Hi sweet readers, I hope you are well and feeling so much comfort and loved in your corners of the world. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think. I would love to hear from you so and eee! I'm so nervous posting! I'm sending you all love so sweet and true. The world needs so more love and softness, so much more hope. May we let it bloom and spread so. All my love, Elodie.
Time-turner. The word pitter pattered in her heart as Cilka sat in Herbology – her fingers tracing the surface of her dragon-hide glove which lay next to her open text-book. They were studying Scurvy grass, and yet despite Cilka's love for the subject, for all things nature and whimsy, her mind had floated elsewhere like a petal on a breeze. Resting her cheek on her open palm, she stared out the glass of the greenhouse, the sweet melody of Professor Sprout's voice a soft hum underneath the rain her ears succumbed to.
She knew little of the subject of time-travel – knew too little of how or even if it was possible to go back so far. She heard rumours, heard sweet little tumbling's that Hermione Granger had one in third year to take more classes, to perhaps even save Sirius from another fate at the time. But just how far back it might let her go if she was able to capture one, she did not know.
When the bell chimed the end of class, Cilka gathered her things and walked nimbly towards her Professor and Head of House.
"Excuse me, Professor," Cilka asked softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as she clumsily balanced all her books and gloves with one arm. "I was wondering if I may borrow you for moment? I'm afraid my dizzy mind needs a little help so if that may be alright?"
"Oh of course my dear, let me just clean up my things and then I'll be right with you." Professor Sprout chimed. "How about you go wait in my office and help yourself to some honey and pumpkin tea. I've just brewed some before class and it should still be warm with the heating charm I've placed on it."
Cilka smiled warmly at her Professor, at her sweet motherly nature and warmth which radiated with a softness so rare. "Thank you, Professor." She said and with a small little bow of her head in politeness, she walked on dainty feet to her Professor's office and slipped in with a soft opening and click closed of the door.
Cilka knew this room like each freckle on her cheeks and each flower she had painted on her dormitory walls. It had been another home to her, a home within a home that was Hogwarts. She had slept on the couch that sat nestled over a bed of flowers and painted the walls as a surprise for all the love and care Professor Sprout had spilled into her heart. She knew each plant and each hidden treasure, each enchanted secret and beauty that blossomed in this sweet oasis and treasure.
Walking over to a dresser, Cilka smiled as she took in the photos that lay there. There was one of each Hufflepuff cohort, one of her and her friends, one of her and her sister - one of Daisy. Cilka's fingers brushed the edge of the frame, traced the pretty white vines which framed her older sister's sweet and angelic face. Picking up the frame, she held it close to her heart, her eyes taking in the moving picture of her. Daisy was seven years older than Cilka – twenty-four years old to her now seventeen. Yet in this photo, Daisy was only 20 – 20 and innocent, 20 with long honey brown hair and eyes so green and gentle, 20 before the war and love broke her to the cruelties of reality and loving the misunderstood.
Her sister had fallen in love with a werewolf, fallen in love with Remus Lupin when he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts and Daisy worked in Professor Sprouts gardens and cared for magical creatures. Cilka was too young to understand such a love at the time, but a moment she should have never seen imprinted upon her heart. It was a moment between Remus and Daisy, a moment so intimate that even the memory of it made her blush and quiver. The way Remus had held her sister's face in his hands, the way he spoke to her and kissed the tip of her nose. It was such an innocent gesture, so gentle and humble and yet – Cilka closed her eyes as she remembered it, as she remembered her 13-year-old self-wandering through Professor Sprouts gardens with flowers in her hair. She was picking flowers for her room and Dittany for Madam Pomfrey when she saw them for the first time together.
Sitting on a bench nestled amongst the roses and vines, Daisy and Remus sat. She couldn't hear what they said, could only the small and soft notes of their voices as they held one another's eyes and Remus Daisy's face. Cilka remembered crouching down, pulling her flowers to her chest as she watched them, as she watched Remus kiss her sisters' nose and smile a smile so sad and heavy. Her sister turned slightly, revealing those sweet green eyes which cried. Droplets hung from her eyelashes, hung from the seams of her parted lips as Remus talked to her so and leaned in to kiss the tears on her cheeks. Daisy's hands rested on Remus's chest, her fingers bunched in the fabric of his sweater as she tugged at it gently and gave him permission to kiss her.
The kiss was so soft and yet desperate, a yearning buried and aching finally answered. It was gentle at first, a tease as Remus dipped his head cautious before pressing his lips to hers in need. Her sister unraveled before her, unraveled for Remus as she kissed him back as if he was the only air her starving lungs needed.
Lowering her eyes in shyness, Cilka remembered slipping away, running nimble and quiet until she found a small broom cupboard to tuck herself away in. She had rested her hand on her fluttering heart, nibbled her nails at the sight she saw and wondered what a love like that must feel like. She had never seen anything like it before, never seen it in her parents or peers or even the stories she read. She replayed the memory in her mind as she slid down the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. She pondered it so, pondered it as her cheeks blushed pink and her eyes danced timid and wondrous.
It was only later that she found out why her sister was crying, that she came to understand how pained and tortured their love was due to Remus's condition and their age difference. Prejudice coiled around them, self-loathing within Remus's own heart festering as Daisy's life crumbled before them at the unveiling of him and their relationship. And yet despite all of that, despite the pain and hatred around them and within, their love never quivered. It never trembled or doubted, never wilted but rather bloomed. Each tear, every separation and struggle they faced – it bound them closer together. Daisy was his forbidden flower, his softness to his tortured soul and he her protector so needed, so mighty and fierce.
Opening her eyes, Cilka returned the photo to the dresser and turned at the sound of Professor Sprout entering the room.
"Ah, there you are dearie." She chimed, walking towards her and talking Cilka's hand as she led her to the couch. They sat opposite one another and Professor Sprout with a flick of her wand summoned two cups of honey and pumpkin tea with biscuits to dip shaped as autumn leaves. "What is it you need, Miss Desta?"
Nursing her tea in her hands, Cilka took a small sip before resting it on her lap and holding it warm. "Well I…I was wondering if you knew anything about time travel?" Seeing Professor Sprouts eyebrows furrow in curiosity, Cilka quickly continued on. "I know it may seem like a foolish little question to wonder, but my mind has been pondering the topic so. Pondering its possibility and reaches, oh flowers…it's a thought that has nestled in my mind so."
"Time-travel." Professor Sprout said slowly. "Time-travel to what and where my dear? Where are you wishing to go?" Cilka knew she couldn't string a tale of a lie, knew she couldn't pretend with her that it was for a project or assignment. Professor Sprout knew her too well, and Cilka with her dulcet tongue could never lie to her.
"I know this may sound a little cuckoo," Cilka began, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper as nerves bundled in her chest, "but I, I'd like to travel back to 1945, to…well…oh flowers please forgive me and no think me silly but," Cilka placed her tea down on the table, placed Professor Sprouts down beside hers and took her hands in hers. "I think the way to end this war is not as it seems. I think, I think maybe the way to save this war is by going back in time and meeting the boy at the heart of it, meeting his heart and changing the path it fell down."
Professor Spout's hands shook in Cilka's, her lips parting in surprise as she let go of Cilka's hands and placed one over her heart. "Oh my." Seeing her Professor in shock, Cilka bit her lip and shuffled a little closer trying to hold her Professor's eyes in hers.
"I think I can change this, I think I can change him."
"Cilka dear, do you know what you're suggesting – do you know the dangers of such a thing, what he is capable of at even such a young age?" Professor Sprout exhaled, looking at Cilka as if she had grown a tail and ears. "You could be killed!"
"I could be killed today Professor, we all could be." Cilka said, meeting her Professor eyes with such tenderness. "But maybe if I go back, all of this could flutter away, it'd would be but a dream – a ghost of a nightmare and -"
"No." Professor Sprout said firmly, standing up and beginning to pace. "No, it's too dangerous. You don't even know how to protect yourself!" She exclaimed. "You barely passed DADA and what if he comes and attacks you or lures you into his dark world? What then in a time that you do not know and no one knows you?"
"Please Professor," Cilka said, her hands twiddling the hem of her skirt as she pleaded. "I think this is the only way."
"No." Professor Spout refused in disbelief, but Cilka continued on.
"What makes us any better by fighting them with the same force and hatred? What makes us any different with spilling their blood just as they are ours." Standing, she walked to her Head of House, knotting her hands in front of her as she brought them under her chin in worry of a plan so failing. "I know what Voldemort is, but he's not Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle is the boy before all of this – lost and unloved with a chance to be saved. I have to try. Someone has to try the gentler path and I want to be that someone. I can be. Please." Her eyes widened with her soft yearning and desperation, her whole demeanour curling into a plead so humble and true. "Please let me try." She repeated. "Please."
Professor Sprout sighed, shook her head as she raised her hands in defeat. Wagging her finger at Cilka she said, "you and those big doe eyes of yours. You and your sister have the same foolishness in you, the same heart which the more I get to know you two…the more I think is too foolish for this world, too pure and too good." She paused, a few moments of silent ticking by. "Alright." Professor Sprout sighed once more, placing her hands on her hips as she thought this through and took a moment to ponder. "Alright." Cilka's smile grew in hope, in trust and in dreams as her hope to go back and change things slowly became a possibility so true. "1945 yes? Make it 1944 and be there for his last year."
"His last year." Cilka repeated, all hope and sweet strive shining in her eyes.
"Come back to my office in three days' time Miss Desta – three days for you to gather your things and prepare yourself. I'll get you to 1944, and I'll give you one year there. Only one year and then the spell I place on you will automatically bring you back here to the day you left. Do you understand? One year, and that's it. I'll take care of the rest but until then…" Her words trailed off as Professor Sprout took in Cilka, as she took in her small frame and innocent smile. She shook her head, shook her head as she knew she was awakening one last grain of hope and placing it within this small daydreamer 17-year-old girl. She wasn't the brightest student, wasn't the strongest or bravest. But she had a full heart, an understanding, rare and completely full and sweet heart – and maybe that was just what they needed. Their last answer. Their last hope. "Until then Miss, Desta."
"Until then Professor Sprout." Cilka squealed with glee, leaning in to kiss her Professors cheek before she ran along and hurried to her next class. One last hope – one last possibility now singing true.
Professor Sprout watched as Cilka ran off, as her long honey brown hair fluttered behind her with her movements and her robes billowed. Professor Sprout raised her hand to her heart, raised her hand to wipe a tear that only now did she let fall. One last hope. One last foolish hope.