Chapter #6
A Brief History of Time

“Terrible is the unmeaning of silently falling everywhere.”

They walked on for about five minutes, during which they saw nothing but donkeys pulling carts and a few, stray kittens when, rather suddenly, they came upon a niche in a wall and the noise of conversation, the shadow of the former blocking out the cause of the latter. Recognizing English, Ginny brightened up and was about to walk forward, when Malfoy shoved her, very roughly, into the little half-cave in the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing –” she began angrily, sparks shooting out of the tip of her wand, but he clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Shut up, Weasley,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We don’t know the times we’re in, we don’t know the place we're in, you can’t just go barging into a crowd of people – if those are people, not apes.”

She shivered and suddenly pulled closer to him and, giving her a withering look, Malfoy stepped away from her. “If you touch me again I’m going to hit you,” he hissed and then, before she could snap at him, he had stepped, outside the little exedra, and into the open sunlight.

Angry though she was, curiosity got the better of her, and Ginny craned her neck very slightly to see what he saw - an open ground lay, she realized, in front of her, its edges misty in the far-off distance. It looked as if it were being used for the kind of fair older times saw - as far as she could see, stretched shaky stalls, and a noisy hustle bustle prevailed.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, can you tell me the date?”

Ginny’s mouth formed a surprised O – Malfoy’s voice had changed completely as he had said those words. It was no longer a cold drawl, but a responsible, even gentlemanly type that could win instant reliability. The two men he had addressed, though, glanced at him with suspicion. It’s his robes, Ginny realized instantly, her heartbeat quickening. They’re suspicious of his robes. -- The two men themselves wore a garb that was both much simpler [that could be explained, of course, Malfoy always worse expensive] and coarser.

At least they’re human, she thought, with a sigh of relief. At least they’re not wearing leaves.

“The date?” One of the two men asked, and he exchanged a look of suspicion with his friend. “Do you not know that date, man?”

Ginny had to admire Malfoy’s knack for not showing emotion, especially fear or nerve: he smiled innocently, and nodded. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “I come from a way far off, and it has taken me a lot longer to reach than I expected.”

The men’s suspicious did not seem too lessen, though the one who had been speaking was considerable enough to reply with, “October, the thirteenth, fifteen hundred and thirty-two.”

Medieval times, Ginny realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. From what she had read of those, she knew the people of that age were deeply suspicious of anything out-of-the-ordinary -- and Malfoy, with his swirling black robes and expensive cologne, must seem anything but ordinary to the men he was talking to. Then she heard the second man, the one who had been quiet till now, speak again,

“Do you come to visit the fair, man?”

The fair? But if Draco was puzzled, he did not let it show. “Many come to visit this fair, do they not?” he asked, and his tones were casual/

“Of course,” said the first man, rather irritably. “It’s the most famous fair of the year, man. Your eye colour,” he went on, his eyes narrowed. “Where are you from? Up north? They have blue eyes there. Though –” and he narrowed his eyes again, this time more suspiciously – “I have not seen any with the same colour of eye as yours.”

“Up north indeed,” Malfoy agreed jovially, ignoring the man’s last remark. “I wished to sell at the fair, but I was robbed on the way.” If he had hoped this would garner sympathy from the men, it did not. They muttered, then moved away and, seconds later, Ginny pulled her head back as Malfoy returned.

“Well, that didn’t go too well,” he said, though he did not look irritated. If anything, he looked pleased that he had managed to extract some information from the two, irritable men. “But at least we know we’re medieval fodder, now.”

Ginny grimaced, and sat down. “This isn’t good, Malfoy, and it’s all your fault.”

“I thought we agreed you were going to act the whinging, little blood-traitor that you are, Weasley.”

She glared at him, and stood up again. “Do you realize what you’ve landed us into?" she asked, throwing back her hair. In the sunlight that streamed into the niche, it glinted like fire, streaked with deep aurum. "We’re in a time whose people are known in Wizarding History for their suspicion of anything unusual, a time where witches and wizards were burned at the stake.”

Malfoy grinned. “No one’s going to waste fuel burning something like you, Weasley.”

If looks could kill, Ginny’s would have sent Malfoy’s into a coma. “That’s not my point!” she snapped, and it was a wonder sparks did not shoot out of her eyes. “They’re already suspicious of your robes and eyes, Malfoy –”

“– They probably don’t want their egos wounded when their women line up to get a look at my beautiful face –”

“– and I can only imagine what an uproar my dress and hair would cause –”

“– Yeah, that jeans looks like it’s been handed down from your father –”

“– which means we can’t just walk out of this place, and into that fair - those people won’t believe it’s a coincidence that two people so different from them, are together. You’re going to be at the stake before you know it, and I’m going to follow!”

Giving the taunting a [momentary] rest, Malfoy considered this. “Jackpot, Weasley, you’re right for once in your life,” he drawled finally. “You’re going to be at the stake – of course, they’re probably going to let me go, I’m far too handsome for a fire – and that would be the end of your miserable, bitty life.” He smirked as he spoke, then yawned and sat down.

“What are you doing?” Ginny demanded angrily.

“Thinking.”

“Well, you had better come up with something soon, or I'm going to -”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s nearly evening, Weasley, it’s going to be dark in a few minutes,” he cut through, nodding towards the entrance of the deep niche, where the pale sunlight had begun to wither into rays of dark blue. “From what I get this, this fair thing is famous, so most of the population is going to be around here. Once dark falls, we can sneak out and find a spot away from all this hustle-bustle.” He stopped, but Ginny continued to look at him expectantly, so he said, rather rudely, “What?”

“Malfoy,” she began, and she suddenly had the air of a teacher explaining, to a stubborn Montessori child, that two plus two can not be five. “Are you saying we starve to death in some forest, far away from humanity? Did I mention I’m cold, and I need something warm before I die of the weather?”

“Nope to both questions,” Malfoy said, looking amused as he placed both hands behind his head and resting it against a wall. “Though if you have a better plan, I’d love to hear it, Weaselhead.” He smirked as he heard her mutter “Son of an idiot” under her breath and closed his eyes, feeling darkness descend into the niche.

Frustrated at his lack of co-operation, Ginny sat down – as far away from him as possible – and ten minutes, found herself shaking him awake.

“It’s dark,” she said grimly. “Let’s go.”