Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own any parts of the characters or places herein. Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowlings, Scholastic, etc.
There are lines take directly from the Harry Potter series, Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them (2001), and The Tales of Beedle the Bard (2007).
For WasserMama: This story is 80% her fault since she suggested AO3 AND got me head-over-heels in love with an HP pairing.
BOOM!
The wall blew out behind him. Draco Malfoy watched as a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw moved down the hall, throwing spells over their shoulders.
He wanted to force his body to move. To feel something other than overwhelming fear – and the self-directed disgust. He wanted it to stop, all of it. When he had taken the Mark, this wasn’t what he thought it would be. It wasn’t torturing and killing and nearly dying… It wasn’t the snake or the Dark Lord… It wasn’t whatever Potter had destroyed outside of the Room of Requirements – Horcrux, Granger had called it.
Magic popped and fizzled around him. Not just the spells people were throwing at each other, but the castle itself. Hogwarts had thousands of years of magic – protection, spells – locked within its walls. Walls that were being beaten apart in a battle that would determine the outcome of the War.
Everything shook as the wall next to him blew outwards, throwing him to the floor. He groaned.
I’d give anything to stop this, he thought he felt blood seep from his face and neck. He was too weak to try to stem the bleeding.
Warmth engulfed his body and a blue hue existed everywhere. Draco didn’t fight it. Then again, he wasn’t really a fighter, was he?
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Sensation came back to him all at once, along with bright lights. Everything was in motion, he felt like he was swaying.
He opened his eyes to find his gaze on the passing scenery. He jumped, startled to realize it was the Hogwarts Express. He was sitting on the train. He hadn’t been on it in a year and a half, since the beginning of his sixth year.
A hiss at the compartment door drew his attention. Crabbe and Goyle. He had seen them both die not half an hour ago. Crabbe to the Fiendfyre he had cast, Goyle to a part of the wall exploding. Yet they stood before him. Alive.
And young.
So young.
Too young.
Draco reached a hand into his robes and found his wand, the one that had been lost to him when Potter, Weasley, and Granger had escaped Malfoy Manor. It looked pristine.
“Harry Potter is on the train,” Crabbe said.
Goyle nodded.
Draco swallowed. “Sit down,” he told them, gesturing to the seats across from him. He shook his head, trying to get his headache to recede as he scrambled to put the pieces together. He pulled up his left sleeve, finding his arm small, weak, and unblemished. The pale skin was untouched, no skull, no snake, no Voldemort.
“Where were we?” Draco asked, “Before now? Do you remember?”
Crabbe and Goyle stared at him for a long time, not comprehending.
“Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?” Goyle guessed haltingly.
Crabbe nodded slowly.
Draco sighed. “Stay here.” He got up and left the compartment. He moved down the train, most of the faces were familiar. Some he had seen recently. The Gryffindor boy he had seen was young and round-faced in a compartment he passed.
A noise from the floor made him look down. A toad. He reached down and picked it up. He didn’t remember seeing it last time.
A girl with more hair than face exited a compartment. Granger. “If anyone sees the toad, a boy named Neville is looking for it.”
She stopped in surprise, he was in her way. She looked…innocent. Unaware of the terror he had seen in her face over the years.
Draco took two steps to her. “Here,” he said, depositing the toad in her hand.
Her face lit up. “Thank you!” She flashed him a smile and hurried down the train.
Draco looked in the compartment she had just left. He sighed, stepped in, and pulled the door closed behind him. He looked at the two occupants, neither looked particularly happy to see him.
Weasley was staring at him, a chocolate frog in his grip. Potter was frowning, his untidy black hair sticking in every direction. But the thing he hadn’t noticed before, was that Potter was actually dressed worse than Weasley. His shirt was clearly old, several sizes too big, and worn thin at the collar. His pants were belted and rolled up at the ankle.
“Cash we halp you?” Weasley said peevishly around a mouthful of food.
“Calm down, Weasley,” Draco said. He sat down next to Potter and turned to look at him. “Has anything strange happened? Before I came in, or Granger? Were you somewhere else or doing something else?”
Potter frowned. “I’ve met you before.”
Draco’s heart shot to his throat.
“You were in Diagon Alley, in the robe shop. I recognize your voice.”
Draco closed his eyes and attempted to reign in his annoyance. He didn’t remember meeting Potter or what he had said in the robe shop, that had been more than seven years ago for him. But it also meant that Potter didn’t remember, he hadn’t been only a few minutes ago fighting at Hogwarts. Which meant he alone knew.
He turned his gaze back to Potter. Fresh-faced and innocent. New to magic as if he was born to Muggles. He wouldn’t believe it. Third year, maybe, but not now.
Draco left the compartment without another word. He tried to run a hand through his hair, only to find it gelled and styled. He huffed in annoyance and made his way to the closest bathroom. He ran the sink, using water to loosen the gel and allow him to release it from its shell-like appearance.
When he looked in the mirror, Draco realized he didn’t recognize himself. His face was round and youthful, his eyes did not look as haunted. He was not gaunt and sickly. He did not look fierce or dangerous or important. He looked…scared.
His mind started going through the doom he had lived through, the last several months in Malfoy Manor under the control of an absolute madman. If this was the beginning of their time at Hogwarts, could he change it?
Did he dare?