Hello hello lovelies! Two updates in two days!
I am getting closer and closer to the end of part I. I can practically see the finish line. Ten more chapters to go before I reach my end of year goal! I am so anxious and excited to share it all with you.
Oh, and I am sorry for the last chapter, with Regulus's death/disappearance. And for everything Sirius and Riley are going through. I should also say sorry for this chapter; it's not particularly nice either.
Please review and let me know what you think x
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Thursday, August 30th, 1979
Potter Manor
August was an unrelenting, unforgiving month that did not give the Marauders a moment of reprieve. News came in the small hours of the morning, waking them from their slumber. Dumbledore sent a Patronus to inform them of the latest tragedy.
Draco stared listlessly at the silvery blue Phoenix perched on the back of his desk chair; it glowed in the dark room. Wispy smoke billowed off of the corporeal Patronus that had roused him with a shrill, haunting cry. Hermione was talking to him, but her words were seas away. She was brushing the hair off his forehead, grasping at his face, but he was mute and numb.
"I wish this correspondence brought more joyous news, but I have to regretfully inform you that last night Voldemort's followers carried out a contumelious, egregious attack. There is no delicate way to put this, but the entire McKinnon household perished several hours ago. Their wards were decimated before Death Eaters stormed their home and slew them all. The Manor and estate was set ablaze in the aftermath."
Dumbledore went on to inform them that an emergency Order meeting was to be held at three that afternoon. He added his deepest sympathies and condolences, and the serene voice simply faded away. The Phoenix Patronus dissipated in the air, the wisps of blue disappearing before their eyes.
Draco rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, not convinced he wasn't trapped in a night terror.
"Draco?" Hermione's voice was too authentic for this to be anything but reality. Yet, nothing made sense.
"Draco?" Hermione tried again, her voice wobbled.
No, this could not be real. And thus, Draco laid back down, folded his hands over his chest and squeezed his eyes as tightly as he could. It could not be real.
It isn't real, Draco chanted in his mind, drowning out Hermione's crying and grief. He chanted the futile lie until he passed out.
Alas, when he woke hours later, the facts had not changed. Marlene McKinnon was gone, as was her entire clan. Tragedy had continued to strike.
Monday, September 3rd, 1979
Potter Manor
Draco took a long drag from his fag, eyes narrowed as he gazed out at the hazy horizon. Draco's bedroom windows were wide open, and he was bent at the waist, leaning on the windowsill of the furthermost right one. He was surveying the grounds. The grass was beginning to brown, and tinges of reds and yellows stained a few leaves of the trees sporadically spread across the back gardens. In the distance, Draco spotted Lily and Remus floating on their backs in the pool.
The wind was sharper the past week, and a hint of bitterness rode its currents. Dark clouds hung in the sky, and thunder had rumbled across the heavens the night prior. Draco could taste the promise of rain in the air.
With a great heave, he released the smoke he'd been clutching in his airway; the steady stream evaporated in moments. Swirls of chamomile and vanilla tickled his nostrils through the musk of smoke, and he smiled to himself.
"We really should quit," Hermione announced beside him. Draco glanced at her in his peripherals, and with a curt shake of his head, he raised the cigarette to his lips once more. Hermione's hand moved with lightning precision and she snatched it from his grasp. Draco growled at her.
"It's a nasty habit. One we should kick," Hermione muttered under her breath, vanishing the cigarette into thin air.
"Then we never should have started," Draco pointed out, he laced his fingers together, and bowed his head. He kneaded his thumb into the side of his hand, massaging the skin there as he clenched his jaw.
"Why do I feel like we're no longer discussing cigarettes?" Hermione asked gently, placing a hand over his. His movements stilled. A sharp, exasperated sound left Draco's nostrils, and a sardonic smile twisted his lips.
"I was given a blessing coming back to the past. I was bequeathed an enormously gracious gift being able to meet everyone I have. Yet—time and fate have cruelly taken so many of those precious people from me. Marlene—" Draco hadn't said her name in days. He hadn't cried. He couldn't bring himself to do either, because it would mean acknowledging that she was really gone.
"I know," Hermione whispered. Her head dropped forwards and landed against his shoulder. Draco nodded minutely to himself. Draco's eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. His grief toppled over the edge and permitted himself to finally let go. Marlene was gone. He would never hear another snide comment fall from her lips, nor would he witness one of her rare, radiant smiles. He would never hear her voice again, tease her. An overwhelming sense that too much had been left unsaid between them overtook him.
Draco's shoulders shook as his sorrow consumed him, and Hermione held fast to him; helping him weather the terrible swells.
"You dropped this," a prim voice said from above him. Draco languidly lifted his gaze to peer at the blonde girl staring down at him. She appeared incredibly bored. Marlene McKinnon. They'd had one conversation before. It was so brief and inconsequential he didn't recall its contents.
Draco's eyes flicked down to the black quill held in her hand. "That's not mine."
"Strange," The witch pursed her lips, instantly releasing the quill, and it wobbly cut through the air and the metal tip clattered against the mahogany desk. She shrugged cavalierly, as if it was of no consequence to her either way.
Whilst Draco loved his friends dearly, he sometimes required some space and time to recharge away from their perpetual enthusiasm. Which is why he was sequestered in the corner of the library—at a table by his lonesome—reading advanced potioneering texts that a sixth or seventh year might peruse if they had free time.
"Isn't that a bit beyond your scope of understanding?" Marlene asked bluntly. She'd stepped to the side so she was reading over his shoulder. Her face contorted with heavy ponderance as she tried to decipher the passage.
"No. Although, I suspect it is beyond yours," Draco said dismissively. The witch was invading his personal time and space, and it irked him.
"You aren't like what I'd expected you'd be."
"Been pondering my character traits a lot?"
"Something like that," Marlene said honestly. She didn't even bother to mask her intentions or interest in him. It was highly unexpected. Draco found himself openly staring at her; his curiosity piqued.
"You're not what I would have expected either," Draco mumbled. His eyebrows shot towards his hairline as the witch rounded him, and daintily perched herself in the seat beside him. "That wasn't an invitation to disturb my peace and quiet."
Marlene shook her head, and absently gestured to his book. "Explain it to me."
"Sorry?"
"The book you're reading. If you truly understand it like you claim, then explain it to me."
"You're not going to leave until I do, are you?" Draco sighed. He drummed his fingers across the table in annoyance. Yet, in the back of his mind, the girl's company was pleasantly appreciated.
Marlene unfastened the clasp holding her outer robes closed, shrugged them off so they pooled around her in her chair, and loosened her green and silver tie. "No." An eyebrow rose, and Draco stared directly into her fearsome blue eyes that held oceans within them. It was in that moment that he knew Marlene McKinnon was not a witch to be trifled with, and like a natural disaster, she was about to wreak havoc on his life.
A little while later, the pair had settled into Draco's armchair in the corner of his room, and Hermione was seated sideways in Draco's lap, her legs hanging over the chair's arm. Draco's eyes were closed, and Hermione was massaging his scalp. "My time is running out."
Draco made a rude noise. A hand slid along the outside of her thigh, and skimmed up to her hip. He pushed up the hem of her shirt and rubbed her bare skin; his fingers gliding over the slightly raised, silvery white stretch marks there.
"It's true. My birthday—Hermione Granger's birthday is in a couple weeks."
"Can we not talk about this now?"
"When do you propose we talk about it? In the midst of saying our goodbyes?"
Draco sluggishly pried his eyes open a fraction, and he glared at her. "I don't know what you want to discuss. There is nothing left to worry about. All our preparations are done. With the exception of Riley's cottage, and that's my responsibility to finish after you—you leave."
"You should have fun building the rest of it," Hermione hummed, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. She nudged his face with her nose.
"It won't be nearly as fun without you here." Draco cleared his throat. Hermione pressed her forehead to his, and halted in her head massage.
The witch opted to shift the subject. "You're forgetting that we have to get the boys to pack their belongings into their trunks."
"Ah shite. That is all you, my love. I'll be too busy cleaning up our potions room and tidying up my belongings."
Hermione rolled her forehead against his. "It's a shame we'll have to bin all the ingredients that can't be dried or preserved."
"I have a volunteer to help me with that task as well," Draco said dully, his smile forced and taut. "Lily was overjoyed that she was finally going to be let into our potions room, so she doesn't mind that she's just helping me sort through ingredients."
"She may just explode in excitement when she goes in there, or, she'll be quite cross with us for never allowing her in there before."
It was the former. The next day, while Hermione, Sirius, and Remus were elsewhere in the Manor dealing with their chests and placing most of their treasured, worldly possessions inside of them, Lily tiptoed across a euphoric, delirious tightrope. From the moment she stepped over the threshold into the room, the witch burst with elation at everything her eyes landed on. Mouth opened in awe as she flew about the room.
(James was at the Ministry, having been roped into assisting Moody with training the new Auror recruits. The program was even more rigorous than the previous year, and Sirius commented more than once at meals on how he pitied the sorry sods. They were in the middle of a war, and Mad-Eye made sure to frequently remind them of such.)
Lily examined the workbenches—pulling open the drawers in front of the workbenches to peer at the tools neatly organised inside of them—and marvelled at their ingredients cupboards through the glass panes. She also inspected the cupboards where they kept their cauldrons and larger tools. And the witch skipped over to the bookshelves housing most of Hermione and Draco's books on brewing, potioneering and rare ingredients that they'd accumulated over the years. The witch was acting as if it was Christmas morning and she'd been given a mountain of gifts.
"You two are massively unkind for never letting me in here before. Brewing in here would be a dream." Lily sulked as she wandered over to Hermione's desk. Draco's eye twitched, and he restrained himself from flying over to the desk and stopping the witch's thorough search. The blue potions that would heal Cruciatus curse victims were in Hermione's top-right desk drawer.
Thankfully, Lily was content to brush her fingers across the spines of the few books piled on their desks, and to survey the mess of ideas and errant scribbles taken down on hasty, spare bits of parchment that covered their surfaces.
"You mentioned drying and preserving ingredients," Lily said absentmindedly, her fingers feathering over a brisk drawing Hermione had done a few weeks ago. They'd briefly discussed opening an apothecary once they returned to the future, and Hermione had taken to doodling emblems and designs they might use.
"I did," Draco answered with a smirk. Watching Lily's excitement and jubilance had shaken some of the heartache that'd plagued him for days. It was the first time the girl had smiled since they'd learned the news of Marlene's passing, and he was glad to have witnessed it.
"Shall we?" Draco asked, extending a hand in the direction of their vast ingredients collection.
Lily bounded over to him, and looped her arm through his, brightly she replied, "we shall."
Draco guided her over to Hermione's workbench, and detangled himself from her grasp as he headed over to the first cupboard. Draco bent his knees, and muttered under his breath as he sorted through the bottom shelf. The contents of that shelf were mostly dried herbs and flowers, but there were a few bundles of fresh rosemary, lavender and thyme that would need drying.
Draco carefully grabbed the small piles, and when he turned around to carry them over to Lily, the witch was directly behind him; awaiting him with open hands. Lily hummed as she extracted them from his grasp and merrily carried them over to Hermione's workbench.
Lily placed them on the empty surface to the right beside the burners, and swayed dreamily as she deftly unwound the thick strings tied around the herbs. Draco smiled crookedly, and ducked his head back into the cupboard.
The Marauders were living in dark times, where loss and death was commonplace, but something as quaint as a nonsensical hum somehow helped to make it all bearable.
"Lilypad?"
"Yes, Paws?" Lily asked, peering over her shoulder at him. Draco studied her distorted reflection in the cupboard's window panes.
"Thank you."
"For what?" Lily asked, a befuddled and pleased smile invading her features. She was holding sprigs of rosemary.
"For being you," Draco answered simply. Lily let out a surprised laugh, and shaking her head she swivelled to face the workbench. She diligently focused on the task at hand.
Not for the first time, Draco thought that a tremendous gift had been bestowed upon him on that fateful December evening when he'd been thrust backwards into time. A gift that brought him both great joy and inevitable suffering. Tears welled up in Draco's eyes as he listened to Lily humming as she worked. It was a gift he wouldn't trade for the world.