This was written for Ravenclaw Homework for HO, with the prompt 'inspire it from a Queen's song.' I choose Bohemian Rhapsody. It's loosely based on it, but you'll recognise the metaphor I used all along the fic.
This fic is dedicated to Schermionie who helped me a lot with it and to Persephone's Flower, who beta-read it and gave me a lot of suggestions. Thank you!
(I modified some little things after, so all the mistakes are mine.)
I hope you'll enjoy this story, because I loved writing it.
The time he's spending on brewing this stupid potion is annoying him to no end. He doesn't have a choice though, and he has to do it. Draco just escaped a prison sentence against work of general interest, and even if the trial could've been worse, it could've gone better too.
His punishment was only supposed to be a house arrest, which would've pleased him. He'd be in complete peace and he wouldn't have to see or answer to anyone. But after the numerous werewolf attacks during the war, they needed more people to brew the Wolfsbane potion. And of course Granger just had to mention he was good at Potions.
He really wishes he wasn't now. He needs to stay in front of the damn potion for two hours, watching it closely before adding the dandelion roots at the right time. And each time he brews the potion again, time flies by. So instead of a vacation he's getting, it's actually turning out to be a real punishment.
Today, it's been two hours but the potion isn't boiling orange like it should. Since he knows he hasn't made a single mistake, he just decides to wait until it's ready.
Half an hour passes when a loud pop resonates throughout the room. A woman stands in front of him. She's an oddly dressed woman wearing a diadem and clothes that seem to come from another age. He grips his wand tightly in his hand and points it straight at her, even though he can feel she's no threat. But old habits die hard.
"I was at least expecting a welcome, young man," the stranger says in a somewhat condescending tone.
"You're the one apparating into my house," he says vehemently. He's annoyed to say the least; no one has the right to talk to him like that.
"And how could've you apparated here anyway? There's an anti-apparating barrier on the house," Draco asks, now conscious of the wards and wondering if they're faulty.
"I didn't apparate. I came from the past," she answers as if time traveling is considered a normal everyday activity in the Wizarding World.
"Rowena Ravenclaw, and you are?"
"Draco Malfoy," he answers, sneering automatically even if he is dumbfounded by what he has just heard.
"Ravenclaw? As in Rowena Ravenclaw, founder of Hogwarts?"
He just needs to be sure he's heard it right. Because now he can tell she vaguely looks somewhat like her portrait on the Chocolate Frog cards. Also, he notes, this kind of robes doesn't exist any more.
"So, Hogwarts, is it? It must have been Helga who named the school then." She chuckles.
"And yes. In fact, I used to live here," she adds.
"Impossible," he says haughtily, "how can this house be yours if it's been in my family's possession for centuries? I'm fairly certain that there are no Ravenclaws in my family tree," he adds.
"I'm pretty sure it's mine. You see, time travelling is already as complex as it is. I wouldn't want to add the equation of space travelling into it just to make it even more complicated, now would I?"
His parents always told him they were of pure Slytherin descent, though truth be told, he wouldn't mind being a Ravenclaw descendant. It'd probably be a little more appreciated these days since Slytherins were looked down upon because they sided with the Dark Lord.
She launches into a tirade that explains the time-travel more closely and how her whole escapade has been based just on curiosity. Rowena tells him she must stay in the room otherwise grave consequences could occur. He doesn't question her any more; she's a pretty convincing woman.
"I'm only here to prove myself right. So what year is it?" she asks brightly.
"1998," he answers. His eyes wander around her until they land on her diadem and she seems to notice almost immediately.
"Yes, I used this to move in time." She takes off the diadem.
"And the others think it's to be wiser. I don't need to be any wiser, I'm the brightest witch of my age. And probably of yours too, young man."
What she doesn't understand is his astounded look. He keeps staring at the diadem, eyes wide.
"Is there a problem?" she asks as she starts to worry.
"The... That, the diadem I've already seen it. In my time," he adds, his voice trembling a little, and he can't help but despise himself for starting to sound weak.
"Oh. That's right. It was probably exposed in the school. Would you like to have the privilege of holding it?"
Before he can answer, she places the object in his hand. He drops it and the diadem falls to the floor, shattering into small pieces. Draco can do nothing but stare at the object. Rowena's voice snaps him back to reality. He shuts out the sound of her voice – not bothering to listen to a single word she says – and he then decides to leave the room without another word.
In the corridor, he can still hear her yelling at him to come back but he doesn't care. The diadem brings back Crabbe's death. He only glimpsed the object momentarily, but it's engraved in his memory. A flow of images come back to him and he sees himself outside the Room of Requirement, with Goyle sobbing and Crabbe lying on the floor, covered in soot and charred ash. He stops dead in his tracks and collapses to his knees on the floor, holding his head with his hands as the memories sear and seep into his brain. He can't cry any more after so many versed tears, but he still can feel the pain.
There is no escape from reality. He killed a man and now it's haunting him.
His rational side tells him that it's Vincent's fault and call because he was the one who cast the fiendfyre. But his mind tells him it's because of him that Vincent stayed in the castle. It's because of him Vincent was in the room of hidden things. Sure, he hadn't killed him with his wand, but Crabbe was dead because of him.
The guilt has suddenly returned, clouding his thoughts with doubts and regrets. All Draco knows is that it feels awful.
She finds him two minutes later, her curiosity and anxiety for Draco overcoming her. Mistakenly thinking his grief was from breaking the diadem, she tries to console him by telling him she can repair it. She's Rowena Ravenclaw after all.
But she doesn't know the half of it.
"Not everything is centred around you," he answers coldly as he processes the taken-aback look on her face and leaves her to go to his room. He doesn't care if she wanders in the house and permutes the present by damaging the space-time continuum. He probably doesn't even have a bright future anyways, so why should he care if she changes it?
Sometimes he even wishes he was never born, but then he thinks about his mother and what she would do if he wasn't there to take care of her.
He'll deal with Rowena, the Wolfsbane and his life later, but for now, he just wants to sleep. He lies on his bed unable to fall asleep. There's just too much going on inside his head. Yes, he has money and freedom, but he has no recognition or honour and most importantly, he is alone. He had been in the wrong side of the war, because of Voldemort, because of his name. And now, there is the devil to pay.
Some people literally spit at him when they cross paths in the street. Yes, he was a death eater. But never by choice. People just don't understand it and he's not the kind to explain calmly.
His reflection is interrupted by his mother's shrieks of horror. He runs out of his room to find her in front of Rowena. He calms his mother and explains that she's just someone from the ministry who has come to assist him with brewing the Wolfsbane potion. Narcissa doesn't need to know the truth of it; and what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Once his mother is quiet and calmed down, he leads Rowena back towards the potion room.
"I thought you weren't supposed to step out of this room," he barks.
"Well, it was my house. And I can certainly break the rules I make." She sounds like a child who has just been reprimanded and it makes Draco laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"My time, my rules. Repair your bloody diadem and get out of my life. I don't need that now," he says once he has regained his composure.
"I'll order a house-elf to bring you food and what's necessary for you. Don't leave this room again."
"You know, young man, if I was Helga I would have asked what's wrong and I'd have tried to take a friendlier approach, because obviously something is amiss in your head. But I'm not her, so I'll just ask you what's wrong to satisfy my curiosity."
"Well, I don't care about your curiosity," he says nastily. He leaves the room without bothering to hear her reply.
The next day he checks on her early in the morning. She's crouching over the cauldron which contains the forgotten Wolfsbane and her diadem is abandoned on the table beside her.
"It's a potion that doesn't exist in your time and you shouldn't be playing around with it. Hurry up and fix your diadem." Draco says sharply, snapping.
"And good morning to you too," Rowena replies, but she obliges and backs away from the potion. She takes the diadem in her hands, but her eyes are still fixed on the cauldron.
"It's a very interesting potion. It fluctuates with time and not with the ingredients, which is something I've never seen before." She can't help but feel fascinated by the brewing in front of her.
Draco peers at the potion. Now it's a shade of dark red and variates every so often. It's wasted and impossible to regain, but indeed, he has to agree that it is a fascinating stage of the potion.
"It changes with moon and the tide," he explains, while she studies it intensely.
"But now it's useless." With a flick of his wand, the unusable remains of the Wolfsbane potion disappear into thin air.
"Would you be so kind as to let me brew a new one now?" He doesn't expect an answer as he prepares the table for the new brewing regardless of her hovering presence. He knows he's being rude, but he doesn't care. Draco Malfoy isn't exactly known for being nice, after all.
"You have your diadem to repair," he commands the time-traveller the way he orders one of his house-elves to prepare something for him. He's getting quite annoyed because he hates repeating himself and she doesn't seem like she's going to start listening to him anytime soon.
"You seem to be in better shape than yesterday," she says, offended. She's not used to people who treat her as rudely and bluntly as he does.
"Forget yesterday. You need to go back to your time." His tone is dry. He's preparing all the ingredients and his back is turned to her. She doesn't want to listen to him, but he's right. And anyway, a fight with a young man like him - in a foreign time moreover - is useless. Rowena knows better and starts working on her diadem.
They work in silence all day long. Draco leaves the room occasionally, but never more than two hours.
It's now ten in the evening and he prepares to leave for the night, cleaning up his messes and tidying the area he has been working in.
"Is it done yet?" he asks. This time, it's in a nicer tone compared to the voice he used to talk to her in the afternoon.
"Not really," she sighs.
"I don't like to admit it, but it's frustrating to work when you don't know where you'd go. I can't try it because it could kill me. And I'm sure I'm not supposed to die."
Draco can vaguely relate to that. Even though 'frustrating' is not the word he'd have used, he knows that feeling when you badly want to accomplish something and you just can't. His sixth year flashes before his eyes, but he shakes his head in refusal to acknowledge the past because he needs to forget and move on.
"Do you need...help, or anything?" he asks tentatively. The sooner she finishes, the sooner she'll leave. Perhaps if he helps, he'll be able to speed up the process.
"No. Even though you're a fair potioneer, I don't think you're good with time travelling objects," she sniffs in a matter-of-fact voice.
"I may not know much about time travelling objects, but I've had experience with space travelling objects. I successfully repaired a vanishing cabinet before." His voice is void of any emotion, but his mind is full of unpleasant thoughts as he remembers the cabinet in his sixth year and the connections associated with it.
She seems surprised by his answer and motions at him to come closer. She explains the basics to him and he informs her about the spells he used on the cabinet.
It's around three in the morning when Rowena finally decides to dismiss him.
"It's late, we can't think straight any more."
"But we're almost there!" Draco is ecstatic, he hasn't felt that degree of accomplishment for years. He's finally able to do something right. He's not all bad; he's not a villain in this. It feels relieving.
The hand on his shoulder snaps him back to reality.
"You need some rest, Draco, I'm sure we'll manage it tomorrow. Or later today, given that it's already past midnight."
He nods reluctantly and leaves the room.
The next morning, he's eager to start working on the diadem. The wind has changed. It blows in an interesting direction and the object is not annoying him any more. They work for two hours straight before Rowena's curiosity rises back to the surface. She asks him about what was bothering him the first day she came.
"Bad memories," he replies shortly, unwilling to expand on the particular subject.
"Because of me?" she tries to guess. But then she remembers his look at the diadem.
"Because of the diadem." Now, it's a statement.
"Can you tell me what happened without modifying the space-time continuum?" she asks, hoping he can because now she's really curious why her diadem could've caused such a reaction from him.
"I can, but I won't." He dismisses her questions brusquely.
"Why?" She's not complaining or begging. Her neutrality startles Draco. Not only does she not consider him a pariah, but she's always objective, for everything. However, with all fairness, he only met her not even two days ago and maybe she's not always like that.
"Because it'd change your views about me, and I don't want it while we're still working on the diadem," he answers.
"You'll tell me before I leave then." She's sure of it. He hasn't said it directly, but it's certain in the words he has chosen.
Draco nods and they return back to work.
The situation is emulating for the two of them, their vision of things complementary. She experiments theoretically with new spells. He tells her what he knows, what he has read (even if it's posterior to her time) and reasons with her about the reactions.
By the end of the day, they are done. Both are smiling, content with themselves.
"Now you will have to tell me," she reminds him.
He nods and leads her to the parlour. He then gets one of the house elves to bring tea and biscuits. They were so focused on their work that they forgot to eat while working.
He tells her everything he knows. He doesn't tell her about the war or Voldemort or golden Potter, the boy who lived. Instead he tells her how he was on the wrong side of a conflict and how when he glimpsed that diadem, he witnessed a death, the first in a series of others. That maybe it was his fault, even though he hadn't wanted those deaths, and even though he wasn't a killer. He wants power and recognition, he admits it. He wants to live life to the fullest, but other human lives aren't a price he is willing to pay.
Saying everything out loud makes him realize he's not to blame for Crabbe's death or any other, and somehow relieves him from his burden. He had no one to talk with before her, and he only started talking to her so she'd leave. But he was wrong about the outcome of telling her his story. Maybe it didn't just benefit her with the new found information she learned about him. Maybe it also helped him. It helped him to release memories of the past and realize that with each dawn that brought a new day, it also brought a new start and fresh beginnings along with it.
"You don't open yourself often, do you? Your speech changed while talking and you went from guilt to understanding and accepting. It's quite an interesting and frightening youth you had. But now you need to go on with your life. The wind blows and it'll direct you toward better moments. Learn from what happened, but move on." Her objective view soothes Draco as he realizes the pure blatant truth that sings out from her words.
She smiles slightly at the young man before her. She has never been good at comforting or advising people, but she's sure her words touched him somehow.
She places the diadem on her head.
"It was very nice meeting you, Draco. I've enriched myself with new knowledge and I'm now sure that time-travel is possible. But I'm afraid all people won't be nearly as wise as me. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. I went beyond measure, but I am not like my dear friend Salazar. I'll keep it to myself." With one last smile, she leaves, working one last piece of magic by vanishing into thin air as she returns to her own time in the past.
He's left standing in the kitchen alone. He feels lighter. The burden he insisted in carrying on his own shoulders has been lifted and he can start a new life now. He's sure of it. He doesn't know if it's her presence, or the long talk or just time, but he feels good, both in his mind and as a whole person.
He closes his eyes and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he remembers the wise words of the woman wearing the diadem.
The wind blows and it'll direct him toward nicer things.