Another chapter, another night of avoiding one of my WIP's that I should be working on. Inspiration comes and goes at times. I woke up this morning thinking that I had killed off Draco twice in this story. Thankfully, I only killed him once. Whew.
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All Our Tomorrows, Begin with Yesterday
Chapter 8
A person's death can certainly put their life in perspective. For all that she had shunned in her life, trying to put the reputation of her family behind her. It was the magic of her family that saved her.
She could feel her magic, wild and so much stronger than it was in her final days.
Her final days that she had lived for her grandson, as her husband and daughter were both lost to her. If not for him, she would have followed both of her lost loved ones willingly to her death. In the end it hadn't mattered, they had both died, but not at hands of the evil they knew.
She had thought of different scenarios in the early days of the resurrection of that fool Voldemort. She had been approached by that arse Dumbledore and his Order of the Flaming Chicken, but when she had asked what he was going to do for her cousin and if she could see him privately, he refused. He refused unless she made a vow to him of support, and he was offering nothing tangible for her to support.
He had no plans for the muggleborn children or their families. He had no plans of protection set for the children in that blasted school he claimed was safe, but she had heard the rumors over the three previous years that the Boy that survived had attended the school. There was no safety to be found there.
If she had had access to her ancestorial homes years ago, she would have attempted to do this herself. She might have had the magical reserves at that time to power the ritual, she might have had to scrounge up a Black or two from a neglected or partially pruned branch, but with her removal from the family tree, she no longer had access to the Grimoire's that were here birthright. Access to them died with her cousin, when he was pushed through the drapes by her bat shit crazy older sister.
What had surprised her most though was not that the ritual had been completed, but that it had brought her back to this time and this place. Who was left when she was killed, when her grandson was removed from her dying arms and spirited off to places unknown? Who would have known about this ritual? Who would have been strong enough?
Her husband, the love of her life, recalled everything up until his death, what would have been about three years from now.
They made love slowly, reacquainting themselves with the love of their soulmate.
They had never believed that they would have been parted so young. They never believed that their lives would be shattered as they had been. They wanted to love, like they had never died. They wanted to live again, love again, learn again that peace was temporary and that the light they believed in was dark. They had a second chance to save children, to save their child, to save themselves. There would not be any drowning in their doubt. They would save themselves.
They both recalled the terror of the danger that had stalked their only baby. Their fierce warrior child was so clumsy that she could not floo without falling. The danger that she had willingly walked into at the behest of a false god, that she had been manipulated by the man's minions.
They recoiled in the belated knowledge that first war had never truly ended, the war that people seemed to forget had decimated their future by killing off family lines. Pureblood, half-blood and muggleborn alike.
The war was supposed to have been over with, that is what everyone said, what everyone believed. Voldemort had been defeated by a child, The Boy Who Lived.
The Boy that Dies at the battle of Hogwarts. He died at the castle that he considered his home. He died dueling the most powerful being to live as his predecessor had died. The lying, self-serving, manipulative, bastard Dumbledore.
Andromeda Tonks nee Black quietly sat at her small kitchen table, sipping at her long turned cold cup of tea and playing a game of solitaire with an old deck of cards that her mother-in-law had given to her while they sat waiting for her daughter to arrive all those years ago. At the time they had been playing a game of rummy if she recalled correctly. Now she sat playing solitaire while waiting for her daughter to return.
She had gone to the Quidditch World Cup as part of the security detail, if she was remembering correctly and it had been an exciting match, made more exciting by Ireland winning the match, but the Bulgarian Krum catching the snitch.
She recalled Dora talking about it for weeks afterword, when not recounting the terror filled flight involving Death Eaters, Amelia Bones, Barty Crouch, and the Golden Trio.
Only fourteen and fifteen years old and the teens were already well known in certain circles. By word of mouth, that mouth being Hagrid's and Dumbledore's.
Nobody thought it odd that those two would sit in a pub and talk about teenagers. Granted they were surrounded by them ten months out of twelve, but still they were bloody grown men, and those children deserved a modicum of privacy.
Hearing the bells of the grandfather clock in her foyer, she realized that it was now six o'clock in the morning and her tired body slumped a little more until she heard her daughter's heavy footsteps as she seemed to trip over thin air walking from the front door to the kitchen.
Not wanting to be caught waiting up for her wayward daughter, Andromeda stood up quickly, swiping her hand towards the table and clearing away the stacks of cards and putting them back into their case and away, her teacup flew to the sink and was washed out and items came from the refrigerator to begin breakfast preparations.
Nymphodora strode into the kitchen, extremely surprised at seeing her mother at the stove and very thankful she was there after the night that she had, had.
The excitement, the terror, the fear that went with things that had happened that moving on to being an auror, might not have been the most reasonable employment choice. Summoning the tea pot to herself as well as her favorite mug, cream, and spoon, she heavily took her seat at the table and prepared the fortifying tea that her body was craving. She knew that she had several hours more to go before she could shut everything off and just rest.
"Are you well Nymphadora?" her mother asked while cracking eggs into a pan and looking over her shoulder at her heavily disheveled daughter.
Groaning before responding and taking a sip of her tea, she replied with "Mum, don't call me Nymphadora!"
Feeling the familiar ire rise in her at her daughter's response she responded in kind.
"Daughter, I named you Nymphadora, I will tolerate you calling yourself Dora, but I am looking at you and see by your appearance that you are not well, now what happened?"
Surprised at how shrill her mother had become and looking a bit closer at her, she realized that her mother looked like she had not slept all night, she could also see her magic crackling around her.
"Mum, I'm fine, there was just a bit of a kerfuffle at the match. Some of the attending thought that it would be funny to terrorize the masses and the muggles running the place."
"And what else Nymphadora, that can't be the end of it!"
"We had to round everyone remaining up, check for injuries and ship some of the injured off to Saint Mungo's. There were fires to be put out and people to be questioned."
"That sounds like more than a Kerfuffle Dora." replied her father coming into the kitchen and bussing her on the top of her head before going to her mother and planting a kiss on her upturned mouth.
A little surprised to see her father out of bed so early, she found herself asking,
"Why are you both up this early? It is not even seven am, you both are usually in bed still. "
"We had something come up last night and did not get much sleep afterwards, now do not change the subject. What happened last night Nymphadora?"
"Did anything out of the ordinary happen to you last night darling?" asked her father.
Still feeling uncertain about her parents being up and about this early and not feeling completely in the loop, she knew that she might as well spill the beans before the Daily Prophet showed up.
"The Dark Mark was conjured after the match last night. There were people dressed as Death Eaters, torturing the family that ran the campground." Looking at her plate and waiting for the explosion, she missed the look between her parents.
They knew then that their daughter had no memories of her past life. She had not returned as they had, and Remus Lupin who might have been a passing fancy, had not been her soulmate as she and Molly Weasley had claimed him to be, confirmed by Albus Dumbledore the arsehole himself.
It was up to them now, to find out who had performed the ritual to return them to this place and time and to help them in any way that they could, to stop the resurrection of an evil man and a self-proclaimed god's evil ideas.