Melissa gasped for breath, natural tanned cheeks flushed. "P-Professor Snape, I'm sorry--"

"Quit apologizing!" he snapped. "Give me your excuse! Quickly!"

Melissa bowed her head. "Professor McGonagall. . .Kept me after c-class, P-Professor. . ." Draco could see her bottom lip trembling.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for taking so long!" Snape snarled. "Now get back to your seat!"

Melissa hurried down the isle to move to sit by Draco--unfortunately, Snape had decided earlier that year that they would have assigned seats.

Sighing rather loudly, Draco removed his bag from the empty stool beside him. Although he and Melissa hated each other, he couldn't help but wonder why she was so upset. Normally, Melissa was a cheerful person. . .What was wrong. . .?

She slid into the seat beside him, giving him a glare as she caught him staring at her. Yet it was quick, for she ducked her head down, but not before Draco caught sight of a watery substance glazing her eyes.

Draco frowned. Tears? Why on Earth was she crying? Did it have to do with what McGonagall supposedly kept her after class for. . .?

Just then, as angry whispers began from the Gryffindors, Potter stood up.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Sit down, boy--"

"I don't think it's very fair, sir, that you took points off for something the Professor kept her after class for!" His emerald eyes glinted furiously.

"Another fifteen points from Gryffindor, Potter, for you and your big mouth! Now SIT DOWN!"

Glaring, Harry Potter sat back down. He had been angrier as of late, even more emotional than usual.

Probably because of all the trouble Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters are giving the Ministry, especially him, Draco thought with a smirk. I hope Father's having fun--I can't wait for him to initiate me as a Death Eater. It'd only be fair. Those goons of mine, Crabbe and Goyle, are Death Eaters.

Draco's smirk withered into a frown. Then again, Father's been a bit testy as of late. . .

"--Now copy the ingredients down while I explain the significance of this time potion," Snape was saying, drawing Draco's attention back to the present.

Melissa sorted through her scattered books and parchments, which were piled atop each other messily. Draco found this odd because usually, her things were neat.

He saw a wet drop splatter on a piece of her parchment, smearing the ink there.

"It was first discovered by. . .Draco, are you getting this?" Snape paused, linking his fingers together again.

"Oh." He blinked, getting out a parchment and quill, along with a bottle of ink. "Sorry, sir."

Snape nodded, then continued, pacing the front of the classroom. "It was first discovered by Headmaster Dumbledore himself. He discovered that by mixing certain ingredients together--which are written on that board--that you could travel back in time for a few minutes, and a few minutes only. Five, if you want to get specific. After the effects of the potion are were off, you would return to present time. It's complicated, it's risky, get over it--you have to try it in order to pass this class."

Neville Longbottom gave an audible gulp.

"Yes, Longbottom, that includes you, too." He turned to the rest of the class. "Any questions?" No one raised their hands. "Good. Copy down the ingredients and begin on the potion with the instructions I left on each table."

Draco sighed, glancing periodically at the board as he scribbled down notes with his quill. But his blue eyes gave sideways glances, as well, to Melissa, who was bent over her parchment, quill moving rapidly; sniffles could be heard every few moments.

Finally, the curiosity began to eat his mind alive.

While everyone was focused on their potions, Draco turned to the Gryffindor, placing a cold, slender hand on her shoulder. "Jones, why are you crying?" He tired to keep his tone at least a tad bit soft--after all, she wasn't like to answer otherwise--but, blast it, it came out in its usual, icy drawl.

"I'm not crying Malfoy, and don't touch me." But her voice was shaky and filled with tears.

His eyes narrowed. "Right. Whatever you say." I'm not as cold-hearted as everyone makes me out to be. Sure, I want to be a Death Eater and help my father and Lord Voldemort, and sure, it's more curiosity than care for the Gryffindor that has me asking her why she's bloody crying, but still.

He withdrew his hand.

In silence they began applying the proper ingredients to the potion, and Melissa's sniffles and still bent head began to grate on his nerves. If she wasn't going to tell anyone why she was crying, then could se at least stop it!?

He ran a hand through his silvery hair, trying to keep his mind off the sniffles, but it was so bloody hard.

Remember, Draco, he told himself firmly, keeping his eyes planted on the ingredient he was cutting up neatly, you're a Malfoy. Malfoys focus on the objective at hand, and keep that focus.

But which am I focusing on? he couldn't help but think mockingly. Her blasted crying or my God damn potion!?

"Draco! Stop shredding the belliflower weeds!" Melissa hissed in a snappish tone beside him.

Frowning in slight confusion, he looked down at his hands and cutting knife. Sure enough, the belliflower weeds were shredded at the tips.

Sighing irritably, his hissed back, "Then stop sniffling." He reached into his robes, pulling out a handkerchief (when Pansy bawled her eyes out around you all the time, you always need to keep a spare one) and handing it to her. Unfortunately, he realized a tad too late that was his favorite one--Narcissa had knitted it herself when Draco was little.

Melissa eyed it warily. "Malfoys have handkerchiefs?"

"Oh, just take it," Draco snapped, shoving it into her hand. "And I don't want it back."

She held it gingerly in her hands, fingers smoothing over the fine, soft emerald material with silver thread stitching it, some in the form of snakes. It was a bit worn, proving Draco had treasured it greatly.

But anything to stop her bloody sniffling, Draco thought acidly, going back to his belliflower weed cutting. It's grating on my damn nerves.

The next thing he knew, Melissa was holding the handkerchief out to him. "No, I'll just grab a tissue."

"What, is it because I'm a Slytherin, and even more, a Malfoy, inflicting fear at the mere mention of it, just under the Dark Lord?" he sneered, icy eyes glinting dangerously.

To his surprise, a brief, faint smile crossed her lips. "No. Only because I can tell this is your favorite hanky."

He wouldn't let her place it in his hand. "Keep it."

I've given my handkerchief--my favorite handkerchief--to a Gryffindor. And that was bad enough. I won't accept anything from a Gryffindor. Especially something I had given. Because I have honor. Malfoy honor.

She sighed, nodding, and wiped her nose, then gingerly tucked the handkerchief away.

"There is one last ingredient to add," Snape told them. He paused dramatically, then continued. "Dragon's blood."

Again, whispers began.

Draco raised a delicate eyebrow. Dragon's blood? So I guess the old geezer did discover the twelve uses of dragon's blood.

"Silence!" Snape barked. "I will pass around a vial each of a drop of dragon's blood.

"For tonight's homework, look up time travel. Find out what it says on dragon's blood time travel. I want a four page written essay, back and front. Due tomorrow."

Snape took a box from atop his desk and began passing by tables, giving each pair of partners a vial of the blood--well, a drop in the vial, anyway.

As soon as Melissa had it, she popped open the cork, letting the red fluid drop once down into the potion already bubbling potion. The liquid frothed and spewed, turning a deep, navy blue.

"So," Draco began again casually, "Why were you crying? Or, excuse me, why are you crying?"

Melissa's shoulders slumped, and she said coolly, but in a half-hearted tone, "I knew my aunt was right. If we wouldn't have moved here, we would have been safe--for a while longer, at least."

Draco's eyebrow rose again. "What do you mean?" Of course, he did know what she meant, but still. . .If he wanted an explanation for her tears, he had to be civil--somewhat, anyway.

"You, of all people, Malfoy, should know why."

Draco refrained from making a retort.

"My aunt died from a Death Eater attack yesterday. She was the only person I truly cared about still alive. And I'm sure you can guess who led the attack--your father." She shook her head, angry tears streaming down her cheeks as she stirred the potion. "Honestly, I don't even know why the headmaster lets you attend this school, Malfoy."

Draco, oddly enough, felt a twinge of guilt tweaking at his heart. Sighing softly, he merely nodded, looking down as he scribbled his homework assignment on a scratch sheet of parchment.

No one saw two, raindrop-shaped tears fall into the potion.

"Everyone finished? Good." Snape clapped his hands together. "Fill a cup of the potion, and when I call the word 'go,' drink it. Got it? All right. Go!"

Draco picked up his cup of potion, eyeing it distastefully (it smelled horrible), then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked it back in one gulp.

The feeling afterwards was almost indescribable.

Immediately, Draco felt a pull around his navel, sort of like what happened when you used a port key, except this was much different in many ways. A black void loomed into view, wind whistling past his ears, and his bangs fell into his eyes. Stars spread out like they would if you were traveling at hyperspace, and the void pulled Draco in by the invisible string around his navel. In the background as he spun down a misty trail of rainbow colors, he heard a clock ticking. It rang in Draco's ears until he was ready to yell, and he realized he was when his voice grew hoarse, his throat aching with pain.

Tick, tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

"Draco!" Voices of his past sounded, going as fast they had come. "Draco, now look at what you've done!"

"Malfoy," Potter's voice sneered.

"Malfoy! Leave him alone!" Granger.

"You mudblood." His own.

"Son, I am ashamed of you." His father.

But tears didn't come--they never did. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't cry.

"Malfoys don't cry, son."

And then everything was rapidly spinning, mixing together, and, just as suddenly, it was all gone, and Draco found himself in Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

"What? Why? Huh? How?" Draco panted, looking around wildly as he sat in one of the headmaster's chairs. And then he caught sight of the person across the room from him, leaning casually on Dumbledore's desk--the headmaster was nowhere in sight. "YOU!"

The boy with jet-black hair looked up, startled, but just before he could open his mouth to speak, Draco cut in again.

"Potter!? What are you doing here?"

Potter frowned. "Yes, I'm Potter." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What's it to ya?"

And then he noticed something odd.

Potter had no lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

"What. . .?" he whispered to himself. "Potter? Where's your scar?" He closed his eyes and then opened them again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Scar?" Potter gave him a funny look. "What scar?"

And he noticed something else odd.

Potter's eyes were a chocolate brown. . .not green.

"That's not Harry."

Startled, he looked to his side.

Melissa sat in the chair next to him, brown eyes wide. The words had come out in a mere whisper. "D-Draco?" Her voice was shaky. "My aunt. . .Aunt Jessica. . .She had a picture on her mantelpiece. . .and that boy. . .he was one of the people in it. . ."

Draco's eyes widened, as well. This is odd. . .Okay. . .He swallowed. I'll admit. . .This is getting freaky now. . .

-Tell me about it-

Draco and Melissa looked at each other in surprise.

And screamed.

Abruptly, the door to the office burst open, and in walked Dumbledore himself. "James, thank you for waiting. I--what on Earth?" His blue eyes looked between Draco and Melissa curiously, twinkling in bewilderment. "And who might you be?"

Draco suddenly started laughing, earning stares from everyone. Tears of helpless, ironic mirth streamed down his cheeks. "Okay, I'll say it right now--I've never laughed at a joke. But Professor. . .Potter. . .Melissa. . .Whoever else is on it. . .I'm impressed. . .You got me good. . ."

-Malfoy. . .If this is a joke. . .how come I can read your mind and vice versa? That's considered impossible-

Draco immediately stopped laughing, paling considerably. "S-Sir? W-What y-year is t-this?" he asked in a squeaky, un-Draco-like voice to Dumbledore.

"1961." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, dear God." Draco closed his eyes and slumped in the chair in a faint.

* ~ *