Chapter 97: The Time-Turner's Secret
Elian quickly retrieved the two remaining bottles of elf-wine, then slipped the delicate gold chain of the Time-Turner over his head. The pendant felt cool against his skin. He examined it, a flicker of unease in his gut.
Time-Turners were among the most restricted artifacts in the wizarding world. The Ministry's control over them was absolute, paranoid—and for good reason. The potential for paradox, for catastrophic abuse, was limitless. They were supposed to be used only for academic purposes, under strict supervision. This one, old and unregistered, felt like a loaded gun in his hands. Dumbledore's trust was immense, but what if the old magic was unstable? What if a faulty turn sent him spinning back to the age of dinosaurs?
He shook off the morbid thought. Dumbledore wouldn't give him a deathtrap. Probably.
Checking his watch, he saw it was nearly 9 PM—the time he'd returned from the Lovegoods'. He needed to be in Manchester around 6:40 PM. He carefully gripped the outermost ring of the pendant and turned it.
One… two… three.
He stopped.
The world around him didn't so much change as shimmer. A dizzying, backwards rush of sensation overwhelmed him—blurred visions of light streaming in reverse through his window, a pressure in his ears like diving deep, a sound like rushing wind and distorted voices. It was over in an instant.
He blinked. The room was the same, but the quality of the darkness outside his window was different. Less profound. He checked his watch.
6:40 PM.
A relieved breath escaped him. It had worked. Each turn had indeed sent him back one hour. He was now at the point in time just after he'd left for the Lovegoods', but before he was due at the Grangers'.
No time to waste. He focused, drawing a swift circle with the Sling Ring. The portal opened not onto a forest, but onto a familiar, frost-kissed back garden in Manchester. Through it, he saw Hermione Granger, bundled in her coat, delivering a solid, frustrated kick to a lopsided snowman.
"Go to hell, you stupid… git!" she muttered, her voice carrying through the portal. "And don't expect any more help with your show-off magic next term!"
Elian suppressed a grin. Pouting, she turned to stalk back inside.
He stepped through, letting the portal fade behind him. He didn't call out immediately. Instead, he let his voice, lightly teasing, cut through the cold air. "Trouble with the local yeti population? Need a hand?"
Hermione froze mid-step. She turned, and the stormy expression on her face—a mix of hurt, annoyance, and Christmas loneliness—melted into first shock, then a dawning, disbelieving joy she tried desperately to hide.
She managed to school her features into a scowl, arms folding. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a prior engagement with the Lovegoods?"
He played his part, stretching with exaggerated nonchalance. "Hmm? What engagement?" He gestured vaguely. "I'm pretty sure I promised someone's parents I'd be here for dinner." Remembering the wine, he quickly conjured another portal—a brief flash of golden light—and reached through to his London bedroom, pulling out the two bottles. "Now, shall we? I've heard the roast potatoes are life-changing."
Hermione's stern facade cracked, replaced by an exasperated, fond eye-roll. She didn't question the portal. She was, by now, somewhat accustomed to his impossible entrances.
She walked over to him, and to his surprise, didn't take the wine. Instead, she reached up and began straightening his suit collar, then his shirt, her fingers deft and surprisingly gentle. She smoothed down his hair, which was genuinely tousled from the frantic travel and the fight he'd just been in, three hours in his future.
As she worked, her eyes, sharp and observant as ever, caught a glint of gold at his throat. Her fingers stilled for a fraction of a second on his shirt button.
A Time-Turner.
The recognition was instant. She'd worn one for a year. She knew its weight, its design, the particular sheen of the hourglass sand. How? The question screamed in her mind. They were Ministry-controlled, doled out with extreme reluctance. McGonagall had fought bureaucratic battles for hers. Why did Elian have one? And an old, ornate one at that?
Her gaze travelled from the Time-Turner to his slightly messy hair, the faint dust on the knees of his trousers, the scuff on one shoe. The pieces clicked together with ruthless, Hermione Granger logic.
The sudden, perfect timing. The dishevelled appearance that didn't match simply 'staying at home'. The Time-Turner.
He hadn't chosen the Lovegoods over her. He'd done both.
A complex wave of emotions hit her—relief, a touch of awe at his sheer audacity (and power), and a sharp, possessive thrill that he'd gone to such lengths. But also a flicker of worry. Using a Time-Turner so casually was dangerous. What had he been doing that required it?
She met his eyes, her own expression now a mix of stern admonishment and deep, warm affection. She said nothing about her deduction. Instead, she gave his now-neat collar a final pat and stepped back, taking one of the wine bottles.
"You're just in time," she said, her voice softer now. "Dinner's almost ready. Come on. My parents are dying to meet you."
She led him towards the warm, glowing house, her mind whirring with the night's new secret. Elian Thorne hadn't just come for Christmas dinner. He'd made time for it.
Meanwhile, in the drawing-room of Malfoy Manor, the air was frozen, thick with a silence more terrible than any scream.
(End of Chapter)
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