#(not requested)

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NOTE: ***This is STRONGLY based on The Terminator (1984) (including basic plot + a couple quotes that were rearranged slightly—I put a tiny asterisk beside the quotes I used), however it is not necessary that you watch it before reading this. Most everything was altered in someway to reflect the HP universe, but it still follows the main plot of the 1984 film. It also changes the HP plot a lot. You are a Potter in this story + some other HP canon-divergent things (you’ll see). This is very exploratory—let me know what you think!***

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After seven years of homework deadlines and wishing lunch would come sooner, you were shocked to find that you missed Hogwarts. You missed your perfected schedule and you missed your friends. You missed traveling to Hogsmeade on the weekends and when every other word on the street wasn't "war.” You missed innocence and simplicity, and—just as the adults had always said growing up—you wished emphatically that you hadn't wished your time away. 

You felt stupid now for having craved graduation back in school. You somehow felt that your constant wish to grow up and be an adult had rushed your precious childhood. In wanting openness and freedom, had you lost the one thing that was infinitely more important—a part of yourself?

Even if that was too much thought for a Sunday morning, you couldn't help but let the thoughts swim through your mind. Call it a guilty pleasure—one that crept its way up your spine one too many times a week. Especially when your roommate was out with her stupid boyfriend, leaving you completely alone.

Even in the middle of a normal, perfectly content day, you could sometimes feel that niggling fear that—despite living through it—you'd somehow missed your entire youth. You sipped your tea.

It didn't matter anyway. Even if you had completely wasted it, you were still going to wake up tomorrow morning and weigh down your little leather seat behind your little wooden desk at the Ministry. And, if all went well, that wasn't going to change anytime soon—misspent youth or not.

That job was better than it sounded and had done a lot of good for you. Not only had it allowed you a relatively smooth transition from school to the real world a year ago, but it had also brought you Mary Macdonald—your wonderfully sweet, but slightly judgmental roommate. And, as much as you couldn't stand her boyfriend, you loved her. 

You had only moved in with her a few months ago, but already you felt almost as at home with her as you did in Hogwarts. She had attended, as well, but you'd never quite run in the same crowd as her. Until now. At least partially, you were now part of her crowd.

You pushed away from your desk and leaned backward against your chair until it creaked. Your back popped noisily. A satisfying groan fell from your lips. You thought about hitting one of the apothecaries on your way home to search for some joint tonic. You could definitely use it.

If you remembered correctly, Mary wouldn't be home until later. So, in being totally alone, you decided to window shop in town, instead of lazing about the whole evening.

"Caroline, I'll be off for the evening!” you shouted toward the front of the room where all of the individual offices conjoin. A tinkling bell of a voice called back a farewell. You slipped your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the Floo Network facilities. 

With a final glance at your watch, you stepped into one of the fireplaces and closed your eyes, waiting for that familiar whooshing sensation to send you home.

Then, in an instant, your feet were on solid cobblestone outside of your flat complex. You shuffled your boots along the ground in an effort to fling the excess Floo powder off.

To the left lay your flat, and to the right, down an identical street, lay a couple of small, hidden stores that carried most of your basic needs. You turned on your heels and headed to the second store set into the concrete—Roland's Apothecary. (For all of your Potion needs!).

You pulled the door open, the little bell overhead chiming to announce your arrival. A short, graying man appeared from behind the counter. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and smiled widely when he recognized you.

"Well, hello, my dear!” He set some random items on the counter before turning his full attention to you. "What'll it be today? The sleeping tonic again?”

Between the joint and sleeping tonics, you figured you were halfway keeping ol' Roland in business. The sleeping tunic was, unfortunately, at the fault of Mary and the many times her boyfriend spent the night. You loved her, but…jeez.

"Just the joint tonic today, Roland,” you responded sweetly, laying the appropriate amount of money on the counter. A wrinkled smile formed on his face as he prepared everything for you and gave you your change. Within minutes, after some idle chatting about the current political climate, you had your tonic and were out the door. Although, a small, undulating image caught the corner of your eye. 

As you passed back through the door, you glanced at the newspaper stand, on which you could have sworn you saw your name emblazoned on the front page. But, stupidly, you ignored it and continued toward your flat, citing exhaustion as the reason for your obvious misread. In hindsight, you should have just gone back and checked.

Once in the door, you set your things down and change into something a bit more comfortable. You took the appropriate amount of the joint tonic and sighed as the powerful concoction already started to take effect. 

You figured you'd be able to grab some dinner and shop a little before Mary even got back, so you swung right back out the door. 

You flashed back through the Floo Network and ended up in the major part of downtown where most of the pubs and shops were. In all honesty, you could desperately use a few new blouses. The Ministry was bound to sack you if you kept showing up in the same raggedy things.

So, you headed toward one of your favorite clothing stores that managed to be stylish just as well as affordable. No sooner had the bell above the door jangled than you heard your name—first and last, as if they knew you. You jumped in your skin and glanced about, trying to find the source of the voice. Only, nobody in the store seemed to be looking for you—staring wide-eyed and expectant, waiting for your response. In fact, you would have thought the store was completely deserted until you realized everyone was actually gathered around the cashier's counter. 

"Hello?” you called gently. The red-haired cashier who usually haunted the shop on weekends glanced up and gave you a brief nod. Her usually bright expression was nowhere to be found.

"What's going on?” you asked, easing up to the counter. A few other women were joined together, seemingly focused on something. Then, you heard your name again. You gasped lightly and followed the sound of the voice, only to find it was coming from the green, windowsill radio shoved beside the price book.

“...and, in a shocking revelation, police have discovered that those women not only shared the same name, but were murdered in the same order that their names appear in the Owl Post registry…” 

You leaned in to listen better, only to hear the radio say your name yet again. Your lips parted in shock. 

"Can you turn that up?” you gasped. The red-haired cashier nodded grimly and rotated the dusty volume knob. 

"...Aurors are advising any individuals with that name—even if it is spelled or pronounced differently—to please remain vigilant, as Aurors are unsure if there is a connection, yet…”

A disturbing feeling settled its way into your stomach. Threads of unease spidered their way through your mind, and suddenly, comfortable familiarity started to feel like you didn't really know anyone… You took a shuddering inhale.

"Hey, isn't that your name? Or…did I misremember?” the red-haired cashier asked. Your feet were moving backward before you were even aware. Your breaths were only able to come out in short, rapid pants. 

"Are you alright, sweetheart?” an older woman standing with the others asked. It was likely meant to be comforting, but it came off uneasily. You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms.

"Um, I have to go…” Your voice sounded far away as you took off out of the store, trying not to run. The night air was suddenly chilling instead of soothing. The browsing crowd was suddenly dozens of potential predators. You felt silly, but you couldn't help but feel the cold hand of fear grip your stomach.

You took off down the street, shoving your hands in your jacket pocket. You tried to say it was because you were just cold, but it was a subconscious effort to appear smaller.

The streets beneath your feet hardly served as enough of a distraction from the panic in your chest. Maybe you should stop and get some food, take your mind off things until all the pent-up adrenaline died off. 

As you decided to head toward Mary's favorite pub, your shoulder caught a passing man. You gasped and mumbled a quick apology with a polite glance backwards, however you were shocked to find the man had stopped in his tracks to stare straight at you. His dark brows were hardened but his lips were slightly parted as if he were about to speak. 

In a gasp of paranoia, you rushed off the street and into the nearest door. A beat that resembled Muggle music pounded from within the dim building. A woman with an immense amount of facial piercings knocked on the glass that separated her counter from the public.

"Three Galleons to enter, girl!” She chewed at her gum lazily, as if she were bored with your presence. 

"I'm sorry—I was just wondering if there are any Floo Network connections in there?” you stuttered, glancing anxiously behind you at the door. 

"There's one at the very back, but it's still three Galleons to get in,” she responded, crossing her arms.

“Right…,” you trailed off, reaching into your bag to rummage around for some coins. When you finally produced the right amount, you set it on the counter and bolted off into the club, headed right to the back. Music pounded overhead and bodies swayed all around you, forcing your course off until you were partially unaware of where the hell you even were.

Between the flashing lights and the booming music, you might have never found the damned flue if a spark of green flame hadn't appeared southward. Your head snapped toward the great display of light. Someone must have just used it.

You gasped and headed back toward the location of the light. The flue itself was mostly blocked by all of the dancing club-goers, but you could just see its stone body as well as a few smoldering emerald embers.

With a breath of relief, you pushed your way toward its gaping mouth. You were already envisioning your destination—the Ministry. The first thing you were doing was grabbing the nearest Auror and explaining the danger you were sure you were in.

Just as your foot crossed the glittery threshold, a gigantic hand grabbed your arm. You couldn't withhold the scream that echoed from your lips. You turned to find a large bald wizard who wore a t-shirt that was intentionally too small to show off his muscles. 

"Didn't mean to startle you, but this flue is closed for the night,” he shouted over the music.

"What—? What do you mean?” you responded desperately.

"Can't have any drunk witches or wizards clogging up the Network, so this fire closes at nine.” He released your arm but only after pulling you from the fireplace. You threaded your fingers together worriedly.

“I need to get to an Auror, then. I think somebody's after me. Can I at least send a message?” you asked.

“You can try, but I don't know how well the receiver will be able to hear you,” he responded finally, gesturing to the loud environment all around. You nodded.

“Thank you,” you breathed. He handed you a small bit of Floo powder. You tossed it into the fireplace and waited for the small green flame to erupt. The fireplace in your and Mary's flat wasn't big enough to actually travel through, but it was able to send and receive messages.

When the flame blossomed properly, you spoke loudly and enunciated so she'd be able to hear you over the club's noise. Then again, if her boyfriend was there it was likely she wouldn't get this message until morning. You sighed exasperatedly and pleaded with Merlin that that was not the case.

"Mary! Listen, I think I'm in danger. I know that sounds crazy, but if you're home, I need you to come get me. It's downtown near that pub you like. It's some kind of club.” You asked the large bouncer for the name of the club before repeating it to the flames. "Please hurry, Mary!” 

"Listen, if you think you're in trouble, I can try and flag down a patrolling Auror,” the bouncer said. You hadn't noticed in your frenzied panic, but he had very kind eyes.

"You'd do that?” you asked stupidly.

“Sure, as long as you guard the flue for me,” he said. "Besides, it's probably not smart for you to be alone. You can wait right here until your friend gets here, and I find an Auror.”

"Thank you, I really appreciate that.” 

He nodded and took off through the hot, pulsating crowd. And suddenly you felt very targeted in a room full of people. Somehow it felt like there was a spotlight on you. You drummed your fingers nervously on the hearth, feeling small bits of debris scrape beneath your fingertips. Your breath shuddered as it came out. 

And, suddenly, before you were even able to comprehend the proper fear you were feeling, a long, ashen wand was pointed directly at your abdomen. Your eyes trailed upward and caught the owner of the wand who, surprisingly, was not the young man you'd run into outside the club. This was a man in a dark, flowing set of robes that were crusted with some deep substance at the hem. You swallowed thickly as everything seemed to fade to slow-motion.

The top half of his face was covered with an ornate, metal mask that resembled a skull, but his jaw and mouth were exposed. And, devastatingly, it looked as though his lips were forming the first of the Killing curse.

In your final moments, you found that you were more disappointed than scared. Surely, there was more laid out for you than a desk job and an early death.

Perhaps not. You closed your eyes.

But death never came. You heard a shouting voice, and the Killing curse, and the following crack of thunder, but you never felt anything.

Your eyes snapped open in time to see a flash of dark curls and tanned skin and green lightning. Then, an arm like an iron bar snapped across your abdomen. 

“Get down!” the dark curls spoke. He shoved you back against the hearth. The force of the push swept you off your feet. You stumbled and very nearly missed cracking your head open on the ground. A grunt on impact left your lips. Another bolt of green lightning blossomed over you, but this mystery man shielded you against the lip of the flue. The murderous spell missed and crashed into the top of the hearth, sending some crumbles of stone and Floo powder down atop your heads. You yelped at the attack and covered your face.

Then, the man's arm disappeared from your stomach. You opened your eyes to see him springing to his feet, wand aimed and ready.

“Avada Kedavra!” he shouted effortlessly, as if he'd done it tens of thousands of times. Your lips parted in shock because he couldn't be much older than you from what you could tell. You didn't think you'd ever heard it spoken aloud.

His spell shot from the tip of his wand, and, while the masked man was dodging it, the mystery man shoved you to the back of the flue. He then reached his arm around the lip of the hearth and sank his fist into the Floo powder. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and dropped the powder, quickly muttering a location you couldn't make out. 

Within seconds, you were soaring through the Network. Your face was pressed into his clothed shoulder and his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist. No matter what, you could tell he was not going to let go of you, but you didn't know why.

Hell, you didn't even know this guy, but in the moment, picking him seemed preferable to the masked man who clearly wanted you dead.

Why, though? Your name? It didn't make any sense. Your family wasn't anything important. Sure, you'd grown up comfortably with you and your brother perfectly content, but why kill you? You had virtually nothing to do with your family's finances. If that was even the reason he'd wanted you dead. Was it something to do with the Ministry? Why not just kill you there? It was all too much. Your fingers clutched tighter into the man's jacket. 

Finally, the whooshing stopped. Your feet hit solid ground and you shoved yourself away from the stranger. He flinched slightly but never made a move for his wand. You, however, did. 

In an instant, it was raised and pointed directly at him. His hands went up in gentle surrender. Those same dark brows were arched inquisitively as he waited for you to make a move. Your eyes scanned his face, trying to find any familiarity in it but coming up empty.

His eyes were just as dark as his brows but reflected the moon so efficiently they appeared almost silver. His lips were full and complemented by a strong, brown jawline. There was a white scar sliced across the bridge of his nose. And, he was dressed…oddly. He wore a dingy pair of sweatpants with a striped shirt. Over top of it all, he wore an olive trench coat that was too big for him. He looked like some kind of vagabond. You had half a mind to ask him what the hell he was wearing, but there were more pressing matters. Namely, who he was and what the fuck was going on.

"Who are you?” you demanded. A glance around told you he had brought you to some forest, but the trees were too thick and identical for you to tell a location. Hopefully, he hadn't pulled you out of England. Traumatizing event or not, you still had work in the morning.

"My name is Mattheo Riddle, I'm here to protect you from the Death Eater.” He spoke slowly and as if everything made perfect sense. 

“What? What the hell is a Death Eater?” 

He started to shift forward, but you enunciated your hold on your wand to ensure that he wouldn't try anything.

"They're the followers of Lord Voldemort,” he said.  “The man in the mask was one. He was trying to kill you.”

"Yeah, I got that much,” you huffed. “But, why? I'm nobody.” 

"Maybe now, but you will be somebody. May I put my arms down? I'll explain everything to you.” He arched an eyebrow at you. After a few seconds of your indecision, he decided to test the waters and slowly started sliding his hands to the ground. When you didn't protest, he dropped them the rest of the way. He offered a seat on the log to his left.

"Yeah, I'm alright,” you scoffed.

"Please? I'll let you hold my wand,” he pressed. He pulled it from his coat pocket and held it out in offering.

"Expelliarmus!” you spoke immediately. His wand soared from his outstretched palm to your free hand. He raised an eyebrow again, as if to ask if you would join him now.

You turned and chucked his wand as far as you could into the deep, black trees. 

“Hey—! Really?” he sighed.

"You can have it back when you're done explaining what the hell is going on.” Keeping your wand directly pointed at him, you inched closer but did not sit next to him.

"You sure you don't want to sit—?”

"Just tell me what's going on,” you interrupted.

"Okay,” he started. "Your brother is currently involved with an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. They are battling against Lord Voldemort. Are you aware of all of this?”

"Yes,” you lied. You hardly spoke with your brother much anymore. Between your job and his new wife, it was difficult to find time to chat. Of course, you knew of Voldemort, he was a monster. A couple of your coworkers were just voicing their concerns that the ultimate power move for him and his followers would be to attack the Ministry. Still, you didn't see what that had to do with you or when he'd started calling his followers Death Eaters. Perhaps, you just hadn't heard the update yet. As much as a Ministry employee should keep up with those things, you could never find it in yourself to stomach reading the news.

But this information about James and his wife, it was the first you were hearing of it. You'd heard about the Order, but had no idea they'd become involved. You fought a bubble of anger that threatened to rise into your chest. Surely, they wouldn't involve themselves in something that could risk their lives and not tell anyone. Or, maybe, that was exactly why they'd said nothing.

"In the year 1998, his nephew, Harry James Potter, will destroy Lord Voldemort, once and for all,” he said slowly, letting you keep up with every word. “Harry is your son.”

You started to speak, but almost instantly lost your breath. It pushed out of your mouth like a half-gasp, half-whimper. You'd been kidnapped by a fucking lunatic. Your free hand combed through your hair. A humorless laugh shoved its way out of your chest.

"Okay, how do you know all of this? I suppose you're from the future?” you chuckled knowingly, well-aware that this had to be a ridiculous prank and there was no way this guy was going to double-down. 

"Yes, I am.” Oh. 

You chuckled once. "Oh, okay…” You turned and bolted off in the opposite direction. Which is what you should have done the moment you arrived in these woods. 

"Hey! Wait!” he shouted. You could hear the old leaves rustling beneath his feet as he scrambled after you. A shriek left you at the sound of his pursuit. He called your name somewhere behind you. How in the hell did he know your name? How in the hell did he know about James? This must be a joke orchestrated by James, himself. It had to be.

Suddenly, a heavy weight slammed into your back, forcing you to the ground. You grunted, feeling various bits of sticks and foliage bounce their way into your mouth. The man gripped your shoulders and flipped you over. He straddled you, pinning your arms to the earth above you.

"Let go of me, you creep!” you screamed. "Help! Please help!”

He pulled both of your wrists into one of his grips and slapped his free palm across your mouth. You struggled against him, unable to find any purchase against the damp leaves. With no further ideas, you did the one thing you could think of and poked your tongue out to lick his hand. He exclaimed in disgust and adjusted his hand on your face to avoid your wet tongue. In doing so, though, he managed to place the edge of his hand right against your top lip. You moved quickly and chomped your teeth down on his hand.

You clamped down until you tasted red, hot blood on your tongue. Surprisingly, he managed not to yelp but his face still contorted in pain. Finally, he pinched your cheek roughly until your jaws released him. “Don't do that again, please. I'm not crazy and I do feel pain, by the way.” *

He signed and partially slumped over you, panting from his sprint after you. "Now, look!”

He reached beneath his faded shirt and pulled on a golden chain. It slid over the collar until a heavy charm fell into the air. It dangled back and forth, and, in the dark, it took you a moment to decipher what it was. But when your eyes finally focused, you saw it. Glistening in the moonlight, was a Time Turner. You recognized it from the registry in the Ministry. Only a few people were licensed and trusted to carry one. So, either he was trustworthy or he'd stolen it.

"166,440 turns on this damned thing to get me back to you.”

“Ministry-mandated Time Turners are capped at five years,” you argued.

"This one has been altered.”

"Okay, by who?”

"Albus Dumbledore.”

"The Headmaster?”

"Yes—or... he was. He died.”

"Oh, my God... I don't think I should be hearing this. Won’t knowing the future disrupt the future?”

"Yes, but that is what we want to happen. In fact, it's necessary for our survival.” The complete seriousness on his face gave you pause.

“Did you really turn it that many times?” was somehow the only follow-up question you could think to ask.

"Uh, no. He altered it to be able to reach farther back in time, but he also transferred its unit of time to years, instead of hours. But it sounded better, I think.” A stupid grin spread onto his face.

He finally got off of you and pulled you to your feet.

"Sorry," he murmured, tugging a small twig off your shoulder. You shook your head.

“So, are you friends with Harry, or...?” you asked, half-mocking, half-inquisitive.

"No, I would not say Potter and I are friends. But, we are working toward the same goal and we respect each other.” It felt strange asking about your son whom you'd never met.

"Is he a good kid?” you asked.

"I guess,” he chuckled, seemingly amused at your curiosity.

"What, you think I'm not going to ask some questions after everything you just told me?” you asked, crossing your arms. He arched that damn eyebrow again.

"I just think it's interesting that after everything I told you, your one question is if your son is a good kid or not.” You rolled your eyes and suppressed a smile.

"Alright, then tell me more about what the hell led up to a Death Eater being sent back in time to kill me. Why not just kill...Harry?” It was weird talking about your unborn son.

"He did," he said. This time, your brows arched. "Potter came back to life. I'm telling you, he's like the Wizarding World's Messiah.”

"Oh,” you breathed. "No pressure.”

"There is no pressure—you created him naturally. There's nothing about him that didn't come from you.” His dark eyes followed the curve of your face. You looked to the ground.  

“But, in the days following Voldemort's death, his followers didn't react like we thought they would. In fact, they didn't react at all. They slunk back to wherever they all came from and didn't say a word. We thought it was them accepting defeat in some kind of shock, but they had planned for this.”

Somewhere along the way of the conversation, Mattheo had begun walking and, mindlessly, you had started following, desperate for his story. Along the way, you had ended up in some sort of stone overpass that was dry and shielded you from any rain.

Mattheo took a seat and you followed. Your legs shot in front of you, just as his did. Suddenly, you were beside the strange lunatic and waiting to hear his words.

"We didn't know it at the time, but a few months before he died, Voldemort gathered all of his closest followers and told them to destroy all the Time Turners except for one, even the ones that were owned by someone. Only, they killed the owners as well.” You stifled a wince. "The theory was that he didn't want anyone going back in time except himself, in case they tried to involve themselves in his past somehow. But, it's possible he also saved one just in case he lost. Which he did, and one of his followers decided to solve their issue once and for all. He was going to murder that bastard, Harry Potter, before he even existed. He was going to kill his mother so he could never be conceived.”

Dread filled your stomach. You had an innumerable amount of questions. But, you kept coming back to one. "Why didn't Voldemort kill me himself, when he had the opportunity? Why didn't he just come back?”

“I wondered that too,” he murmured. “But, the only thing I could think of was that he didn't see Harry as enough of a threat, until it was too late and Harry had already severely weakened him.” 

"I guess that was stupid, then,” you chuckled awkwardly. In all honesty, your attempts to sound lighthearted and nonchalant were the only things keeping you from breaking down. All of this insane information—that you haven’t even been able to confirm is true—had just about taken its toll on you. But something in you was insisting that he was telling the truth. 

You’d been chased, threatened, and almost murdered today, and you didn’t know how much more you could take. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a lot.”

“No, it's okay, I’m just, it’s just…a lot,” you breathed, agreeing. He nodded, as if he could possibly understand what you were going through. 

“You said that they destroyed all but one of the Time Turners,” you started. “So, how is it that you’re here?” 

“Er, one of our other…peers? Um, she had one. Dumbledore was the one who enhanced it, but it belonged to her.” 

“How did it survive the Death Eaters? I thought you said they destroyed them and killed the owners.” 

“I don’t believe hers was registered.” He hid a smirk. 

“Oh, so you’re saying I shouldn’t go looking for it when things get back to normal?” you smiled. You wanted to laugh, to forget about all of this excitement, but the way Mattheo’s smile fell told you what you didn’t want to know.

He said your name as softly as he could, rough but trying to be comforting. Things wouldn’t be going back to normal. Even if you were still trying to convince yourself this guy was telling the truth, it was clear. Your life would be forever changed.

“Mattheo, I—oh shit!” you exclaimed, eyes widened. He jumped a bit, glancing around for any impending predators, but when he didn’t find any, he looked back to you for an explanation. But he found you staring at his arm. 

You’d just now noticed. His olive jacket was split down the right arm and beneath, deep crimson covered his skin. “You’re hurt.”

He looked down and stared at his bleeding arm like he was unfamiliar with the notion that he wasn’t invincible. “It’s…” 

He trailed off, watching you immediately set to digging through your jacket pocket. You couldn’t remember when you shoved your wand away, but you were surprised at yourself that you had. 

You gently peeled his shredded sleeve upward to his elbow, glancing up to see if you were hurting him. You were shocked to find that he was already watching you. His dark eyes were centered directly on your face, waiting as you prepared to help heal him. 

“Vulnera Sanentur,” you said quietly, letting the energy running through your wand ease its way through to his arm. You found it difficult to pull your eyes away from him, but, finally you did. 

The gash on his arm sealed itself shut with no issue. When it was finished, you sighed. “Um, I don’t have anything for the blood or I’d wipe it off.”

“That’s alright.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

"You want me to sleep after all of this?” you scoffed. “Plus, how do I know you won't attack me?” 

"Well, firstly, you threw my wand somewhere back that way.”

"You don't need a wand to attack me,” you pushed.

"I saved your life once, and just made it clear that you are very important to me and my cause. Why would I hurt you?” 

He made several good points and, though you didn't want to admit it, you were dead-tired. After the events of the evening, you found your eyes drooping despite how hard you were fighting them. If all that he said was true, he would risk anything to keep you alive. That was a comforting thought. You let out a breath, defeated and exhausted.

"Fine,” you sighed, tilting your head back against the side of the drain wall. Before you were even able to register what the stone beneath your skin felt like, you were out.

***

You woke with a start. With residual adrenaline and cold blood icing its way through your veins. The early morning light was seeping through the overpass, highlighting the toes of your dirty shoes. 

Something slid over your cheek, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. Between the stone around you and the frozen outside air, you were struggling to remember where the hell you were.

When the something that caressed your face went to make its second round, your head jumped up. An olive jacket slid off your shoulders and down the length of your arm. You swallowed thickly. Why on earth did that jacket ring such a bell? And why were you outside? 

You began to lean forward away from the object you were lying against, but gasped lightly when it helped ease you up. 

You glanced downward to find a brown hand at your bicep, guiding your body up into a sitting position. The hand pushed you back against the stone wall behind you where his other arm waited. As much as you wanted an explanation for who this stranger was, you couldn’t deny that you felt perfectly safe between his arm and jacket. This stranger who’d saved you from fate. 

Your memory was beginning to return. 

“Did you sleep all right?” he murmured gently. You hadn’t turned completely around but recognized his voice at your ear. His soft breath caressed the crook of your neck. 

“Define ‘all right?’” You groaned, wishing you had packed the rest of your joint tonic in your bag. Which—

You looked down. Fuck. You must have lost your bag in the skirmish at the club. You sighed and tilted your head back until it bounced against the wall. A groan left you at the slight pain. You could feel his arm still behind you, subconsciously protecting you. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“I must have lost my bag at the club,” you replied, your eyes sliding shut. “That had all my money, my identification…”

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” he nodded, so sure of himself. 

“Figure out what? What’s the plan?” you scoffed, leaning your head back up and finally catching his eyes. “Just run forever?”

“We’re going to get you out of England for starters,” he said. So you were still in the country. “I can’t let you die, no matter what. For the sake of all our futures, especially your son’s.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know who the father is?” * You chuckled a bit. “Give me a couple of hints? Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Harry never said much about him,” Mattheo shook his head. “All he said was that he’d died before the war—” *

“Wait,” you interrupted him. “Uh, on second thought, I don’t want to know. Might give away too much, you know? I could be too focused on looking for the wrong guy.” 

He stopped speaking and nodded. You had an overwhelming desire to know more about Harry, as well. But, in the same vein, you were concerned knowing him before you even knew him would fuck with fate. People weren’t supposed to know the future, that was the whole point. 

After a few heavy moments of silence, Mattheo sighed and got to his feet. He stuck his hand out expectantly.

In some ways, even though he was just offering to help you to your feet, you felt as if this was the final decision on whether you would trust him or not. If you stayed seated, you could linger here and chalk all of last night up to crazy coincidence and escaped mental facility patients. If you took his hand, that meant you would follow him. That you believed him. 

You took his hand. He pulled you to your feet, your entangled fists pressing between your chests. 

You tucked his jacket over your arm and held it out to him. 

“Thanks,” he said, lifting it around his head and slipping it on. You pointedly ignored the way the cut-off sleeves of his t-shirt highlighted every curve of his golden muscles.

The ground was suddenly extremely interesting. 

“We need to get moving,” he said, glancing warily around the forest. Now that the sun was shining past each tree, you could make out a clearer image of your environment. 

“Where will we go?” you asked.

“For now, we’ll get as far as we can before stopping for the night,” he responded. “If that Death Eater is half as smart as he thinks he is, he’ll have employed a Snatcher to hunt you down by now.”

A shudder passed through your body. “What’s a Snatcher?” The word made you physically recoil.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled. “I guess you don’t have them yet. Snatchers come later. They’re actually employed by the Ministry.”

“What?” you scoffed, scalded by the thought.

“They’re just bounty hunters, nothing special, really,” he explained. “But they’re a hell of some good trackers. There may not be Snatchers yet, but their predecessors are all around if you know where to look.” 

The thought of anyone tracking you down made you feel sick. Mattheo being here made you feel a bit more comfortable, but you still weren’t completely sure who he was. It was hard to convince yourself to trust someone you’d known for years, let alone for a single day.

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

“Are you certified to Apparate?” you asked nervously, chewing at your bottom lip. 

“Never quite got around to it,” he smirked, cocking his head to the side amusedly. He turned to his left and whispered a sharp Summoning charm.

His wand that you'd tossed blindly last night flew into his hand. You wanted to thank him for leaving it there while you slept. Whether or not it was his intention, he'd set you at a lot of ease. Before you were able to say anything, he grabbed your hand and you were off. 

As uncomfortable as using the Floo Network was to you, Apparition was twice that. That was why you rarely did it. You got your certification when you graduated just to have it, then you pretty much never did it again. This was likely the first time you’d done it since graduation a year ago. 

You made a point to ask how old Mattheo actually was because it was obvious he’d been somewhat trained in the act, but his lack of licensure made you wonder if he wasn't old enough to learn, or was old enough and had taught himself illegally. 

Either way, it didn’t seem like Mattheo Riddle was a typical rule-follower.  

When you landed on solid ground again, the two of you stumbled for a moment as you’d stopped on a bit of a hill. 

There was a grassy slide that made its way a few feet down into a little town. Nothing looked particularly familiar, and you couldn’t find a nameplate. You had no idea where he’d taken you. 

“Where are we?” you asked over the light breeze slipping through your hair and clothes. He clenched his jaw and looked toward you with a grim expression. If you didn't know any better, you'd have guessed that this place meant something to him. He seemed lost in thought.

"Mattheo?” His eyes flickered as if he'd come back into his body. 

"This town is nothing special, but in nineteen years, it'll be razed to the ground.” He looked back at the grass. The breeze lifted a dark curl off his forehead. Though it was a minute change, it altered so much. In an instant, he was years younger. Fractured innocence echoed in his eyes, much like the silver from the moonlight last night. "It was the first time I'd seen a Muggle murdered.”

"That's awful," you whispered, hand hesitating in open space, trying to decide if you should comfort him. What would laying a hand on his shoulder even accomplish? What would doing it for anyone do? It was hard to make sense of any human traits. But, you were sure that any comfort was better than nothing. You decided better of it but you figured it was the thought that counted. You dropped your hand.

His eyes caught the motion and he turned back to you with an expression like he'd forgotten you were even there. Like you were intruding in a dream, or a nightmare.

"This is the farthest away I could properly envision,” he explained. "This puts enough distance between the Death Eater and us to buy some time.”

"Time for what?”

“Time for me to study up on our next destination,” he forced a smile. It didn't reach his eyes, though. 

Apparition was always a difficult journey, but it was especially so if you had no idea where the hell you were going. When you’d first learned, the professor had made the class envision the Great Hall as their first assignment. You had done relatively well but had only barely avoided throwing up. Even now, it made your stomach churn.

But one of the final assignments was choosing a location in Scotland you'd never been to before. You had two days to study the details of the place, before having to expertly Apparate with no complications. That was the final assignment before licensure. You had passed basically, but it was nothing special. You were honestly surprised you hadn't ended up in some random lake. 

So, if Mattheo were to just study up on your next destination, without ever having been there, while being so confident in his abilities… You couldn't help but believe in him.

"We'll get you some food,” he said, starting down the grassy hill. You followed wordlessly. “I'll get some local information and some maps. It'll be even easier if they have a library or some archives. I'll study up on one of the farthest edges of the maps I can, and see if I'm able to pinpoint a cheap hotel so we can rest.”

"Okay, that sounds—” Your voice was cut off as your heels slipped in the mud. A soft yelp left you as you began to slide down. But, before your ass could smack the damp earth, Mattheo's arm snatched the curve of your waist. He righted your footing with a half-concealed gasp. As frightened as you were, it seemed as though he was twice as such. You were fearing for your life and had been for the last day, but the care with which Mattheo ensured that you were kept safe only furthered your belief in his story of the future. In fact, you were pretty sure someone would have to convince you it wasn't true now. 

"Careful," he breathed, eyes widened in concern.

Wouldn't that be the day? Mattheo is sent back from the future to keep you safe from Death Eaters and bounty hunters, but you end up killing yourself slipping down a hill.

"Sorry,” you whispered, unable to make your voice any louder. Though he'd already stabilized you, his arm still rested around your waist, and his other hand was locked around your arm. Your faces were so close, you could feel his breath mixing with the breeze and fanning over your face. His eyes scanned your face just as they always did, so slowly it bordered on intimate. You swallowed.

"Just...be more careful," he murmured, finally releasing his hold on you. He turned back to the hill and continued his walk down. 

After the rest of a silent trek into the small valley, you finally realized that it was a Muggle town. There was no magic and no discretion, and, hopefully, no threat. Mattheo must have figured this would be a good place to hide for exactly that reason. Despite this being nineteen years before his time, he seemed to know exactly what to do. Even more so than you did, and this was your time.

He led you into a quiet, shadowed pub where the locals couldn't help but stare. He sat you down in a dark corner with his jacket. Despite the crackling fire in the corner, the chill was threatening to cut to your core.

When you didn't immediately slip then garment on, Mattheo paused in his journey to the counter and turned back to you. He came forward and slipped the oversized thing around your shoulders.

"I'm not that cold," you lied. He smirked just the slightest bit, before leaning in and whispering close to your cheek. 

"Liar.”

You shivered, though his jacket was blocking out most of the cold now. "Now, stay.”

He backed away and approached the counter where a squat woman held it down. Whilst glancing back at you every few minutes, you watched as he ordered you a meal. You didn't know how he was paying, but you figured you didn't want to know.

When he returned, he had a small sandwich with chips on a tray. He also had some water and tea for both of you.

"What are you going to eat?” you asked. He smiled as if you'd just asked the dumbest question on earth. After setting the tray down, he returned to the counter for a second and grabbed something you couldn't quite see. 

When he came back over, he held a large, folded map in his left fist. "Good news," he said, waving the paper before you. "This is the biggest map they offer. It goes all the way to Ireland.”

Even though you knew you had to get away, the thought of being so far from home made you nervous. At least at home you had some ideas on where to hide. In a country you'd never been to before… You didn't want to think about it. 

"Is that our destination?” you asked. He glanced up from the map.

"I'm not sure yet, I have to make a plan—Eat,” his eyes flickered down to your plate, urging you on. You took in a shuddering inhale. Though your stomach was roiling after the excitement and adrenaline of the last 24 hours, you couldn't deny that you were fucking starving. You contained the voracious push to stuff your face and took a small bite of the sandwich with trembling hands.

The two of you lingered around the pub, holding your little table until it started to darken outside the small, cottage windows. Though he was mostly focused on his maps, he did permit you to go to the bathroom on your own (surprisingly). You chatted idly about the future in a relatively vague way, with you asking broad questions and stopping him when he started to include too much detail. You were frightened that you would learn something you didn't want to know. Besides those few discrepancies, you were disappointed to report that he did not allow you to do anything else. For your safety, of course, but still… After being almost murdered, you didn't think it would be possible to ever feel bored again.

When the clock at the desk chimed seven times, Mattheo declared he was comfortable enough to Apparate to your new location—which, he'd decided, was going to be just over the border of Ireland, near Belfast. It was a good idea to get even further out of the country, but you still couldn't break that feeling from earlier. And, while you were waiting with him in the pub, the feeling had only intensified. You couldn't help but think that Mattheo's commitment would be all for nothing; you could feel Death's fingers caressing your cheek, just as it had when Mattheo first saved you.

"When will we be leaving?” you asked, fingers drumming anxiously against the lacquered table.

"As soon as I pay for our meal," he replied, smiling cockily—though that was what most of his smiles looked like. He slid out of the booth and made his way back to the counter, which was now being manned by a tall bald man. He pulled coins from his pants pocket, though you had no idea where he’d gotten Muggle money from.

When the clock's hands read 7:15, the bell over the door jangled. Curiously, your head turned toward the entrance. This pub couldn't be the most popular place in town, as there had only been a handful of customers in the whole day. Then again, the town wasn't that big to begin with.

Mattheo was busy at the counter. Your eyes found the new customer, but your stomach sank the moment you made eye contact with them.

It was the Death Eater. That mask was recognizable through all. It would haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

As you were standing to get Mattheo's attention, he was turning to head back to the table. His eyes caught the Death Eater as you had. Panic coursed through your veins. His face fell for only a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

You didn't know now he was going to get over to you fast enough without using magic. Surely, the Death Eater wouldn't risk the Wizarding World by using magic in a Muggle town. For all they knew, he was just some weirdo wearing a mask. His hand raised to point his wand. Shit, maybe you were wrong.

Despite it all, Mattheo didn't care. In an instant, he Disapparated. The restaurant employee blinked in immediate disbelief. The Death Eater hesitated. And in those few milliseconds, you feared that he'd left without you, pegging you not worth the risk. But you shouldn't have trusted that fear, because he appeared to your direct left and grabbed you.

The Death Eater growled out an inaudible spell just as Mattheo wrapped you in a tight embrace and sent you both into the ether. 

Wind flashed around, whistling noisily in your ears. The frigid air stung the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. Though this was an even longer journey than the one to the town, you found that your stomach didn't feel as sick this time. Maybe all you needed to push you to practice Apparition was the threat of death.

When you landed again, for the third time, it was in a calf-deep hole of water. You gasped aloud at the sudden freezing temperature and struggled not to tumble forward and submerge the rest of your body. 

Mattheo landed secondly, some technicality of Apparition delaying his arrival. He went through the same motions as you, gasping and stumbling, but he recovered much quicker. In a second, he was glancing around and shouting your name.

You were only a few feet from him, but the dark and swampiness of the ground made it hard to see very well.

“Here!” you called, pushing through the mist. 

He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness all around. Once he was able to see a bit better, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your arm. 

“Where are we?” you groaned, mud flecking up your thighs with each awkward step. 

“I don’t know,” he responded grimly. “There’s a possibility I could have fucked this up, but, there should be a small town at the base of a valley nearby. If we’re lucky, there’ll be a hotel.”

You nodded and, leaning on each other, you both waded through the miniature marsh before crawling up the messy embankment. Your clothes and shoes were ruined, and Mattheo wasn’t in much better shape, though his clothes were already in poor condition. 

There was a rolling hill just ahead of the marsh that seemed to cut off at the edge of the world, making way to nothing but vast sky, but when you reached the peak you found the truth. Which was, again, that Mattheo was completely right and still to be trusted. There was a small town—even smaller than the one before. In fact, you wouldn’t even call it a “town,” it was more like a couple of buildings dotted along a thin road. Still, you couldn’t complain, because one of those buildings displayed a sign that read ‘Vacancy’ in neon letters. 

“Thank Merlin,” you gasped, pointing to the tiny hotel. Mattheo followed your finger to the sign. A breathless laugh left him with a relieved smile. It was shocking to see that he’d doubted himself, but it was clear that this had only strengthened his confidence in his ability to Apparate so expertly. Which, you couldn’t deny it, he was talented. It had taken you several days of studying a new location to be able to pass your final project; he had done the same in a couple of hours. 

The two of you made your way down the street and to the front window of the hotel. Behind a sheet of glass sat an older man browsing through a newspaper. Mattheo knocked on the glass.

The man glanced up as if you were inconveniencing him. “Can I help you?” His voice was incredibly nasally and incredibly bored. 

“A room…for two,” you said, not waiting on Mattheo. If you weren’t able to get a shower and lie in a bed in the next thirty minutes, you were going to scream. 

“Will that be two beds or one?” the man droned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Mattheo did not miss the way his wrinkled eyes flickered down briefly over your body. 

“Whatever’s available the fastest,” he said, nonchalantly pushing you behind him. His jaw clenched tightly. 

The man sneered and reached behind him. A wall of keys arranged on hooks in a corkboard glistened beneath the neon and flickering fluorescents. He snatched one up and passed it through the small window. Mattheo handed him a few coins—again, you had no idea where he’d gotten these. You noted that they were Galleons this time, instead of the Muggle money he used at the pub. You chalked it up to him having some kind of spell placed on his pockets, one that made them endless but inconspicuous.

Mattheo grabbed the key quickly and slipped his hand into yours. He tugged you along, down the breezeway connecting the two main sections of the hotel. Exhaustion was settling in your bones.

He stopped at room 14. The key stuck in the lock for a moment, but nothing that a little jiggling and a whispered “Alohomora,” didn’t fix. As rundown as this place was, you’d still expect them to have some kind of preventative locking measures on their doors. Anyone could find their way into these rooms. 

Once inside, he shut the door and bolted every lock it had. You sighed heavily, tugging your shoes off instantly. Without saying another word, you disappeared into the tiny add-on bathroom and peeled your disgusting clothes off your body. 

The water pressure was insubstantial, at best, but at least it was warm. Using the little complimentary soaps and shampoos, you washed off all of the dirt and adrenaline of the past day and a half. Despite the setting and situation, you think it was the most satisfying shower you’d had in a long time.

You towel-dried your body before slipping on one of the robes that were provided. Surprisingly, this place was not stingy with the commodities. They weren’t great quality, but still. 

“You can go,” you whispered after slipping out of the bathroom. Mattheo was sitting in the chair in the corner, seemingly lost in thought. He glanced up at your arrival, eyes flickering downward once. However, it didn’t feel so exploitative as when the man at the front desk had done it. This felt more like he was ensuring you weren’t wounded in a way. 

He nodded but didn’t speak. And, after a few moments, he was out of the shower as well. He stepped out with a towel secured over his shoulders, his bare abdomen dripping with steam and droplets of water. He’d put his pants back on.  You gulped, eyes fluttering away and busying themselves on the small list of local restaurants taped to the wall. 

“I guess they don’t have any house elves here?” he joked lightly, holding onto his pile of remaining dirty clothes. 

“Probably not,” you responded, smiling slightly. You didn’t want to think about putting those clothes back on, all you wanted was to appreciate feeling clean as long as you could. 

He tossed the clothes and towel into a pile on the chair in the corner, before collapsing onto the bed. The old, rusted springs squeaked beneath his weight. You had been lingering by the window but not quite looking past the curtains since he’d gone into the shower. 

There was only one bed, and you’d been trying to ignore that fact since the moment you set foot in the room. You’d been promised a bed this evening, but sharing it with Mattheo would be awkward at best. 

When you turned back around, his eyes were already on you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms braced against his knees. Your lips parted slightly, waiting for him to speak. 

“I was eleven years old when I first met Harry Potter,” he said softly. “Everyone was obsessed with the notion of this boy who’d defeated the Dark Lord once already. They were certain he’d do it again if Voldemort ever came back. And they had been right, but something I think everyone failed to see was that he wasn’t a god. They described him as this great protector, invincible and powerful. I think I felt so plainly about him because I could see that he was just a boy, like I was. He was so clearly nothing special, and everyone refused to see that.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Any information you learned about your unborn son was borderline panic-inducing. 

“In second year, he pulled me aside and spoke to me. This was the first time we’d ever had a proper conversation. He gave me this picture.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded Polaroid. Its corners were slightly bent and some debris was stained across the back, but overall it seemed to be in pretty good shape.

You stepped forward and examined the picture in his hand.

It was you. A soft gasp escaped your lips.

He handed it to you. You’d never seen the picture before. It looked to be recently taken with your hair so similar to how you currently wore it, and your face looking nearly identical to how it did now. Though, your clothes were unfamiliar. You couldn’t fathom how it was that this image existed.

“Why would he give you a photo of me?” you asked, fingers tracing the edge of the picture. Mattheo held his hand out and you handed it back to him. He stared at it for a few moments more. A single finger rose to the surface and eased over your face. 

“He didn’t tell me,” he shrugged. “He just told me to keep it. Only after a while did I find out it was his mother.” 

You were in disbelief. Did Harry somehow know that Mattheo would be the one to come back and protect you? You didn’t understand. 

“Did he know you’d be the one to come back?” 

“I don’t think he did in second year,” he said. “But, when the discussion started that someone needed to go back and protect you, he was quick to deny everyone’s offers.” His hands fidgeted with the image, staring off blankly as he relived the moment in his mind. 

“He pulled me aside just like he had when we were twelve and asked me to come back. He told me there’d be no chance for me to return, that I’d live the rest of my life in your time if I’d succeeded. I’d be nearing my forties once I’d finally returned to 1998. There was nothing in it for me. In fact, it’d uproot my entire life. But, by the time he’d asked me, I’d had your picture for seven years and…I’d already fallen in love with you.”

He finally looked up to you where you stood, frozen as you listened. Your lips were shuddering as they pressed against your fingers. The words that were coming out of his mouth seemed to be taking twice as long as usual to register. Nothing of what he was saying made sense. He didn’t know you. He’d never even met you. 

“I kept feeling like I should have been angry that he almost groomed me into this fate, that he’d somehow known I’d be the one to come back for you,” he sighed. “But I wasn’t. All I felt was completion. That I’d be the one to protect you, to meet you. I used to sit with that picture, inexplicably given to me, and wonder what you were thinking. You were young, like you are now.* And, I couldn’t pass up on keeping you safe. I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

You collapsed into the chair behind you, unable to keep on your feet any longer. Every ounce of information that you were taking in was a gallon of something you weren’t supposed to know. The future wasn’t meant to be known, you knew this. So, why did it mean so much that he was here and telling you this?

“I came across time for you*,” he said, voice soft but confident. “Harry wanted to save our world, but I wanted to save you.”

Your lips trembled. Tears that you hadn’t realized were pooling slipped down your cheeks. 

Suddenly, he sighed and clenched his jaw. He seemed angry. He stood and pushed a hand through his damp hair. He approached his pile of laundry and angrily began separating his clothes from his towel.

Worried, you stood and crossed over to him. He was scowling at the clothing, seemingly wanting to pick it apart thread by thread. 

“Mattheo?” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t have said that, it—that was…,” he trailed off, huffing through his nose. His eyes clenched and his face angled away from yours, as if unable to maintain eye contact.

Before you could convince yourself not to touch him as you had in the Muggle town, you reached forward and hesitantly placed a hand on his cheek. Its scars and new stubble echoed like webs over your fingers.

With a shuddering breath, you tilted his face back toward yours. Once he realized that you weren’t averse to seeing him, his eyes eased open. Their reflected silver gleamed beneath the blue light let in by the window. 

He didn’t speak, but neither did you. Your tears still found their way down your face at a leisurely pace, only slowing to cut the curve of your cheek.

His hand raised slowly, as if he were afraid you would disintegrate like your image on his photo. His hand gently cupped your cheek, his fingers no more than a whisper, as he wiped a tear away with his calloused thumb. 

Impetuously, you pressed your lips to his. He did not immediately react, only froze at the touch of your skin. 

Concerned that you’d crossed a line, you pulled away, mourning the loss of your lips on his. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer, one you certainly did not have. You did not know why you’d kissed him, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. 

His lips parted and you assumed it was to tell you that he didn’t want you, but all of your doubts washed away when he returned the favor. Only, his mouth moved this time, hungry and wanting. 

His other hand mirrored his left’s position on your face, tugging you closer. He puffed out a breath through his nose, pushing you back against the wall behind you. His body entrapped you, pressing against you until you worried you were going to meld into the wall. 

Your fingers clutched desperately at his naked shoulders, searching for some kind of control or purchase, but finding none. He led the way through this moment, only stopping to look at you for consent. When you breathlessly nodded your head, he eased you backward onto the bed. 

The room was a symphony of gasping breaths and the squeaking springs as he crawled his body over yours. 

His lips separated from yours to press to your neck. Small marks were nipped into the flesh there, igniting fiery desire within your stomach. Your fingers entangled in his damp curls. His nose traced up the length of your jawline, stopping where it coalesced with your chin.

In a breath, he grasped onto your shoulders and rolled the two of you over. You now hovered over him with your legs straddling his waist. His fingers wrapped around your hips, his thumbs edging their way beneath the split of your robe. 

You sighed aloud, your eyes sliding shut at the feeling of his fingers on your skin. When you didn’t protest, his hands eased the tie on your robe apart, letting the thin material slide apart. 

The cool air cascaded down your skin, your body reacting instantly. His hands traced a line up your abdomen, before easing over the swell of your breasts. He cupped them gently, massaging the soft flesh. You exhaled jaggedly, pressing your mouth back to his. 

His tongue slid across the expanse of your bottom lip, tracing familiarity along your mouth. Though he was entirely new to you, his body felt safe, as if you’d touched it for years. 

At some point, between exchanged kisses and comfortable touching, the remainder of your clothes had been abandoned somewhere on the dirty floor. 

He’d coaxed you open with a circling thumb and an open mouth at your neck. Though the stretch was more than you’d felt before, it didn’t take long for him to sink completely into you. Your lips fell open in a soundless moan, the cold air touching the tip of your tongue. His hips rolled into you, caressing an especially sensitive place within your core. His mouth covered yours, breathing heat into you. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips unable to completely pull away from yours as if you were oxygen. Your breath hitched against his mouth at the words as they punctuated the coming of your finish. 

Your hips jerked as waves of pleasure coursed down your body. The cold air and threat of death were forgotten in the wake of Mattheo’s body touching yours. You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than desire for this man. 

Soon after, he finished as well. His spend filled you from the deepest point inside. You bit down on the curve of his shoulder as he groaned against your skin, working himself to his end. 

Once he’d come down, he collapsed back with you still atop him. You rested sleepily against his chest, feeling the way his body rose with each breath. His heart beat steadily against your ear. 

Wincing slightly, you removed him from within you and slid down to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, fingers lightly trailing up and down your bicep. He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head. 

In the silence that ensued, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was regretting his decision. If, perhaps, you weren’t worth it all as he’d imagined you’d be. He’d given up part of his life for you—his friends, his future. And you were just…you. There was nothing special about you, and everything that became special was thanks to your son.

You were only important and worthy of saving because of the child you hadn’t even had yet, and Mattheo had come back in time to protect you and that child. 

“Mattheo?” you whispered, lips pressed against his naked chest. 

“Yeah?” he responded softly. His fingers against your skin halted for a moment. He seemed to be bracing for something.

“Was I—was it all worth it?” you breathed, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. Maybe it was selfish to worry about how good in bed you were when the fate of the world was at hand, but you were only human after all. 

He pulled away and looked down at you. “Again and again,” he said. His fingers slid strands of hair behind your ear. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, still cupping your jaw. 

***

When you woke, you were sure the two of you lingered in bed for much too long. That Death Eater was still out there looking for you, yet neither of you could find it in you to slip out from beneath the covers. 

His scent was enveloped in your hair and skin, as was yours in his. His fingers traced down your back, drawing figures and portraits and names. 

Nobody wanted to say what was on their minds. That Harry, your son, may have known something that no one else had been privy to. 

When you finally did rise and dress, it was nearly dark again, and Mattheo warned you about what you might find out there. Between the picturesque hills and little creeks, there would be plenty of fear and pain. 

It was clear that this Death Eater would do anything to destroy you. Mattheo would do anything to protect you. You were caught between a rock and a hard place, each determined to swallow you whole. 

“What’s the plan from here?” you asked. He slid an arm around your now clothed body and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“For now, we’ll play it by ear. We just have to keep you safe until…” he trailed off. You nodded.

Then he took your hand and you slipped out of the hotel room into the evening air. The breeze swirled through your hair, providing it with just enough air for it to lift upward.

A sound like a deep inhale caught your attention. You turned to your left and yelped when you realized the Death Eater was feet from you. Mattheo’s eyes followed yours, his hackles raising and hand tightening in yours. 

“You know, I’ve become very familiar with your scent over the last few days,” he said, pointing a dirty finger at you. Mattheo eased you behind him. “But, I was surprised to find yours. You smell like my time, like destruction and blood.”

“Just leave us alone,” Mattheo spat. “You all lost, it’s not fixable from here.” 

“Oh, I think it is,” he smirked. “All I need is her head. I bring that pretty thing back to our time and I’ll be hailed a saint, and we’ll have never lost.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to give her life up for your promotion,” Mattheo responded. The Death Eater smirked, yellowed teeth glistening in the fading light. The silver embellishments in his mask winked beneath the neon sign, giving the whole apparatus a nightmarish, red glow. 

Your wand slipped from where you shoved it beneath your sleeve. The handle caught in your hand, thrumming with energy. 

“If you let us go now, I won’t kill you,” Mattheo lied, grasping at your hand that he still held. You knew he would never let this monster live, but needed a bargaining chip. “You can walk away and live a normal life, you won’t be a slave to Voldemort anymore.” 

“Don't say his name, boy,” he growled. “You’re not worthy of the syllables on your tongue.” 

“Alright, I think we’re done here,” Mattheo said. “Walk away now if you want to live.” 

“Fuck you,” the man snarled, curling his fingers tighter around his wand. Mattheo’s eyes caught the movement, bracing to send you and him into the air. He needed to have a new place to go, but he hadn’t been able to study up anywhere he wasn’t already familiar with. The two of you had spent your time together, wasting the hours, but neither of you had expected to be stopped immediately. You thought you’d at least have another day until the Death Eater caught your scent. 

The world suddenly took in a breath, as the three of you waited for someone to strike first. Energy filled the air, crackling and taut as the confrontation edged toward its climax. 

When the man flicked his wand upward, you lashed out with a sharp “Stupefy!” The adrenaline that had boiled beneath the surface of your skin had made you jumpy like a new foal. You couldn’t contain it. Mattheo turned and tackled you as the man was forced backward and into the cracked road. 

He sent both of you swirling through the air and across the sky. You weren’t sure where his destination was but you were certain that anywhere was better than that hotel. 

But the Death Eater recovered quickly and shot out after you, you could feel his Disapparition trail tailing yours. Somehow, he had locked himself onto both of you and was following you. You tried to kick him off but the process of traveling had almost melded him to your legs. 

You screamed in frustration but the sound echoed back in a swirl of altered sound. 

The trail to where Mattheo had intended to go was completely disrupted, and before you were able to grab your bearings, you were falling from the sky, head over heels. You yelped and tried to find your wand, but the force of your continued fall was too much. 

You didn’t know where you were or where Mattheo was, or even the Death Eater, but you knew you were too high to hit the ground unscathed.

“Arresto Momentum!” you shrieked to the roaring wind. And, as if you’d landed in a spider web, your descent stopped instantly, just inches from the ground. Then, you dropped. You grunted on impact, thick mud kicking up across your body.

Mattheo crashed just seconds after you did, the wet ground coating his body as well. You groaned in disgust, trying to pull yourself up from the ground. The sticky mud was almost viscous, trying its hardest to pin you to the ground. It felt as though you were caught in a Muggle insect trap.

Mattheo called your name, trying to wade through the thick mud that reached his ankles. You clawed after him, searching the sky for the Death Eater.

“Now…!”

You yelped at the shout. Mattheo reached you and pulled you against his body. The Death Eater was standing close with mud coating his clothing as well. His mask had been lost to the ground somewhere, but enough dirt had caked itself onto his face that it was still nearly impossible to identify him.

He shot the Killing curse instantly, not allowing any more time for speaking. Mattheo shoved you down and fell atop you, avoiding the flash of green light by an inch.

Hovering over your body, Mattheo shot it right back to the Death Eater, who dodged it by diving behind a nearby boulder. All around you, you were now realizing, were immense rocky formations cut into the grassy hills. Mattheo tugged you away from the mud and forced you behind one of them as quickly as he could.

“Can’t we just Disapparate?” you asked breathlessly.

“No,” he sighed, peeking around the edge of the boulder. “When we cast off from the hotel, I fired the Anti-Disapparition jinx at him, but he Disapparated from the ground and shielded the jinx. In the middle of all the heat, it must have been sucked into our trail. I can’t Disapparate.”

The revelation shocked you to your core. For the meantime, you were stuck here, facing off against the man.

Distantly, you heard him fire a spell toward you. It cracked against the boulder you hid behind, sending some debris flying through the air. You both shielded your faces, but a small bit of shrapnel cut across your cheek.

Mattheo peered around the barrier before firing another spell back. When he pulled back around, you quickly replaced him and shot a spell in the same direction. The Death Eater hadn’t recovered yet and was still hiding, though your spell hit its mark well and a large chunk of damage was wrought upon the rocks.

“Can he still Disapparate?” you asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know. Let’s hope not,” he responded grimly, tucking his wand against his chest.

Moments went by, but the man did not fire a counter-spell. You were beginning to wonder if one of your spells had hit him, or perhaps one of the crumbles of stone had knocked him out.

“How do we counter-jinx the—?” You’d spoken too soon. An echoing crack cut across the night sky. The Death Eater appeared behind you. Before you were able to react, he pointed his wand at Mattheo and shouted, “Crucio!”

Mattheo yelped, doubling over in pain. The man shouted the same curse. He dropped to the ground and convulsed against the radiating pain.

“No!” you shrieked, falling beside him. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth pressed together so hard you thought they’d crack. He groaned aloud.

“Please!” you cried. Your hands tried to ease Mattheo flat, so he didn’t crack his head on the rocky earth, but the pain was too much.

“Crucio!” The man snarled again.

“No!” Mattheo’s back arched. His eyes opened for a split second in white-hot agony, his hands gripping aimlessly at the ground, at your shirt.

Your eyes darted frantically, trying to locate your wand that had been swallowed up by the ground somewhere. “Please stop!”

Your wandless magic was shaky at best. You were surprised you’d even been able to stop the two of you from hitting the ground earlier. But, you couldn’t let him suffer.

You threw a Stunning spell at the Death Eater. Without your wand, it wasn’t as strong, but he still fell back on his ass into the mud.

The Cruciatus curse’s hold on Mattheo dropped, but his body still twitched in aftershocks of pain. You placed your hands on his face, begging for him to focus. His eyes rolled lazily, his mind in and out of consciousness. “Please, Mattheo, wake up…we have to go.”

The Death Eater began to get back up. “Petrificus Totalus!” you shouted. Though, without your wand, it hardly seemed to affect him at all. You cried out, clutching at Mattheo’s clothes.

You tried the Stunning spell again, though he deflected it this time. The man stalked toward you, his dirty face glistening with anger. You tugged at Mattheo, trying to pull him away, but, without your wand and without him being fully conscious, it was useless.

“I am going to make you wish you were dead for months, before I finally kill you,” he growled, snarling with his yellowed teeth.

“Please,” you cried, tears soaking your cheeks and hair. You clutched at Mattheo’s clothes, begging him to wake. You didn’t know the counter-jinx to Anti-Disapparition, you couldn’t find your wand, and Mattheo was completely out of it. You didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to do.

“Avada Kedavra! Crucio! Stupefy!” you shouted any spell that came to mind, though in your panicked state and lack of a wand, you were unable to focus enough to produce anything. The Death Eater smirked.

“It’s over, Potter,” he snarled. “You’re mine, and he’s fucking dead. That brat of yours will never be born, and I’ll never know defeat again, you fucking cunt.”

Mattheo’s hand unsteadily rose to your torso. His fingers gripped at your muddy shirt, weakly tugging at the fabric. The Death Eater’s wand rose, murder waiting to be seen.

“I’m going to enjoy every second of your agony,” he whispered.

Mattheo whispered your name through jagged, cracked lips. You looked down at him in your final moments, wondering what time could have remained between the two of you had this not been your situation.

“My…,” his voice crackled off. You leaned over his body, from where his head rested in your lap.

“What is it?” you whispered.

“My wand,” he groaned, before falling out of consciousness again. You gasped lightly, eyes flickering upward but head remaining down. His wand was settled beneath his left arm, half-submerged in the mud. You figured his had been lost to the elements as well when he'd been tortured.

Moving as quickly as you could, you grabbed the muddy wand and raised it to the Death Eater. The Killing curse poured from your lips easier than you ever could have imagined it would.

Your sudden movements forced the words out of his mouth quicker than they were already coming. Your spell hit its mark, enveloping his body in a flash of green light that tossed him limply a couple of yards away.

The curse that had ripped from your throat had not hit him before his curse was spoken to the air. As if in slow motion, his trail of green death curved its way toward you, reaching you for you like a hand ready to strangle.

That green was all you could see. It completely blocked out the moon and the evening light, Mattheo’s curls and his limp body. It was blinding and circular like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

Though, again, just like when he’d first saved you, the light did not reach you. Death did not claim you. Instead, the last thing you saw was Mattheo’s curls blocking your view of the curse.

You could not find the voice to protest his actions. The curse hit him with a force like a knife, cutting across his body and severing his soul in half. A gasp like he’d surfaced water echoed like a gong.

You cried out, letting his body fall back into your arms. Your hand cradled his face, watching as his last movements were marked by his love for you. His eyes flickered down your face.

“I love—” And he was gone. Quiet, like the ebbing of the tide. Only a hushed exhale, and that was the end of it.

“No, no, no,” you panicked, hands gripping his jacket and shaking at his face. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to live, to reunite with his time only older. You panted, tears streaming. Your lungs fought with the force of your breath, bordering on hyperventilation. You wheezed with every other exhale.

You pulled him against you, crying over his dull body. His warmth still circulated to every extremity, but you knew that that would not last. Your fingers curled into his, desperate to feel that calloused skin one last time.

You lay with him for hours, until the night sky transitioned to day. The air was frigid and your breath was visible as it spanned across his body.

Both of your bodies grew colder, only yours capping off at a certain point as blood still beat through your veins. Mattheo was still and the world waited.

You thought that if you stayed here forever, you might be lucky enough to die and freeze to him, your bodies ever intertwined until some unlucky bastard found you. But, you couldn’t do that.

You couldn’t invalidate his entire mission, his entire reason for coming back. You had to live. For the fate of the world, for the fate of your son.

When you’d finally managed to pull yourself up, you’d taken the time to walk back to the small town with the hotel. You hadn’t been sure how far you’d gotten when you’d Disapparated and fallen from the sky, but you eventually found that it was about five miles.

Despite the cold and the grief circling in your chest, you made it the entire way. The man at the counter had been shocked to see you again, especially in your current state. From a glimpse in the reflective window, you could see that you were unnaturally blue, covered in mud and dried blood.

“Do you need help, miss?” he gasped.

“Just loan me a shovel, will you?”

He looked shocked and confused by your request, but nonetheless disappeared inside the small admin building for a few moments, before returning with a shovel. It was old and partially rusted, but it would work.

You’d spend the rest of the day digging a proper grave for Mattheo. You’d eased his body into the hole in the earth and covered his glassy eyes one last time. For a moment—if not for the wet earth and frigid temperature—you could almost pretend he was sleeping.

You settled one hand over his stomach—the one that you had held for hours—and pulled the other one from his jacket pocket. Rigor mortis had set in, rendering his arm stiff. After a gentle pull, you freed his arm and found his hand clutched around a small item.

When you slipped your fingers beneath his frozen palm, you discovered the old picture of you folded messily. In his last moments, he’d had the wherewithal to touch your face once more.

You gasped and pressed your dirty hand to your mouth. You sobbed until the food or lack thereof within your stomach pulled out of your body and splattered onto the earth.

Your face pressed to the ground. Dirt spread across your tongue. You didn’t bother to spit it out.

***

*8 months later*

The car you’d bought three months into your pregnancy came to a rolling stop.

An older man with oversized glasses and a salt-and-pepper beard walked over to the driver’s side door. You rolled your window down with a small smile on your face.

“Hi, just fill it up, if you don’t mind?”

He nodded with a welcoming smile, though his mouth closed more than it should have been able to, like he was missing most of his teeth.

As he began to fill your gas tank, you stepped out of the vehicle to stretch your legs. Your belly protruded outward, nearly brushing against the side of the car as you slipped toward the Muggle gas station.

Your hands came to rest against your swollen belly just as they always did, one resting atop it and the other cupping its bottom. You were surprised there weren’t permanent indentations on your skin from how often you’d touched.

On the porch of the gas station was a creaking rocking chair, probably older than you. Your hand created a barrier between the sun and your eyes, shielding your line of vision from the blazing light.

Hiding behind the old chair was a young boy—probably no more than seven or eight. A large camera was cupped in his hands. He seemed to be debating whether or not to do something, rocking on his heels awkwardly.

“Are you okay?” you called gently. He didn’t respond.

“Miss? Is there anything else I can do for you?” the old man called from the side of your car. You turned back and shook your head.

“No, that’ll be—” Your voice was cut off by a clicking sound. You turned back to the gas station and noticed the little boy just feet from you. His camera was clutched against his chest. A small black picture slid out of the top of the machine.

He smiled a toothy grin, some of them missing here and there, just like his older friend. He shook it back and forth until an image appeared.

“Only five euros,” he said emphatically. You smiled gently at this young boy’s faux business.

“That’s kind of pricey, don’t you think?” you laughed. The boy shook his head, insisting that the price was fair and that you wouldn’t find any better of a deal around here.

“Alright,” you whispered, pulling a small roll of cash out of your pocket. You handed him a ten-euro note just for his troubles. When you set the money in his hand, his eyes sparkled proudly. He clenched his tiny fist around the note and handed you the photo before bounding off.

Your smile faded gently as you looked down at your new picture. Ice settled in your stomach as you realized what you were looking at.

You felt as if the universe were playing some kind of joke on you. Pressed between your fingers, and balancing on your belly, was a pristine copy of the picture Mattheo had brought through time with him.

There were no bent corners or dust marks marring your image. Your hands shuddered at the realization. You didn’t see how this was possible, you’d left that picture in his cold fist before you’d buried him.

These new clothes, your vehicle, your slightly rounded cheeks…it was clear that this was the original image that your son would inevitably give to Mattheo.

Your breath shook. Everything had come so painfully full-circle. It felt as though the earth was laughing at your shock, mocking your naivety, saying “How could you possibly not think this would happen? You fuck with time, you reap the results.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You hurriedly flicked it away.

“All ready to go, ma’am?” the man asked, wiping his oily hands on a blackened rag. He seemed concerned for only a moment when he caught your splotchy cheeks. He started to ask if you were okay, but you just nodded to forgo any awkward conversation.

You gently folded the image and slid it into your pocket—the first fold that marked the beginning of the indent that would inevitably stay in the material forever.

Before you took off, tires spinning in the dirt, you reached into the back seat and grabbed a small wooden box that you’d purchased the same day you’d gotten this outfit—the one you hadn’t recognized the first time Mattheo had shown you the image.

The silver latch popped open. Inside was a stack of letters, each addressed to a Harry Potter for when he was born. You would let him read them when the time was right.

And in the vein of every version of you before this one, you set the photo of you atop the letters that told Harry all about his father who’d been lost to time, but immortalized in him.

- - -