Tu Tu

Hogwarts 25.09.1998

Transfiguration was particularly crowded this year. In fact, all subjects seemed swamped, primarily because the eighth year students had been lumped together with the seventh years. Despite there being only fifteen in the second year, the classrooms struggled to accommodate the extra desks and benches. A month into the term, and there still weren’t enough seats to go around. Theo found this mildly irritating. He had always preferred solitude since his first day at Hogwarts, being left-handed and usually paired with right-handed desk mates, leading to inevitable elbow jostles and ink spills. Furthermore, sitting beside girls was a trial in itself, with their incessant chatter and teary outbursts whenever he told them to quieten down. This year, however, he had been somewhat fortunate. Harper, another Slytherin continuing his studies, had taken the seat beside him since day one, either out of some misplaced sense of solidarity or in the hope of finding a partner to copy homework from. Harper was, as usual, drowsy and slow-witted, but thankfully, unobtrusive. This morning, though, Harper was absent from his usual spot. Theo scanned the room and spotted him cozied up with Brocklehurst at the back. 'Enjoy your snogging time, ' Theo mused sarcastically, 'McGonagall’s class is just the place for it! ' Scolding himself for the distraction, Theo returned to his half-empty inkwell and seventh year textbook. The classroom was filling up rapidly, yet the seat next to him remained vacant. Not surprising, given the intimidation factor of the front row in Transfiguration. Moments later, McGonagall swept in, conversing with Granger about something or other. Theo couldn’t help but grin at Granger’s evident discomfiture as she glanced at Weasley and Patil, engaged in non-stop banter, and at Longbottom, whose grotesque plant was encroaching on McMillan’s space. It was clear to Theo that the only available seat was beside him, and Granger, still visibly flustered, made her way over and sat down. Her hair, scented with some kind of floral girly perfume — artificial, not like real flowers, as Theo well knew — wafted over him. Granger silently set out her textbook, parchment, quill, and ink, jotting down the date before folding her arms and straightening her back, a posture that seemed to signal McGonagall to commence the lesson. Theo, somewhat amused, mimicked her actions, stealing glances at her flushed face. Well, maybe sheI shouldn’t have slapped him quite so hard! He recalled the incident that had even startled the owls in the owlery. “Good morning, class!” McGonagall declared, opening the distant shutters with a flick of her wand. “Today, we’ll continue with human transfiguration. Your task for the week is to turn your desk mate into a mannequin. The most accurate resemblance to the living prototype will earn an extra ten points.” Granger hummed as if the task were child’s play, hastily scribbling notes and inadvertently elbowing Theo, causing him to smudge his notebook with a mark resembling Longbottom’s peculiar plant. But it wasn’t just the accidental contact that distracted Theo; across the desk, Weasley and Patil’s incessant whispering was grating on his ears. “…so, Neville’s dating Abbot? She’s always got that disgruntled look on her face.” “More like she ate a full plate of dragon dung for breakfast,” Weasley chuckled boisterously, quickly lowering her voice. “Hannah keeps telling everyone he’s brilliant. She knows better, of course…” “You went to the Yule Ball with Neville, didn’t you? Or did you only go because he was born at the end of July?” Patil’s giggle was high-pitched and squeaky. “Oh, how did you guess?! I’ve always dreamed of dating the most popular and wealthy guy!” “You seem a bit on edge today….” “Why wouldn’t I? You’re not the one who’s got to nail the qualifiers! I can’t see us winning the House Cup this year. Without Harry, the team’s a goner….” “I’d keep an eye on Creevey if I were you; he’s crazy about you, by the way.....” “What? Merlin’s beard, how do you know everything?” Theo saw Granger roll her eyes. She was still elbowing him forcefully, seemingly oblivious, engrossed in copying the formulas from the board. Then, suddenly, she jabbed him so sharply that he spilled ink all over the desk. Granger murmured an apologetic “Sorry!” and began dabbing the ink stains with her parchment. She was definitely not herself, or perhaps just really worn out. Caught by this thought, Theo was momentarily surprised at himself, then flicked his wand, and the mess vanished in seconds. Luckily, McGonagall hadn’t noticed their mishap, still busy writing on the board. Seizing the moment, Theo stood up, drawing a few curious glances, and swiftly pulled Granger to his seat with a quiet “swoosh!” She barely had time to react, just blinking in surprise, mouth agape, but Theo had already settled in her seat and slid her parchment and textbook towards her. “Carry on, keep at it, don’t mind me,” he whispered, thoughtfully placing a quill in her hand. “I…” “Yes, Miss Granger? Do you have a question?” McGonagall’s voice brought her back to reality, and she simply shook her head. “I’m left-handed, Granger. If we’re going to sit together, this is how it needs to be,” Theo said with a grin, his gaze lingering on her bewildered expression. “Of course, you can always join one of your incessantly chattering girlfriends, or Longbottom and his plant. Or swap with Thomas; he’d be thrilled to escape Finnigan and his perpetually exploding quills.” “I…” Granger was clearly taken aback, and Theo got the impression she wasn’t keen on sitting with any of the mentioned either. “Miss Granger, you seem lost in thought today. Please, no distractions,” McGonagall’s stern voice interjected. “Yes, Professor. I’m sorry,” she responded, her attention returning to the unfinished line, tapping her dry quill on it. Theo felt an odd pang of sympathy for Granger; she wasn’t accustomed to her current state, and unlike her, he knew how to handle it with ease. “She said for this spell, you need to calculate the matrix of the person being transformed”. “Oh? Yes, right, calculate the matrix. Of course,” Granger muttered, scribbling down notes for Theo, then whispered, “Thank you.”

* * *

Theo was utterly exhausted after several pairs of lessons in the crowded, stifling classrooms. He’d found himself seated with Granger not only in Transfiguration but also in Potions, where she’d had to choose between him and Longbottom. It seemed that the 'best student at Hogwarts’ had calculated that concocting a Befuddlement Draught for two at speed wasn’t the most promising prospect… Slughorn was thrilled with the speed and quality of the potions Theo and Granger had prepared, awarding each of them a bottle of Butterbeer. Theo mused that Slughorn would probably flog both draughts in Hogsmeade the following weekend for a tidy sum. With these thoughts, he strolled along one of the bustling ground-floor corridors, heading towards the library’s shortcut when he suddenly heard the crackle of spells, screams, and cries ahead. His heart sank; the sparks and noises momentarily transported him back to those very corridors, to that fateful day when everything had ended… From a distance, Theo saw a group of first years gathered around the Hufflepuff prefect, Zacharias Smith. Thankfully, the presence of the obnoxious Smith indicated it was nothing serious. However, two boys stationed at opposite ends of the corridor seemed to think otherwise. Theo was just about to approach the crowd when a tearful Gryffindor boy came running towards him, his sobs loud and his abnormally big feet slapping against the floor. Theo caught him by the collar and gently pulled his hands from his face, asking, “Hold on, what’s the matter? Who hurt you? Show me.” Instead of pointing out the culprit, the dishevelled boy howled and clung to Theo’s midriff, wrapping his arms around him. Theo’s heart twinged with sympathy; he couldn’t stand to see children cry, usually a sign of profound and bitter hurt. He hugged the boy tightly, then gently cupped his cheeks and kissed the top of his head. Just then, familiar voices approached from behind. Weasley was ranting about the Quidditch tryouts, and Granger hummed in response. Theo met her gaze and realized she was more concerned with the corridor’s commotion. “You know who that is, don’t you?” he said encouragingly to the boy, nodding towards Granger. “She’s the smartest witch in school. She’ll help you now.” The boy nodded, wiping his nose, and shuffled towards Granger, while Theo headed for Smith, who was encircled by the clamouring first years. To his left, he noticed the other 'duelist', a Slytherin boy slumped against the wall, nursing a growing hump. Theo gave him a reassuring pat and sent him over to Granger, who was already tending to the first boy, with Weasley chuckling at her side. “Where have you been? And why are they duelling in broad daylight?” “Ah, Nott… I’m actually the Prefect, so I should be the one to know where to be.” “Oh, really?” Theo stepped closer, causing the first years to scatter like sparrows. Smith, who had grown a bit over the summer, had his Prefect badge almost comically perched, like it would on Goyle or Crabbe. “Then you should probably know that maintaining the school’s wellbeing and order,” Theo said with a thin grimace, “is your responsibility.” “They should learn to resolve conflicts themselves,” Smith replied nonchalantly. Theo grinned sardonically and retorted, “Yeah. Clever.” In the next instant, Theo scarcely realised what he had done. While Smith prattled on about his self-assured approach to discipline, Theo, equally self-assured, rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and took a step back for good measure. Moments later, he felt a throbbing pain in his fist and a rush of heat up his arm. Smith doubled over, howling in pain as blood splattered onto the stone floor. The corridor erupted with squeals and a loud, stern shout from Granger. “What are you doing?!” But Theo was undeterred, “It’s fine, we’re just learning to resolve conflicts on our own.” He heard Granger’s footsteps approaching amidst the excited shouts of the first years, who clearly hadn’t anticipated a physical brawl in school. Smith, regaining his composure, spat venomously, nursing a bloodied nose courtesy of Theo’s punch. “Twenty points from Slytherin,” he snarled. “Oh, really?! How about ten more points, then?!” Theo, seething, prepared to deliver another blow, but Granger intervened, clutching his arm and shrieking in his ear. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re both being such jerks!” “Five points from Gryffindor for insulting the Prefect!” Smith retorted. “Bitch, you’re really getting on my nerves!” Theo brandished his wand, and Smith’s badge morphed into a glittering “PreFUCKED”. “Mr Nott! Mr Smith! Oh, Merlin, Miss Granger, you too!” McGonagall’s voice cut through the commotion, silencing the corridor. The Professor advanced rapidly, her approach signalling one thing — detention. In the eighth year! Theo momentarily regretted engaging in such a foolish altercation. The kids would have sorted it out themselves! Yet, he couldn’t shake off the image of two pairs of distressed eyes and Smith’s burgeoning arrogance. As McGonagall lectured him on the Prefect’s Regulations, subtracting fifteen points from Hufflepuff, Theo felt a pang of remorse. “As for you, Mr Nott, you will drive me to sin and force me to use Oskausi for the second time in my life if you don’t stop swearing! It’s simply inconceivable how you manage to perform good deeds in such an unsavoury manner, Theodore! Five points for Slytherin.” “Pardon, madame[3]. I mean, excuse me, Professor,” Theo mumbled, bowing his head and striding away, Smith trailing behind, futilely attempting to reverse the spell on his badge. “…if you don’t have two young men breaking the school rules by your side, the day is wasted,” he overheard McGonagall comment at the corridor’s bend. Theo was almost certain he heard faint laughter from McGonagall and Granger as they moved towards the group of freshers still chattering along the corridor.

* * *

The dinner hall buzzed with excitement following the first Quidditch qualifiers. Discussions were rampant: who would make the team, who had faltered. “Did you try the Wronski Feint too?” “I only hit four Quaffles!” Theo hoped that the Ravenclaw table, where all the eighth-year students were seated (Ravenclaws were, after all, considered the brightest and thus least likely to repeat a year. And they had less first-years than other Houses), would be free from Quidditch talk. His hopes, however, were dashed. The loudest among them were, of course, Finnigan and Weasley, eagerly dissecting tactics while the rest of the faculty’s words weaved through their conversation. Granger sat beside Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, the latter listlessly prodding at a steak while Longbottom enthused about the latest travails of his unattractive plant. “…you see, my Mimbulus has cross-pollinated with some other plant… well, I haven’t seen it yet… I think it happened during Professor Sprout’s lesson. I can’t give the seedlings to the greenhouses, as the Mimbulus would perish from resentment and longing…” Longbottom cast a sympathetic glance at his grotesque pet, surrounded by equally repulsive offspring. Theo slid into the only available seat opposite Finch-Fletchley and, feigning interest, leaned forward. “Oh, Dieu [4], Dad’s a rogue! I bet it’s a Tentacula; those tentacles could sneak through the tightest slit,” he quipped with a grin and a wink, causing Longbottom to blush and Granger to roll her eyes. Heaping his plate with chops and green peas, Theo noticed Granger turning almost as green as the peas themselves. Her plate bore only a smear of gravy. “Hey, Longbottom,” Theo called out mid-chew, causing Granger to flinch — she probably disliked the ‘hey’ part. “I could take one of your… Mimbletonia’s poor offspring. I promise not to feed it to the Flobberworms at the first opportunity.” The delight and gratitude on Longbottom’s face were unmistakable. “Really?! Brilliant! I was thinking of offering them in Hogsmeade! I’ll repot the hardiest Mimbulus offspring tonight and bring it to Herbology tomorrow!” “Deal!” Theo exclaimed, guzzling his pumpkin juice. Noticing Granger’s gloom, he couldn’t resist inquiring, “Do you eat anything at all?” His question visibly caught her off guard. Even Longbottom sighed, reminiscent of Madam Pomfrey’s disapproval. “Hermione, really, you haven’t touched a thing!” “It’s all right, Neville, I’m just not hungry,” she replied, her gaze drifting back into her thoughts before landing on the last croissant, which Finch-Fletchley had just reached for. Theo’s intimidating glare made Finch-Fletchley retract his hand, accidentally nudging the gravy boat. Despite her apparent impulse, Granger refrained from taking the croissant. 'So she’s not that famished, ' Theo mused, leaving the table to head for the Restricted Section. As he exited the Great Hall, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. “Wait! Wait!” It was Granger. “I wanted to apologise. About… well, that time in the library. You caught me at a really bad moment,” she stammered, nervously fiddling with her shirt cuff. Theo had never expected an apology from Granger, of all people. “I, too, often forget that not everyone needs my valuable opinion,” he mused, noticing the relief wash over her face. After a brief pause, he waved his wand, and seconds later, the untouched croissant zoomed out of the Great Hall and into Granger’s hands. “Eat it. Pince will have both our heads if she sees food in the Restricted Section. And you’ll starve to death soon enough, and then no more books!” “Thank you,” Granger replied, her smile appearing genuinely warm for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

* * *

Vieux-Moulin Commune, France 28.06.1985

Theo relished his morning visits to his favourites in the yard. Naturally, he had to first consume his oatmeal, as all obedient English children did, or down some milk, and invariably tear off a piece or two of tartine, for his mother insisted he never leave the house on an empty stomach. She warned that those who skimped on breakfast would be whisked away into the woods by Nain Rouge at lunchtime. Theo feared the creature, though he never let his mum see it. So, dutifully he ate his breakfast and scampered out into the courtyard barefoot, delighting in the sun-warmed sand. Pascal sometimes joined him, but the cat was more often than not asleep from dawn till dusk, only to roam about at night. Today, however, Theo was alone, first plucking some fresh peas and then cautiously sidestepping the porch, where the broom swept away yesterday’s rain dust. Laundry freshly washed fluttered from the basket to hang on the lines, and fallen apples bounced one by one into a gleaming copper basin. It was all Mummy’s magic, a spectacle Theo adored. She was a witch, a real one, and she promised that Theo, too, would learn magic when he was older, just like her and their friend Rafi. They even had wands, but Theo had to wait until he was eleven, although that was still six fingers away. He was tempted to count, just to be sure, but his hands were laden with sweet treats for Madeleine and Annabelle. Madeleine boasted soft white fur, and Annabelle, kind beady eyes. When fed peas or fresh grass, they nibbled and snickered amusingly, often nuzzling Theo’s cheeks with their pink noses. The sheep provided milk for cheese-making, and when it was time to “comb their hair,” Mummy’s wand transformed them from plump to slender, their wool harvested for yarn. Sometimes they needed more yarn from Madame Lane, but this summer, Mummy said, they would have plenty. In the meantime, Theo could lounge with them in the chestnut tree’s shade. Often, he would doze off, cheek pressed against Madeleine’s fluffy belly, just as her lamb, now given away to some old man, used to. Madeleine didn’t mind the dark, two-legged “lamb” at all, affectionately nuzzling Theo as they all drifted to sleep. The trio could spend hours like this, gazing at clouds and bees in the heather, Theo tracing patterns in the wool, to Madeleine’s amused ear-twitching. Sometimes they would nap until evening, and Theo would lament missing a day’s worth of adventures. Just like today! He hadn’t realised he had snuggled up against Madeleine’s side, awakening only to a cacophony… The chickens were in an uproar behind the low stone fence dividing the yard from the garden. Theo dashed to the rescue, as his mother was occupied, and she always asked him to ensure the hens and turkeys didn’t squabble. Now they were at loggerheads, with Monsieur Châtelain, the formidable, well-fed turkey, causing a commotion, while poor black hen Mel huddled on the porch, shielding her chicks. Without a second thought, Theo grabbed a dried chestnut twig and charged at Monsieur Châtelain, shouting, “Shoo! Go away! Don’t hurt them!” But the turkey, undeterred, pecked at Theo. In a flurry, Monsieur Châtelain leapt up, snagging Theo’s shirt and sending him tumbling into the dust, scraping his palms. Theo was so incensed that he didn’t notice the old broom, previously used for sweeping fireplace ashes, flying out of the house. The broom promptly chased Monsieur Châtelain to the far corner under a juniper tree. The turkey squawked indignantly before settling to peck at the grass by the hedge, while the broom collapsed into dust beside Theo. Wow… had he really managed to cast a spell for the first time? He couldn’t wait to tell Mummy and Rafi tonight! The excitement was almost too much to bear! “Theo?” Madame Lane’s voice echoed from around the corner of the house. “Theo! Good gracious, what have you been up to?!” “I just had a tussle with Monsieur Châtelain. And I won!” “Heavens above, you’re covered in dirt,” Madame Lane exclaimed, dusting him off. “Where’s your Mummy?” “She’s at home, she’s busy,” Theo replied, coughing as dust clouds swirled around them. Madame Lane called through an open window, “Léa? Léa, dear? May I keep Theo until this evening? He’s going to end up brawling with all the turkeys!” A few moments later, Mummy’s voice responded, “Oh, Denise! Thank you! What has he done now?! I was in the attic, didn’t hear a thing!” “He claims he got into a scuffle with your old turkey. Such a vivid imagination, the boy!” “Yes, that’s our Theo. Theo? I’ll come for you in an hour, mon villain[5].” “Alright, Mummy. Just come back soon!” “What was the need to teach him?!” Madame Lane didn’t speak English. “It’s only Darius, you know.” “Yes, yes, yes… Do drop by when you’re free, my darling!” Theo barely noticed how time flew by at Madame Lane’s. She bathed him with scented soap, fed him soup, and let him watch TV while she knitted. Soon his mother arrived, and Theo embraced her tightly before returning to the old fairy tale they showed in the evenings. He was so engrossed that he didn’t hear Madame Lane calling him several times. She just chuckled as she finished her wine, her favourite glass adorned with violets, “I swear, he’s as dark-eyed and dark-haired as they come, Léa! The devil himself must have fancied you!” Just then, a knock at the door was followed by a familiar voice greeting everyone. “Ah, speak of the devil…” “Rafi, Rafi!” Theo leapt into his arms. “Hello, Raphaël.” “Good evening, Madam. Hello, Léa,” Rafi always kissed Theo’s mother’s hand upon greeting. “Rafi, I’ve been waiting for you! I cast a spell on the broom today! It flew! It chased away Monsieur Châtelain!” Theo exclaimed excitedly, tugging at Rafi’s hand. Rafi suddenly lifted him, spinning him around so fast that Theo felt as if he were flying. He laughed, closing his eyes as the room blurred into a ribbon of colour. “What an imagination! No wonder he adores fairy tales!” Theo, feeling indignant, protested, “I really did cast a spell! I’m going to be a wizard like Mummy and Rafi!” “Of course, you will, darling!” Mummy reassured him with a smile. “We all believe you.” “You will be, my angel, as magnificent as the world has ever seen!” Rafi said, planting a kiss on Theo’s cheek. “We must be off, Denise. He’s been quite lively today; we need to get him to bed early,” Mummy said, gathering their things and collecting fresh milk from Rosette, Madame Lane’s cow. “I’ll walk you.” Theo beamed, loving the rides on Rafi’s shoulders, feeling on top of the world. “Léa, dear, do come back tomorrow. I’ve still got a bottle of Mâcon Village left. Theo, see you tomorrow, little wizard!” “Bye-bye, madam!”

* * *

Present Day Shipton Village, England 26.08.1999

A headache struck, and Hermione’s head spun unbearably. The overpowering scent of dittany filled her nostrils. Voices sounded as if muffled through warm, murky water, rendering the words indiscernible. Slowly opening her eyes, Hermione struggled to adjust to the dimness, the old candle chandelier on the ceiling, the flickering fireplace flame to one side, and the floor lamp with its warm, knitted lampshade. The unfamiliar living room was suffused with strange scents, aside from the dittany soaking the pillow under her head and in her hair. Gingerly, she propped herself up on her elbows, finding herself on an old, worn sofa. “I’m not dead…” It was a question, or perhaps a strangely obvious conclusion. “Oh, Granger, don’t spiral,” came a familiar voice from behind her. Theo entered the living room, twirling his wand between his fingers with a nervous energy. He always did that, the wand never falling, a trait that irked Hermione. Overcoming another bout of nausea, she glanced up to see a Mimbulus Mimbletonia by the fireplace and thought they were probably quite similar now, both greenish and hideous. “Where’s my wand? What happened? And the folder and phone? Theo?” Her tongue struggled to form the words. “God, you’re already irritating me… breaking your own records,” Theo slumped wearily into the chair next to the sofa, snatching a fresh bandage mid-air with his wand. He reached out to Hermione, but she stubbornly shook her head, “Explain what happened?” “Here, take this!” Theo pulled her wand from beneath the pillow and thrust it into her hand. “Now, turn away!” Hermione barely had time to protest before he pressed his fingers to her cheeks, turning her head to examine the wound. It tingled a bit at the back of her head, but the pain was less intense than before. “Thibaut, please take the dittany.” Hermione had barely noticed the house-elf behind Theo. Thibaut was an old elf, not as decrepit as Kreacher, though. He appeared calm and gentle, even wearing a knitted jumper matching his master’s, which amusingly reminded Hermione of S.P.E.W. “It seems this wound didn’t even require dittany, Patron Theodore,” Thibaut mused. “Yeah… You’re right.” “I was attacked by a banshee…” Hermione tried to recall each moment before losing consciousness. “I was on my way here, but something… strange happened by the creek.” Theo listened attentively as he continued wrapping the bandage around Hermione’s head. “Les Lavandières de la nuit…[6]” “What?” “Midnight laundresses. You should have helped her with her laundry,” he said emotionlessly, and Hermione felt a pang of disappointment. After all, it wasn’t every day one survived a banshee attack. Or something akin to a banshee. “She just…” Hermione swallowed again, fighting the waves of nausea. “She was washing her shirt, and blood was all over the creek. Then I called out, and she started screaming. I thought she was a banshee, so I… I covered my ears, backed up, and the bridge is small, you know. I fell. I don’t remember anything after that.” Theo smirked, his expression shifting subtly; he clearly knew more than he let on. “You shouldn’t be scared; it’s not a banshee, it won’t kill you. Well,” he shrugged. “It could drown you or break your arms, that’s for sure.” “I don’t share your indifference.” “Oh, indifference to you, Granger? I’ve learnt the hard way, the cost is too high,” Theo grinned, tucking the bandage’s end behind her ear. “It’s done.” “You found me, didn’t you?” Hermione’s thoughts were regaining their usual clarity, though nausea lingered. “No, that was Thibaut,” the house-elf nodded, confirming his master’s statement. “He goes to the creek every night to check on the spell, people are terribly curious, you know.” Hermione realized that the creek acted as a magical barrier, shielding the house from the view of Muggles. “Ah oui… Et mademoiselle gisait comme une Ophélie morte[7],” Thibaut murmured. “J’en manqué un bon![8]” Theo responded with a smile, but upon noticing Hermione’s reaction, he quickly added, “The dog days are over, my friend. Mademoiselle becomes quite vexed when I speak in my native language. She dislikes it when someone appears more knowledgeable than she is, or when she fails to understand something…” Hermione felt the urge to sneer, a habit she had amusingly acquired during their final year at Hogwarts, but the overwhelming nausea prevented it. Struggling to swallow, she lifted her gaze to Theo. “Thank you both for being there for me and, well… saving me. I would have been lying there…” Hermione managed a weak smile, then remembered. “Did my phone and folder survive?” “Er, yeah. I fished them out, of course, but Reparo doesn’t work on tech,” Theo replied, handing her the lifeless phone and the leather folder. “The ink’s a bit smudged, but overall, it’s not bad, Granger.” Hermione noticed Theo trying, and perhaps failing, to suppress a chuckle. Yes, her work certainly hadn’t lived up to the high standards she’d set at Hogwarts. “That’s why I came to see you. I wanted to talk to Thibaut. You didn’t get my letters, did you?” “Yours?” Theo looked puzzled and glanced at the mantelpiece. “There were some ministerial envelopes, but you don’t think I opened them, do you? Pfft.” She should have known… A private letter would have been better. Typical. “These are from me.” “There’s 'ministerial' and there’s 'from you.' Only in England do they enjoy such convolutions.” Hermione had always been irked by his showmanship since their Hogwarts days. The last thing she needed now was to bicker with him, especially with the throbbing pain in her temples and relentless nausea. “I must have a concussion,” she murmured, gingerly touching the bandage. “Probably. I’ll fetch you something,” Theo stood up, signaling Thibaut to follow. As they vanished into the dark corridor, Hermione took the opportunity to gather her thoughts. There were still so many questions. Theo was clearly withholding information about the banshee, or whatever it truly was. But with her splitting headache, Hermione couldn’t delve for answers, and it would be prudent to ask Thibaut later. She would have to confront Fieldwake for more time to work. Glancing at her watch, she knew Ron wouldn’t have reached the Burrow yet. And without her phone, contacting him would be impossible. She couldn’t stay at Theo’s much longer, not with the persistent urge to vomit. Hermione contemplated getting home — if only they had a fireplace in her and Ron’s flat… Apparition, a portal, or a broom seemed risky in her condition. She dismissed the latter two immediately, but apparition with Thibaut’s assistance might be feasible, albeit awkward to request. She desperately wanted to go home… “Rien ne vaut une bouteille de l’armagnac parfait[9],” Theo re-entered the drawing room, bearing an elegant bottle and a shiny glass. “No, no, I won’t drink. Thank you for everything, if it wasn’t for you… Oof,” Hermione smiled faintly. “I really wanted to go home. Not without Thibaut’s help, of course. May I?” Instead of responding, Theo simply looked away. “What is it?” “Here, have a drink first,” he urged, offering her the uncorked bottle and setting aside the glass. “I really don’t want to. I’d much rather go home. My only wish is to get to my bed, and ideally without being sick.” “Look, um…” “You’re giving me a strange look,” Hermione said, her irritation mounting at this unnecessary mystery. Theo averted his eyes and bit his lip before replying, “We can’t use magic for travelling with Thibaut. None at all.” Hermione found this incredibly frustrating. She loathed having to ask for explanations, which often revealed either arrogance or selfishness. “Okay, well… Thanks again. I’ll try to make it home myself then,” she clutched her belongings and wand tightly, mustering the strength to leave. In the next moment, more happened than Hermione could have imagined. As a fresh wave of nausea hit her, she swayed. Theo rushed towards her, Thibaut’s arms outstretched as if to cast a spell, and then she was doubled over, retching violently. The vomit splattered across the elegant carpet, blurring before her eyes. Writhing in both disgust and relief, she heard Theo’s concerned voice above her, “Tergeo!” The evidence of her distress vanished instantly. “Ugh, God, I feel sick myself!” Hermione glared at him resentfully. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s always been this way. If someone cries, I cry; if someone’s sick, I feel sick too.” Theo helped her up and practically pushed her back onto the sofa, which emitted a pitiful squeak. “I don’t understand any of this.” “Would Mademoiselle like some chamomile tea?” Thibaut interjected. “Yes. Yes, that would be good,” Theo gestured with his wand, and the door creaked while the glass tinkled in the hallway. Moments later, a pristine white tablecloth fluttered into the living room, its corners waving like the wings of a dove. Theo caught it deftly and offered it to Hermione. “I’ll prepare it straight away,” Thibaut exited the room with a polite nod. Hermione shifted her attention back to Theo. “Now please explain what’s happened.” “Why don’t you rest first, and then I’ll tell you?” He looked at her as if presenting a brilliant idea. “Stop evading, I know when you’re lying and not telling the truth!” “Mmhmm.” “Theo.” “Okay,” he sighed deeply. “We’re caught in a time loop.” “Very funny.” Hermione held his gaze for a few more seconds. He usually looked away or laughed when lying, but now he merely shrugged nonchalantly. “Mademoiselle, your tea,” Thibaut reappeared so suddenly and quietly that Hermione jolted. “Thank you,” she accepted the clinking cup and looked at Theo accusingly. “This is your last chance to tell the truth.” She expected him to roll his eyes or resort to sarcasm, but instead… “I’ve already told you, Granger. We’re in a time loop.” That settled it. It was time to go home. “Alright,” she set the tea down on the coffee table. “I’m fed up with all this. I’ll message you and we can meet up later.” “Wait, no!” Theo lunged towards her, seizing her by the shoulders. “I’m not lying to you! Apparition distorts space-time, and what happens if you distort within the distortion? Think, Granger, you’re the smart one! Splinching is nothing compared to this!” He mopped the sweat from his forehead. “Jesus… you just… you… you…” Hermione shrugged off his grasp, “Let me go! And stop shouting at me!” “I tried to explain gently, even offered you a drink!” He gestured with the opened bottle. “And you expect me to believe that? I’m exhausted, nauseous, my head’s pounding, I just want to go home, have a wash and go to bed!” Hermione groaned in despair, and Theo attempted to speak but was interrupted by Thibaut. Most house-elves in pureblood families would be reprimanded for such boldness, but here… Hermione briefly wondered if Theo truly regarded Thibaut as family. Why else would he have lied when they first talked about him? “Mademoiselle, I’m afraid Patron Theodore hasn’t misled you about the time loop.” Hermione felt that familiar, oppressive sense of unease engulf her once more, a feeling that had been absent during the Horcrux hunt, the battles, and even amidst the ruins of Hogwarts. But now, as if reveling in its newfound freedom, it enveloped her, demanding her submission. And she complied silently, for there was nothing else to do, neither Ron, work, nor Saturday nights at the Burrow could distract her from its grip. Sitting on Theo’s old sofa, she felt almost resigned. She dreamt that this ordeal would end like a nightmare, that she would wake up at home, in her and Ron’s flat, in their familiar albeit damp bed. But here it was dry, with the fireplace crackling and Mimbulus Mimbletonia warming by the fire, the scent of chamomile tea and a hint of brandy in the air. “Give it to me,” she said, snatching the bottle from Theo and taking a hearty swig. “Ugh, that’s awful.” “It’s actually Armagnac. Older than both of us.” “That doesn’t make it any less awful.” Theo clicked his tongue and reclaimed the bottle. “I’ll fetch more then.” Hermione had always been vexed by Theo’s ability to compose himself, a trait she first noticed during their final year at Hogwarts. Regardless of the situation, he wore an expression of utter indifference. “Do you know much about the sand in Time-Turners?” His query jolted Hermione from her thoughts. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just answer it.” “Not much. No. The sand is enchanted, actually — it’s the essential component of any Time-Turner.” “You don’t know where the sand comes from either?” Hermione shook her head. “And they say you’re smart,” he smirked, taking a sip of his drink, only to receive a sharp poke. “Merde! [10] She fights!” “It serves you right,” Hermione retorted, sipping her tea nonchalantly. “Anyway, this sand comes from creeks. Not ordinary ones, obviously, but the kind you fell into.” Hermione recalled reading about Time-Turners and remembered precisely how scant the information on the sand was. “These creeks are akin to black holes, you know?” Hermione nodded, observing Theo become increasingly animated with each word. “A creek has the capability to alter gravity, which naturally affects the passage of time. There aren’t many of these streams worldwide, but they do exist. And for a long time, nobody knew about them because house-elves kept them secret. Imagine that, eh?” Thibaut nodded, and Hermione found herself rifling through her memory for any corroboration of Theo’s claims. “In the fifteenth century, some magical ministries of the Old World started prying into the secrets of these streams from the elves. Needless to say, under duress, you can reveal a lot more. The elves eventually figured it would be easier to divulge the secret with a protective spell attached. If you give up the creek, you’re dead.” “What about you and Thibaut then?” “Well, it was different with me, I’ll get to that,” Theo preempted her question, continuing with a theatrical wave of his hand. “By the early twentieth century, these creeks had been nearly exhausted, and the extraction of sand was heavily restricted — you know, by decrees, acts, bans. The most unscrupulous types still get it illegally, mainly in Africa and on some islands.” “Does anyone else know about this creek?” “Only you, me, Thibaut, and his ancestors. Pure luck, I suppose. The Notts built this house here in the sixteenth century. They didn’t care about the house-elves or the creek. They just marked their territory along it, that’s all. Muggles still tremble at the sight of a fence with a sign about private property guarded by the secret service. Must be a national boggart for the English, huh?” Theo chuckled, taking a hearty swig of brandy. “Yeah, right, I just keep forgetting you’re French,” Hermione replied sharply. She knew quite a bit about Theo. That he had lived with his mother in France until he was eight and that he disliked living in the house in Shipton. It had always amused her that he felt little connection to his father’s family, about whom she knew… enough. “Et ça te plait, ma colombe…[11]” His smugness was palpable. “Call me whatever you want,” Hermione rolled her eyes dismissively. “Don’t be offended, mademoiselle, Patron Theodore addressed you very affec…” Thibaut, barely concealing a smile, fell silent when Theo subtly shook his head. “Granger, you’d better ask me everything before I get tired of fucking around.” “Why must you always swear?!” “Because I can!” Hermione sighed, summoning her patience, “So, how did you learn about this creek?” “There you go, finally asking the right questions! I learnt from Thibaut, of course. He, owing to the present times,” Theo smirked, “had no one to pass the secret on to, so he confided in me.” “Don’t you think that in that case, a lot more wizards would already know about such creeks?” Hermione asked skeptically. “Don’t you think the powers that be,” Theo waved his hand dismissively as if calculating something, “haven’t had enough time in the last eighty years to communicate properly? If anyone got wind of it, they did their business quietly and illegally. And don’t get me started on the scientific side of magic. Behind the big headlines, so many missed opportunities. Where do you think all these legalised fuckers came from, drying up the already dry African streams? Yeah, Granger, the magical world isn’t just about your bespectacled friend’s battle with I-Don’t-Want-To-Know-Who!” Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, pondering Theo’s words. She had always seen him as a blunt truth-teller since their first proper interaction. It wasn’t until their eighth year at Hogwarts that they had truly spoken to each other, despite being in the same castle for years. And from that first conversation, it was evident that Theo relished hitting everyone with his harsh truth. Hermione even mused that his victims probably bore invisible scars, not unlike Harry’s lightning bolt, but in Theo’s style, likely resembling a raised middle finger. “The Ministries have stockpiled sand. But finding scientists willing to risk experimenting with these creeks… You know,” Theo stepped closer, “a lot of wizards are terrified at the mere thought of the scientific side of chronomagic.” He gave Hermione a self-satisfied look and took another hearty swig from the bottle. “Since you’re so knowledgeable about these creeks, tell me, how do we return to our own time?” Thibaut tensed at her question, and Theo’s smugness vanished instantly. “Blood for blood, Granger, c’est tout.[12]” “What?” “Well,” Theo said reluctantly, “there used to be a local muggle superstition about paying a blood tribute to cross the creek. Thibaut’s ancestors told of a wounded warrior who had been carried into the creek, noticed by the muggles. Whether by accident or knowledge of magic… but the outcome was the same, he gained immortality within an eternal day. He might still be wandering in his seventeenth-century Thursday…” “Wait, wait, wait,” Hermione interrupted. “So, to return to our own time, we need to pay the creek in blood?” “Mademoiselle is correct, the creek demands back what it has given,” Thibaut said enigmatically. “It’s a blood contract.” “But I… I didn’t make this contract, I was unconscious, how could magic occur?!” “You see, the creek is somewhat primitive in its judgments,” Theo brushed back his hair. “It’s pre-Christian magic from the time of ancient man. You and I can debate morality, but what difference does it make?” Hermione was exasperated by Theo’s evasive way of talking, circling around the subject instead of being direct as he usually was with others. “Am I right in thinking there’s a significant catch?” “Well… yes. The creek has its peculiarities. Or rather, those who long ago enchanted the streams and passed the knowledge to the elves. Someone who knew about time-related disasters and wanted to protect people from tampering with time, lest chaos reign on Earth,” Theo said, smiling and winking cheekily. “In essence, the creek is obstinate, like a religious zealot. It offers immortality, but if you change your mind, someone must die. Luckily for us, we have a choice, at a discount — only one of us needs to die for the rest to escape.” Theo paused, taking a conspicuous sip of brandy, glancing at Hermione as if expecting a reaction. “My head’s about to burst. Just so you know, I still don’t believe, like, half of what you’re saying. We’re talking too casually about being trapped in such a dire situation!” “You just have trust issues, which is normal,” Theo replied calmly. Hermione snorted, “I sometimes regret encouraging your interest in psychoanalysis… And yet it seems illogical that everyone gives blood to get in, but only one gives their life to return to their own time,” she said, raising an eyebrow and interlocking her fingers. “That’s why you’re not in Ravenclaw,” Theo grinned. “It’s a paradox; the laws of logic and physics don’t apply. I’m amazed you got an 'Outstanding' in your N.E.W.T.s!” Without hesitation, Hermione threw a pillow at Theo. “Go on, retaliate… You’re taking advantage of the fact that I’ll never hit you back,” he said, looking at the floor. “Since I’m so 'unintelligent, ' help me understand!” “Consider the creeks scientifically and pragmatically, or something… Here’s a thought, you’re the discoverer of this gravitational anomaly. What are your initial thoughts?” “This is scientifically significant…” “Exactly, and then?” “It’s a value to be preserved for science,” Hermione continued. “Exactly!” Theo exclaimed, leaping up and clenching his fist in excitement. “To preserve. Not for science, but to prevent accidental contact with people, who, as we know, are greedy and unscrupulous.” “Do you realize we are people too?” “Oh, come on! You’ve hit the nail on the head. Streams, like all ancient and wondrous things, trace back to the dawn of mankind — everything has a price. And how do you ensure an accidental traveller doesn’t divulge the time loops? Scare them to death or actually kill them. Remember how book heroes agonize over choices? The principle here is similar; it’s unlikely that a group of friends, trapped in a loop, would want to tell how not everyone escaped. And that’s if there’s anyone left to tell. People generally struggle with such complex problems.” Hermione pondered for a moment; everything Theo had said seemed unrealistic, absurd… she would have to verify his claims. But how? He was the most honest liar she’d ever known. “I have a million questions,” Hermione finally said, her nausea subsiding enough to allow clear thought. “À ton service[13],” Theo spread his hands with a smile. “Is there any way you can prove we’re really in a time loop?” He scratched his head, “For starters, we’re the only ones within miles, as far as I know. Thibaut and I even had a bet on the exact distance. Rest up, and you can see for yourself.” “And yet, Master Theodore, I doubt a man can endure living the same day for too long…” Thibaut interjected obsequiously. “And I’m convinced criminals have long since discovered these streams, with someone likely hiding there!” Theo chuckled, gazing dreamily into the fireplace. Hermione seized the momentary pause to marshal her thoughts. Yet, the puzzle refused to come together; too many questions remained unanswered. “Is the loop only about time? Theo?” she asked, but he seemed not to hear her immediately. “Yes, theoretically, you could travel to the ends of the earth.” “And what else?” “The best part,” Theo stepped closer, winking at Hermione before flicking his wand, “Gravitas Normalis.[14]” Suddenly, everything felt so… light. Lighter than a feather, even the air seemed different! Hermione’s attention was immediately drawn to the fireplace flame, which appeared to detach from the embers, rising into an unfamiliar blue sphere. Fire couldn’t behave like that unless it was magical. Yet, it was the odd sensation in her own body that puzzled her most; her limbs, moving incredibly slowly and feeling “airy,” seemed to be in weightlessness. “What’s this? What spell is that?” Hermione asked, eyeing the amused Theo. “I told you about the gravity anomaly. This is how it feels without the spell that simulates our usual gravity. Living long with such gravitation isn’t very practical, is it?” “No, wait, you could have invented that spell!” “It’s a spell known only to house-elves, the guardians of the creeks, mademoiselle,” Thibaut explained. “Gravitas Stabilis[15],” Theo commanded, and normality returned: the flames in the fireplace resumed their orange glow, and Hermione’s limbs regained their weight, as did her thoughts. She still struggled to believe that she had fallen into a time trap with Theo and Thibaut. How was that even possible? To accidentally fall into a stream and magically connect with it for blood? It seemed absurd! “You know, Ron will be back from work at the Burrow in a couple of hours,” Hermione said, staring at the mantelpiece where Mimbulus Mimbletonia quivered in discomfort. “And he’ll come here looking for me — he knows where I am — and I’ll be able to Apparate normally with him. Then this whole nightmare will be over.” Theo rolled his eyes dramatically, “You’re not thinking clearly, are you? He’s had only a couple of minutes while you’ve been gone. At best, he’ll be looking for you in two or three months.” “What?” “Here, gravity is sixty times weaker. A day for us is a minute for them. I’ve been here for two months, though I arrived only two hours before you.” Hermione listened, trying to process his explanation. So far, Theo’s explanations were surprisingly confident, but knowing him, he could have concocted it all. “Fine. Then I’ll wait for Ron at my flat, even if I have to walk there,” Hermione declared, shaking her hands and turning away from the window, still trying to piece together her own conclusions. “If you like the idea of spending months alone in London, be my guest,” Theo’s tone had shifted, lacking its previous buoyancy. “I find the thought of being stuck in the same day, in a city of empty houses, quite unsettling. And you never know what kind of people might be out there, stuck like us!” Hermione paused, allowing herself to consider the possibility that Theo wasn’t lying, that everything was as he described. The idea of being alone in London — or perhaps not entirely alone, given the potential for others from different times — sent a shiver down her spine. Theo’s earlier comments about criminals suddenly seemed relevant. “Overthinking?” Theo approached the window, gazing out at the evening sky. “I mean, you’ve thought too much and it’s got to you?” For the first time in hours, Hermione managed a grin. “Yeah, something like that. I hate not understanding what’s happening.” Thibaut approached the sofa and sat next to Hermione, handing her the forgotten cup of chamomile tea. “You’ll feel better, mademoiselle. Then it’s best to go to bed so your mind can function properly. Patron Theodore said you have a bright mind, and it needs the darkness of the night to rest and regain strength.” The house-elf’s words, so simple and timely amidst her endless thoughts, doubts, and questions, left Hermione without the strength to resist the idea. However, she remembered she wanted to ask Theo something. “May I borrow your owl? I want to send Ron a letter. It’s worth a try.” Theo, who had been gazing out the window, turned around. “Choux-Choux stayed in the present.” “Ah, right… I hadn’t thought of that.” In truth, Hermione hadn’t been thinking clearly for the past hour. As she finished her tea, a pleasant fatigue enveloped her, reminiscent of the tiredness she felt at Hogwarts after a day of exams or adventures with Harry and Ron. Theo noticed her exhaustion and subtly nodded to Thibaut, who vanished with a snap of his fingers. “We have a spare room; you can stay there. At least until tomorrow, if you don’t decide to go to London on your own.” Hermione shook her head. “I can’t decide anything yet.” But as she spoke, she recalled her and Theo’s awkward first encounter in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. The Boggarts had never been her forte, but the one that transformed into her parents… If Theo hadn’t been there, she might have cried all night, potentially leading to a nervous breakdown. That day was one she had wanted to forget, yet she had always wondered why Theo’s boggart had transformed into a raging creek. Now the answer seemed clear. “Mademoiselle, your room is upstairs, with a painted door. You can’t miss it,” Thibaut said. “Thank you, Thibaut,” Hermione nodded to the house-elf, then approached Theo. “I have one more question…” “Just one? You must not be feeling well,” he chuckled softly. “Bien[16], go ahead.” Hermione hesitated, then asked, “This is your boggart? The creek?” Theo’s smile briefly faltered. He ruffled his curly hair (visibly longer than Hermione recalled from June), snorted softly, and replied, “No, Granger. You’re looking, as usual, but you don’t see.” Disappointed, Hermione headed towards the stone staircase leading to the first floor, then paused and looked back hesitantly, “You forgot.” “Forgot what?” Theo appeared confused. “The One-two thing,” Hermione managed a weak smile, lacking the energy for more. Theo returned a soft smile, “Une, deux[17]. Now go to bed.”