Chapter Text
Hogwarts Castle
2 November 1997
Genevieve really didn’t know what the hell she was doing.
She knew where she was, obviously. She was in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, avoiding eye contact with the Fat Lady in the portrait as she had been for the past half hour. What she couldn’t figure out was why she was standing there.
Her mind had been made up about the debacle with Harry after her pondering at the Ministry. She planned to wait it out until he eventually came to her to make up for what he’d done. Wait until he apologised for what he’d done wrong in the moment, and then perhaps, if it was heartfelt enough, she would apologise for her part. They’d quash the whole thing then and there and go back to being close as they’d always been.
Except that hadn’t happened, and it had been precisely three weeks and one day since they’d last spoken or even acknowledged the other’s existence. And now she was without Draco. Again.
Genevieve figured it shouldn’t have hurt the way it did, missing him. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since their fight, and she’d spent the better part of a decade missing him once before. She figured she should’ve been used to it by now, and should have held the same standard with both of them. Yet, here she was, being the first to crawl back to one. She wondered if that made her weak; not being able to be without both of them.
“Eve?”
Her head popped up immediately from the stone banister she’d been leaning over, and she was met with a pair of inquisitive blue eyes and a mop of bright copper hair just inches from her.
“Oh, hi Ron.” She attempted a smile. Ron only frowned at her.
“What’re you doing up here?”
She hesitated a moment, toying with a snag on the sleeve of her sweater as she tried to decide which excuse to use from the list in her mind. It felt pathetic to lie to him when it would’ve been obvious to even a mountain troll who she was waiting for.
“Have you seen Harry? I— was hoping to speak to him.”
Ron looked skeptical. She watched as he crossed his arms over the large R on his own knitted jumper, freckled skin exposed where his sleeves had been pushed up. “Don’t think he’s too keen on seeing you right now.”
Genevieve’s smile faded then, even if she had known it was true. It didn’t feel great hearing it confirmed from someone else’s mouth. “Well, if you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him? It’s important.”
He surveyed her a moment longer before giving a slow nod. “Er, sure. I’ll tell ‘im.”
She gave a nod of her own and attempted another smile despite feeling like the wind had been taken out of her sails. Her arms wrapped around her middle before she headed back towards the moving staircase to begin her walk of shame back to the dungeons.
She made it four steps before Ron’s voice rang out again.
“Eve, wait.”
Genevieve turned to look back towards him and found him watching her with a conflicted expression. He gave a sigh before jerking his head back towards the portrait behind him. “I’ll get him. Just— wait here, alright?”
Relief flooded into her veins as soon as the words were out, and she ascended the stairs again quickly. “Thank you, Ron.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He mumbled, giving her a ghost of his signature crooked grin before turning around to murmur the password quiet enough that it didn’t meet her ears. Genevieve waited rather impatiently for him to return; fidgeting in place and shifting her weight from foot to foot while she rehearsed exactly what she wanted to say for the nth time.
A few minutes later, a familiar scarred and spectacled face peeked out of the portrait hole, and a lanky body followed after. Harry approached her awkwardly, his hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. He looked well enough to her. The only evidence of any anxiety about seeing her beyond his posture was the bitten places on his lips. Something he’d done since they were kids.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” she breathed, attempting another smile. Harry didn’t reciprocate it either, and Genevieve was seriously beginning to wonder whether she’d forgotten how to smile correctly. She tried to think of a segway into the conversation, but the chasm between them still felt a little too daunting.
“Ron said you wanted to speak with me?” He probed expectantly, his tone half mumbled and reluctant.
“Yeah, I erm— been a while, hasn’t it?” She attempted a stab at humour, and judging by his expression, it had obviously fallen flat.
Idiot, she thought. Who says “been a while”?
“Yeah, I s’pose.” Harry replied, awkwardly toeing at a crack in the stone beneath their feet with his sneaker. It was obvious that he would’ve rather been anywhere else.
Genevieve sighed and looked down to the floor between them, trying to summon her own courage before she spoke up. “If you don’t want to talk now, I understand.”
“No, I do,” he rushed out, only sparing her one small glance before averting his gaze again. “Just— not here. Let’s walk, yeah?”
Despite the way her stomach was knotting itself, Genevieve nodded and followed as Harry began walking down the staircase.
The silence was palpable as they walked, and she hoped that the not knowing how to go about the situation was mutual on both sides, if only to ease her own mind. She followed beside him silently, chancing quick looks out of the corner of her eye to gauge what he was thinking or how this conversation might play out. They passed through the hallway they’d had their argument in all those weeks ago, and Genevieve was happy to see it go as they exited the castle and stepped into the frigid air on the path to the Owlery.
As their trainers crunched through the gravel, she summoned her courage and decided to be the one to break the ice between them.
“The reason I wanted to speak to you is because… I just— I missed you, honestly. I don’t like this distance we’ve had between us, and I want to apologise for—”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to this.”
Her footsteps stilled at his interjection, and Genevieve looked up only to find Harry watching her with a look of immense guilt on his face. His words didn’t match up with that emotion in the slightest, and she felt her brows knit together as she searched his face. “What?”
“I know, Eve.” Harry replied, as if that was supposed to make sense to her.
“You know?”
“I know. Dumbledore told me.” He admitted, and when Genevieve grew more confused, he sighed and continued. “About the assignment he gave you. How you’re meant to be monitoring them.”
That statement was a complete shock to her, if she’d ever felt one, and Genevieve’s mind immediately began running off a mile a minute. It made absolutely no sense for Dumbledore to decide to begin filling Harry in on her duties now, least of all that specific one. Had he known about the argument they’d had, and was this his attempt at helping to patch it up? Did he know about her friends, or was this all merely a coincidence? She hadn’t the faintest notion of what the truth was, and then Harry was talking again.
“He told me just the other night. Dunno why, honestly, but I’m glad he did.” He said, remorse clear in his tone. “I was a right git to you, and this whole time you were just following orders. I never should’ve doubted you, and I want you to know how sorry I am.”
Now she felt guilty, because this whole story was completely untrue. She shook her head and attempted to speak up.
“Harry, you don’t understand—”
“I mean it, Eve.” He cut her off. It was like he couldn’t even hear her. “I’ve felt horrible since I found out. And I wanted to talk to you before now, believe me. I just— never seemed to find the right time. But you’re here now, and I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
“But I think you should know—”
“No, no. This is all on me, not you. Don’t even think about apologising.” He interjected again, and her guilt was ready to swallow her whole. “I just want us to move past this whole thing and go back to how we were before. If that’s alright with you, of course.”
Genevieve found herself at a crossroads then as she stared at the raven-haired boy in front of her. There were two options. She could be the type of person who took the easy way out and let the truth remain hidden; a liar. It would’ve made things so much easier for her to take that route. It would repair a bond, even if it was built off of a half truth. The other option was to be the person she’d always been and come clean. To be honest with Harry again and risk losing him a second time around.
She decided she’d had enough of loss lately.
“Right, yeah.” She smiled, shaking her head to clear her thoughts away. “I’d like that.”
Harry’s face lit up the same way it had every Christmas she’d ever spent with him at Grimmauld. Verdant eyes bright and shining behind those circular glasses, a grin pulling at tanned and dimpled skin. She pushed the guilt down as far as it could go, because he looked happy, and it was because of her. Even if it was a lie.
“Good. Great! This is really good,” he sighed, fighting his grin to keep from spreading with increasing difficulty. “I’ve missed you. Seriously.”
She couldn’t help but return the smile; it always had been infectious. “Yeah, same. Seriously.”
Harry nudged his shoulder into hers at her mimicking, and Genevieve felt like the distance was slowly beginning to close between them, little by little. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you, but it’s so bloody cold out here that I can’t remember any of it.” He chuckled, shaking his head and sending tendrils of short black curls over his glasses before he turned back towards the castle. “Going out here was a terrible idea.”
“You say that like it wasn’t your idea.” She teased lightly as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, shielding them from the cold. “I was just following you.”
“Yeah, well, I was nervous, alright?” Harry replied with an eyeroll, brushing off his own sheepishness. “C’mon, I’ll show you our common room.”
“There is absolutely no way that actually happened.”
“I am telling you—as surely as this is a Bertie Bott’s every flavour bean—it most definitely happened.” Harry smirked before popping the candy into his mouth and lying back against the headboard of his four-poster again.
Genevieve rolled her eyes and half-heartedly lobbed her pillow at him. “Ronald Weasley would not have been snogging Lavender Brown. Even he has standards, Harry.”
“I’m just telling you what I saw.” The black haired boy shrugged, grinning roguishly as he caught the pillow between his hands. “They were behind that tapestry in the east wing just— completely sucking face. It was disgusting. Fairly certain Hermione ran off to hurl after.”
Another laugh left Genevieve’s lips; real and bright and far too loud. Her ribs felt sore from how much Harry had made her laugh since they got back up to his dorm. It felt like they’d been talking for hours, and yet somehow like no time at all had passed. It felt like the summer after his first year at Hogwarts when he’d come home and told her all about the mischief he, Ron, and Hermione had gotten into. Like being eleven and hopelessly giggly and so full of sweets you could pop.
“I don’t know what he could possibly see in her,” she sighed as she leaned back against one of the wooden pillars. “She’s pretty, don’t get me wrong. Nice enough, from what I’ve seen. Just doesn’t seem like she’s… all there , y’know?”
“Yeah, well, Ron’s not all there most of the time either.”
They both descended back into laughter after that; the kind that stole breath and brought smiles that hurt cheeks. Genevieve’s eyes drifted back to Harry after a moment, and she noticed that his expression seemed melancholic. Not quite sad, but a happy smile dampened by something else. She’d seen that look before, the night before he and the others had broken into the Department of Mysteries. Like he was going to miss something. It worried her.
“What’s that face for?” She asked softly, nudging her sock clad foot against his above the duvet.
“What face?”
“That one. The one you’re making right now.”
“I’m not making any face.”
“ Harry ,” Genevieve sighed exasperatedly, pursing her lips as she trained her eyes on his own. “You’ve got something to say. Just come out with it.”
Harry watched her for a moment, obviously reluctant to speak his mind. She watched patiently as his fingers toyed with the top of the box of every flavour beans they’d been eating out of, waiting for him to speak in his own time.
“I, erm— I’m meant to be… going away for a while.” He admitted quietly.
Genevieve’s brows furrowed softly, and she tilted her head in curiosity. “Going away? Like— on holiday? Surely you aren’t telling me you’re going to miss Christmas—”
“No, no. Not like a trip.” he sighed, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead and revealing the reddened jagged scar hiding beneath. “Well, sort of, I suppose.”
“You aren’t making any sense.” She smiled, her tone soft and amused as she leaned closer, folding her legs beneath her. “Where is it you’re going?”
Harry still looked conflicted about telling her, and she watched as he gnawed at his already bitten lips again. He failed to answer for so long that she was about to prod him again, but then he finally spoke.
“You know about the horcruxes, right?”
She nodded, still watching him curiously.
“Dumbledore believes I’m the one who needs to go looking for them,” he said lowly. A breath to steady himself, and then he was continuing. “He thinks that, since Voldemort and I are— linked, in a way, that I might be able to sense them.”
Genevieve’s stomach had dropped the moment that he finished that first sentence. Harry had been in danger before, but this was something entirely different. The Death Eaters weren’t working inconspicously in the shadows anymore. They were becoming bold and gaining numbers rapidly. She had seen it first hand. She’d even witnessed potentially damning evidence of government level corruption not even two days’ time ago. Sending Harry out into the world alone felt like sending him into a wolf’s den and expecting him to come out unscathed. It felt like the people who were meant to be protecting him were just throwing caution to the wind when it came to her brother’s wellbeing.
“He’s sending you?” She managed to croak out once she made it back out of her thoughts. “But— that’s mad. We’ve got people out searching for them right now. I’ve helped. You got the diary, and I heard they found the ring—”
“I know,” Harry sighed with something like resignation, and she hated the sound of it. “But it’s not going fast enough. Dumbledore thinks that I’ll be able to locate them quicker. Destroy them more easily.”
“And you’re just completely fine with all of this?” Genevieve scoffed; not with malice, but disbelief. “Harry, this isn’t safe. I haven’t the foggiest idea what Dumbledore was thinking, but you can’t just go off on your own like this. What if someone found you? What if Voldemort trapped you?”
“You’re right. It isn’t safe on my own,” he nodded. “That’s why Ron and ‘Mione are coming along.”
Genevieve grew more shocked, if that were even possible. “Ron and Hermione? They don’t know the first thing about defensive spellwork. Hermione might know them from books, but that is vastly different from actually using them when it comes down to it. This is insane!”
A pause as she searched his face, and upon only finding that same damned resignation to his fate, her features hardened.
“I should be the one to go with you. I’ll go.”
“Eve, that’s not—”
“When are we leaving? I’ll need to pack, but—”
“Genevieve, you can’t come.” Harry said firmly, stopping her mid-ramble.
She let out another scoff, shaking her head as she made to get off the bed. “You’re not pulling the Chosen One card on me, Harry Potter. I will go with you if I damn well please. Someone’s got to keep you idiots from getting hurt, or worse—”
“You can’t come,” he sighed, his own expression hardening slightly. “Because Dumbledore said so.”
A beat of realisation. “He what?”
“I asked for you to come, because you’re right. It makes the most sense. You’re the only one who’s been extensively trained for things like this. But he told me that you couldn’t, because you’re needed here for other assignments. That’s how I found out about you spying on Malfoy and the others.”
All Genevieve heard was that Dumbledore had purposefully and knowingly denied her from going on a potentially deadly mission with the closest thing she had to family.
“I’ll have a chat with him.” She stated simply as she stood from the bed.
Harry rose along with her, sitting up from his position against the headboard to gape at her. He looked utterly flummoxed. “What do you mean you’re going for a chat with Professor Dumbledore?”
“I have a meeting scheduled with him tonight,” A lie, but Harry didn’t need to know that. “And while I’m there, I’ll bring up this arrangement and ask to be sent along with you.”
“And you think that will work?” He asked, eying her skeptically as she began tying up her shoelaces.
“Positive.” She answered simply.
Harry watched her for a moment after she straightened. It was a similar look to one Remus would often give her when they were growing up; the one when he’d realised she’d gotten something in her head and that there would be no changing it. He sighed eventually and nodded before reaching up to rub at his scar. “Alright. Just— don’t get yourself into trouble, okay?”
The door to the Headmaster’s chambers creaked in protest as Genevieve shoved it open. She’d had plenty of time to stew on the way over, and she was near a fever pitch. She stalked in and slammed the door behind her, relying on muscle memory to carry her feet up the few steps to his desk.
“Professor, I need to speak with you—”
“Miss Ciardha.”
The voice definitely did not belong to Dumbledore, and Genevieve finally lifted her eyes to find the source. The elder wizard was standing there, but so was Professor Snape. His dark eyes bored into hers as he looked down his hooked nose at her. He looked more like a ghoul now than he had in her Potions classes and Order meetings, or perhaps that was just because she’d completely embarrassed herself by storming into the room unannounced. She scrambled quickly to find something to say.
“Professor Snape, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you two.” She rushed out, bowed, felt silly for bowing, and then straightened herself awkwardly. She watched in utter mortification as the dark haired man opened his mouth to reply to her, but the ancient wizard to his right was too quick.
“Ah, Genevieve!” Dumbledore said cheerfully, adopting a smile so warm that she couldn’t decide if it was genuine. “A tad early, my dear. Not to worry, as Professor Snape was just on his way out for the evening.”
Genevieve blinked in surprise at his quick cover story, but she went right along with it. She smiled demurely as Snape scowled at her for several lingering moments. Then, with a mumbled farewell and a strange look in his eye, he walked past her in a swish of billowing black robes and exited the room, leaving her alone with the man she needed to speak with.
Dumbledore crossed casually over to his desk and took his normal seat behind it, taking time to adjust his robes just so before steepling his fingers on the large mahogany desk. Genevieve did not sit, instead choosing to watch him impatiently as she stood just on the other side of the furniture. He was still smiling when he finally spoke.
“That wasn’t a lie for Severus, you know. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Have you now?” She scoffed. She hoped it was clear that she was in no mood to play his games tonight. “And why is that, Professor?”
He tilted his head, watching her expression carefully and no doubt gauging her hostility in the moment. It felt similar to the way zookeepers study violent animals. “I assume Potter has apprised you of his upcoming mission.”
“Yes, he has.” Genevieve replied with a saccharine smile. “And what I’d like to know is who exactly decided that this was the best course of action.”
“That would be me,” Dumbledore breathed, his tone almost bored. He offered nothing more, and that only caused her to bristle further.
Her jaw clenched as she leaned forward to place her hands on his desk, bracing herself against it to lean towards the grey bearded wizard sat in front of her. “And you expect me to just allow you to send him off into unknown dangers?”
Dumbledore just smiled in that same infuriatingly all-knowing way of his, and Genevieve felt her fingers twitch for her wand. She’d never been more tempted to hex a smirk off of someone’s face before. How dare he smile when it was her brother’s life on the line—
“I don’t expect you to, because Potter will be in no danger. Nor will Weasley or Granger.”
“What?”
“I said,” he repeated slowly. “None of them will be in any danger.”
Genevieve stared at him intently, waiting for the “but” or the catch to come. Her jaw remained clenched, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk as she tried to decipher his riddle in her mind. “Explain. Plainly.”
The elder wizard reached down to open a compartment inside his desk before pulling out two items: a destroyed leatherbound book and a gold ring with a black stone nestled in the top. She knew immediately that it was Tom Riddle’s diary and Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, even without ever having seen them before. She’d expected something more. To feel the dark magic emanating from them and buzzing through the air. But nothing came. It may as well have been two normal inanimate objects for all she felt.
“This,” Dumbledore began, picking up the diary and turning it over in his hand. “Harry destroyed on his own in his second year, as you well know. Either by sheer luck or fate, we may never truly know. The other,” he sighed, picking up the ring and turning it between two fingers. “I destroyed myself, but not without cost.”
Genevieve noticed a dark patch across the wizard’s knuckles, like decaying flesh spreading from his ring finger to the middle and pinky. She grimaced slightly before trying to hide it on her face. “Your point?”
“My point is that Harry does not have to be the one to destroy the horcruxes,” he explained, turning the ring over between his fingers a few more times before placing it back down. “But he does need to be distracted for a while.”
Genevieve’s brows knitted together as she looked from the ring to him. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap and waiting for a moment, as if to see whether she’d come to the conclusion on her own or not. A flicker of disappointment passed over his features before he finally elaborated.
“Potter grows restless. He feels as though others are risking their lives every day for him while he remains here— safe, within the castle.” He said bluntly, his gaze never wavering from her own. “He is not wrong, of course. There are people risking their lives while he is safe, but I grew fearful that he may go off on his own. That is the one thing that would doom us all.”
The realisation washed over her like a wave, and Genevieve wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened. “So you fabricated a mission for him. He won’t be hunting the real horcruxes.”
There was his weathered smile again, almost proud, and he gave a slow nod. “Precisely, my dear.”
Genevieve felt a headache brewing from all the tension inside her mind, and she plopped herself down unceremoniously on the chair opposite him as her anger began to dissipate. She lifted a hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching in a futile attempt to dissolve the pain.
“How will that even work?” She questioned. “Do you not think they’ll catch on? Granger, at the very least, would realise.”
“If it feels dangerous enough, they won’t notice a thing out of place.” Dumbledore said simply. “There will be aurors surveying them at all times, as well as a trace placed on each of their wands before they leave. They will be perfectly safe and out of harms way, I assure you.”
“What of Sirius and Remus?” She asked numbly through the pain in her head. “Are they aware?”
“They have been told the same story about Harry’s innate ability to locate the horcruxes, and while they protested in the beginning, they have agreed that it is what’s best.” He answered.
“So you lied to them.”
“Technically speaking, it isn’t a lie.” Dumbledore stated as his eyes drifted over the mark on his hand, flexing his fingers as he continued on. “Potter could indeed locate the horcruxes faster and more easily than the best Unspeakables and Aurors in the land. Unfortunately, it simply isn’t worth the risk to allow him to do so. He is far too valuable to the cause.”
His wording left a taste like ash in Genevieve’s mouth, and she fought not to bristle at the way he spoke of the boy she’d been raised with as nothing better than cattle. She took a breath to centre herself before daring to speak again. “And when they return? What will you tell them then, if the horcruxes haven’t all actually been destroyed?”
Dumbledore smiled in the most sickeningly sweet way she’d ever seen him do it. It shouldn’t have unnerved her the way it did, but those yellowed and plaque lined teeth being exposed beneath his wiry grey beard made her skin crawl. Then he spoke in a slow drawl, as if relishing every word out of his own mouth.
“That won’t be an issue, because, my dear, you will be the one doing the destroying.”
Genevieve felt her mouth drop open slightly before she snapped it shut. She attempted to swallow, but her throat had grown far too dry. Her headache was gone now, replaced by a spike in fear and adrenaline that made her skin prickle. “ Me ? I— what do you mean?”
“I mean precisely what I said.” He replied coolly before standing and beginning to amble around the desk in a slow circle, straightening items on it with disinterest as he continued on. “I’ve taken an interest in your skill set, as you’ve likely noticed. Your lack of hesitation and quick mind are invaluable on a mission of this calibre. It will be dangerous—likely the most dangerous you’ve seen thus far—but I have complete faith in you, Genevieve.”
Breathing was becoming difficult as her thoughts began to spiral once more. She was meant to be sent on a mission to retrieve the remaining five horcruxes and destroy them. Her eyes flickered back to Dumbledore’s cursed hand as he adjusted his bowl of licorice snaps. What curses or traps would she encounter throughout this? Would she even make it back alive? And what of her friends— her family?
“I sincerely thought you would have worked it out prior to now, you know,” the old wizard said, breaking her from her thoughts. “You truly are an exceptionally clever witch when your mind isn’t… preoccupied.”
Preoccupied? Genevieve thought. Surely he wasn’t aware of her and Draco’s— situation.
“And how am I preoccupied, exactly?”
Dumbledore glanced in her direction and gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Oh, with your studies, the other missions, friendship troubles, etcetera. You are only a teenager, after all.”
He didn’t know anything then, which relieved her slightly. Just like with Harry. It was so outlandish an idea for her to have any sort of connection with a Death Eater that neither of them had given it further thought. She shook her head and tried to focus back onto the topic at hand.
“Are you certain that you want it to be me?” Genevieve asked, pleading silently in her mind for him to rethink his decision. “I thought there were hordes of others on the task already.”
“There are, and they have gotten nowhere.” Dumbledore sighed as he came to sit on the front of the desk, just a few feet from her. “I have watched you, read every report, and I know that you are the one that needs to head up this issue. No one else will do for it.”
She still just couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The fact that he had chosen her —a seventeen year old witch—specifically for this mission was utterly bizarre. Take away her experience in the field or her intelligence, and it seemed completely stupid. There were plenty of other adults more than capable of doing the work.
“No,” she breathed before she’d even realised she’d said it aloud. “I’m sorry Professor, but this makes no sense. You must see what I mean?”
Dumbledore regarded her pensively for a long moment, and she could see every wrinkle and line on his aged face as he seemed to debate something internally. The silence was maddening, but then he spoke once more at length.
“You are familiar with the concept of a time turner, yes?”
The change of subject had her adopting an incredulous look, but she nodded anyway, waiting for him to continue.
“Good. And what would you think if I told you that this had all been done before?” He asked plainly, as if he were talking about something as mundane as a potion recipe. “Not this exact conversation, mind you, but the situation at large.”
It took Genevieve several moments to form a response. “With all due respect, sir, but I would say you’re barking.”
Dumbledore grinned and let out an amused hum as he folded his hands over his powdery blue robes. “That is a natural reaction, I suppose.” He agreed before pausing once more. “And if I told you that this is the only timeline where you exist?”
Genevieve’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, her own wide. Her mouth did drop open then, but she hadn’t the mind to close it after what he’d just said. Dumbledore simply watched her, as if he’d been expecting this reaction all along, and sighed.
“I have seen many different scenarios play out, each of them with their own Harry Potter and Tom Riddle,” he began solemnly, still speaking with such casualness that she truly wondered if she was dreaming. “They all end the same, and it is not the outcome any of us would hope for. I have watched the fall of the wizarding world as we know it several times over, but this is the first time I have seen you, Miss Ciardha.”
And suddenly, everything began to make so much more sense.
Years ago, she never would have dreamed that her godfathers would allow her to join the Order and begin training in defensive spells. It had always astounded her that they’d agreed, but now she understood. Dumbledore had been there to whisper assurances in their ear, bending them to his own will. Every mission she’d been sent on, every task, every knowing look and smile he’d given her were all because he was all-knowing. He’d seen this all play out hundreds of times, and when presented with her for the first time, he knew exactly what to say and do to mold her into what he wanted.
“Your mother and father have always existed— sometimes as members of the Order, sometimes not. Their untimely deaths come to pass in some, in others not. But in every life I have seen them live, they never had a child.” Another pause, and she was barely comprehending any of this. “You’ll have to forgive my surreptitious motives, but I have had a close eye on you since you were born, and— it seems my theory was correct.”
Genevieve felt sick to hear it all confirmed.
“Your theory?” She croaked, the words barely audible. She felt like a fish out of water, and breathing was becoming more difficult by the moment. “What bloody theory ?”
“That you will be essential in bringing about the downfall of Lord Voldemort.”
“No— that’s not… possible. I’m just—“
“Oh, come now. Don’t sell yourself short.” Dumbledore tsked, tilting his head to meet her widened eyes. “You are singularly brilliant, and quite gifted magically. Every step you have taken thus far has brought you here, to this very moment. You chose to join the Order at a remarkably young age. You pushed yourself academically, to the point that the classes you sit in every day are useless to you. You could very well teach them on your own, I would venture to say.
Genevieve truly thought her lungs were going to collapse, or that she may devolve into hysterics at any moment. It was altogether too much for even her mind to comprehend, and it felt as though she was drowning under the weight of this knowledge.
“Why are you telling me this?” She asked in a strained voice, and the old wizard looked at her curiously before she clarified. “Surely no one else knows, because they would have stopped you by now— reported you. It’s illegal to use a timeturner for something like this. Why are you telling me?”
Dumbledore smiled down at her like one would a child asking asinine questions, and she wanted to scream in frustration. “Because you understand the measures necessary for us to win.”
That confirmed her worst fears. Genevieve had thought that she was nothing more than a weapon to him before, but now she was certain of it. He had honed her in his image; shaped her life in order to produce a blade worthy enough of his needs. A skilled fighter, a clever liar, and an academic. She should’ve been outraged. She should have turned her wand on him and raised all seven hells in the middle of that room.
But then she saw her mother in her mind. Her gentle demeanour and soft hands. She saw her father with his warm smile and perfectly timed jokes. She saw them the night they were ripped away from her; reduced to limp ragdolls splattered crimson on their drawing room floor, forever staring unseeing towards the staircase. There had never been a choice for her at all. How could she not avenge them?
A breath, and then she carefully reinforced her occlumency walls in her mind, adding layer after layer of steel between her and her own emotions. She continued until everything felt so far away that she could pretend it wasn’t actually happening to her at all. It was a story in one of her books. A nightmare, and nothing more.
“I do understand.” She agreed finally, her voice dull and muted. “When do I begin?”
Genevieve sat patiently as Dumbledore explained it all to her. She was to leave the following Saturday for an undetermined stretch of time. However long it takes, as he’d put it. He gave her every bit of information on each horcrux’s theoretical whereabouts. Nothing concrete, but she’d expected that. As he droned on and on, the only thing swirling in her mind was the silver-haired boy she would be leaving behind. His soft smiles, his scowls, his smirks— all of it. She was going to lose all of it, if she’d ever really had it to begin with.
The old wizard finally dismissed her, and she walked to the door feeling disjointed. As if her bones had all been taken out and put back in the wrong way. Everything was backwards and wrong, so perhaps that was why she felt brave enough to ask the question she did.
“Professor?”
Dumbledore looked towards where she lingered in the threshold, one hand still on the aged wood.
“You said that you’d seen all these different timelines,” she began, her voice too quiet and too detached. “In any of them, did Draco Malfoy ever turn out differently?”
His aged face flickered as if the question had caught him off guard, but then he grew thoughtful. There was something like understanding in his eyes. Since he hadn’t accused her of anything yet, she ventured to believe he’d summed her curiosity up to the friendship they’d had as children. Surely he knew if he’d actually been watching her from birth, and he wasn’t far off the mark in assuming.
“No,” Dumbledore sighed finally. “I’m afraid not.”
A pause, and then: “A shame, really. That boy’s intelligence would have been an invaluable asset, too.”
Genevieve didn’t react outwardly, but she heard something crack in her chest. She gave a solemn nod of understanding before turning and striding out of the door. Her movements were stiff and robotic, and she began counting her breaths out in her mind to ensure she was really taking them.
One, two, three four—