Yesterday, Your Love Will Die

Moonlight slid lazily across the floor, penetrating through the curtains that were loosely drawn and swayed at the summer wind. In the attic, the Weasley family’s ghoul was howling quietly in tune with the unpleasant screech of poplar twigs against the shingles. A dreary sound. Iris heard it every night she spent at the Burrow. Ginny would blush, apologise and claim that, in Ron’s bedroom, the ghoul is heard even more clearly. Usually, the whining annoyed Iris, but today she was glad to hear it and the crack. Neither the whispering voices nor the creaking of the floorboards could be heard through it. Ginny was sleeping with her blanket thrown off the bed and her nose buried in the pillow. At first, Hermione had been listening attentively to her breathing for a long time to make sure that Ginny had really fallen asleep, before she pursed her lips guiltily, waved her wand and simply cast the Sleeping Spell. ‘Just in case,’ she excused herself. The watch on Iris' wrist showed half past midnight when the door half-opened almost silently and Ron tiptoed into their bedroom. Dressed in his burgundy pyjamas and dishevelled, he looked like a thief. ‘I’ve cast the Silencing Charm in the hallway,’ Ron said in an almost inaudible whisper and sat down on the bed next to Iris and Hermione. If only Mrs Weasley could leave them alone for at least half an hour, they would not have to gather in the dead of night. Time was running out. One day more and Iris would turn seventeen. She had only a day left before her first accidental leap to an unknown year. Ron had been enlightened in Hogwarts-express after they had locked the compartment door and put about half a dozen mufflers upon it. Ron had blushed, turned pale, waved his arms excitedly throughout the story and then began to imagine how Iris was going to rewrite the past and save everyone. Hermione had barely managed to get through his mind, overwhelmed with a vivid imagination. Undeniably, fixing everything was really tempting. But the Iris who wrote the letter mentioned the necessity of closing the loop. How much could have been changed on this condition? ‘Muffliato,’ Hermione whispered, casting another spell. Until recently, she didn’t approve of this charm, but, as it had happened before, her scruples had quickly disappeared under the pressure of circumstances. A reliable protective canopy covered the tiny room, and a tense silence fell on it. Hermione put her wand on the bedside table and pulled the familiar folio out of her small, beaded handbag. ‘I kept wondering why tempus viators had never been mentioned in the books about time travel. Why had all the information about them been relocated to the Department of Secrets,’ Hermione pursed her lips and then blurted out, ‘It’s horrible, Iris! The things I’ve read… It’s not just a book. It’s a diary that passes from one tempus viator to another. It was written by time-travellers for time-travellers. Their thoughts, hypotheses, experiments on time, conclusions…’ She paused to catch her breath as Iris stared amazingly at the extremely thick — about three inches across — tome. And that was a diary? ‘Professor Dumbledore, even in our third year, warned us how thin reality’s matter is and how easy it is to erase the existence of a whole layer of history with a mere careless word, and in here,’ Hermione ran her fingers across the cover, slightly nervous, ‘probably, all existing knowledge about time was collected. All the results of… experiments on it. And since no one, except tempus viators, had mastered the magic of time, they had experimented on themselves, testing their theories. Which, by the way, was not always harmless to others. The information stored here is very, very dangerous.’ ‘What danger could there be if no one, except these time-travellers, would be able to use the knowledge from that book, anyway? ’ ‘That’s the thing, Ron, they would. The Time-Turners, for example, can be used by any wizard. And there are still various rituals that allow you to interfere with the course of time. This isn’t a direct time travel, as the body doesn’t disappear anywhere, it’s only the wizard’s mind that goes to the past, and this is worse than death …’ Iris shuddered: she imagined what Voldemort might have done if he sent a message to his past self. He sure wouldn’t miss a chance. He was a madman who dared to create the Horcruxes; why wouldn’t he take another terrible step? ‘Well, Iris, since you’re a tempus viator, the dairy belongs to you… Please, try to make sure other wizards wouldn’t know about it.’ Iris merely nodded, and Ron inquired, ‘What if we just destroy this diary? ’ Despite their expectations, Hermione did not jump up, nor protest. ‘We can’t. Iris will have children and descendants someday. The diary must be preserved and… oh, how complicated it is.’ ‘Did you find anything useful? About my situation, I mean.’ The contents of that dairy book did not scare her, no matter how creepy it was. The upcoming leaps to the past, however, worried her in earnest. The thought of her being thrown to the Goblin Rebellions, a couple of centuries away from her friends and the time period familiar to her, made her back covered in sweat. ‘I couldn’t translate everything, just Latin, New English, and some Middle English. Part of the book is written in Old English, I need more time to translate–’ ‘Why so much English? ’ Ron interrupted in astonishment. Iris frowned in wonder, too, trying to recall long-forgotten Primary school lessons. ‘It’s History, Ronald. Originally, the British land was inhabited by the Celt. The Roman conquerors brought Latin, and Old English appeared after the Germanic tribes’ invasion of British territory.’ Hermione explained, but her explanation didn’t help Ron much, judging by his face. ‘Iris, do you understand what this means? ’ ‘Er… That Britain was conquered twice? ’ Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Not twice, but thrice. That’s not what this is about. The diary is about 2,000 years old! Romans came to the British islands even before our era. Can you imagine how much is hidden in this book? There were no Hogwarts Founders and no Merlin yet, but tempus viators already existed! I actually suspect that they are as ancient as magic itself. And the first couple of pages is written in Latin. I suggest it explains why time travellers are called tempus viators…’ ‘This is certainly interesting, but how is it gonna help me? ’ Iris reminded Hermione of her question. When somebody ever spoke about books or knowledge, Hermione could be unstoppable, and Iris didn’t want to listen to the historical chronicles in the middle of the night at all. She just wanted to resolve all the issues and go to bed. She yawned at the thought of sleep, though, nervously, as the traitorous quiver overtook her. Iris shrugged as if she was shaking off her drowsiness. ‘Ahem, sorry. The main part of the research precisely concerns the innate talents of tempus viators. The ability to travel in time is very rare. It is inherited and can be fixed genetically.’ ‘Can be fixed how? ’ ‘Genetically, Ron,’ Hermione sighed, and Iris could not help but smile. ‘Muggles have such science, genetics. It studies heredity and the variation of inherited characteristics. I’ll explain it to you later, okay? Well, time-travellers strived to fix their ability to learn how to control it. It was written in Iris’ letter that travels to the past are spontaneous, and it’s true. The first leap always happens on the wizard’s seventeenth birthday. The gift did not show up in any way before…’ ‘I can imagine how “happy” those who received such a birthday gift without warning were,’ Iris muttered grimly as she recalled her own ‘happiness’. But she had thought that only she was that lucky, and it turned out that seventeen years was a special age for all tempus viators. And apparently, there was a reason why it was the day of the seventeenth birthday when the Trace broke for all wizards and witches. ‘There was a warning. First of all, the ability is inherited so the older generation of a family always looked after the younger. And secondly, shortly before the leap to the past, some transformations occur within the wizard. It shows up in different ways: headache, dizziness, shiver, numbness, nausea, or all of the above. Though, it happens on one’s birthday, too…’ Iris grew even grimmer. She had no family to tell her about her magic of time. ‘Be strong, my friend.’ Ron leaned down and patted her knee. Hermione smiled compassionately and knowingly. ‘Fine,’ Iris cleared her suddenly raw throat. ‘That leap to the past won’t be abrupt, will it? ’ ‘It won’t,’ Hermione confirmed eagerly. ‘The book says that the “symptoms” of the gift’s awakening usually last no more than four hours. Then, you’ll begin to see things that aren’t here with you, and those that are will seemingly start to disappear. At that moment, you should find a secluded place where no one can see you because these “visions” mean that your body and your mind are preparing to be sent into the past. There is a curious hypothesis in the book about this not being some kind of a “window to the past”, and a wizard existing in two timelines at once. No one could ever prove it, though.’ ‘Is it going to be like this every time? ’ Iris asked with horror as she realised that there was far more than one travel to the past ahead of her. ‘No, after that the process will change. It says here that all tempus viators are able to sense the magic of time. Before you ask, I don’t know what it means; apparently, the authors of the book thought this thing didn’t need any explanations. So, well, you’ll know about the upcoming leap by that magic.’ ‘Bill once told me that you can sense magic if there is a lot of it. He kinda had come across something like this in one of the tombs.’ Ron scratched his head, puzzled. ‘Then we might ask Bill–’ Hermione perked up, but Iris cut her off, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so, we don’t need more questions and suspicions. I’ll figure it out myself. Does this book say how long I’ll be gone in this time? ’ ‘Up to three seconds,’ Hermione answered swiftly. ‘And how long will I be in the past? ’ ‘Don’t know. I’ve tabulated all the information about it from the book and found that the fastest travel lasted ten minutes and the longest — two days. That’s if we’re only talking about first travels. But…’ Hermione hesitated, ‘authors of the book are sure that travellers sort of engrave themselves as tempus viators in the fabric of being at their first time and have to somehow affect the course of history…’ ‘What do you mean? ’ Iris didn’t understand. ‘I mean that it’s your presence in the past that’ll make the present as it is. And the time you’ll spend in the past directly depends on how quickly you’ll cope with this task.’ Iris swore quietly. She was hoping to sit it out somewhere no one could see her, but it turned out that, on the contrary, she had to do something there. ‘I don’t know how accurate it is. One of the laws of time travel states that– ‘No one must see you.’ Iris recalled their third year. ‘Exactly.’ ‘Well, this law probably doesn’t apply to the tempus viators, right? ’ Ron yawned soul-crushingly. ‘These guys are energetic if they jump through the time as other wizards Apparate. They even have their own code of what to do and how to, you see. Surely they have everything stipulated.’ Hermione gave him a long, thoughtful look as if she had seen something new in him. ‘Well, overall, you’re right. First, tempus viators never get to the time in which they already exist or the time close to their birth. Second, all random leaps in time had already been taken into account in the history of the present. Apparently, when tempus viators come to the past, they don’t change it but only close the time loop. And third, when tempus viators travel with the chronograph they prepare themselves beforehand so that nobody will recognise them then. We, by the way, have to create a such legend, as well. Iris shrugged. It still wasn’t any clearer to her why on earth she would go to 1944. Silence fell on the room for a moment, the three of them thinking of their own things — as if already making up the cover. Iris couldn’t speak for Hermione or Ron, but as for herself… She was trying to comprehend everything she was up to. So far, it wasn’t going well, her mind refusing to grasp even Hermione’s words. Reality seemed to slip away from her already. Chill ran down her spine. Iris suddenly felt as though something unexpected, wrong, scary must happen. Something that would defy every law of that diary book. Some accident… ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Hermione whispered and shook her head, wishing to push away clearly unkind visions. ‘There is something else, Iris. A really important one… here, read. I’ve translated it from Latin. Still overwhelmed by her forebodings, Iris leaned over the book slowly and forced herself to read attentively the clear handwriting on a parchment put between pages. Next to her, Ron followed her suit, pressing against Hermione who didn’t mind at all. ‘Thus, we can speak of a multiplicity of the same worlds differing only at one point, which had been affected by the directional impact of a tempus viator. Any tempus viator who dared to impact remained trapped in the world they created themselves, losing a chance to return to their own, original world for good…’ ‘And there is more,’ Hermione pointed at the paragraph below. ‘Any tempus viator who desires to return to their original world must remember the law of the time cycling. The point that was the beginning must also be the end, for the symbol of time is ouroboros…’ ‘Are we supposed to understand this? ’ Ron said doubtfully. Hermione sighed. ‘It’s about parallel universes. If you change something in the past, the present changes as well. And in that present, there might be no Iris at all — what if her parents will have a boy? It is called a temporal paradox. But the universe is arranged to avoid such paradoxes, and… well, Iris, if you change something in the past, kill Voldemort, for example, then you’ll create a new world where you’ll stay, forever losing your ability to travel in time. In this world, though, Voldemort will live and you’ll disappear, go missing.’ ‘Wait,’ Ron twitched, running a hand through his hair. Iris closed her eyes: she had expected something like this. She had anticipated. ‘That means Iris actually won’t be able to fix anything.’ ‘Exactly. I hope you realise it, Iris. If you give in to your emotions, you’ll create another reality and lose your gift forever. But you won’t save anyone. We all will still be here, and the war won’t be over.’ ‘Don’t worry, Hermione,’ Iris clenched her teeth. ‘I’ve already memorised it. The time loop must be closed. I’ll be back.’ ‘Fine,’ Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and Ron smiled uncertainly, both of them knowing how hard it would be for their friend. ‘Let’s discuss, then, what Iris needs to take with her to the past and how she should act. ‘Take with me? ’ Iris marvelled. “Of course. Money and other stuff — nobody knows how long you’re going to be stuck there… Ron yawned once more, shook his head and joined the discussion. The night promised to be long. Time passed by like crazy and, from Iris’ point of view, her birthday came too soon. On the night of the 31st, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep at all, afraid that she would be thrown into the past straight out of her bed. She tossed and turned, suffered, counted seconds, and struggled with silly, paranoid thoughts. It was about morning, the first dawn rays illuminating the room, when Iris fell into a restless slumber which instantly changed to a vision of a mountain road and a tiny town, shrouded in mist. And, with that vision, someone else’s name came, firmly embedding in her mind — Gregorovich. As a result, in the morning Iris woke up broken and irritated, dark circles under her bloodshot and dry with the lack of sleep eyes, her inflamed scar tingling. ‘Again? ’ Hermione stared at her with a gloomy, disgruntled look. They were alone in the room; Ginny’s neatly made bed was empty. ‘Hermione, believe me, I’d gladly shut my mind off from him, but I’m a terrible Occlumens! ’ Iris lost her temper, rubbing her scar. Her mood was awful and not festive at all. ‘He’s looking for Gregorovich,’ she added suddenly. ‘I don’t know who he is,’ Hermione said confusedly, frowning. ‘I’ve heard this name before, though I can’t recall where it was… He’s abroad.’ ‘Who exactly? ’ ‘Both of them, I guess. Voldemort certainly is.’ Hermione smiled patiently just like adults smile at clueless children. ‘I don’t think that it should be given importance now,’ she said forcefully, highlighting that ‘now ’. ‘Do you remember what day it is? ’ ‘As if I could forget this …’ Iris grumbled, getting out of bed slowly. Her body ached. ‘Happy birthday, Iris’, a small bundle in a soft, rustling wrapping went straight into her hands. ‘The gift is modest, but I think it might be useful to you.’ It wasn’t until she looked at the wrapping paper that Iris realised that the Trace on her had broken today. She became an adult and now was free as the wind and could manage herself as she wanted to. The joy of that thought and the opportunity to do magic distracted her briefly from the upcoming travel, but soon, all her nervousness was back. At breakfast, she could not eat a morsel despite Mrs Weasley’s best efforts. Iris pushed half of the bacon in her mouth forcefully before she excused herself, saying about her slight malaise. ‘I feel sick,’ she whispered to Ron, who was sitting next to her. His eyes widened. ‘Has it begun? ’ ‘I don’t know…’ Iris answered honestly. ‘I think it’s because of worry.’ She barely managed to stop shivering when the time came to unwrap her gifts. Luckily, her high-strung state was chalked up to festive excitement, though Ron, Hermione and clearly suspicious Mrs Weasley all had distinctly worried looks. The oppressive wait lasted for another hour or so, during which Iris’ friends did not leave her, supporting her in every possible way, and then, suddenly, the excitement was gone, and her mind cleared up. The change was so striking that Iris, who was learning the twins’ experimental inventions in their room with nothing to do at that moment, flinched in surprise and dropped a box of some muck on the floor. The muck exploded, covering the floor with a thick, black, as tar, sticky slurry. ‘Hey, mate, what’s wrong? ’ Ron, who was sitting on the opposite side of the bed and had barely managed to dodge it, looked at her, stunned. ‘I feel it,’ Iris' words made him perplexed even more, ‘I feel the magic of time.’ It was an amazing feeling. Nausea and shivering didn’t go away, but it felt different now. Waves of calmness flooded her mind as if she had drunk a vial of the Draught of Peace. The world around her trembled, finding extraordinary brightness and slowness. It was as though she was in a time-lapse film. Smoothly flowing away seconds felt like something material, rounded, plain and booming. Her whole being was filled with mystical confidence in the correctness of what was happening. She only felt that way once — when she had drunk Felix Felicis. ‘May you catch one of the twins? ’ Iris asked calmly, ‘It seems I’m stuck.’ Ron shifted his gaze to the black muck spread all over the floor ‘Mum will kill them if she sees it,’ he muttered, as he stood up on the bed carefully and clutched his wand in his hand. ‘She has cleaned the whole house up before the wedding.’ With a slight crack, he Apparated downstairs, and a moment later, Iris heard the scolding of Mrs Weasley, who had dropped some of the kitchen utensils on the floor with surprise. While Iris was being freed and the room was being cleaned, another half-hour passed. By that time, Iris’ nausea and shivering were gone but multi-coloured spots began to flash before her eyes. Hermione, discreetly initiated into the essence of the matter, literally pushed Iris into the bathroom on the pretext of cleaning her up, put a handbag in her hands and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, you got this,’ Outside, Ron was explaining something to his infuriated mother. Iris did not even hear half of the sounds, as if some part of her was no longer there. Spots were turning into objects before her eyes; Iris recognized some of them. ‘It’s Borgin’s shop,’ for some reason, she explained to Hermione, whose face was blurring, melting in an incomprehensible shadow. ‘And now there’s a wall…’ It was at that moment the spots finally formed into a harmonious picture which filled the entire space around her. Iris felt Hermione’s fingers slip out of her palm, heard her sharp gasp and collapsed down as if the floor had suddenly disappeared beneath her feet. She was thrown into a cold and dark alleyway. A chilly wind carrying drops of water danced among the walls of the houses, puddles spreading across the uneven paving. Travelling between times somehow reminded her of the crazy travelling with the Floo Network. She definitely did not like either. Iris got up after falling to her knees, not keeping her balance, and then she silently cast the Scouring and the Warming Charms on herself. The calmness and confidence caused by the magic and still dominating her mind began to disappear gradually. She pulled a simple black robe, which everyone had been wearing throughout all the decades of the twentieth century, out of her small handbag, thanks to Hermione who had cast the Extinction Charm upon it, and quickly wrapped herself in it. The sandals on her feet had to be transfigured into plain black kitten heels and her hair had to be put into a tight bun. Iris took a deep breath, gathering her strength, and headed towards the exit from the alleyway. She, Ron and Hermione had considered different ways for her to act in the past. There had been a big debate, but all three of them agreed that the first thing Iris should do was to find out what year she was in, after camouflaging, of course. The easiest option was to find a fresh Daily Prophet or some muggle newspaper — depending on how lucky she was, as Iris was not going to dig in the trash — or, as Hermione suggested, to go to the magic pharmacy. Many potions had a very short period of storage, always specified on the bottle, according to the standards of the Potioneers’ Guild, as well as the production date. Iris recognized the narrow, dark and dirty street quickly the moment she stepped into it. Knockturn Alley. Well, at least, she was not thrown into the unknown. Hermione’s words about the fact that the first travel is never accidental in terms of events still were on her mind. A wizard appears in the time and the place where they are meant to, where they affect the history, the future, firmly engraving themselves into the fabric of being as a tempus viator. Iris shivered at the thought that she needed ‘to engrave herself into the fabric of being’ in Knockturn Alley, of all places, and hurried towards Diagon Alley. The calmness, apparently induced by magic, finally disappeared. A worry twisted her insides into a tight knot, making her clench her wand in the moist palm of her hand. So when a desperate female scream and male laughter reached Iris’ ears, she was not surprised. No. She just chuckled bitterly, ironically and darted towards the sound, intuitively determining: that was it, the event. And even if it was not, how could she ignore that? She bolted around the corner of the building and saw a beggar woman huddled against the wall and two vagrants dressed in some rags — they reminded Iris uncomfortably of Fletcher. The woman muttered something about her last money, pitifully hunching over and trying to protect her stomach. Merlin, also pregnant… One of the vermin raised his wand and pointed it at the unfortunate woman. Iris did not wait for the denouement. Something unknown swirled beneath her feet, and the world around her became crystal clear. The vagrant standing sideways noticed her shadow but it was too late. ‘Expelliarmus!’ the wand flew out of his dirty hand and fell somewhere behind Iris. ‘Stupefy!’ The vagrant crashed down like a poke, though his accomplice managed to react and hit. Dodging a jet of red light as if it was a bludger, even keeping her pace, Iris set out a nonverbal Protego and the shield pushed the attacker back from the pregnant woman who, huddled against the wall and seemed like she had lost the ability to walk. Another spell hit the Protego but the defence resisted. Iris’ shields had restrained the Death Eaters who were no match for that Knockturn trash. ‘Stupefy!’ the third jet found its target and the vagrant collapsed into a puddle like a pile of rags. ‘Bastards…’ Looking around — you never know who else can appear — Iris ran up to the woman. ‘How are you? Are you okay? Let me help you–’ She stopped, very suddenly, because the beggar picked up her tear-stained, ugly, familiar face. Merope Gaunt. Pregnant Merope Gaunt. Iris recoiled in panic. Well, Potter, you’ve written yourself into history, haven’t you? Affected the future. Merope trembled visibly, still pressing her hands to her stomach in a protective gesture, and Iris realised that even if she had initially known who she was saving, she still would not have retreated. She would still run to help. For a moment, a picture the Mirror of Erised had shown her once flashed before her eyes. It flickered and faded out hopelessly. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Iris whispered, glad that Merope was so absorbed in herself and her child that she did not notice the painful struggle on the face of her saviour. The gift, extolled in her dreams for which she had so many hopes and aspirations, became a curse overnight. The energy with no vector, the unwanted power, the heavy burden of unsolicited responsibility. It was one thing to put up with the fact that no one can be saved and quite another was the fact that if it had not been for Iris’ actions, no one would have needed to be saved at all. Iris clenched her fists, choking with impotence, the absurdity of the situation. From now until the end of her life she would have to doubt if the world owed the greatest Dark Lord of the century to her. And as if in reality, she heard Snape’s sarcastic voice: ‘Potter, your ego is amazing. Are you so arrogant that you suggest the whole world revolves around you and your actions? ’ She brushed off the hateful voice and, with a heavy heart, reached out to Merope hesitantly. And the future of the entire universe concentrated in her quivering hand. Iris felt the Ancient Magic trembling around, hugging her gently, steering. The time really became tangible. That was it, the crossroads that creates new worlds, Iris comprehended. One spell and there would be no Dark Lord. But the thought of harming a pregnant woman made her sick. ‘Please, let’s go. Knockturn Alley isn’t the best place for a woman in your position,’ As there was no clear answer, Iris took hold of Merope’s wrist and pulled her to the exit. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could notice the Borgin and Burkes shop and realised that she had witnessed another important event. Merope had sold Salazar’s locket. Now it made sense why she had been attacked by the Knockturn scum — they wanted to steal the obtained galleons. A minute later, the dark street was left behind, and the world seemed to brighten. Diagon Alley in the twenties was not much different than the one Iris remembered. Some shops had a different purpose, wizards wore fancy hats and ruffled robes — almost like the one Ron wore at the Yule Ball — but the atmosphere itself had not changed. Iris immediately felt calmer and turned her gaze to Merope. She was painfully pale and could barely stand on her feet. Her stomach was already huge, especially compared to her awfully thin body. The ugly face was haggard, purple shadows laying under her dull, expressionless eyes, devoid of any interest. Merope wore rags that once had been a very good modest dress. Though, now the washed-out faded fabric gaped in some places and, at the waist, it cracked at the seams, tightening her stomach too much. Wizards passing by glanced at Merope contemptuously or compassionately, but she did not even notice them. It appeared as though she did not care at all about who had looked at her or how they had, nor who had said something about her or what they had. In only one minute, Iris came to a strong feeling that Merope was no longer alive. Though, recalling her story, she was… Iris herself, seasoned by the Dursleys, Malfoy, Skeeter, and Umbridge with the Ministry, had learned to ignore any kind of attention a long time ago. Yet, she felt extremely uncomfortable and uncertain as she stood there in Diagon Alley with a pregnant and ailing woman, not knowing where to go. If the book was true, tempus viators affected the future and then returned to their own time immediately. The first thing had happened. Iris had surely gotten into the incident which had a colossal significance for the history of twentieth-century wizarding Britain. The second thing, though, was a hitch. Iris did not feel the leap in time coming. And that could mean only one thing: she still had not done what she was here for. Merope lurched a little beside her, and another problem became obvious: what should she do with a pregnant and ill woman? Iris had already gotten her out of Knockturn Alley, saved her money, then what? ‘Are you okay? ’ Merope really looked as if she was going to give her soul to Heaven. ‘You need to go to St Mungo’s.’ Merope truly should see a healer. And no matter how disgusting her own thoughts made her feel, Iris wished to get rid of the presence of Voldemort’s mother as soon as possible. The image of another woman came into her view, the one with red hair and green eyes that she knew only by the photographs. Lily Potter. How great her sacrifice and her love for her child was… And how pathetic Merope Gaunt was in her weakness. Iris did not want to stay near the woman who buried herself alive instead of fighting tooth and nail to live for her son. ‘No, there’s no need… for St Mungo’s,’ Merope whispered, leaning her hand against the wall. Her other hand still rested on her stomach, protecting the child, and Iris wondered again: how was that possible? She was not an expert in Healing Magic, especially in obstetrics, but she had no doubt that Merope could have survived if she had resorted to the help of magic. So why had she not, for Merlin’s sake? Watching Merope, Iris thought that she might be hungry and need to be fed, so her next words came out absolutely involuntarily, ‘Come along. I was going to have a snack at Fortescue’s, let me treat you.’ That was a lie, but, first, it was stupid to stand in the middle of Diagon Alley and, second, she simply felt pity for Merope. And besides, for some reason, Iris was sure that it was Merope whom the fact of how fast Iris would come back home depended on. ‘I’m not–’ ‘Come now, how hard can it be for you to keep me company? ’ Merope bowed her head obediently, letting Iris lead her towards the Parlour. Iris held her by the elbow, adjusting to her pace. ‘I haven’t thanked you…’ Merope said suddenly, her voice quiet. ‘Oh, never mind,’ Iris muttered. ‘I haven’t done anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done in my place.’ And she had not believed her ears when she heard tired laughter. Merope was laughing. Subtly, bitterly, but she did. ‘You seemed to have grown up in another world. Thank you for saving me, I admit the Debt.’ ‘What? ’ Iris stumbled, staring at Merope in horror. ‘What debt? I’ve protected you from thieves, that doesn’t–’ ‘They would’ve maimed me even if I’d given them my money. I don’t care, I’m not going to live much longer, anyway, but you’ve saved my son.’ No, Iris wanted to scream. Not the Life Debt! Tom Riddle was not born yet, but Destiny had already decided to link them together? Iris perfectly remembered Snape’s back and forth as he had not managed to pay back the Life Debt to her father. She never thought about how important and serious that Debt was, but she guessed it was not just words you can easily shrug off. Otherwise, Snape would not struggle for so many years, and Dumbledore would not hint to her that her saving Pettigrew would be rewarded someday… She entered the Parlour completely apathetic and sat at the nearest free table. It wasn’t until she saw a menu which the owner levitated in front of her that she came back to reality. An old man with an exceptionally charming smile reminded her of Florean Fortescue by his look — probably, it was the family resemblance. Iris had first discovered this cosy family Parlour when she had run away from the Dursleys and had lived in the Leaky Cauldron the summer before her third year. Florean, the owner of the Parlour in her own time, had been helping her with her History of Magic essays and treating her with his signature ice cream, but Iris knew that, besides desserts, various fancy French dishes were served at Fortescue’s. Unlike the Leaky Cauldron, where the food was more common and familiar. Iris made her order more by memory than by looking at the menu, as she still did not know why the magic of time didn’t respond and return her to the 90s. Why would she need to talk to Merope? The past cannot be changed, and that means she would die, anyway, leaving her son in the Muggle orphanage. And it was the moment when Iris realised the thing that she had not paid attention to at first, as she was overwhelmed with her panicked thoughts about the Life Debt. ‘Why did you say you weren’t going to live much longer? ’ Merope shuddered at her sharp voice but did not look away from a countertop. ‘You can’t understand,’ she started quietly but amazingly firmly. ‘I’ve done a terrible thing that has no excuse.’ Iris shrugged. If Merope was talking of a love potion, there were far more terrible things. ‘I’m carrying a monster.’ Did she know? The alarm bell of truth rang in Iris’ mind, but she did not want to accept it, staring in shock at Merope, who looked back at her like a battered dog, cowering as if she was waiting for a hit. Yes. She knew who she was going to give birth to. ‘I didn’t think about the consequences when I drugged Tom. I just wanted to be happy. Hoped that we would be together…’ Tears started to run down her sunken cheeks. ‘When I realised what I had done… Tom left me alone with our son, but… you know, you must have, that a child who was conceived under the effect of the Amortentia, would never–’ ‘… be capable of love,’ Iris finished instead of her, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. Merlin’s beard, Merope realised what the birth of her child would turn for the wizarding world… Monsieur Fortescue levitated their order to their table, but neither Iris nor Merope even thought about touching the excellent-smelling meal. ‘Right,’ the woman whispered, lost. ‘My son will never be able to love anyone. He’ll live with no affection in his heart or his soul…’ Merope rested her hands on her stomach carefully, choking with sobs. Iris looked at her and felt a strong desire to go back to her time right now. And forget this surrealistic meeting like a bad dream. ‘He’s cursed, and I’m the only one to blame.’ ‘Is that why you want to die? ’ Iris could not imagine a more stupid thing. She even shook her head as if she hoped that all of it was just an illusion. Why were they having that conversation? And why was Merope speaking — no, confessing, even? Was her desperation so great that it made her trust the first stranger who had helped her? Merope calmed down suddenly, and that abrupt change of her demeanour scared Iris. ‘We are born in love, we live with love, and even the most miserable of us can find it with just one walk down the street. But my son will be born without love and he’ll never be able to find it as easily as we do. Still, there is a chance that the curse can be broken.’ A chill ran down Iris' spine. Her breath hitched. ‘It won’t be easy for him to find it, but he’ll be able to suffer his way to it. It’s the only way for him to know love, to learn how to love. Rising above the anguish the curse would condemn him to.’ He won’t, Iris wanted to say as she recalled the snake-like-faced Voldemort with a split soul. And she remained silent. ‘I wish more than anything to see my child growing up. But the curse could be broken only by losing something you care for and, with this loss, finding the ability to love deeply and devotedly. I’ll never be able to watch him suffer, I’ll always strive to make him happy… But if I die…’ ‘Losing a mother is the most terrible thing for a child, don’t you understand? ’ 'I do. And let this loss be the first and the last in his life, let it break the curse and give him a chance to love. Children’s hearts are pure and genuine, only while he’s a child will he be able to forgive me…' But he didn’t. Tom Riddle had thought his mother was a muggle unable to do anything against the death by puerperal fever. And later, as he had discovered who Merope Gaunt was, he could never understand her or forgive her. Merlin, how stupid it was to sacrifice herself in hopes of redeeming herself… Moreover… 'It’s hard to grieve for someone you don’t remember, ' Iris pointed out quietly, as she thought back to her own parents. Yes, she missed them. Yes, she dreamed of growing up with them by her side, of seeing their smiles, hearing their voices, feeling their embrace. Though, she missed Sirius more as she knew now what she had lost. 'I understand this, but… I want to give him all my love, but I want him to be able to love even more. I deprived him of it, so I’ll be the one who will pay for it.' Not you — the whole wizarding world. The memories of the Prophet's articles, old photographs, the faded Diagon Alley with closed shops raced before her eyes. Maybe Merope was pursuing a noble purpose, but the decision she made was wrong. And the most painful thing about it was that Iris could not fix any of this. Oh, she hated her gift so much at that moment! 'The only cost of great happiness is great suffering.' Merope’s voice reached her ears as if through a water column, colourful spots suddenly beginning to dance before her eyes. Iris had written herself into history and was now returning to her own time. She bolted up from her seat, ignoring Merope’s questioning and a slightly scared look, threw a handful of galleons onto the table without even thinking that she had given more than she needed to, and then she quickly staggered towards the exit. She had to hide somewhere so that nobody would see her disappear. Her body was losing its weight rapidly, her ears ringing. Iris could only turn the corner of a nearby building before the ground seemed to open beneath her feet and drag her into the abyss of intertemporality.