Time is Running Out
Theo’s head pounded. He could barely put one foot in front of the other as he stretched forward. The minister was not at his office – not this late in the day. The night secretary told him that the minister had gone home for the day.
This was urgent.
This was undeniable.
Hermione was in danger, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Draco would cause her harm – and their daughter! Theo couldn’t think straight, the rage and betrayal coursing through his veins.
He stepped through the floo and apparated from the manor to Ottery St. Catchpole. Theo assumed that the minister might have closed off the wards to his property, but to his surprise, Minister Weasley’s house was just as accessible as before the war.
Theo had only been once, fifth year. He was working on a Muggle Studies project and Mr. Weasley had invited him by owl to see some Muggle devices up close.
Theo didn’t even have to knock before Minister Weasley opened the door. “Is everything alright, son?”
Theo, breathless, explained the situation to Minister Weasley, ending with the fight that he and Hermione had.
“Son,” Minister Weasley said, “are you sure she is actually in danger?”
Theo shook his head up and down vigorously, “Minister Weasley, I am afraid that if I even go home, Malfoy will find a way to make me look like a villain. He wants my family, he wants my fortune–,”
“Listen,” Minister Weasley said, “perhaps we ought to take a little break. Have you been sleeping? Have you eaten anything?”
“Not much,” Theo admitted. It hurt to breathe, “Honestly, all I want is to see Hermione – to apologize.”
“Let’s have a seat,” The minister pushed Theo towards the worn kitchen chair. That was something comforting about Mr. Weasley becoming Minister Weasley – it didn’t seem like anything had really changed about their style of life.
The Weasleys had never really cared about money, fame, or lifestyle.
Theo couldn’t say the same. What would he really have to offer? Illness of the mind? Poverty?
No – he had to remind himself that Hermione was still independently wealthy. She didn’t need his money.
But why would she need him?
Not when Draco sodding Malfoy was around to be the white knight, swooping in on the back of a dragon or horse or thestral or whatever.
“What is it that’s on your mind, Theodore? Not Lord Nott, not son of Thaddeus Nott, not son of –,”
“Don’t,” Theo shuddered, “please stop reminding me. My world will turn upside down any moment and I do not care to be reminded of it–,”
“We haven’t looked into the laws–,”
“I’ve done enough looking.” Theo stood up, the cup of tea and saucer with biscuits untouched. “From my understanding, Draco remains the heir. Because my bastard fathers are dead, I have no way to prove to the Wizengamot that I am the rightful heir.”
“Have you considered talking to Malfoy?” Minister Weasley’s tone was light, as if not to upset Theo.
“It’s just not that simple!” Theo spat, feeling like a petulant child as he paced behind the table. “Truly, if I thought he or Hermione would have reacted well to any of this, I might have been willing to tell them–,”
“The Hermione Granger I knew would never fault you for your blood, Theodore.” Mr. Weasley’s face was fatherly, clearly worried – but not in a way where Theo thought he was afraid of him. Theo could see the lines of age, the silver streaking through his Weasley-red hair. The corners of his eyes were soft and wrinkled. The little hairs on his jaw had grown in since the morning – something Theo had never noticed about Arthur Weasley.
“She might not fault me for my blood,” Theo’s green eyes met the concerned blue of the Weasley patriarch, “but she will not understand. She will always fear me. I am the thing she hates the most – a liar.”
Mr. Weasley tutted, a brow going up into his hairline. “I think that isn’t fair to yourself or to her, Theodore. She lied to Malfoy for years – and to all of us, really. Except George. He always knew where she was and what she was doing.”
Theo didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“She had been writing to George the entire time the two of you had been gone. He always knew the truth – of her feelings for you, of Willa’s parentage, of the complications that lie with dating the one person you trust wholly in the world.”
Theo wasn’t sure if he was supposed to believe Arthur or not. Maybe Hermione had trusted him before, but would she still trust him?
“All I’m saying, son, is that I don’t think she will care nearly as much about this as you do. But, you need to tell her. Sleep it off, here. After a proper night’s rest, I will go with you to see her and play the mediator, if you like.”
“Okay,” Theo said, letting out a heavy breath. “I’ll tell her some parts. I’m not ready to tell her everything.”
When morning came, Theo hadn’t woken. He slept through nearly the entire day and next night. When he woke early that morning, Arthur Weasley was already awake for the day, sitting at the kitchen table with the Muggle paper in his hands and a steaming cup of tea.
“If you are hungry–,” Arthur started to say, but Theo waved him off.
“I won’t be able to eat until I’ve spoken to Hermione. Cleared the air with her and made things better, if not all the way right.”
Arthur nodded, “Well, let’s go then. There’s been a little bit of an incident. She’s okay, but she’s at St. Mungos–,”
Theo swallowed down the anger constricting his throat, “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Harry has been with her, and Ms. Lovegood has been watching Willa during the day. Hermione is well enough now, but she’s been having seizures. They wanted to keep her one more night under observation–,”
Seizures.
No.
It couldn’t be.
No. No. No.
It seemed to Theo that time was running out.