Chapter Fifty-Six: What Time-Turners Are Really For

From the journal of Bilius Arthur 'Bill' Weasley:

            War is hell. Everyone I know has been transformed into darker, leaner shadows of themselves, some never to return. My father looked at me yesterday and by the gods, he looked old. My father, old -it's unimaginable, even when he began to lose his hair he was always so active and loving toward us kids. Now he and Mum look like strangers almost, the effort is wearing so heavily on them.

Ron is a soldier now, all tactics and techniques and 'let's-go-kill.' My youngest brother knows how to use the Killing Curse, and what's more, he's not afraid to. I carried him on my shoulders and now he's having to carry his wounded friends on his. He has to hide his emotions for efficiency and sanity's sake. For that I don't blame him, but Mum cried after he came back for dinner at Grimmauld Place. Her children are all involved in the war somehow, even Percy and Ginny.

Ginny. I'm frightened even imagining what she may become. That American has her in uniform at all times, armed, and I scarcely recognize the little sister who used to demand that I read to her. She at least still laughs and jokes, which is more than I can get out of Ron, but she does it with a gun on her hip and brass buttons on her coat.

Mum invited the American Aurory squad to dinner when Ginny got her commission. (a very Mum-like thing to do, by the way, your daughter gets her sidearms and a license to kill people and the proper response is to make carrot cake.) Since Dumbledore was to be there, or because she lost a bet or some other absurd reason, Cassie Tyler had everyone in full dress uniforms. White gloves, gold braid, epaulets…it looked like the Muggle war movies we sometimes saw in Ottery St. Catchpole. True, Tonks had pink hair, but apart from that, it was really an unnerving sight. I watched as these blue-coated Aurors came in and took off their outer robes, which are like short capes, and it was then that I saw the full dress uniform. The American Muggles' Civil War looked like what my sister and her friends wear.

I suppose that's why soldiers and Aurors wear those kinds of uniforms. If they can chill the blood of their family, imagine what they do to the enemy. The enemy. That sounds so civilized. My baby sister shot at a madman night before last. If Voldemort hadn't Disapparated, she would have sent a lump of lead and brass directly through his skull.

Dumbledore had to lift the ban on Severus Snape's false bullets, by the way. Gregory Goyle junior's remains were found tied to the Hogwarts gate after he tried to resist joining the Death Eaters. According to Severus, Goyle's own best friend and father did it to him. He wasn't called to that meeting, or he would have risked his cover to save that boy, I'd bet my life on it. That man cares far more about his students than my siblings ever realized. Since Hermione Granger was kidnapped, the light's just gone out of his eyes again. I only catch little glimpses of the man I had almost become friends with, and that's when Cassie Tyler gets into one of her moods again. It's to the point where even wizards for the Light doubt her sanity sometimes.

When Goyle's body was discovered, she gave orders for her own men to give him a military funeral on the grounds and then proceeded to line up each and every one of the Slytherins above second year on the Quidditch pitch. She had some of those portraits of Voldemort brought out, then took her guns and shot the eyes out of them. She made those children watch as their parents' leader, for some, was used for target practice. Anyone who looked frightened she made stand on the other side of the pitch. Anyone who looked pleased or excited by the shooting she sent to her brother-in-law's room in the dungeons. After she had gone through the lot, there were about ten kids who had been scared when she shot at Voldemort. Dobby brought out more targets and a box of small-caliber pistols, and Cassie Tyler had each and every one of those kids practice shooting at Voldemort until they could hit twice out of three without flinching.

While they did this, she lectured them on what the Dark Lord had done, every cruel and vicious deed from the Longbottoms to Goyle and everything in between, pacing back and forth and speaking in a voice that almost drowned out the guns. This went on for some three hours, with more portraits being brought as needed and the grim lecture never ceasing.

When she had gone through about forty clips of ammunition, Smokey Tyler had about ten new Death Eater spies to train. Crazy, but effective.

The Chairperson of the United Coventry and the President of the Wizarding United States, the two most powerful witches, if not people altogether, in the world, told my sister's squad to call them Mo and Jo, short for Maureen and Joanne. It's interesting that the seat of all world power has remarked favorably on my mom's carrot cake. They arrived at the Shrieking Shack, which is both the Tyler residence and the primary staging area for the 112th International, (Ginny's unit's official name,) to drop off the new secure-facility technical operative, Caitlin Pierce. I've actually met people from her school, the Agar Academy in Australia, working for Gringotts, because apart from goblins, Agar graduates know more about security and how to outsmart it than any creatures in the world. In spite of this impressive alma mater and a resume as long as my arm, especially for one so young, including Head Girl at Agar and Keeper of Keys for the Australian Ministry, the Tylers wanted to test the new girl out.

It was thus that I had to explain to Clipring why I had the world's third-largest diamond in my hand when I came to work.

The goblins were, naturally, distressed that someone could rob their second-best system, undetected, and then return the loot, but the fact that the 112th gave it a polish before they gave it to me to return and took a few pictures made it seem more like an amiable joke than a full-scale emergency. That diamond is a heavy bugger, though. Make a nice paperweight. I have the picture of Ginny with it on her head on my desk now, next to one of Mum and Dad with Ron and the 112th, Charlie and Norbert the dragon, and a black-and-white Muggle-style one of Maria. The little Creevey boy was drying prints in Cassie Tyler's classroom and she bought the picture from him for me. It's very good, with the light coming just over her shoulder. Even without the color, I can tell how her eyes are that dark, dark green like fathomless emeralds, how her Slytherin tie makes them seem to shine, and how that quietly intense look hides one of the most brilliant minds and most loving hearts of the age.

I hope she's happy. I don't have the nerve to write. Cassie Tyler implored me to, but she couldn't remember exactly why. She just kept insisting it was dreadfully important. Sometime when things are less wild, perhaps, whn I can feel less guilt for a broken heart when the world is in flames, then I'm going to write. I'm going to wish her well. I'm going to tell her I don't need to know anymore than I do, and that I will always remember her fondly. I won't tell her how I wake at night dreaming of those eyes, or how I may never find anyone who makes me feel even a quarter of what she made me feel. I won't tell her I love her, because I can't. Maybe someday I'll sort it out enough to get my pen out of my journal and onto a parchment, but not today. As selfish as it sounds, I still hurt too much.

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John,
            The MacPhersens refused to bow to Death Eaters and surrender their son last night. I think you can guess the rest. Donaghan will be sent to his great-grandfather's, but old Donalbain MacPhersen has to have Peatbog Castle cleaned and toddler-prrofed ans stocked with food fit for live persons. (He is what Nearly Headless Nick would call 'opaquely challenged' also.) Would you see that he is met at the 8:15 arrival of the Hogwarts Express and taken to the castle? If you and Cassandra would like, he may wish to stay with you, but please keep all firearms, wands and scandalous books away from him. (Just in case Umbridge drops by, you understand.) He will be at Hogwarts at the least three days.
With my thanks,
-Albus Dumbledore

"You know, that letter only took me half an hour to read. I'm fairly impressed with myself. Shall we, dear?"

"I think he would be happy here." Cass set down the notebook she had been reading. "I won't make him look over Caiti Pierce's notes, but he can probably keep himself busy with the Dr. Seuss and the VCR while I do serious work. After I plot the capture and/or killing of Voldemort, the rescue of Hermione, the quilt pattern for our first daughter's bed and find some proper donuts, I could do with a quiet day watching Donaghan."

"You did understand what Albus told us?"

"That we would –oh, dear." The werewolf sounded more concerned. "He's just lost his parents, poor little guy."

"May I take him to Chuck E. Cheese with Severus?"

"Darling… number one, they don't have them in this country, I think, number two, Severus?, and number three, wouldn't a giant perambulating rat scare the crap out of him?"

"I didn't know he went about in a pram," Mel observed, coming down thestairs with an armload of what appeared to be both paperwork and foil-wrapped chocolates. "Whom is the giant rat?"

"Oh, nevermind."

"Merely one of the eccentricities of our culture, Melanie," John explained. "There's a childrens' restaurant chain with a mouse for a mascot."

"Rat."

"Cassie, he's gray. Rats are brown."

"A giant rat."

"He's only person-sized."

"A giant, talking rat who walks around and frightens the sodwockets out of innocent children."

"It's just a mascot."

"It's a bloody great rodent what eats pizza, John! I'm not going to expose Donaghan to that!"

There was a long silence after this. Mel, who had never seen the Tylers come even this close to a spat, as well as never having seen Cass even remotely on edge, tried to be invisible.

"When?" John asked suddenly.

"Friend's birthday party. I was four." Cass shuddered at the scary memory. "Giant rat."

"Severus' white rats don't frighten you, do they?"

"Of course not. They're little and vaguely cute. Giant ones, on the other hand…"

"Who knew? The Scourge of Southenderby's great phobia's giant rats," Mel laughed.

"'Scourge of Southenderby'? Who the sod named me that?"

"Rita Skeeter, commenting on the way you raided F- the Catesby manor, setting the fenced moors alight and all." Mel glossed over her slip effortlessly as she continued. "It was a very picturesque fire, after all, didn't hurt anyone, and got Muggles involved by just about exploding that snobby git's anonymity." She smiled merrily and tilted the heap of paperwork so the chocolates landed in Cass' lap. "French-mint kind, your favorite, just owled from a devoted admirer."

"Did you check 'em?" John asked, eying the candies suspiciously.

"Poison and potion scan, not to mention it was a devoted admirer from Hogwarts."

"Oh, dear." Cass frowned and began scratching a reply note on a scrap parchment in the rake-rail printing she used instead of proper cursive. "Here, owl this back with some sodas from the fridge. Stupid Secret Santa thing."

"Which?"

"Oh, everyone draws a name and they give anonymous presents leading up to the holiday, and you respond with anonymous return presents. I have no idea who sent those, but I send something back, and on Christmas Day I'll open their present and find out who the sodwockets they are. I also have to send presents to the name I drew."

"Let me guess," John observed in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone. "Dumbledore's idea."

"Worse. Flitwick's." Cass suddenly glanced mischievously up at her mate from her desk. "Do I detect a bit of jealousy, my lover?"

"No, I had to draw a name as well. Just wondered what kind of a Prozac'd sadist came up with such a cock an' bull idea."

"Darling!" Cass looked positively stunned and faintly turned-on. "I haven't seen you in this bad a mood about…well, short of Moldy-Voldy's latest atrocity, anything." John shrugged and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"May I plead stress, m'love?"

"Only if you're willing to risk my relieving it." Cass took hold of her husband's tie, drawing him closer.

"In the middle of the day?"

"Not everybody's from England, love."

Paperwork was shoved aside, pencils and quills went skittering, and just before a back hit the desk, Mel Watling let out a squeak.

"Erm…I'm still, uh, kind of in the room!"

"Oh." Cass righted herself and tucked her hair back behind her ears, going a little red as John cleared his throat. "Sorry. Bit hormonal lately."

"A bit!" Mel still looked like she'd caught parents at it. "I should have such a bit in my profession!"

"Speaking of…" John crossed his arms and looked sort of quizzical. "Exactly how seriously should we take the rumor of…what your profession…"

"Was? Is?" Mel smirked. "I'm a hooker, Wolfy."

"Ah. Well, just so that clears things up…" Cass had to stifle a giggle watching John blush.

"Sorry, Mel, he's just too gentlemanly to take blunt, brazen femmes dangereuses like us seriously."

"Eh, you're monogamous, wolfy-girl. I've seen more brazen from fifth-years."

As Cass raised an eyebrow at this challenge, John was heard to murmur an expletive out of fear of what the Briton had now begun: a dirty-minds' contest.

"Darling Melly, despite my monogamous and rather blissful state, I have tried pastimes most polite people never so much as look up in a dictionary, what few are indeed listed."

"So you did have some fun before you settled down!" Mel looked pleased. "Let's hear!"

"Actually, I didn't, but where that's any business of-"

"Good god, you mean to tell me you still had your v-card at the altar, mate?" The British girl looked both disappointed and impressed. "Odd nowadays."

"I did," John explained normally, thoroughly expecting Cass to concur.

"Well, I didn't."

For a long moment, the couple looked at each other. Mel realized she might well have begun the first real fight the two had ever had. But then Cass explained: "Remember about three weeks after we got married, when I came home early from work? I…er, well…"

"You used your Time-Turner?!"

"Hey, I was terrified! I didn't know jack about –well, jack, when you got ahold of me, and I at least wanted an idea of what we would be doing!"

"You never mentioned it…"

"Well, I was also a little plastered after the bachelorette party and I decided 'what the hell'? It was either shag your future self or find some other guy to satisfy my curiosity, and to put it bluntly, I didn't want any other guy."

Mel could only watch in astonishment as John raised a hand toward his wife's cheek. Cass shut her eyes, only to feel the gentle caress that preceded a proper kiss.

"If I had ever needed proof you loved me, that was it." The werewolf opened his wife's hand and showed her a tiny, pale line on the side of her ring finger. "You got that on a corkscrew the week after. When you didn't have it two weeks later, it was easy to guess. I had no idea you'd be nervous."

"Well, I was…I mean, look what pop culture's done to the …act."

"How about we undo that with another book?"

"Mmmm, research…"

Leaving the pair alone, Mel made some personal vows. One, she was going to find a guy like John, and two, she wanted a Time-Turner of her own!

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Severus was almost asleep, sitting in his armchair with the leather-bound magic book. Hermione's last message had been read so many times the edge of the page was gray, yet still he couldn't stop checking for an update. What if one never came?

"Calm down, love."

That voice! Severus spun around and saw –a vision? The eyes and face were similar, but more mature, and a corkscrewing scar showed on the wrist of his dream-Hermione with the shimmery, unreal Time-Turner in her hand. She wore a silvery gray dress, almost like a ghost, and there were miniscule lines about her eyes and a slight difference in her form, but she was still beautiful, still herself…

"Yes, this is what I'll look like at forty-four. You should see Cass at fifty –wait. You will."

Oh, it was she, alright.
"I want you to stop worrying and get some rest, Severus. If you need to believe I'm a dream, do that, but our children can't think how you survived."

"Children?" Severus asked the dream. She let out an airy laugh and gave him such a familiar smile he nearly broke down right before her eyes.

"Yes, that should convince you that this isn't real. Whatever you need to think, only get some rest before you change the future by dying on me."

"I won't?"

"You stand a far greater risk from yourself than Voldemort, Severus. Just keep what may to be in mind, and don't mourn what you cannot change." The spectre kissed him and stepped back. "Now to bed with you!"

As the dream-figure disappeared, Severus drew the vial of Dreamless Sleep from his robe pocket, then stopped. He set it down, went to the cabinet, and found a different potion, one made with Lethe's bramble and asphodel. He wanted to remember his dreams tonight.

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A/N: I'm following orders here. What'd you think?