Full Summary:You have seen it, have you not? Glimpses of what is to come. There is no avoiding it. There is no second chance. All you can do is wait-wait and see for the one moment that can change it all, the smallest of decision or the wrong, or right, words that were spoken. You have seen what is to come. Now, change it. Live through it all or choose the other path.

Draco Malfoy. Remus Lupin. Severus Snape.

Live.

Pairings: slight Draco\Harry, Remus\Sirius and one-sided Severus\Lily

You have seen it, have you not? Glimpses of what is to come. There is no avoiding it. There is no second chance. All you can do is wait-wait and see for the one moment that can change it all, the smallest of decision or the wrong, or right, words that where spoken. You have seen what is to come. Now, change it. Live through it all or choose the other path.

Draco Malfoy.

Live.

Draco flinched as the voice reverberated in the silent confines of his mind. Flashes of images and sounds and sensations-of fire, growing steadily as it devoured d jewels and books; of misery and anguish that made his heart weep while small waves of anger and loneliness bubbled beneath it all; reaching out with clammy, shaky hands through the suffocating smoke to him the boy that's appeared in his dreams more than once, more than he'd like to admit because this isn't the first dream he's had since the owl came to deliver the letter for his arrival to Hogwarts.

It's the same boy, getting older as he gets older in each of these desolate visions. Brown hair, hazel eyes, a sloppy smile that borders on mischievous yet remains just this side of kind; his hair is typically ruffled and disheveled and there's dirt or grime or even-sometimes, and it makes Draco's ten year-old body shudder-blood on his face or Gryffindor garbs but it's not disgusting for even the immaculate Draco Malfoy it's, it's...

Endearing.

But what he's seen, or what little emotions he can put to the images, the sounds and half-finished thoughts he can attach to it all reveal a darker picture. Somewhere in between their second and third year what was once a strange kind of attraction-just look at me without that hatred, that pity in your eyes, Potter!-became a deep-rooted hatred and jealousy that knew no bounds.

Draco sighs and turns over in his bed, tired eyes looking but not seeing his surroundings. There was a deep-rooted and bone-deep weariness that was unbelievable to the child, like he was older and tired and simply quitting, giving up on life and everyone that was in it. His eyes slide shut slowly, never truly basking the youngling in the joys of slumber.

Draco didn't sleep all night.

Instead he steadied himself against the hallucinations and finally, finally as the morning peaked and the chambermaid came along knocking. Draco busied himself with dressing as a clamor reached the stairwell.

The train would be departing soon enough.

He slept for half of the ride to Hogwarts, hiding away from the other children that he had met in some of his father's functions. The weariness that had tugged at his limbs for the past few days had shifted into a dampening exhaustion that sucked the very energy to keep up appearences for the sake of the nobility, as his father had so hautingly proclaimed them to be, that Draco had locked the door to one of the compartments and pulled down all the blinds.

"We are the higher class, Draco, we will rule supremely; we are the just, we are the strong; Purebloods where meant for power, my son." Lucius' eyes are ablaze with passion, silver hair following each exasperated movement his father makes.

"I do not wish to rule, father, I only want to become a great wizard and help the worl-"

The open-palmed slap that meets these statement is harsh, biting as the cold skin mars Draco's flushed cheek.

"How dare you! You insolent little twit! WE are the higher order, we are the culmination of the wizard world's most powerful and greatest! To become anything less that the perfect, prevailing sovereignty is to blaspheme your ancestors and spit upon the image of your heritage! Do you understand me, boy! Rotten, filthy little dimwit, do you understand!"

"Y-Yes, father," tears streaming down the bruising cheek force Draco's eyes to blur the figure fo his father standing tall, tall and crazed only five feet away, his weakling mother biting her lip and shivering in anger-or fear- in the doorway. "Yes. I understand completely."

Draco wakes up with a jerk as someone in the neighboring compartment shouts something that is barely muffled in his compartment. After sitting up he yawns and stretches, rolling his head to fix the crick in his neck before sighing.

"Bugger." He mutters before opening one of the blinds so that he can see the beautiful scenery, the vast wide plains and the bright blue sky that seem to continue for miles.

Would it be possible to connect these two powerful entities, the sky and the land, always together but so far apart?

Draco rolls his eyes before sliding a bit lower in his seat to prop his legs up on the seat across from him. These musings seem to have been a secondary influence from the illusions, so mystifying yet wise in their own ways. In fact, he could have sworn to have seen another part to all of this, like another life that was lived the same way.

"Vincent Crabbe, at yo' service, yung masta'"

"Names Gregory Goyle, my mum is really close to th' Malfoys"

But in the memory there's always that bitter undertone to it, slightly repugnant and completely lonesome followed by the quickly hampered thought "it's all because of the name, isn't it? It always is".

Then there's the unmistakable sound of a frog, a small thud and Draco finds himself with an eyeful of splattered chocolate frog instead of meadows and plains.

So much for the rest of the trip.

It's him, though, isn't it? The same tone, too, only softer, more innocent and young and full of life and vitality and there isn't a single scratch on those Hogwarts robes or a drop of blood in sight and Draco feels he can almost cry in joy, jump in glee but that's 'improper' before a more potent thought of 'it doesn't matter, it's him, the boy from your dreams' overrides Draco's instinct and he's standing before him, the ginger-haired boy and the muggle-girl with the frizzy chestnut hair, silent, unmoving and in the way.

"Oh, no," says the ginger-haired boy, Weasly, Draco remembers blearily," it's Malfoy"

"Draco." Draco says before he can stop, and all the students in the corridor slow down or simply stop, staring blatantly and giving sneaky glances, mutter to eachother or remain positively silent. The Weasly boy is blushing brightly, the color clashing with his hair; Granger, Draco reminds himself, looks a bit wary but there's a tiny glint of fondness in her eyes that throws him off a bit and him, the boy, he's just-

He's looking at Draco like he's some kind of miracle, like a blind man that sees for the first time after years of absolute darkness, like-like-

Like Draco Malfoy can do anything, be anyone and there's a strange delight that courses through his veins as he realizes that this is Hogwarts, a fresh start, a new life, a beginning and he can become anyone; the ambition is there, as is the pride and instead of suffocating under the weight of the "Malfoys" he can make himself a new name.

He can be someone new entirely.

He'll be Draco Malfoy.

"Hellu, I'm Harry, Harry Potter." Harry extends an open palm, not to inflict harm or prove a point but to extend a greeting. Malfoy looks at the palm and imagines the look of pure and honest awe on his own face as he keeps his gaze on the palm and then back to Harry's unwavering and heart-wretchingly honest and kind eyes.

"Draco, Draco Malfoy."

You've seen it, have you not? The bleak and abysmal world that descends on the light, on the good; you have seen the most wicked of transformations yet only caught glimpses of the light that vainly attempts to shatter the absolute darkness. See the words that taunt your every waking day, catch the lie before you had walked away and perhaps things would have been different.
The moonlight can not stop you, nor can silver, ice or chains. If death is a respite, then what is holding you back?

This is not a second chance to fix the world.

This is a chance to live.

Remus Lupin.

Live.

"Please, please, Sirius, you have to calm down, tell me what the hell made you snap like that back there? They where only third years, you could have-" 'seriously gotten hurt, or worse, seriously hurt them and then you'd be booted and I wouldn't stand being here without you!' But Remus is smart, he's the smartest male Gryffindor in all the years and he knows that saying something like that could destroy the fragile and frayed friendship that he has with one Sirius Black. Besides, Sirius is sacrificing a lot by just being companionable to Remus-it's well known through the common room how much Walburga Black absolutely despises Remus and coincidentally her own son for harboring such an ill-fated friendship.

There are some words best left unsaid and it's in that silence that the two are being torn further and further apart.

Remus' sleeping habits haven't gone unnoticed by his roommates and at the pivotal moment where Remus was finally going to explain to Lily what was going wrong-

There was a clash, a clamor, the smell of smoke and shouting from just down the hall; all the students in the study period scrambled out of their seats to be a part of the commotion only to find Sirius holding his wand threateningly under a third-year Slytherine's throat and another two scrambling away on all fours. Before Professor McGonagall could take a step outside of the grand alcove Remus had caught Sirius' robes and dragged him off to the common room and here they where in that moment that keeps haunting Moony's dreams like a bad nightmare, the fight that tears them apart only to keep them inevitably tied and bound together in misery and pain.

Because he will, won't he- James and Lily will be together, Pettigrew will somehow make things worse, because that's what he always does and Sirius will go after him, will attack Wormtail and eventually be tortured and-and-god, there's so much pain but there is nothing he can do, nothing-

But the dreams that plague his nights are followed by the tell-tale, omniscient voice that tells him to live, bloody hell, live and then Sirius is there and shaking him as he takes those first few gasps of air.

He should be absolutely terrified of these happenings but Sirius is always there when he wakes up.

"Those bloody little Slytherine runts-"

"-Sirius!" The chastise is on the tip of his tongue but Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his messy raven locks of hair and gives a sheepish, apologetic smile and suddenly any and all words are meaningless.

"I am not sorry, you know that, right Moony?" Sirius starts and then raises a hand and clamps it over Remus' mouth to halt the protest he knows that Remus will give to that statement. "They made a jab at someone important to me and I will not walk off like a pup with his tail between his legs while they spew their vile words." Sirius puts his hand down but doesn't move to widen the gap that had closed when he shut Remus up. In fact, the two seemed content to remain only scant inches away from eachother, basking in the heat of the other's body. In another lifetime the privilege would be taken for granted.

"You know I can't condone violence, even if it is given 'means'," A shove against an achingly hard chest.

"I did it for you!" Sirius snaps, instantly closing his mouth, regret evident in his eyes. "No one hurts my-my...friends."

"Is that it? I'm an-an excuse?" It's impossible to hide the hurt from his voice. Sirius sighs and rubs his eyes, suddenly tired of all the fighting they do. The sudden shift from friends having fun to fighting is taking it's toll, and it's about time to break the dam and let it all loose.

"Moony, I think I may love you."

It's too much, too much and the first thing he thinks is that Sirius will really get it now, from society, from his mother, from the school, and he can't stop the painful, choked out sob that escapes his lips as he runs out the common room.

"I-I hate you"

There's nothing stopping him here, now, though, and it's all in the past, all part of someone else's nightmarish reality because for the sake of all of mankind Remus Lupin cannot let go of Sirius Black and there's something perversely wrong with the statement, something that seems a little odd but it fits so there's really no excuse not to...

Remus grabs Sirius by the neck, lets out something that's close to a curse but closer to a sob and pulls him into a kiss.

And yeah, no, it's a little awkward, Sirius is a good few inches taller and he's not kissing back, and, well, Remus has never really kissed anyone before but it feels right, like he's finally in the right place, a puzzle piece that's finally connected. Sirius' lips are a little dry but soft nonetheless and he twitches involuntarily when those strong arms come around his waist to pull them closer. Suddenly the unresponsive Marauder is pressing forward, licking at Remus' bottom lip and kissing back with more enthusiasm than anticipated.

Remus' surprised moan was embarrassingly loud in the empty room.

The Sirius was chuckling, a low and sultry rumble against Remus' spit-slick lips and brushing a thumb against Moony's blushing cheekbone.

"Well, that's one way to end the argument." He said in the most deadpan voice he could manage with half a hard-on. 'from a kiss,' Remus thinks dazedly and is overwhelmed at the rush of lust-need-mine, I did that to him that burns through his very being.

"Shut it" Remus murmurs before reclaiming those smirking lips.

He barely registers the small, feminine 'eep!' as Sirius lifts him, hands blatantly groping his arse through the thick robes, and wraps his legs around the strong midriff.

There's exams to study for, what seems like hard times ahead and unexcused absences to explain but that's for later.

Everything else can wait.

Life is not a continuous stream of events. Life is the reconciliation of your birth; compensation for the inevitable.

You have nothing to lose; there is nothing to gain.

A flower's gift to the world is happiness, accept it.

Severus Snape.

Live.

Lily, beautiful, teenage Lily, her hair ablaze and her eyes alight with a million dazzling colors is spinning in a small circle in the dancing leaves of fall, all brown and orange and fiery red.

She's positively angelic.

Severus is leaning against the large tree's bark, simply watching as she prances through the falling leaves and laughs lightly, softer than the wind and fluffier than the clouds in the azure sky. He takes in the image, hopes to keep it locked in the confines of his mind. She seems happier now, with James by her side, and soon enough he won't be here, won't be needed.

She stressed and worried when he wasn't sleeping right.

He hadn't the heart to tell her what he saw.

But...she had been happy, even when faced with death. She was still smiling and gleeful, even when things had turned sour. Lily, strong, kind Lily. She hadn't bowed down to the growing darkness, had she? But he had, sniveling Severus Snape, nose deep in books and the head of Slytherine, so smart yet so shy and unwilling to open to anyone.

Anyone but Lily.

It took a few minutes to realize that she had stopped moving and was laying in the grass, watching him with soft hazel eyes and understanding etched in every one of the curves of her body.

"Lily, I-I" Severus choked up and felt his cheeks heating, embarrassment radiating off his tense body in waves. "You, you make me happy." Severus clears his throat and Lily's smile doesn't waver in the slightest at the seemingly strange statement.

"I know" Her smile, god, how can someone smile the embodiment of benevolence like that? She pats the leaf covered grass besides her as an invitation. Severus slowly clomps forward and sits, knees bent towards Lily, the only proximity he'll allow himself, and he stares up at the barren branches. "You make me happy, Sevy, but so does James. You make me feel normal, accepted; James makes me feel special. Just remember that I can never chose you over him or likewise. You're the two most important men in my life, Sevy."

"I know" Severus smiles lightly, a little tight and just barely hinted with sadness but it's okay. All he wants, has ever wanted, is for Lily to be happy, and if James is the one to do it, then so be it. Severus is startled by a light peck on the check and can feel a steady heat rise to his cheeks. Lily laughs, a charming little sound, and pulls him down to lay in the grass with her, watching the sky open up to their eager gaze.

It doesn't matter.

She's happy.

Things can, will, change. He'll make sure of it. There won't be a war this time, no pain or death or danger; when the time comes, he'll be there to protect Lily and her family.

But for now, just today, they're just two lost teens watching the clouds roll by, content as the shriveled leaves fall in a slow dance to their feet and the wind sends a slow, peaceful melody through the empty field.

Tomorrow can wait.