Yesterday, Your Love Will Die

‘If you want a red rose,’ said the Tree, ‘you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood.’

‘You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.’

‘Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,’ cried the Nightingale, ‘and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.’

‘Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?..’

…And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn.

All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her…

…And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. ‘Press closer, little Nightingale,’ cried the Tree, ‘or the Day will come before the rose is finished.’

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb…

‘The Nightingale and the Rose’, O. Wilde.

Untouched, alluring and containing… something important, an envelope lay alone on a carelessly made bed. Iris felt that its contents would completely change her life, and could not help but hesitate. If you think of it, it had all started with a letter then, too. Unusual, unstamped, made from yellowish thick paper, written in emerald ink and sealed with wax. She remembered that letter distinctly as if six years had not passed since its receipt. That letter had become her pass to a new life, changed everything. The magic started with it. Iris Potter smiled brightly. These memories had a great power which allowed her to cast the Patronus Charm. No, the wizarding world was not the fairy tale in which eleven-year-old Iris had believed, but it gave her countless happy minutes, gave her a reason to fight for and to live for. Thin fingers stroked the rough parchment. It was old – by the look of it, even older than newspaper files from the First Magical War. ‘Iris Lily Potter,’ someone had carefully written in the centre of the envelope in handwriting which seemed oddly similar to Iris’. The ink had faded strongly, its colour was hardly distinguishable. And, on the back, a strange, vaguely familiar symbol was printed on the sealing wax: a vertical line and a circle enclosed in a triangle. The letter was handed over to Iris by Dumbledore and she anticipated that it would bring great changes like that very first one addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. Iris closed her eyes, bloodshot from sleepless nights, as she collected segmental, painful pieces of her memories. She could still feel the pain of the events of that fateful night in her chest. Not so sharp, breathless, rising with a tight lump in her throat as it was a year ago when Sirius died. Oh, this pain was dull but it tormented her with helplessness and untaken revenge. Iris never trusted Snape. She had convinced, disproved, begged but it was all useless. Dumbledore believed this greasy bastard, Voldemort’s rat to the last and paid for it. A flash of blinding green light and a dry, senile body flying down from the Astronomy Tower… Iris would see this awful moment in her dreams for a long time. She blamed Snape, but also herself, for his death. Dumbledore had protected her. The only spell he could manage to cast he had spent to protect her. If only she had not stood beside him, if only Dumbledore had listened to her and stopped trusting Snape, if only he had listened to her words about Malfoy… If only, if only, if only! But now Albus Dumbledore was dead. The Greatest Light Wizard, Voldemort’s main nemesis disappeared. The Order of Phoenix was beheaded. Who would head it now and lead them all into a battle? Who would stand against the Dark Lord? All these fairy tales about ‘The Chosen One’, who was the only person able to defeat the strongest Dark Wizard of their century… Iris did not delude herself. Maybe the prophecy was true, but it did not add any strength, knowledge, or experience to her. And what did the prophecy matter to her, anyway? She was not a warlord who could be a leader of an army. She was only a banner. A symbol, a hope for victory. After all, while people knew she was alive and free, they would continue to believe in the inevitable fall of Voldemort. If only someone could give that faith to her. Dumbledore had not managed to tell her everything, Iris was sure. Yes, she now knew what the Dark Lord’s immortality was, she knew about the Horcruxes and could even suggest what these objects were and how many of them there were. But there had been absolutely no use for her knowledge. ‘It is very important, Iris.’ She twisted the envelope in her hand. Dumbledore gave it to her a few hours before he died. Was that a coincidence? Hardly. Iris felt that the letter was really important, it could change everything, and so she had some kind of irrational fear of what was in it. She hesitated to break the seal. Who could have written a letter to Iris long before she was born? Who could have asked Dumbledore to give her the letter on the day when Dumbledore himself was supposed to perish? Did the Headmaster know he would die the day he handed it? Dumbledore said bluntly that he had a reason to give the letter that evening. What was the reason? Iris clutched the envelope tightly in her hand. Whatever was hiding in it, she strongly associated it with Dumbledore’s death, changes, and troubles. ‘Brilliant, Potter. You didn’t chicken out like that in front of Dementors.’ Angry at herself, Iris broke the seal, her fingers slightly trembling. First, a small golden key fell on a burgundy bedspread. Iris recognized it immediately – keys like that were used to lock safes in Gringotts. Then, straight down to her lap, a folded in half sheet of paper dropped. The excitement made her feel a little sick to her stomach. ‘Hey, Iris. I don’t even know where to start. Who would have thought that, after so many written letters, the hardest thing would be to write one to myself. I am the future you. You and I are separated by only a few months, but it feels like a lifetime to me. I’m writing from 1944. I happened to live and study in this time for a while. You’ll understand on your own why you need to go to this year, I can’t give you hints. The decisions you’ll make have to be independent, not forced by prophecies or letters from the past. Though, I’m still going to try to warn you somehow, even if it is forbidden and, I remember, won’t help. It didn't help me. I know how incredible all the things I’m writing sound to you. You hadn’t believed in magic right away, either. But, I guess, the wizarding world will always be surprising. There are not only Animagi, Metamorphmagi and Parselmouths in this world, but also wizards who can travel in time. Just like that, on their own, without Time-Turners. Such wizards are called ‘tempus viators’. And we are tempus viators, Iris. Not only The Girl Who Lived, but also The Girl Who Travels In Time. Brilliant, isn’t it? Leaps into the past feel like an apparition, except they are not intentional but, on the contrary, spontaneous. And you can’t get rid of them. Even if you don’t want to, the magic of time will throw you into the past, anyway. It’s like the Accidental Magic: when you deter your magic or feel a strong emotion. But endless leaps in time can be controlled. To control it, previous tempus viators had created the chronograph. I had found it in the past and put it in the Gringotts vault. The vault is opened in the name of Arista Swan, you can find the key in the envelope with the letter. The chronograph works on the principle of the Time-Turner – it helps to set how much time you go back in. But, while Time-Turner reverses hours, the chronograph reverses entire decades. You can watch wars with goblins in person – Binns would’ve been really jealous. You’ll find out all the details from the tempus viators’ diary, a thick book I left to Dumbledore. He stores it in his office, the book has no charm on it, so just take it. But there is no point in trying to look for information about time travellers and travels in the library – all of it was relocated from free access and to the Department of Mysteries a long time ago. Unfortunately, not destroyed completely. The magic of time will wake in you on your birthday. That same day, you’ll be sent to the past for the first time. And you have thought nothing could ever top the Dursleys’ gifts. Time travel has many restrictions and rules. The most important is that the time loop must be closed at all costs. If you change something, like killing Tom Riddle in his school years or Peter Pettigrew before his betrayal, for example, you will never be able to go back in your own time. So, I repeat: the time loop must be closed. There will be plenty of temptations. At some point, you’ll think that the ability to travel back in time is useless to you, because you can’t change anything or save anyone. But when that moment comes (I can't believe I'm writing this – I sound like Dumbledore or Hermione), well, think about real possibilities which time travel provides you. Remember what Dumbledore taught you, and consider it carefully. At the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower there is an eagle, who gives riddles. Someday, it’ll ask you, ‘Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?’ The right answer is: a circle has no beginning. Yours and mine has none, either. Don’t be afraid to do things the consequences of which you can’t predict: everything has already been taken into account. Make your decisions boldly and remember – right now, at this very second, I firmly believe I’m doing the right thing. Good luck!

I.L.P.

Hogwarts, 1944.’

The letter fell from her weakened fingers. Time travel? In 1944? Really? It seemed so impossible that it felt like a bad joke. Hermione had said that you could only go back a day at most! But Dumbledore wouldn’t joke, right? And she could not help but recognize her handwriting with its crooked ‘r’, fuzzy ‘t’ and long-tailed ‘f’. So, Dumbledore did know? Iris felt suffocated. What else had the Headmaster not managed or did not want to tell? For Merlin's sake, why did he hide something like that?! With a painful growling sigh, she kicked her almost packed trunk and slouched, her hands resting on the bedside table as she shut her eyes. She had seen a lot of things, more than she needed to. She got used to thinking that here, behind the Barrier, there was a place even for the impossible things. But travelling back half a century in time… Iris whipped around and picked up the letter from the floor. She read it once again, looked at it through light for some reason and even checked for hidden lines. Nothing changed. Iris lowered her hands and threw her wand – it fell next to the Gringotts' key which gleamed mockingly. Slowly, really slowly, the meaning of those lines, which had previously eluded her treacherously, penetrated her mind. And the things hiding in them were... frighteningly grandiose. She had a key to victory over Voldemort right into her hands. Yes, in that letter, another Iris (how strange it was!) wrote that it was forbidden to change the history, but… to be in two places at the same time meant to be able to correct what seemed irreparable, as it was on the night when Sirius and Buckbeak were to be executed. She just wished she knew how to use this unexpected bonus. Iris bit her lip and looked at the signature in the letter. There had to be a reason why it was written from Hogwarts of 1944. If she remembered correctly, Riddle was still a student that year, and... And what if her ability to travel back in time was that power mentioned in the prophecy and unknown to Voldemort? A loud door slam made Iris, deep in her thoughts, shudder all over. ‘Have you finished packing yet?’ Hermione asked sonorously. She panted and blushed as if she had run through half of the castle. Had she argued with Ron again? Iris looked at her face worriedly and exhaled with relief; Hermione looked pleased, not angry. ‘The Hogwarts Express is going to leave soon, and we should hurry if we don’t want to be late…’ Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly, and her eyes scanned thoroughly the unpacked trunk, the opened envelope with the letter and Iris’ clearly confused look. ‘Something wrong.’ Hermione did not ask but claimed, managing to put an unspoken ‘tell me’ in this statement. Iris barely suppressed a nervous laugh. She had a feeling that something was not just wrong – the whole world collapsed and reassembled once more. ‘Look for yourself,’ she handed her the letter. ‘Dumbledore gave it to me before he died.’ Her voice was a bit hoarse with excitement and scared Hermione. She snatched the parchment, ran her eyes over the lines, frowned and went back to the beginning. With every passing second, as she read, she grew increasingly gloomy and puzzled. ‘But how’s that possible? It says about 1944. It is impossible to travel back such a long period of time. And I’ve never heard about chronographs.’ She sat down on the bed, her eyes still glued to the lines of the letter. Iris, on the contrary, jumped up and started walking back and forth around the room. ‘The prophecy said, “But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…” What if this is it?..’ Hermione stopped reading and looked at Iris sceptically. ‘With all due respect to Professor Dumbledore’s words, this prophecy was said by Trelawney. She couldn’t even determine the gender of The Chosen One correctly.’ ‘Neville fitted in the prophecy, too. Voldemort chose me, though.’ Hermione shook her head showing that trying to change her mind was useless as she returned to the text. Iris started pacing around the dorm again. If it was the same way as it had been in their third year, was there a chance that many of the deceased would actually stay alive?.. ‘When professor McGonagall had given me the Time-Turner l read everything I could find in the library about time travel. Yes, I’ve seen hints that the inventor of the first Time-Turner could have visited the past. But it looked like rumours, not facts. And there sure was nothing about chronographs or tempus viators.’ ‘But Dumbledore wouldn’t joke, right? He gave me the letter.’ ‘I don’t understand,’ Hermione muttered as she read it again carefully. ‘Why would you need to go to 1944? Why was all the information about time travelling relocated to the Department of Mysteries? Why did Dumbledore give you the letter but not the book?’ ‘And where would I have put it?’ Iris raised her eyebrows. ‘We had left for the Horcruxes. I was already standing in an Invisibility Cloak at the exit…’ She stammered. It had finally occurred to her that the book mentioned in the letter was still in Dumbledore’s office. Iris did not know exactly where he kept it, nor how she could take it now. To sneak into the Headmaster's office and search there? ‘Brilliant!’ Iris exclaimed passionately. ‘Brilliant as hell! And what should I do now?’ ‘The solution has to be obvious, otherwise it would be easier to scale down the book or transfigure it into something compact.’ Hermione shook her head and looked out the window thoughtfully. Suddenly, her eyes twinkled with some guess, her nostrils widening like those of a bloodhound getting a scent. Before Iris could say a word, Hermione ran up to the window, pushed it open and flicked her wand. ‘Accio the tempus viators’ book!’ About a minute passed, nothing happening, and Iris had already opened her mouth to ask what Hermione was expecting, when a book of impressive size flew into the room and fell onto the floor with a deafening thud, a pillar of paper dust spreading around it. ‘Did it…’ Hermione whispered enthusiastically as if in disbelief. Iris, however, stared at the thick folio as though it was a revived Basilisk. The book looked old, ancient even, and it seemed like only the charms casted upon it a long time ago were keeping it from crumbling into dust. On the worn cover, embossed letters were subtle and hard to read. ‘Tempus viator,’ they stated. ‘Hermione…’ Iris called, her voice hoarse. No response came. Hermione rushed to the book and clung to it as if it was going to fly away. ‘I did it again…’ ‘Hermione,’ her voice was firmer this time. ‘Have you just robbed the Headmaster’s office with a simple Summoning Charm? And what do you mean again?’ ‘This is definitely it.’ Hermione opened the book on the flyleaf, ignoring the rest of the world. ‘Given for temporary storage, A.P.W.B.D., 1944.’ ‘Hermione, are you going to explain me–’ A knock at the door interrupted them. ‘Are you coming?’ Ginny poked her head into the half-opened doorway. ‘Have you not got ready yet? What’s going on?’ And, as Iris frantically considered what to say, Hermione slammed the book shut and started to wave her wand busily. ‘We’ll be in a minute, don’t worry, Ginny. I came for Iris and found her absolutely broken due to the funeral,’ Hermione lied in cold blood. ‘We’ll be right down.’ She became quite good in wordless magic over the past year and now was packing Iris’ trunk without stating any spell out loud. The summoned folio was already nowhere to be found – how on earth did Hermione manage to do everything? Ginny glanced at Iris sympathetically and disappeared behind the door. Belatedly, Iris realised that she should look at least slightly upset to suit Hermione’s words but all she could feel right now was thrill and excitement. ‘Later.’ Hermione looked at Iris pointedly as if she had read her thoughts, and waved the letter. ‘Can I get a copy?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘You should keep it away. Since Professor Dumbledore hid your ability even from yourself, I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell anyone about it.’ ‘Except you and Ron,’ Iris nodded as she hid the parchment, envelope and the vault key hurriedly in Hagrid's pouch, her heart beating faster with anticipation of changes. Nice ones, for a change. The thoughts of upcoming events overtook Iris so much that she came to her senses when she saw the skinny side of a thestral before her eyes. ‘I can’t believe I’m not coming back here next year,’ Ron muttered beside them, immediately earning a nudge under his ribs from Hermione as she shushed him angrily. Iris whipped around to look at Hogwarts and its surroundings one last time. Oddly enough, her heart was not heavy, and even the white tomb at the edge of the Great Lake did not make her feel the bitterness of loss now. The letter from the past warmed her, giving her an overwhelming hope. Even though Iris had no idea what tomorrow would bring, she knew for sure which direction she should go…