One Fateful Night
Chapter 9: One Fateful Night
“Where are we?”
“A forest—“
“Yes, but which—“
“Ow!”
“—sorry! Which forest?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“You brought us here!”
“Me?!”
“Yes, you! This was all based on your timeline! Why is it so dark?”
“You’re a wizard, use your wand!”
“Oh, I’ll use my wand alright—“
“Shh! There’s a voice—just there—did you hear it?”
…
“What was that?!” Ron shrieked, pointing down at the white candle with Harry’s name carved into it.
“It’s a candle, Weasley. Ever seen one? Or are you too poor even for those?” Pansy sneered.
Ron’s face turned red, “I bloody well know it’s a candle! It’s flickering—what does that mean?!”
“Uh, that’s it lit?” She said slowly to emphasize the stupidity of his question. “Purple is good. Green means they’re coming back. Don’t worry unless it goes out.”
Her cool and collected facade was just that, a poorly constructed mask. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she, too, was nervous for the safe return of their friends.
“What was that?”
“Seriously, Weasley? I’m not going to tell you agai—“
“Did we miss them?” Blaise burst through the door looking a bit bedraggled.
Luna drifted in after him, serenely as ever, “Of course we did, dear, but I already told you that.”
“I wanted to go with them!” he said, hanging his head.
She patted his shoulder as though comforting a child that had lost its favorite toy. “Now, now, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”
They weren’t.
…
“Lumos,” Theo lit the end of his wand, showing he and Harry had become quite entangled in both each other and the surrounding soggy tree roots that had lifted from the earth.
“Can you make out any voices?” Harry asked, fixing his glasses back onto his nose.
“Not sure, one of them sounds like—no, no way—“
“Who?”
“Delicious girl…what a treat…”
“Greyback,” they both breathed out together.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Harry ran a hand through his mussed hair. He didn’t want to relive this again. He’d just done it for the second time watching Hermione’s memories, he didn’t think he could do it again now.
“What happens next, Potter?”
“What?” Harry couldn’t focus on Theo’s words—he was still lost in the memory.
“Quick! What happens next!” Theo jostled his shoulders, waking Harry’s brain into action.
“The Snatchers take us back to Malfoy Manor,” Harry cringed.
Theo’s eyes went wide, “You mean when—“
“Yeah,” Harry scuffed the toe of his shoes into the muddy ground.
“I’ll go.”
“No, Theo you don’t have to—“
“Actually, I do. You don’t.”
Harry’s eyes were shining with unshed tears at the thought of Hermione’s screams.
“You can just come with me. We’ll go to Shell Cottage and get Hermione after Dobby helps us escape—“
“You wait there for Hermione, I’m going to get Draco. Where is Shell Cottage?” Theo turned to Harry determinedly.
Harry wasn’t sure if it was really a good idea, considering he had no idea what happened to Malfoy between this night at the Manor and their rendezvous in the Room of Requirement during the battle, but it didn’t appear he had a choice. He summoned parchment and a self-inking quill from Hermione’s bag, and gave Theo the location. Hopefully he’d be able to find it.
Several cracks sounded out as the Snatchers disappeared.
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
…
The beach outside of the young Weasley couple’s wards was cold and windy, the surf leaving foamy streaks along the sand. Harry could see clearly in the moonlight that danced and refracted off the surface of the water. He was looking for a place to hide until his past self showed up, and a deeply carved out dune looked like the perfect spot.
…
Theo crept along the back edge of the Manor. He knew the property like the back of his hand, but he could practically feel the dark magic radiating off the house. Gooseflesh erupted on his arms and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. There were other barriers in place than the typical Malfoy familial wards. He wasn’t even positive he’d be able to get through, but he had to try. He owed Draco that much.
A small pop! gave him pause.
“Mister Theo be’s coming with me now,” Wipsy dragged him by the collar and into the kitchens. “Mistress was worried, sir. She sends Wipsy to find Mister Theo so’s he isn’t found.”
Theo silently thanked Narcissa for her foresight. “Thank you Wipsy. Where is Draco?”
The poor elf shook its head sadly. “Wipsy’s not allowed to say. Mistress says young Master be’s in danger, sir, but Wipsy’s not to help…there’s company.”
He knew exactly what company the elf was speaking of. But he couldn’t change any of it. He had to let things happen—especially the big things—if he didn’t want to change the rest of history. Just one, single moment.
The screams started, and Theo tried to cover his ears with his hands, but it did nothing to block out the sound. He leaned against the wall, sliding down until he sat, crouched on the floor, willing her torture to stop.
Wipsy snapped her fingers and the screams disappeared.
For a brief second, he thought it might be better until his logical brain took over like a freight train. She was still screaming in agony, he was just ignoring her pain now; silently standing by while she suffered a room away. He canceled the silencing charm and braced himself for the long encounter ahead.
…
Harry kicked at the wonky little mound of a sandcastle he’d molded, effectively flattening it back into the surrounding dune.
What if she didn’t agree to come back?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to go down that rabbit hole. In fact, who’s to say she wouldn’t agree? She might decide to go along with their plan, but what if he’s not able to get the time turner to work? What if Theo screwed up the arithmancy?
He’d certainly lost a lot of people—Hermione included. But maybe positivity was the key here. Who had he been able to save?
Ginny. He’d saved Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets.
Sirius. He and Hermione had done exactly what he was doing now to save Sirius.
And it had worked.
A warmth blossomed over his chest, warming his limbs. He could do this. He could absolutely do this, he just had to stay positive. Hermione would need facts to convince her, and pointing out how they had saved Sirius was the perfect way to do it.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed when they used the time turner.
A single crack of Apparition rose from the cottage, and Harry knew Dobby had brought Luna, Dean, and Ollivander to safety.
…
Tears were streaming down his cheeks. How was she still conscious? How had Draco not slit his aunt’s throat by now? Certainly he’d been incapacitated, or the screaming would’ve stopped long ago.
Theo grit his teeth together as Granger’s voice crackled into nonexistence. She’d finally passed out then.
“Wipsy, please,” he pleaded for the millionth time with the elf.
She only shook her head sadly, turning away from Theo’s shining green eyes. “Wipsy mustn’t.”
There was shouting.
This was it. Potter and the Weasel would take her far away from here, then he could finally get to work. Wiping the tears from his face, Theo stood and smoothed out his clothing. He had to play the part of a Death Eater’s son—even if the real him was hiding far away from all this.
It was for Draco. And Granger. And Potter.
…
“I swear to Salazar, if you don’t put your hands down, I’ll set you on fire, Weasel!” Pansy screeched, not leaving her spot on the floor in front of Theo’s candle still burning a bright violet.
“I fucking dare you, you cow!” Weasley snarled back.
“Cow!” Pansy shrieked. “You—“
“Blaise, dear, do you see all the wrackspurts?”
“I do, indeed, my love.” Blaise smiled knowingly. “Do you think they know, yet?”
Luna’s faraway gaze trained on Ron, “No, I don’t think that they do.” She giggled conspiratorially, leaving Pansy and Ron flabbergasted.
“What is a wrackspurt?” Ron asked, his tone still full of irritation.
Pansy scoffed. “Seriously? She’s on about them all the time. Some friend you are.”
“Excuse me?” Ron blustered.
“You’re excused,” she smirked back.
…
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Griphook had landed a bit further down the beach. Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean helped the trio bring the goblin and Dobby back up to the cottage.
Future Harry was drawing the Deathly Hallows symbol into the sand with a twig of driftwood. Past Harry would be ferociously digging a grave in the garden for Dobby with a rusty old spade.
Dobby’s death was still so fresh—only two months ago, really. Yet, somehow, it had been lost in the chaos of the final battle. So many had been lost, at least Dobby had a proper funeral. Well, as proper as it could be for a house elf, and monumentally better than having his head mounted to a wall.
If she didn’t come back, he’d have to plan her funeral. Harry didn’t think he could do that.
Stay focused.
What were the rules of time travel Hermione had given him? The only one that stood out in his memory was to not be seen, especially by his past self. Well, that was completely fine. He had no intention of meeting with this Harry—grief stricken and full of rage. He knew that Harry very well, and he’d just barely gotten him back into his cage…at least temporarily.
…
“Theodore, what are you doing here?” Narcissa growled in a hushed voice. “You’re supposed to be somewhere unplottable.”
He at least had the sense to look contrite. “I know, but it’s an emergency. I need to speak with Draco.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible—“
“Please, Mrs. Malfoy,” Theo begged with his most imploringly pathetic pout. “He needs to know what I have to say.”
“Then tell me and I’ll pass it along. It’s not safe for you to be here, for any of us.”
He hesitated. “I can’t. It has to be only Draco, I’m sorry.”
She eyed him scrupulously, before giving him a curt nod. “I take it that you would never put him in any danger for anything less than a life or death situation, but hurry. The Dark Lord is on his way, and we shall all be punished for Bella’s mistake.”
Theo gave her a quick embrace, muttering, “You have no idea,” before running through the Manor. He tiptoed his way across the old marble floors, and thanked Merlin for their expensive taste. Wood floors would have alerted the entire house that an intruder was afoot.
Draco was in his room, attempting to Occlude. It wasn’t working. Tears were flowing freely from his dull gray eyes. The shadows under them had deepened since they last saw each other—plum and bruised against his too-pale face.
“Theo?” The younger boy sobbed out in disbelief—because in that moment, they were still boys; children playing a grown man’s game.
“Yeah, it’s really me, mate.” Theo hugged his shoulders, careful not to hurt Draco’s frail frame. “We gotta talk and we don’t have much time. It’s about Granger…”
Draco’s head snapped up at her name.
“She’s not dead…yet.”
“D-dead?!” Draco squeaked in horror.
…
“Ronald!”
“Oh, it’s Ronald now, is it? Ran out of witty weasel puns? Surely you and the ferret had more than that saved up?” Ron goaded the witch.
Pansy sneered back at the red-headed boy. Between all their posturing, they had actually moved substantially closer to one another over the past few hours. Lack of sleep and food mixed with their worry and fears had built up a thick atmosphere of hostility and tension.
Blaise and Luna didn’t seem to care at all. If anything, they were enjoying the entertainment.
“You have officially moved into my personal space. Narcissa put the candles where they needed to be for the spell to work! You’re going to muck it all up and kill them!” Pansy shouted, jabbing her finger into his chest.
“Oi! Don’t point your finger at me! You’ve been invading my space for the past forty minutes!” he snarled, poking her back.
“How could I possibly have done that when I’ve been sitting next to the candle this entire time? You’re the one that’s been moving!”
“Should we tell them?” Luna smiled up at Blaise sweetly.
Her lover only grinned, “Nah, just let me enjoy this a bit longer.”
…
Harry waited until the last light went out in Shell Cottage. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but Fleur had stayed awake deep into the night, mending injuries and tending to all her new charges that had quite literally just landed on her doorstep.
He climbed out of the sand dune and hovered near the edge of the garden. A freshly filled grave greeted him near the bushes along the edge of the property.
“Rest in peace, old friend,” he whispered, touching it reverently.
Harry made it nearly to the door when a wand lit directly between his eyes.
“Who are you?”
It was Bill. Of course—the wards. Bill is a curse-breaker, Harry should’ve expected this.
“Harry—“
“Nope. Care to try again?”
“Bill, it really is me—,”
Shit. He really shouldn’t have been seen. It was so stupid. The entire plan was so bloody stupid.
“If you’re really Harry Potter, then who’s asleep upstairs?” Bill’s eyes were ablaze. Harry only hoped he’d get to talk long enough to explain himself.
Harry sighed defeatedly. “Harry Potter—“
“Exactly, so then who—“
“He’s Harry Potter from the present.”
Bill stared at him, his curiosity peaked at the word choice.
“I’m Harry from the future.”
“Prove it,” the oldest Weasley brother demanded.
Harry thought for a long moment—something only he could know. “I was at your wedding to Fleur Delacour at the Burrow, polyjuiced as a Muggle from the village and used the name Barney Weasley. The cover story was that I was a distant cousin.”
Bill still seemed skeptical, but accepted the answer for the time being.
“What are you doing here, now, then?”
“I’m—I’m not really sure I should say.”
“Right. Back to the questions then—what does my brother have a tattoo of?” Bill snapped.
“Er—he doesn’t have any tattoos…although Ginny keeps trying to tell everyone he’s got a Pygmy puff,” Harry chuckled a bit, nervously, at the running joke. It drove Ron mad, but it was quite funny.
Bill looked surprised by the answer, but finally believing Harry, he led him inside the dark and quiet cottage. The distant rumble of snores sounded overhead, lulling Harry into a sense of sleepiness. He hadn’t slept in quite a while, it felt like, but he still had so much left to do.
“We lose the war, don’t we? That’s why you’ve come back? To change the outcome and win it.”
“What? No!” Harry said a bit too loudly and Bill silently shushed him with a finger to his lips. “No,” he whispered, “we win, but there’s a few casualties I’m not willing to let go of.”
His eyes drifted toward the stairs, and Bill followed his gaze.
“Don’t tell me who it is. If you really are from the future, you’ve already said too much.” Bill shook his head. “You shouldn’t even be here, but I’ll assume you have a good reason.”
Harry nodded in reply.
“Fine. Do what you have to do, but don’t lose this war because of it, alright? We all need this to end. It has to end.” He twirled his gold wedding band around his finger.
“I will.”
Bill stood, silently pushing the wooden chair back under the dining table, readying to leave Harry alone with his thoughts.
“Bill—“ The host turned. “We’ll have two more…guests…joining us tonight. Please believe me when I say they are friends and not foes.”
“I trust you, Harry.”
“I have one more favor to ask,” Harry tensed, but Bill waited patiently. “Can you show me how to send a message through a Patronus?”
…
“We…die?” Draco stared at his friend, dumbfounded. “Serves me right for always telling her I wouldn’t make it out of this war alive. I just wish I hadn’t dragged her down with me. She doesn’t deserve this, Theo.”
“I know,” Theo’s head was hanging in his hands. “But neither do you. That’s why Potter and I came back. We’re going to fix this.”
“Of course,” Draco grinned mirthlessly. “Potter to the fucking rescue.”
Theo looked away apprehensively, “I dunno, he’s not so bad.”
A silvery stag pranced into Draco’s bedroom, whispering to Theo. “Come to Shell Cottage. Everyone is asleep.”
“Time to go,” Theo pulled Draco to his feet.
There was no fight left in his poor friend. The once regal and commanding boy, stood broken as a man. He only hoped seeing Granger alive for himself would snap Draco out of this state.
…
Harry and Bill stood in the back garden, waiting for Theo and Malfoy to make their way in off the beach.
“You’re sure Malfoy and Nott can be trusted?” Bill stood rigid, not allowing his fear and anticipation to show through, but Harry knew it was there nonetheless. He was a bit nervous himself, but he trusted Theo.
“Yes. He and Hermione—“
“Ugh I heard you the first time. I qqqdidn’t need that mental image, thanks.”
Harry chuckled at his discomfort, but stopped suddenly when he heard a rustling in the grass.
“Show yourselves,” Bill commanded with an authority Harry had once only reserved for Dumbledore or Moody. It seemed those positions were now filled with younger blood—Bill, Kingsley, McGonagall…
Theo lifted his hands up in surrender, but as he let go of his grip on Malfoy, the blonde slumped against him and subsequently to the ground below.
“What—?” Harry looked to Theo, checking him for any visible injuries, hoping whatever was wrong with Malfoy hadn’t afflicted Theo as well.
Theo smiled triumphantly at the concern, “I’m fine, Potter, and he’s just exhausted—Cruciatus earlier, and then having to watch Granger—he’s….” He left it at that with a slight shrug.
“Nott, answer a security question,” Bill gestured for Harry to do the interrogation.
“Ok, right, er—“
Ignoring the command, Theo walked up to Harry with steady, determined strides. He planted both hands on either side of his face, firmly tilting Harry’s ips up to meet his own in a brief, but searing kiss.
“That’s—that’s definitely Theo,” Harry stuttered out,
“Oh, Harry,” Bill patted the younger man’s back, grinning. “I guess I owe Charlie several galleons,” he laughed heartily.
Theo smirked at the immediate acceptance, and Harry’s cheeks were crimson.
“Hey, Scarhead, do you think you can manage to stop snogging my best mate and get me to Granger?” Malfoy said snappishly, still weakly trying to get off the ground.
“Well, that’s definitely Malfoy,” Harry muttered to Bill, helping Theo hoist him to his feet.
Bill swung open the back door, gesturing for them to move inside, “Right this way.”
…
“Colovaria!” Pansy pointed her wand at Ron’s head, changing his ginger hair green.
“Bloody snake!” He scowled back. “Diffindo!”
A perfect chunk of Pansy’s dark hair was severed and fell to the floor. Blaise cackled hysterically, and Luna giggled at the sight.
“How about I cut those freckles off your stupid face!”
Ron snorted, “I’d like to see you try—“
Pansy raised her wand, aiming it at the bridge of his nose. They were only three feet apart now. Instead of raising his own wand, Ron launched himself over the candles, tackling her wand from her hands.
“You bitch! You were actually going to hex me right in the face!”
“You cut my hair!” She screamed back as she tried to writhe out of his grasp.
“So maybe we should’ve been moving them closer by half an inch every ten minutes instead of a quarter every fifteen,” Luna mused quietly, as if conducting some great scientific experiment.
Blaise shrugged, “Maybe so, but then we wouldn’t have all this tension built up, would we?”
Ron pushed his weight forward, grabbing both her wrists and pinning them to the floor, her wand several inches out of reach. “Why. Are you. So. Bloody. Irritating?!” He growled, their faces only an inch apart now.
Pansy’s lips parted, breathing heavily. Ron’s eyes flickered to the movement, then back to her eyes.
The momentary hesitation was all she needed. Pansy wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them over so she was the one holding him hostage.
“You are the one who is irritating! Fucking Weasleys.” Her face was entirely too close now.
It was Ron who closed the gap.
Neither of them noticed when Blaise and Luna slipped out of the room with matching grins.
…
The door creaked, breaking the spell of silence the cottage was wrapped in. She was deep in a medicated sleep, and Harry immediately regretted needing to wake her. She’d already been through so much, it felt wrong taking away precious moments of dreamless sleep.
“Granger?” Malfoy’s voice broke. He rushed to her bedside, collapsing to the floor next to it as he gripped her hand in his own. He peppered kisses across the back of her hand, checking her face every few seconds for any signs of stirring or distress.
She never flinched, which simultaneously relieved and worried them all—her friend, her lover, and her brother. What a lucky witch to have three devoted men at her sickbed in the middle of the night—in the middle of a war.
“We need to wake her,” Theo said softly.
Harry rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses, “I know.”
“No, Potter. You were just with her. You saw what she went through—she needs to rest!” Draco snapped quietly, his eyes never leaving Hermione’s face.
Theo approached slowly and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Draco, we have to speak with her. We don’t have much time left.”
…
“What the fuck, Weasley?!” Pansy slapped him across the face. “You can’t just shove your tongue down people’s throats!”
Ron snorted, rubbing his stinging cheek. “Do you ever shut up?”
She reached down and yanked his head back up to hers, their lips back to only an inch apart. “You shut up,” she said breathlessly before crushing her lips against his.
He groaned and she pressed her body down on his, their hips grinding together. She pulled back, but just barely.
“This means nothing, Weasley, got it?”
He pulled her back toward him, and she accepted it as his answer.
…
“Rennervate!”