About Time
Chapter 7: About Time
The long night was brutal.
It wasn’t until the sun had almost completely risen that Neville had fully reverted back to his human body. Harry and the werewolf hadn’t been able to catch a moment of sleep, as nearly the entire night had been filled with pain for Neville and heartbreaking whimpers for Harry. The two friends sat in delirious silence, both wavering on exhaustion—Neville more so than Harry.
“Are you up for any breakfast?” Harry asked groggily, and Neville just shook his head in reply. “Let’s get some sleep then,” he suggested. “Pick any room that looks decent enough, and we can eat when we wake up.”
They trudged up the stairs in a dead man’s march, no sound except their feet pounding on the creaky steps and their ragged breathing. Neither said a word as they turned off the stairs in different directions, Harry taking his own room and Neville, the one next to it.
“Kreacher!” Harry called once both his and Neville’s doors had shut, and the elf appeared. “Make sure to put a pain relief potion on his nightstand.”
Grumbling, Kreacher left with a sneer.
…
Harry woke to the screeching of an owl as it pecked at his window. The bright afternoon sun shone blindingly through the curtains, causing his vision to go spotty as he attempted to open the window, bleary eyed and still half-asleep. Releasing its letter, the bird nipped angrily at his fingers and took off in a flurry of feathers, not bothering to look for a treat.
“Bloody birds,” Harry hissed under his breath, sucking at his bitten finger as a single red droplet formed.
The letter was Ministry parchment, however, this summons had nothing to do with another trial. It was signed by Percy Weasley, and Harry’s brain entered a new realm of befuddlement as to why he was being called into the Wizengamot chambers.
“What’s that?” Neville plodded into the room, looking somewhat more alert than Harry felt.
“The Wizengamot is requesting my presence ,” Harry said snarkily. “It seems like everyone at the Ministry is requesting my presence these days.” He tossed the letter to Neville, half-expecting him to miss it entirely and watch it flutter to the ground. It didn’t though, and Harry had to remind himself of just how capable Neville had become at—well—everything.
He read the letter quickly, passing it back to Harry who fiddled with it a bit longer before finally deciding to just toss it on the bed.
“Gran said they might be doing something like this soon,” Neville shrugged. “She’s trying to get a committee together to repeal all the shit werewolf legislation Umbridge pushed through.”
“But why are they summoning me ?” Harry asked pointedly. “I’m not on the Wizengamot, and I’m not a werewolf. If I was Hermione, then maybe I could see me getting involved, but I’m no activist!”
Neville chuckled loudly, the sounds too much for Harry’s still awakening senses. “Harry, you’re the activist. You literally fought the entirety of Voldemort’s regime, you fought against the Ministry and even started your own rebellion against Umbridge! You’re a rebel, Harry, whether you believe that or not.”
Harry cringed at the phrasing, hearing nothing but Rita Skeeter’s little digs from the Triwizard Tournament. “Everyone loves a rebel, Harry.” The vile woman…he wished Hermione had left her in that jar just a while longer…
“I still don’t have any real reason to be there, Nev. I can’t represent the werewolf population when I’m not even a part of it. This is something—,” he paused. He had been about to say “something Remus should be doing” but realized it a second too late.
It should’ve been Remus leading the charge for werewolf rights. He and Tonks would’ve stood in front of the Wizengamot, holding Teddy, and explaining to them all just how misplaced their fear and loathing actually were. They would rise to the occasion, and everyone would see reason with Remus’s shining track record, and his calm yet authoritative demeanor. And they would win.
Harry couldn’t do any of that. He had no right to carry Teddy around like some pawn. He was his godfather, and he’d do his damndest to protect him from exactly that—just like Sirius would have if he’d been around.
He looked at Neville, seeing the ferocity in his brother’s eyes as he, too, thought about the justice that needed to take place and what a monumental task it would be.
“—this is something that you should be doing.” Harry said firmly.
Of course it had to be Neville. He would be the new face of the werewolves of Britain. Although he’d only transformed once, he was a well-known war hero with a golden reputation. He’d never even said an unkind thing to anyone…well outside of fighting Death Eaters and defying Voldemort, which was obviously appropriate.
“Me?” Neville asked incredulously. “I couldn’t—“
“‘Course you can! You’re coming with me, end of discussion.” Harry beamed at the blossoming man before him.
Neville stood a bit taller, his chest pushed out with pride at being chosen for something . “When is the session?”
…
As it just so happened, the Wizengamot session was being held early the following morning, leading Harry to grumble about the Ministry’s lack of forethought in planning all these non-optional events his presence was “requested” for. The early morning was still warm enough to remind both Harry and Neville, who’d spent the night again at Grimmauld Place, that it was the dawning of summer.
The golden-pink hues danced through the windows as Harry marched sleepily down to the breakfast waiting for them on the table. He piled toast and sausages onto his plate as he dreamily watched a bird flit across the garden out back.
Hermione loved sunrises. Sunsets were for the cheesy lovers and hopeless romantics, she’d say. Sunrises , though, were full of magic and new promises.
Once Neville came down to eat, they stuffed their bellies quickly, and left for the Ministry in a sprint. They arrived just in time for the session to be called to order.
“I call to order this session of the Wizengamot, on this, the thirteenth of May in the year 1998,” Kingsley called out loudly, the rest of the chambers quieting instantly. “We have several items on the docket today,” he glanced wearily toward Augusta, “so let’s get things started, shall we?”
Several heads nodded, and a quiet murmur of agreement floated around the room.
“Our first order of business is to fill the open seats around us,” Kingsley looked directly at Harry as he spoke, and the young man’s jaw dropped. That was not what he’d expected at all.
“And who do you propose fill those seats, hmm?” The croaking voice came from an older witch Harry had seen antagonizing Mrs. Longbottom at the first hearing. She looked haughtily at Kingsley, a sneer at the ready.
“Let us begin by reinstating, Ms. Griselda Marchbanks and Mr. Tiberius Ogden,” Kingsley spoke clearly and without emotion.
A witch and wizard stood from the front row of seats, heads held proudly while the current members deliberated. Harry knew he’d heard those names before…
“They resigned of their own free will!” The croaking woman said shrilly.
Andromeda stood, then, “They were standing up against the farce of a government we had at the time. I, personally, think they should be lauded.”
Many hear-hear s echoed, and Kingsley nodded in agreement. “All those in favor?” Nearly every hand was raised. “Thank you Ms. Marchbanks and Mr. Ogden. You are both welcome to re-take your seats.”
The two aforementioned quickly climbed the steps to empty chairs near one another, Mr. Ogden holding his hand out for the elder Ms. Marchbanks to steady herself as she took her seat.
“Now, the matter of open familial seats,” Kingsley’s voice bounced around the hall, and several members of the plum robes buzzed with anticipation and curiosity. “Mr. Weasley? Are you ready to note those present?”
“Yes, Minister,” Percy said quickly, his quill at the ready. “Abbot,” he checked off a box when a plump wizard with golden hair and rosy cheeks stood with a tight smile.
“Hannah’s dad,” Neville whispered to Harry from his seat next to him, and Harry nodded in recognition.
“Avery.”
There was silence as many of the plum robed witches and wizards glanced around at each other.
“The line is dead,” Kingsley stated plainly. Harry hadn’t heard what the fate of Avery was after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, but he hadn’t seen or heard the man mentioned again. Apparently he was dead.
Percy scratched a line across his parchment. “Black,” he looked to Kingsley again, his quill poised to scratch another line.
“There is an heir for the seat,” Kingsley said firmly, his eyes landing once again on Harry, though none of his colleagues could see it.
A collective gasp echoed, and Harry couldn’t help but nearly chuckle at the scene that was so like the soap operas his Aunt Petunia used to watch in the afternoons before Uncle Vernon would arrive home from work.
“The Malfoy boy is dead,” a wizened old man grouched from the back row. “Surely you don’t mean to appoint Narcissa Malfoy née Black as an alternative! She’s to be tried this week!”
There were murmurs of agreement all around, save for Augusta and Andromeda. The former had her hawk-like eyes fixed on Harry, and the latter looked like she was occluding away memories of her younger sister. A Black family trait, then, Harry mused, recalling Narcissa’s ability to do so at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Draco’s throughout all of sixth year.
He wondered if Sirius could…likely not with his extraordinarily hot temper. Images of Snape and Sirius pointing their wands at each others’ faces as Harry—a child—had to step in and break up the fight.
“There is another suitable option,” Kingsley said slyly. It was that moment Harry considered the possibility that Kingsley was, in fact, a Slytherin.
“Andromeda Black cannot hold more than one seat! It would give a single member too much voting power!” the old man snapped again, his face turning a brighter shade of red.
“The Burke in Borgin & Burke’s ,” Neville whispered as he gave Harry a grim look.
Kingsley shook his head, “Quite right, Caractacus, however, I was not speaking of Ms. Tonks ,” he said her married name pointedly. “I nominate Harry Potter to fill the Black ancestral seat.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on Harry and he felt his insides squirm at the obvious disapproval from several members.
“Do you accept the nomination?” Kingsley’s eyes bored into him, silently willing him to go along with the scheme without a script.
Harry looked to Neville beside him, who was vigorously nodding and pushing the Chosen One to stand up and accept. “I—I do,” Harry said, only slightly more confidently than he felt.
Kingsley smiled widely, “Then let us vote! All those in favor of Mr. Potter accepting the Black family seat?”
Several hands shot into the air—nearly all of them except a few Harry recognized as Caractacus Burke, Marcus Flint, and a woman who could only be from the same distinct female lineage as Millicent Bulstrode.
“Wonderful! Harry, you may join us in an empty seat to continue the session,” Kingsley clapped his hands together joyfully, and Harry quickly found himself sitting beside Andromeda and behind Augusta. His steps across the large room seemed to last forever and only a few seconds all at once.
“Bulstrode,” Percy continued as though nothing significant had occurred.
“Present,” the large, gangly woman stood momentarily before retaking her seat with a loud squeal from the wooden chair.
“Burke,” Percy checked off the box as Caractacus stood, straightening the cuffs of his shirt beneath his robes, looking utterly annoyed at Harry’s presence.
“The line is dead,” Kingsley stated again when Percy called out both Carrow and Crouch.
“Fawley.”
A slim man with peachy-pale skin, not much older than Harry, stood from his place behind Neville. “Sullivan Fawley, sir, to replace my father, Marshall Fawley in our family seat.”
Kingsley beckoned the young man forward. “You are of age?” He nodded. “And you are aware of the responsibilities of the appointment?” Another stiff nod. “You may take a seat,” Kingsley gestured to a few empty seats, and Sullivan decided to take one next to Harry. Had he been a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff? He definitely looked familiar…
“Flint,” Percy hissed in disgust.
“Oh, I’m here, Weasley,” Marcus Flint stood with his crooked and grotesque grin, winking at Percy as his face turned scarlet in irritation.
“Gaunt.”
Another dead line.
“Greengrass.”
“Present,” a softer voice spoke, and Harry turned around to see an average looking man with light blonde hair and pointed features—almost a Muggle’s idea of elven. If the last name didn’t give it away, his looks certainly would have. “Hyperion Greengrass.” The wizard extended a friendly handshake to both newcomers.
“Lestrange.”
“The line is dead.” Kingsley was looking almost giddy with each dead line of purebloods.
“Longbottom,” Percy continued, and Augusta Longbottom stood with a harrumph as though the question didn’t even need to be asked.
“Macmillan.”
A stout man noted his presence, and Harry just assumed he was related to Ernie from his class at Hogwarts.
“Malfoy.”
Harry’s palms began to sweat. He really didn’t want to have to hear another ‘the line is dead’ comment, particularly since he was integral to a plot to save said family.
“Unavailable for today’s session,” Kingsley’s voice was clear and concise, though Harry could tell by the stiff pull of his shoulders that he was anticipating ending the Malfoy line himself by the end of the week.
“Nott,” Percy called out, raising his head to focus on Theo. Harry hadn’t even seen him come in, though he supposed he and Neville had arrived quite late without much time to take in the rest of the attendees.
“Theodore Nott the second to replace my father, Theodore Nott the first in our family seat, sir.”
Kingsley eyed the lanky Slytherin standing before him, and Theo offered his most lopsided and charming smile. How could anyone not melt under that look? Harry felt himself leaning forward in his seat just ever so slightly.
“I’m sure you are aware of the responsibility of the position, Mr. Nott?” Theo nodded solemnly. “Harry has spoken for you after the Battle of Hogwarts, and I am inclined to take his word…for now.”
Theo didn’t wait for any clarification, he darted up to the empty seat in front of Harry and next to Augusta who preened at Theo’s murmured compliments. He turned and gave the most genuine grin that Harry couldn’t help but grin stupidly back.
“Ollivander,” Percy noted the wand maker’s presence. Though he was still quite frail, it appeared that Ron’s Aunt Muriel had taken good care of the old wizard.
“Parkinson.”
Pereneus Parkinson stood—Pansy’s father, of course—and cleared his throat as though about to give a speech. His smarmy smile matched his oily, slicked back black hair, and he looked down at anyone within a six foot radius from the end of his perfectly-pointed pixie nose.
“Prewett.” Percy marked himself present, representing his mother’s familial line.
Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley were all noted as having lines that had ended. The Shacklebolt family seat was of course represented by Kingsley, and the Shafiq seat occupied by a Middle Eastern woman Harry had never seen before. She had mesmerizing almond shaped brown eyes sunken into her darker olive skin. Her face reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Slughorn was present to hold his seat, though he was much more interested in a correspondence on the desk in front of him than the proceedings around him. The Weasley seat had, at last, been filled by Bill.
With all the seats filled that could be, Kingsley called forth the next and final order of business on the docket, which had apparently only been two items long. Werewolf rights.
“Madam Longbottom, you have the floor,” Kingsley smiled encouragingly.
Neville’s gran stood and addressed the entirety of the Wizengamot. “As many of you very well know there are a rather large number of laws on our books that limit and restrict the rights of our fellow witches and wizards that suffer from lycanthropy—“
“As there should be!” Caractacus shouted, with several members agreeing heartily.
“All members will be given ample floor time to counter or voice their concerns. Mr. Burke, you will sit down and allow Madame Longbottom her time, or you will be removed from the proceedings.” Kingsley’s tone brokered no argument, he meant business and they all knew it. The pureblooded bigots were being taken down one by one around him and with their numbers dwindling, he had a somewhat tight leash—or noose—around his neck.
“Those infected are only contagious during their transformation under the full moon. There is no reason to restrict their movements or make their lives more difficult than they already are. I propose we remove all werewolf legislation and start from scratch—all approved by a representative of their choosing.” She was midway through gesturing to her grandson when she was interrupted once again.
“You mean to let them decide?!” Burke shouted, outraged now. His face had turned a shade of violet that would rival Uncle Vernon’s, and Harry couldn’t help but think all the man needed was a walrus mustache to complete the look.
Kingsley rose calmly from his seat, foreboding in his own way. “Mr. Burke, you are hereby excused from your duties for the remainder of this session.”
The man’s eyes went wide, shocked into a stupor at being called out in front of the entire Wizengamot. “B-but you can’t ! You’re just going to let his— freakshow continue?!” He screeched as he was led out of the room by a pair of strong-armed Aurors.
“Augusta,” Kingsley sat as the witch continued.
“My grandson, Neville Longbottom, would be a good fit for the role.” She stood a bit straighter, not only with pride for her family, but as a threat to anyone else considering an attack against her proposal.
“Mr. Longbottom,” Kingsley called Neville up to the front of the room. “What would you have us do first?”
Neville’s face dropped into a deep frown as he considered the question. Harry thought it aged him considerably, although they all must have aged in the war.
“Make Wolfsbane readily available and affordable. From what I’ve been bombarded with in the last week, the potion is too difficult and dangerous to brew for many of us, and the cost of a store-bought product is incredibly high.” Neville took a deep breath, his eyes landing on Harry’s and he offered an encouraging smile.
“It would be an added safety precaution for those near us around a full moon, and it would be more comfortable for those of us transforming.”
A few heads nodded in agreement, even Mrs. Bulstrode didn’t seem opposed to new werewolf laws. Only one member—Mr. Parkinson—looked disgruntled by the proposal. If Harry had to take a guess, he’d say the Parkinson’s were in business with someone who makes Wolfsbane and charges exorbitant fees for it.
“I believe that can be accomplished,” Kingsley said kindly. “Is there anything else?”
“Two things, Minister,” Neville said shakily. “First, we need a safe place—a sort of sanctuary, where we can transform without risking the lives of our family or friends. Second, we need to be able to work.” He took a long breath, and Harry knew he was about to poke the bear.
“It would be imperative that refusing to hire a known werewolf based on their lycanthropy alone be considered as discrimination. Many werewolves are unable to survive in our world because businesses refuse to hire them. Even the ones that do, fire them during the first full moon they’re employed because they have to call off work that night or the next day. Employment protections are very high on the list, sir, and aside from protecting the general population and the werewolves themselves, it is of the utmost importance.”
“You would have us hire them? AND GIVE AWAY OUR PRODUCTS?!” Mr. Parkinson shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk.
“Pereneus, please,” Kingsley held a hand up, halting the man’s violent outburst. “You have given us a lot to think about, Mr. Longbottom. We will take your statements into consideration, and re-convene at a later date.” He turned his attention to the rest of the Wizengamot members, which Harry still didn’t really feel like he should be a part of.
“You will be notified by owl when our next session will be held. The minutes will be sent later this evening. Please consider carefully all you’ve heard today, and we will deliberate on them.”
The meeting was adjourned, and Harry felt a sigh of relief escape his lips. Was he really on the Wizengamot? How the hell did that happen? He’d stood in front of them less than three years ago as they deliberated on whether or not to expel him and cart him off to Azkaban! This was where Hermione belonged, not him! When she came back he was going to gift her the Black family seat someway, somehow. She needed it and wanted it and knew what to do with it. Harry…well, he would show up, he supposed.
Augusta was already long gone, pushing her way past the loitering witches and wizards crowding near the doors. Neville, too, was occupied in a deep conversation with Kingsley—both their brows knitted as they most likely worked out the details in what would hopefully soon become law.
Surprisingly, an arm looped casually around his own, and Harry looked over to see Theo’s cheeky smile looking down at him.
“Looks like we’re both in an exclusive club, now, huh?”
Harry scoffed. “Yeah, club, right.”
“Oh, come on, Potter! It’ll be fun! We get to make all the big decisions—and I don’t know if you noticed…who am I kidding it’s you—well, to spell it out for you, we now have the majority of votes for whatever my Auntie had cooked up!” Theo remarked cheerily as he dragged Harry down the steps, out of the room, and back toward the atrium.
“Theo—“
“Would you join me for dinner? Pansy’s made an excellent ensemble, roasted carrots with a honey glaze—“
“Theo—“
“Braised chicken—“
“Theo!” Harry raised his voice just enough to get the attention of a few bystanders, none of whom seemed too interested in Harry Potter, thankfully. “Yes, I will come to dinner, but—“
“Smashing!” Theo dragged Harry to the nearest open Floo, and chucked him in as he waltzed behind.
They arrived in Theo and Pansy’s flat, where Luna and Blaise were waiting patiently on the loveseat, neither appearing surprised in the slightest at their arrival.
“Hello, Harry,” Luna said sweetly, “you’re just in time.”
“Hey, Luna, Zabini—how are you healing up?” Harry regained his composure, hoping Blaise would have something, anything to go off of.
“Right as rain, just a little sore every now and again,” he nodded his thanks. “I still don’t have any leads for you, Potter.”
Luna looked serious, “I told him you’d want to know as soon as you got here, sorry it’s not better news.” She returned to threading her fingers in Blaise’s hair, ignoring Harry and Theo like they hadn’t just barged into the room.
Unphased, Theo grabbed Harry’s hand, leading him into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair, waiting for Harry to take his seat before pushing it in, and Harry was suddenly struck by what it felt to be a woman on a date. It was sort of nice, someone catering to you…he wondered why it always made Ginny so angry…
“Potter’s coming for dinner!” Theo shouted down the hall, where Pansy was in her room getting dressed for the evening.
“Oh no, he’s not!” She shouted back shrilly. “I specifically told you, I needed to know BEFORE I started cooking, Theodore! I asked you seven times! SEVEN ! And you said—“ She stopped in her tracks as she marched down the hall yelling, when she spotted Harry looking up sheepishly from the table.
“I can go…” Harry mumbled awkwardly, trying to push his chair out for a quick escape.
“No—“ Theo pushed his chair back in, a bit too forcefully, and Harry squirmed to free himself from being pinched between the back of the chair and the edge of the table. “—you stay. Pansy, come on! What’s one more?”
“Oh, no you don’t! Those puppy dog eyes don’t work on me anymore! Your boyfriend can stay, but next time tell me BEFORE YOU JUST BRING HIM HOME! ” She shook her head, stomping back to her room to finish whatever she was doing.
“It’s gonna be soo good, just you wait,” Theo grinned. “Pansy’s been practicing since we don’t have house elves anymore—“
“B-B-Boyfriend?” Harry managed to choke out, his eyes bulging and mouth agape.
Theo shrugged. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Potter. I like you and you like me. Everyone else knows about it—“
“I don’t,” Harry retorted, his jaw snapping shut.
But he did know. He absolutely knew. The way his heart raced whenever Theo was in the vicinity, the way his brain went all fuzzy looking into his eyes…he knew it before he even knew what it was. Hell, he still wasn’t even sure what it was.
Did he find Cho and Ginny and other witches attractive? Definitely. Did he find Theo attractive? Also yes. A firm, resounding yes.
“You’ll figure it out eventually,” Theo smirked like he could read Harry’s thoughts. “Now, dinner!”
Pansy flounced into the kitchen and handed Theo plates artfully piled with delicious smelling foods, and Harry’s stomach growled loud enough for them to hear. She cocked an eyebrow before going back to her task.
“Wine?” Luna held up a bottle of homemade dandelion wine, and Harry noncommittally shrugged. It seemed like he would be opening his mind to many things this evening—Pansy’s cooking, Luna’s questionable fermentation skills, having a crush on Theo…
Let’s just leave that last bit for later.
“So…have you talked to your pet weasel yet?” Pansy stared at him impatiently as she set a plate in front of him.
Harry just blinked back blankly. “Er—“
“About our little project! Hello? Earth to Potter,” she snapped her fingers in his face.
“Oh, well, no—but I found some memories Hermione saved that might make it a little easier to get him to help,” Harry offered slowly.
Pansy chuckled darkly, “Leave it to Granger.”
“I think it was a wonderful idea,” Luna said, gliding into the room, Blaise in tow. “A very creative solution should Draco survive the war without her. Clever, really.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. She’s brilliant—the Brightest Witch of Her Age and all that rot. Now are you going to get Weasley on board, or what?” Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for an answer.
“I will. Promise,” he added quickly when her eyes tightened. “So you all knew about them? Being together, I mean.”
It was Theo’s turn to chuckle. Pansy scoffed, and Luna and Blaise exchanged knowing grins.
“It was hard not to notice,” Theo shook his head happily at the memories he seemed to be replaying. “It was always ‘Granger did this’ and ‘Malfoy said that’ . Quite comical, actually. Finally Draco snapped at the Yule Ball, thank Merlin—sorry, Pans—and they fell in love in the library like the proper little swots they are,” he finished with a dreamy sigh.
“Don’t feel too bad, Potter. We all know how averse you and Weasley are to learning,” Pansy snickered. “I, myself, didn’t notice until sixth year. Let’s just say I didn’t take it well at first…” Her face flipped into a deep frown, and Harry considered whether or not to bring up the memories that involved her.
“Did you watch all three phials?” Theo inquired nonchalantly, quickly stuffing a large bite of chicken into his mouth.
“Er—yeah,” Harry responded, turning his eyes away from the man across the table. “Why?”
“Which ones are you gonna show Weasley?” he somehow said through a mouth full of food.
“Which ones? Why wouldn’t I show—“ Harry paused mid sentence as Theo’s eyes widened and jerked to the side like he was trying to use them to point to Pansy. “Oh, um, yeah…I guess probably just the Yule Ball one and—“
“Definitely show him that one,” Theo grinned, his mouth finally empty. “He can see what an arse he was to her—it’ll make him feel guilty enough to help us out. Oh! And make sure to show him the one of them snogging—“
Harry recoiled, “There wasn’t one of them snogging!”
Theo pouted, “I told her to put a good one in for me! Honestly, it’s just downright rude.”
“It’s rude for her not to include a pornographic memory of two of your best friends for your own personal pleasure?” Blaise laughed.
The pout continued, “Not porn , I said snogging! They are both very attractive people, okay? Let’s not forget so fast about the time—“
“Theodore, that’s enough,” Pansy cut him off, second-hand embarrassment blushed across her face as she watched Blaise and Luna shift awkwardly in their seats.
He winked at Harry, and now he was the one feeling his cheeks blazing red.
“Potter, just show Weasley the damn memories,” Pansy sniped, viciously stabbing her next bite with her fork.
Yes ma’am , he wanted to say, but thought better of it. Pansy Parkinson had taken pity on him as the newcomer, but her graces would only extend so far and he knew it. They were finally on decent terms and mostly because everyone just assumed he and Theo were an item…romantically…?
The rest of the meal was rather enjoyable. Everyone poked fun at each other, and Harry found it odd he was so at ease with three Slytherins, but it felt like being with friends. He supposed he was with friends, now. How could he ever explain it to Ron?
“Can I borrow your owl?” Harry asked as Pansy and Blaise were finishing up the dishes and Luna was laughing at one of Theo’s cheesy jokes.
Ron,
Meet me at Hogwarts tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, in McGonagall’s office.
-Harry
With the note sent off to the Burrow, Harry got ready to bid the group goodnight, before he was pulled away by Theo.
“Potter, a word?” he said looking a bit nervous as he shifted from foot to foot.
“Er—sure.” Harry followed him down the hall, and he was surprised he’d never ventured back there before. It suddenly dawned on him that Theo might be trying to make a move and was leading him to his…bedroom. He definitely wasn’t ready for that. Right? Definitely. “I really should go—“
“Relax, I just need to show you something.” Theo led him a little further past two bedrooms and a bathroom, stopping in front of what looked like a study. Theo rummaged through a desk drawer, and pulled something small out. “The time-turner. It’s finished.”
He opened his palm to show Harry the shiny object.
“It doesn’t look any different…you’re sure?” Harry questioned nervously.
“Well, we won’t know til we try it, but…yeah. I’m pretty positive.”
“Is it…how safe is it?”
Theo scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Hard to tell?”
“So we’re winging it then,” Harry said, looking unphased. After all, it was nothing new.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Theo offered a hopeful but not promising grin. “Oh, and as far as I can make out, we have a maximum of twenty-four hours once we go back, then we’ll have to return. I’m thinking we need to go soon, though, before it gets too unstable.”
Harry’s brows furrowed. “Unstable?”
“Unstable…combustible…trapping us back in time…or killing us…I’m not entirely sure,” Theo rattled off, not making eye contact. “I’m just following Granger’s notes, and filling in the blanks.”
“Right.” Harry sighed deeply, “Fine. I’m talking to Ron tomorrow, and we’ll go from there.”