Chapter Text
Death made a fool of all men.
Draco was never aware of death before. He spent his childhood acting like a spoiled little ponce, untouchable by the scum around him. The first time he looked upon death was when he was fourteen, nearly fifteen. The Dark Lord had stolen his Manor, had subjugated his Mother and sneered as his Father groveled.
That summer was the first time he would witness a murder, the first time he was scathed by insanity.
Once it began it never ended. Death never left him once it had taken residence in his heart and in his world. Summer was filled with Aunt Bellatrix teaching him dark arts, starving men in the dungeon, his Father becoming less than even an elf, the Dark Lord’s wild rage.
He watched helplessly as his Mother slowly lost her light.
During school he had tried to cling to what he used to be, tried to cling to the world he was familiar with. He acted as he was expected to, the spoiled pure blood rival to Saint Potter. What a joke.
Harry Potter was far above Draco Malfoy. Potter had known death for his entire life, he was strong and brave. He truly was a fool. Somehow he never seemed to grasp how all encompassing the darkness truly was. Draco was a mere shadow on the ground.
Still, he tried.
He made life for the boy hard, he tormented and jeered at the Gryffindors, he joined the horrible pink toad. Anything he could do to keep his world unchanged.
That summer had taught him an important lesson. All men bled the same red, red blood. Umbridge was a blind disgrace, her rhetoric was flawed and naive. A werewolf had the same blood as a muggle, and a wizard bled just as red.
He spent that year masquerading as a child, hiding his slowly forming ideals behind the mask of youth. He fooled them all, from the students to his family, to the Dark Lord himself.
Draco Malfoy was still a spoiled pure blood ponce in the eyes of any who bothered to look.
The next year brought with it many changes, more secrets for him to keep.
Both the Malfoy and Black families held the remnants of creature blood. It was an open secret that the Malfoy's gained their silvery looks from a Veela a few generations back. The Blacks had a penchant for marrying into every dark and powerful family they could. He was sure they had the blood of at least every pure family and dark creature, even if it was a hundred generations back.
Everyone liked to forget that Draco Malfoy was not only the Malfoy Heir, but also the Black Heir.
His Mother was a Black, Sirius Black was his cousin. Not only did he have the blood of a Malfoy but he had a right to the Black bloodline.
With that could come complications, Black Madness was certainly not a myth, he could see it in his Aunt, and he could see it beginning in his Mother. With such old blood from two powerful lines, it was inevitable something unsightly would crop up. His cousin Tonks became a metamorphmagus and Draco gained a creature inheritance when he turned sixteen.
It was rare, very rare for a wizard to become a creature due to their ancestors, but it was not entirely unheard of. Normally it was something like a Veela, Werewolf, Vampire, or any other common creature, but the Black blood just had to be special.
Draco went to sleep the night before his sixteenth birthday, and woke up changed.
It was nothing too outward at first.
He had silvery white scales around his eyes, a few mismatched patches of scales here and there along his body. His pupil had split, like a lizard or cat, he was lucky both physical changes were easy enough to hide.
The real issue was his magic. It felt different, more wild and somehow thicker, like syrup. He was able to hide it for the most part, wrapping it around his core in thick ropes, but if someone paid too much attention to him they would notice the change.
If questions were asked, he could just claim he gained a magical inheritance as he came of age, it was flimsy, but no one really paid any mind to Draco anymore.
He thought that was the end of it, he would go to the library and use a revealing ritual to see what awoke in his blood, and then it would be business as usual.
If only it had been so easy.
There was another secret, of course, one that any family with creature blood guarded jealously. Those that were gifted creature blood were also gifted true mates, soulmates. A wizard or creature that matched them, that suited their magic and their instincts.
It showed itself as a physical image, and would only appear if your mate walked the earth. You would wake with a silvery mark painted upon your skin, and when your mate touched your mark, it would cause beautiful sparks.
The mark was something that represented your mate, something that would never be misunderstood.
To Draco’s unending horror, he had a mark, a very familiar mark.
On the right side of his torso was a very familiar image, the Dark Mark to be exact, silvery and soft as all soulmate marks were. It was larger than the one Death Eaters were granted, it was slightly different from the crude tattoos, but not enough that it could be mistaken for anything else. The snake was solid, wrapped around and inside the mouth and eye sockets of the grinning skull.
Draco tried very hard to deny what it meant.
He made sure he never looked at it and had taken to wrapping a bandage around his torso, seeing as a glamour could not hide the mark.
But his luck didn't end there, no, he was blessed with an important hint about his creature inheritance.
The day after his birthday was a meeting for the Death Eaters, he hadn't yet gone to the library and he had been very nervous to be in the presence of the Dark Lord.
Seeing the man after his birthday was a shock.
He knew, with great clarity, that the man was insane, that his soul was incomplete. Part of him had relaxed, content in believing Voldemort would not notice the changes. His confidence lasted right up until the Dark Lord spoke to his giant snake, in parseltongue, and Draco understood every word.
His world had frozen and it had taken all his training to keep his face blank. He could never let anyone find out. Not the Dark Lord, not his family, and certainly not one Harry Potter.
He had somehow made it through the meeting, and he had rushed to the library. He had done the ritual as quickly and quietly as he could. The results had been shocking, he had no idea which family it was from, and he had no idea how he had gained it.
He had inherited the blood of an
Amphiptere, great winged serpents, closely related to dragons and second only to a Basilisk.
As far as he knew they were a subclass of dragon and had not been seen in hundreds of years. Draco did not know if it was a curse or a blessing, but he swore never to reveal it to anyone. He found a potion that would suppress his creature blood, unfortunately it would slowly poison him if he took it regularly.
He honestly didn't mind, he doubted he would survive long enough for the potion to kill him.
After that, life moved on.
Due to his Father’s failure, he was tasked with finding a path for the Death Eaters to enter the school, and on top of that, he was to kill Dumbledore.
He knew it was a farce, that it would be used as an excuse to kill the Malfoy family. He couldn't do anything to stop the path he was on, his Mother was too important for him to give up on, he could only cling to the hope he could succeed.
He was forced to take the Dark Mark, and was now branded twice by his mate.
He spent that year stressed and depressed, no longer able to keep up the act he had the last year. He was desperate to save his Mother. He knew he could have gone to Dumbledore, but he didn't. The light side would never accept him after the years he spent tormenting Harry Potter, and if the light failed, the consequences would be that much worse.
So, he spent the year working on a cabinet, avoiding his Godfather, and trying to keep away from Harry Potter.
Everything blew up at the end of the year as it always did. The golden boy found him crying and cursed him with one of the darkest spells he had ever felt. He thought he would die, that it was his time to walk with death, until his Godfather saved him.
He was given yet another scar and his soulmark was nearly discovered.
Somehow he managed to survive with his secret intact, and gained a new found distaste for the hypocrite Potter. Things only got worse when he failed to kill the Headmaster, and the last of his luck was used that night, Snape killed the man in his steed and saved his family.
That was the last good thing to happen to one Draco Malfoy.
The next summer and the year after were dark and horrible. Everywhere was a living hell.
He kept his head down and stayed invisible. Everyone thought he was pathetic and useless, a fallen pure blood, he didn't mind. It enabled him to survive and allowed him to observe and listen.
He learned many things, everything from Potter's friends and their rebellion, to the true name of Voldemort, to how the man was able to stay alive. Tom Marvolo Riddle made at least one Horcrux in his life, and the golden trio was hunting them down.
He kept it a secret as he did everything else, he told no one.
When the golden trio and friends ended up in the Manor, he lied for them. He couldn't bring himself to give them up. The world was a dark, dark place, and he just wanted it to end.
Potter was the key, and he was capable of such a small lie.
Then, the war came.
His friends died. His family fought. Students, teachers, allies, and Death Eaters all passed on that day. Death walked with them all, an old friend to each and every soul. The Dark Lord truly died that day, and Draco couldn't help but mourn his mate.
As he walked away from the battle with his Mother, he knew, he would soon join death.
He was right of course.
All those with the Dark Mark were sentenced to death. Never mind he was forced, or that he had been sixteen. He had the Mark, and he would die for it.
He was eighteen. His Mother and Father had both been Kissed. His Godfather had died during the war, his soulmate was dead, had been so insane and torn that he hadn't even recognized his own mate.
There was nothing left for Draco Malfoy. He gladly accepted his death. He would walk on to the next place with his pride. He had grown in the four years since he first met death, and he was ready. Even if the world only saw him as Draco Malfoy, pathetic Death Eater scum and coward, he knew he was more than that.
He met death as Draco Malfoy, scion of the Blacks, gifted with the blood of a dragon.
He bled red like everyone else.
His execution was a private affair, with a few Aurors to guard him and one ministry representative to witness his passing.
Being Kissed was a strange sensation, he felt nothing but cold despair, so much so that he became numb, and then he was nothing.
He has no idea how long he was nothing. He was nothing, and then he was something.
He could hear a voice, an ancient powerful voice. He could see white, nothing but white. It felt warm, but he couldn't feel any sensation.
“Young Amphiptere, you have shown a humble and noble spirit. We regret you have met us so soon, that you had no chance with your Mate. You have earned this gift. A life with your mate, a chance to change Fate itself.
“Use this life well, Young One. Forge your own Fate. I, Ancalagon The Black, grant you this boon. Wake and thrive.”
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He was nothing, then he was suddenly everything.
Draco woke with a gasp, jerking upright. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. He could feel his body trembling, his magic thrashing around him wildly. He was shaking and panting.
It took a long time for him to calm down, to breathe, to acclimate to his new and sudden environment.
He was somewhere very familiar and not at the same time. He was outside of Hogwarts, by the path to Hogsmeade. The castle was whole and unharmed, no battle had taken place here. He could just barely see carriages with Thesterals in the distance, meaning students would soon be arriving.
With that he turned attention to himself.
He was not the same as he had been when he died.
He was wearing the night clothes he owned a few years ago, his hands were smaller, and his arm was unmarked. More than that, he had more silvery scales than he had before he started taking the potion to suppress his blood.
Scales snaked around his arms, down his torso, around his legs, and from his neck to his face. He had no idea what his eyes may look like, and he could feel a dull aching in his back.
Whatever voice had granted him life, had also completed his inheritance, erasing his years of hard work.
Blessings of all blessings, he somehow had a wand. Laying innocently in his lap was a wand made of shimmery black wood. It was not his own wand, the one Potter had taken. He knew this wand belonged to him however. He felt the connection, even if he had no idea where it came from.
Beside the wand, he could discern he was sixteen, it was like he had just woken on his birthday with his inheritance.
He had no explanation and he was very lost. But, he hadn't survived as long as he had by giving up. Using his new wand he cast a modified Tempus, one that would show the time, date, and weather.
September 1st, 1944.
Somehow he had not only gone to his past body, but he had gone back in time.
Draco had no idea what to do.
He was too obviously a Malfoy, he would never be able to take a different name.
His Grandfather Abraxas graduated in 1944, it would be his last year at the school.
It gave him an idea. He could claim to be Abraxas’ cousin, his family could have died thanks to Grindelwald and he came to Hogwarts to seek sanctuary from the war.
He was lucky enough to get here before the train, so he had time to talk to the Headmaster.
The school was known for taking in those that were seeking asylum, and he would be no different. He shakily stood up, using magic to hide his scales and likely his eyes, he transfigured his clothes into something more suitable, and started walking to the school.
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He had been very lucky, enough that he knew there would be a catch.
Headmaster Dippet was old and seemed a bit incompetent. He hadn't questioned the random teenager walking up to the school, had bought his story at face value, and had even had him take a standard placement test. The test was fairly easy, if slightly different than what he was used to.
He knew he would be placed in his sixth year, he was sixteen after all.
Once he was finished with the test, he was provided with second hand robes and school supplies for free. His younger self would have thrown a fit, but as it was he was simply happy to have anything at all to his name.
He was asked to wait in the hall for the First Years to arrive, he would be sorted after them.
It didn't take long after that for the small children to appear. He got a few curious stares, but none of them tried to talk to him, for which he was thankful.
He was nervous, very nervous.
He would stand out due to his platinum hair and aristocratic looks. He looked like a Malfoy, and if one looked enough they would certainly see his Black features. Not only that, but he knew Tom Riddle was here. His soulmate and future Dark Lord was sitting just behind this door.
Voldemort may never have noticed what Draco was, but he had no doubt that a sane version of the Dark Lord would notice. He had to decide if he would hide, or if he would confront the man.
He couldn't help but feel like prey no matter what path he took. A sane Dark Lord was the single most terrifying thing he could think of, far more than the wild monster he would become.
His musing was cut short when a teacher greeted them and opened the doors.
He walked behind the children and gazed around the Great Hall. Surprisingly he could point out a few familiar families. He saw a Weasley, a Potter, a Black, a Malfoy, Nott, Lestrange, Avery, and a Rosir. Last of all he saw what could only be Tom Riddle.
The boy sat where the Prince of Slytherin would sit, surrounded by a group of boys he knew very well.
Tom had wavy brown hair, dark blue eyes, and was the single most beautiful person Draco had ever seen. He held himself like royalty and had an expression of boredom as he watched the Sorting. He could have stared at him forever, but he broke his gaze away when the last child was sorted.
Here it would begin.
“We would like to welcome a new student to Hogwarts. The young man has come here to escape the war after a personal tragedy. Draco Malfoy, please come be Sorted.”
The moment his name was uttered and he stepped forward the Hall went deadly silent.
He could feel the stares prickling against his neck, tearing into him like small needles.
He wanted to snarl at them, give them something to really stare at, but he kept his face blank and his walk smooth. Stares alone would not break his pure blood mask, such a thing would be an insult to his skills.
He faced the hall impassively and stood as the hat was held above his head.
As it was when he was eleven, the hat never even touched his head before crying out Slytherin. Green flared on his robes and he walked to the table as impassively as he could project.
Slowly he turned his gaze and met bright blue eyes. Abraxas was staring at him with an almost startled expression. He couldn't blame him. They looked like they could be brothers, and he knew they would have been even more similar if Draco had long hair.
He sat at the very end of the table. He wasn't part of the hierarchy, and he had no desire to be rude.
He would eat here in silence, and then he would be questioned in the dorm. Slytherin would never stoop so low as to gossip in the middle of the Great Hall. And so, he spent the opening feast completely alone, half the table staring at him at any one time. He ignored them all, never making eye contact with anyone.
That was before the end of the feast anyway.
He felt a stare practically burning into his skull, enough that he glanced over.
Gray eyes met dark, stormy blue and he froze up from the overwhelming heat that filled his body as he and Riddle stared at each other. It was only for a moment, but the world could have ended and he wouldn't have noticed. He only looked away when he felt a small prick behind his eyes.
He was never good at the mind arts, and he was terrible at shielding, but thanks to his dear Aunt he was at least sensitive to intrusion. The night wasn't even over and Riddle was already trying to read his mind.
He was doomed.
Draco
could only sigh and keep his face blank, acting like nothing happened as he turned away. The feast was over and soon the questions would begin. He was resigned to the torture in his future, either figuratively or not.