Chapter Text
Chapter 36: Let’s Do the Time Warp
May 7, 2002: “Your shirt.”
Tara stared at the splash of red covering Willow’s white top, a strange numbing sort of feeling spreading out from her chest. Her vision started to turn black around the edges, blurring in and out, and she crumpled to the ground. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Willow’s frantic face hovering over her.
“Miss! Miss! Are you alright?”
Tara looked up, blue eyes darting around frantically, but not really taking anything in. “Wh-where—?”
“You’re in Hogsmeade, down in the residential area.”
Tara focused in on the voice, rich and masculine, letting it ground her in reality. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. Standing over her in the middle of a cobblestone street in an old-fashioned neighborhood was a tall young man with skin as pale as milk, hair as black as night, and eyes the color of storm clouds. “H-Hogsm-meade?” she asked.
“It’s a small town in Scotland,” said the young man, taking Tara’s hand and helping her to her feet. “I’d say by the sound of your voice that you’re a long way from home.”
“Y-yes,” said Tara sadly, “I r-really th-think I am.”
“C’mon,” said the young man, leading Tara gently by the shoulders, “I’m going to get you inside and serve you a nice cuppa. Once you’re feeling better you can tell me all about how you came to be here, aye?”
“A-alright,” said Tara, allowing the man to lead her, too shocked to do much else.
“I’m Malcolm, by the way. Malcolm McGonagall.”
“M-my name’s T-Tara. T-Tara M-Maclay.”
“Here,” said Malcolm, setting a bone white tea cup down in front of Tara. “Drink this.”
“Th-thank you,” said Tara, picking up the cup and gingerly sipping on the hot beverage. It tasted pleasantly of chamomile and honey with just a hint of ginger.
“You’re very welcome,” replied Malcolm, sitting down across the table with his own matching cup. “So, what brings you out to Hogsmeade, Miss Maclay?”
“I-I honestly d-don’t kn-know,” she said, holding the tea cup gently in her hands. She found the familiar heat and scent comforting. “One m-minute I was with m-my girlf-f-friend in her b-bedroom, the n-next I w-was waking up h-here.”
Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.
“I-I heard a l-loud bang a-and th-th-then there w-was red all o-o-over Willow’s sh-shirt.”
Malcolm winced. “I hate to say it, but it sounds like someone in that room was shot,” he said. “Considering the way you suddenly appeared in Hogsmeade, I’d say you had an incident of accidental apparation. Not that I’m an expert, by any means. My Dad would know more, but he won’t be home till late tonight. You’re welcome to stay here; we have a spare room.”
“Th-thank you,” said Tara, smiling shyly, “but I w-wouldn’t want t-to imp-p-pose.”
“It’s no imposition,” insisted Malcolm, smiling back at her. “Please, I insist.”
“A-alright,” said Tara. “Y-your f-f-father w-won’t mind?”
“No,” said Malcolm. “Who do you think taught me to always help out a damsel in distress,” he added with a wink.
Tara blushed, a light dusting of pink coloring her cheeks. “I-I don’t know th-th-that I’d call m-myself a d-d-damsel in d-distress.”
Malcom stood up and offered his hand to Tara. “Even Amazon’s need some help every now and again.” Tara took the offered hand and allowed the man to pull her to her feet. “Now let me show you to the guest room. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like.”
May 8, 2002: Tara was disoriented for a moment when she woke up. She vaguely remembered the antiquated streets of a strange country village and the Good Samaritan who had helped her in her time of need. The room she woke up in had pale yellow walls and a wood-framed window with white lace curtains. The bed she was lying in was a queen size, she guessed, with a mint green quilt covered in little flowers that matched the walls. “So it wasn’t a dream,” she said to herself. As always when she was alone, her stutter was practically non-existent. She got out of bed and stretched, taking a closer look around the sunny room. Beside the bed was a white terrycloth bathrobe lying on a wooden rocking chair. Tara took this as a gesture meant for her and pulled it on over her worn, dirty clothes.
She cautiously made her way downstairs to the kitchen she remembered from the night before. The man sitting at the table drinking coffee was not her knight in shining armor, however; this man was several decades his senior with salt and pepper hair and deep wrinkles on his stoic face. He glanced up as she entered the room. “Mornin,” he said gruffly, his voice gravelly and deep. She was surprised at the lack of an accent in it.
“G-good m-m-morning,” she replied, nervously tugging the robe closer to her body.
“You must be Tara,” he said, setting his mug down on the table. “Mal had to leave for work early this morning. I’m his dad, Elphinstone Urquat. You can call me Elphie.”
“It’s n-nice to m-meet you, El-lph-phie.”
“Sit, kid,” he said. “There’s lots of eggs and bacon left. Do you prefer coffee or tea? We’ve got both.”
“T-tea is fine, th-thank you,” she said as she sat gingerly in the wooden chair across from the old man.
“Sure thing,” said Elphie, standing up with a groan, his joints popping and his bones creaking. “What’s your poison? We’ve got earl grey, oolong, Darjeeling, chamomile, green tea, jasmine…really just about anything you can think of.”
“I l-like cham-m-momile,” said Tara shyly.
“Chamomile it is,” said Elphie, giving her a rugged smile as he scooped some leaves into a tea cup and poured hot water over it. “Here you go.”
“Th-thank y-you.”
“Do you take cream or sugar?” Elphie asked.
“J-just a bit of s-sugar, p-please,” replied Tara. Elphie spooned some sugar into Tara’s tea. “Th-thank you.”
“You’re welcome, kid,” said Elphie. “So, Mal won’t be home until this evening. He asked me to keep you company until then, if you’ve got no objections. I could show you around the village, if you like. I’m headed there this afternoon anyway to meet my wife for lunch. You’re more than welcome to join me; I’m sure she can get you in touch with Dumbledore.”
“D-Dumbledore?” said Tara curiously. “Wh-who’s th-that?”
Elphie smirked. “Only the most powerful wizard alive today,” he said. “He’s also the headmaster up at Hogwarts School, where my wife works. If anyone can help you figure out how you wound up here, it’s him.”
Elphie and Tara spent the next three hours exploring Hogsmeade. Tara found herself strangely comforted by the older man’s presence. She’d never been overly comfortable with men, but Elphie Urquat reminded her a bit of Giles and she’d always had a bit of a soft spot for Buffy’s Watcher. Their tour of the small wizarding village ended around lunchtime at a bustling restaurant called The Three Broomsticks. The bell above the door jingled merrily when they entered the building and Elphie’s face lit up as he waved to someone sitting in the back corner of the restaurant. He led Tara over to a booth where an old man with long white hair and an equally long white beard sat with a stern-faced, middle-aged woman who wore her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Elphie bent down to give the woman a soft peck on the lips. “Afternoon, darlin,’” he said, sliding into the empty booth across from the two. “I’d like you to meet Mal’s latest stray.” He pulled Tara down beside him. “This is Tara. Tara, this is my wife Minerva and her boss, Headmaster Dumbledore.”
Minerva raised a dark eyebrow at her husband. “She’s rather more human than Malcolm’s usual strays,” she said dryly.
“M-Malcolm does this o-often?” asked Tara, her voice soft and timid.
“Often enough,” replied Minerva, her dark glare intense. “Tell me, Miss Tara, what brings you to Hogsmeade?”
“I-I’m not sure, actually,” she admitted, “I j-just sort of sh-showed up here yesterday. The l-last thing I r-remember is seeing b-b-blood on m-my g-girlfriend’s sh-shirt.”
“It sounds like you may have had a bout of accidental apparation, my dear,” said Dumbledore, speaking for the first time. “Has anything like this ever happened to you before?”
“W-well I’ve b-been practicing m-magic since I was l-little, b-but I’ve n-never t-t-teleported m-myself before.”
“Interesting,” said Dumbledore, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. “Which school did you attend? Ilvermorny? St. Philomena’s? Thunderbird? Atlantis?”
“Uh, n-none of th-those?” said Tara. “I w-went to H-Hemery in L-Los Angel-les. My m-mother taught me m-magic at h-home. My f-father didn’t w-want me to go to m-magic school.”
“I see,” said Dumbledore. “That could account for your accidental apparation, my dear. There’s only so much a person can learn from homeschooling when it comes to magic. How would you feel about taking a few private lessons from myself and a few of my teachers on the finer points of magical control?”
Tara stared wide-eyed at the old wizard. “Y-you would be w-willing to do th-that for m-m-me?”
“Of course, my dear. Why won’t you take a walk up to the school with me and we can discuss it further; we’ll leave these two lovebirds alone for their lunch. The house elves have made a fantastic carrot soup that I’ve been craving like mad.”
November 6, 2002: “Tara! I’ve got great news!”
Tara looked up from the counter that she was wiping off. She’d been working for Hollis Evergroot, the apothecary, since her second month in Hogsmeade when Professor Snape had grudgingly declared her a potions prodigy. She smiled at Malcolm’s pale countenance, his goofy smile melting her heart and causing butterflies in her stomach like no boy ever had before. “What’s up, Malcolm?” she asked, setting her rag down and giving the younger black haired man her full attention.
“So, you know how tomorrow’s your six-month anniversary of your arrival here in Hogsmeade?”
“Yes, you’ve told me this many times, Malcolm,” said Tara rolling her eyes affectionately. Malcolm was her best friend and he was the one who’d convinced her to work with Ms. Evergroot to create a potion that effectively got rid of her stutter. “What’s the great news?”
“Well, that means you’ve officially known me for six months,” teased Malcolm, artfully dodging Tara’s playful swat. “Seriously, though, I talked to Ms. Evergroot and got you tomorrow off.”
“Why? What’s going on tomorrow?” asked Tara curiously.
“Tomorrow you and I are going on a little trip to Diagon Alley in London.”
“What for?”
“What for?” repeated Malcolm incredulously. “You’ve been here six months tomorrow and you’ve never been anywhere else except Hogwarts! You simply must experience Diagon Alley and I’m just the guy to help you, Tare.”
Tara’s lips twitched into a smile. “You’re impossible, Mal,” she said. “Of course I’ll go with you. What time are we leaving?”
“Bright and early, Tara,” said Malcolm, leaning over the counter to peck her cheek. “I’ll see you back home tonight. Be prepared for the best day of your life!”
Tara’s hand lingered over the spot where Malcolm had kissed her as she watched him bounce out of the store. “What is this feeling,” she whispered to herself.
November 7, 2002: Tara had been oddly nervous when she dressed that morning, going through ten different outfits before settling on a long, pale blue peasant skirt with a loose, cream colored blouse that showed just a hint of cleavage. By the time the pair stopped for lunch at The Leaky Cauldron, though, she’d relaxed and felt more like her normal self. They’d spent the morning exploring the various shops along Diagon Alley, Malcolm dragging Tara from one to the next with the excitement of a child.
“So how do you like Diagon Alley, Tara?” asked Malcolm as they waited for their food.
“It’s wonderful,” said Tara, briefly smiling at the waitress who delivered their butterbeers. “I can’t believe you’ve never brought me here before, Malcolm.”
Malcolm blushed. “Well, I was saving it for a special occasion. Most witches and wizards come here by the time they’re eleven, so I figured since you’d already passed that milestone, we might as well make it even more memorable.”
“You spoil me, Malcolm.”
“Well, you’re worth it, Tara. You’re very special to me. Ever since you landed in my life, it’s like everything’s gone technicolor.”
“Why Malcolm, I wasn’t aware you were familiar with such a muggle term,” Tara teased.
Malcolm raised a dark eyebrow. “You do know my dad is muggleborn,” he said.
“Yes, Malcolm,” she said, rolling her blue eyes fondly, “it’s been mentioned a time or two. I was just teasing.”
“Oh, right.” Malcolm ran a hand through his black hair nervously, tousling it in the process. “I’m sorry, Tare, I’m just a little nervous today.”
“Why?” asked Tara. “It’s just me. We do this kind of thing at least once a week.”
“I-I know,” said Malcolm, nervously fiddling with something in his pants’ pocket. “It’s just…Tara, how do you feel about me?”
“What do you mean, Malcolm? You’re my best friend; I wouldn’t have made it through the past six months without you. I…I find I’m very fond of you. I miss you when you’re gone and I look forward to the time we spend together. I’m-I’m really not sure what else you mean, Malcolm.”
“That-that’s perfect, Tara. That’s just what I wanted to know. You’re my best friend too, but I find that in the time you’ve been with us here I’ve also started to fall for you. I realize that you may not feel the same, but I just wanted to put it out there. You are everything to me, Tara, and if you’d accept, I would like you to be my wife.” He pulled a small, black box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a simply elegant diamond ring set in a silver band. “I-I know this may be a bit premature, but I just thought—”
Tara put a hand over his mouth to shut him up. “Malcolm,” she said, “you’re starting to babble.”
“Sorry,” said Malcolm. “I’m just a bit nervous.”
“It takes a lot of courage to ask me this, knowing what you do about me and my past,” said Tara. “I-I can honestly say I haven’t given much of a thought to marriage, but…if I were to marry, who better than my best friend?”
“Is that a yes, then?”
“That’s a maybe,” said Tara, gently closing the box and resting her hand on top of Malcolm’s. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Malcolm. Ask me again when I’ve been here a year. In the meantime, ask me out on a real date, not just one done under the pretense of celebrating my arrival here.”
“Got it,” said Malcolm, his pale cheeks rosy with embarrassment. “Tara, would you like to go out to London with me Friday night for dinner and a film?”
“Of course, Malcolm, I’d be delighted.”
May 31, 2003: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony.”
Tara tuned out the priest as she stared into Malcolm’s loving eyes, the stormy grey comforting her nerves on this joyous day. She almost couldn’t believe that this was really happening. She’d never imagined that she’d ever be getting married, much less to a man, but here she was and she just couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
“Do you, Malcolm Elphinstone McGonagall, take this woman, Tara, to be your lawful wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Tara Evelyn Maclay, take this man, Malcolm, to be your lawful wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“By the power vested in my by the Ministry of Magic, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
“Mrs. Tara McGonagall,” Tara mused as she lay in bed with her new husband. “I like the sound of that, but it may take some getting used to.”
Malcolm kissed Tara on the crown of her head and snuggled closer to her under the covers. “I like the sound of it too,” he said. “We have the rest of our lives to get used to it.”
Tara smiled. “I’m okay with that,” she said. “I’m so glad I gave you a chance.”
“I’m glad too,” said Malcolm. “I already can’t imagine my life without you.”
“So, Mr. McGonagall, what’s our next step? We’re married now—are we going to stay in Hogsmeade with your dad?”
“Well, Mrs. McGonagall, I was thinking we should get our own place now. We can stay in Hogsmeade, if you like, so you don’t have to commute to work. I’m used to it so I don’t mind.”
“I would love to have our own place in Hogsmeade,” said Tara, cuddling closer to her new husband. “When can we start looking?”
“As soon as we’re back from our honeymoon,” said Malcolm. “How does a few weeks in Rome sound? You told me you’ve always wanted to go.”
“That sounds perfect, Malcolm,” said Tara, kissing him sweetly. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Tara. You mean everything to me.”