Disclaimer: I have no claim to the Harry Potter franchise and I make no profit in the writing of this fanction.
(AN): I've been on a HP fanfic spiel the last couple of weeks, so I've decided to pick this back up and rewrite.
Onward.
"It answered to somebody else. When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. But the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape. It was Draco who disarmed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower. From that moment on, the wand answered to him."- Harry Potter
The first time Draco Malfoy touched one of the Deathly Hollows was a warm spring evening, marked by the gentle brush of the wind against his face and the creak of oaks.
Potter had crept from the castle, stealthily avoiding his friends and concerned teachers as he went to answer the gauntlet thrown down by the Dark Lord. Just so that he could give in to the Dark Lord's demand that the Boy-Who-Lived turn himself over to the monster who had murdered his parents.
But Harry did not escape Draco's eye.
The blond teenager was panting and shaking as he leaned against a pine at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherin had fled with his tail between his legs and a rising grief in his throat at the way Crabbe had died – screaming and immolated by wild Fiendfyre.
Draco ran towards the camp where he knew his parents - the only people in the world who loved him - would be. Stopping in the No Man's Land between the last holdout against the Dark Lord's rule and the morbid court the dark wizard was holding in the forest, Draco finally breathed a truth that had been building in his lungs for two years.
"I don't want to serve the Dark Lord."
And the admission was breaking, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't conceive of a way to win. There was no way to keep himself and his family alive and well. They would have to suffer the abuse of a monster for the rest of their miserable tortured lives.
Running a hand through his blond locks, Draco turned the situation over and over in his mind. A tormented frown grew on his face as every plan half-hearted plan he thought up in his mind went wrong.
Victory was impossible.
It was Potter that drew him from his thoughts, the other boy walking right past the Malfoy heir in a daze. The dark-haired teen was so drawn into his own world that he never noticed his longtime rival; even as Draco gaped at him like a fish.
Serenely, Harry trekked into the darkness of the wood, vanishing into the shadows.
Draco didn't know what exactly it was that compelled him to close his mouth and trail after the other boy. It was some inexplicable feeling that nagged into his brain with a taste like destiny, demanding Draco pick up his feet and follow.
So did Malfoy see the dead rise again as Potter turned a ring over in his palm three times, whispering names under his breath to summon the specters of his parents, his godfather, and his mentor. The instinct that hounded him to follow Harry froze him in his tracks – discovery was not why he was there.
The low murmur of the conversation between the living and the dead was impossible to understand from his distance, and Draco was not inclined to move any closer. He simply watched, shivering in fear and awe at the conjured departed.
Minutes passed, and with a final nod the ghosts vanished, and Potter turned on his heel to continue on his way. The ring tumbled from Harry's hands to land on the carpet of dead plant matter, and the Boy-Who-Lived wandered down a slope and out of sight.
After a long moment, Draco mustered the courage to step forward to where the other boy had stood and kneel, searching frantically amid the detritus for what had been left. Pale fingers hooked on a cold twist of metal, and the Slytherin pulled forth a plain gold band. Set in the ring was a single black stone, carved with what he had grown up being told was the sign of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.
His pale features went white. What on earth was someone like Potter doing with something like that?
Then he turned the ring over in his hand thrice, that same urge that drove him to follow Potter driving him to use what he had in his possession. It was desperation that he breathed at the end, not even knowing until that instant what he'd been needing.
"Albus Dumbledore."
There was a pause in the world, for it seemed that everything had gone deathly still.
Then the Headmaster came.
"Draco." Dumbledore sighed softly, looking down his crooked nose at his wayward pupil with a piercing blue gaze.
Silver eyes stared back silently pleading before the boy could swallow past the lump in his throat and give a throaty croak. "Help me."
An inscrutable look crossed Dumbledore's face, before the old man smiled. "You do not need my help Draco."
The spectre reached out, setting an insubstantial thumb against Malfoy's forehead where it burned like an icy brand. "You already have all the answers. Look back to the last time we met, and you will remember at the end of my life that it was my mercy that mattered, not yours."
Draco's lips trembled, fighting against the urge to bawl.
"It is our choices who show who we are. What sort of man are you going to become?" The twinkle that had gleamed in the old sorcerer's eyes in life returned even as the ghost faded. "Do not ask for my forgiveness, it has always been given to you. Good luck and farewell, Draco Malfoy."
"I- sir-please!" Draco choked, unable to string together a coherent thought on the matter before the old man was gone, vanished back into the ether. Staring at where his former Headmaster had been in thought, Draco lost himself until something crashed in the trees.
Cursing, the Malfoy heir dove off to the side. He managed to hide in a crop of shrubbery, peering out as the Hogwarts Gameskeeper strode back up the ridge, blubbering and cradling Potter's limp form in his arms.
Draco went white, watching in horror as a triumphant Voldemort followed on the half-giant's heels, throwing out caustic comments to the rehearsed laughter of his servants.
The blond watched as the procession moved on by, staying concealed even at the sight of his distraught mother. It was only after the sounds of the group faded away, that the youngest Malfoy stood, peering after them in indecision.
"What sort of man?" he wondered softly, a trickle of conviction warring with fear in his eyes.
Draco slid the ring onto his finger.
The second time Draco touched one of the Deathly Hollows was a morning of spellfire and horror and majesty. When Potter rose from the dead, Draco forgot to breath. And he knew that so did everyone else.
The Boy-Who-Lived seemed undefeatable when facing down the Dark Lord's wand, and by the way the Dark Lord's eyes widened comically with fear, Draco would have said the monster felt it too.
So much of what Harry said that day burned. It burnt and curled around inside him warm and heady with a feeling that he couldn't give sound to with his tongue.
Hope.
"Neither can live while the other survives..."
"Dumbledore is dead!"
"He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before you did, arranged the whole thing with the man that you thought was your servant."
"The Elder Wand recognized a new Master before Dumbledore died, someone who had never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he'd done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."
There was something building in Draco's chest, a foreboding coldness that urged him to run and to step back into the shadows and hide among dark robes.
The True Master of the Elder Wand is Draco Malfoy.
Icy fear rose in his chest as Potter tracked a green stare unerringly at his former schoolmate rival with a look full of meaning, and Draco knew. He knew even before the mingled shouts of 'Expelliarmus!' and 'Avada Kadavra!'. He knew it before red and green mingled. And he knew it even before the red began to fold back under the pressure.
Harry Potter was going to die. The boy himself knew it. And Draco knew it just as surely as Potter did.
That gaze was something that he didn't want to own up to, a charge that made him shake and choke and want to cry. Because when Potter had looked at him, it was all there in that instant.
Passing the torch.
Then red collapsed with a bang, and emerald light flashed.
Silence hung as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Died-To-Live-Again, died for the very last time. It was a frozen tableau, as if fragile marble had crystallized everything.
Tom Riddle laughed. He laughed and howled jubilantly with all the mad humour of a monster that had won at last; swallowing the light of the sun.
People screamed, some dashing forward with spells in a last-ditch effort to avenge their fallen hero. Others finally broke and fled screeching. It made no difference to the Dark Lord, who giggled as he effortlessly parried dozens of spells and broke the last resistance to his rule one kill at a time.
Redhaired Weasleys died by the droves it seemed to Draco as he dodged through the melee, listening to the whisper in his ears of hurry hurry hurry.
Old Man Weasley and his dumpy wife tumbled to the flagstones like broken marionettes. The second twin Weasley joined his brother in death. Werewolf Weasley with all his scars went down in a red ruin. Dragon Weasley with his burly arms light up in malevolent flames. Even Poncy Weasley with his prim and proper bearing was blown to bits. Weaselette died screaming under the Cruciatus as foam bubbled from her mouth and she bit though her tongue, choking on her blood.
Then finally it was only Ron, tears pouring down his freckled face as he desperately tried to kill a wizard decades his senior.
Draco bent and lifted a shimmering cloak from the ground with a morbid sense of rightness, as if things were finally clicking when he wrapped the cloth around his shoulders.
Then he stood, coming face to face with Granger.
Rage and disgust burned in the mudblood's eyes and twitched in the fierce frown that settled on her brow. Granger's hands curled into fists with an aching intent to drive into his face; to reward him for the desecration that he was visiting upon her best friend's body. And he flinched back, remembering all too well the last time her face had worn that particular expression.
Then he was shoved forward by a gloved hand, toppling over onto Granger and going down with her in a tangled pile of limbs. Hissing as her elbow dug into his ribs and curling away automatically, Draco cast his gaze back up to see who had thrown him down.
A flash of green, and Lucius Malfoy crumpled. Draco's father was deathly still as he collapsed, tangled blond mane settling over features that had grown gaunt in Azkaban. But Draco didn't need to see his father's glazed eyes to know there was no rise in the Malfoy Patriarch's chest.
Dead.
Fear began to pass into fury as Draco turned a burning look at the Dark Lord, hate finally winning out over terror to send a venomous glare.
Voldemort's slit nostrils flared as a pale eyebrow twitched at yet another unfaithful follower. Lucius Malfoy, the once proud and strong sorcerer was dead. All because his love for his offspring would not permit him to allow the Dark Lord to kill Draco outright.
"I can attend to Draco Malfoy." The Dark Lord had declared to the world.
Burning like ice around his ring finger, the Resurrection Stone seemed to chill him. Every beat of Draco's heart was spreading the freeze through him, and Draco stood. A feeling of weight settled on his shoulders, not heavy but rather comfortable with a whisper of confidence.
Draco's hawthorn wand dropped into his hand from a rumpled sleeve.
Tom Riddle snorted. "The coward son of a coward wants to die on his feet like a man?" The mocking tone turned cruel as the Dark Lord idly twirled the Deathstick between his fingers. "Only a fool thinks he can live standing against Lord Voldemort! Drop your wand Draco,, and I will make your death less painless than you deserve for abandoning your rightful Lord."
Words were wind, whistling without meaning past the young Malfoy's ears. There was no sound but the roar of blood in his ears and a slow building whispering. Cold, alien determination was in him. Fear drowning beneath certainty that everyone dies.
Hermione's incredulous look dug between his shoulders as Draco's wand arm rose and he murmured with the chill of the grave. "Avada Kedavra."
Green light rocketed forth, shattering a hastily summoned piece of rubble. Through the dust he could barely glimpse the frightful smirk of triumph and amusement as Voldemort wordlessly waved the Elder Wand. Snakes began to rise from the cracks in the flagstones of Hogwarts with an unholy hissing.
The hissing cut off as fire lashed out, burning the serpents into a crisp.
Draco threw a surprised look over his shoulder as Granger stepped up beside him, stance radiating aggression.
"It's not for you." she said coldly as they both sent Reductor curses at the Dark Lord.
Voldemort side-stepped with an indolent sneer – as if their pitiful attempts weren't even able to move him to waste the time to block.
A Cruciatus swept over as the pair ducked and responded with lances of fire.
Voldemort blocked a volley of spells with a conjured silver shield that gave off a chilling gong with every strike.
The pair found themselves dodging more earnestly as Tom's amusement ran out and the Dark Lord began to respond solely with killing curses.
It was lucky chance that sent an Avada Kedavra the Draco didn't see until the last moment. Malfoy responded with a desperate shield charm, knowing the Unforgiveable was unblockable but unwilling to simply do nothing.
Emerald splashed across the magical surface, dissipating with a crackle. And all three stared. Hermione with pure shock. Draco with unadulterated relief.
For the first time since the duel began, Voldemort showed fear.
A slow, vicious smile broke over Draco's face. Slashing his wand with a brutal twist, the Malfoy Heir shot a pulsing red Cruciatus at his former master.
Hermione drew back, caught between disapproval and glee as the blonde shifted from defensive and distracting hexes to Unforgivables. Dark magic was foul in the muggleborn's opinion, nut that didn't stop her from watching with a hunger for vengeance.
Tom Riddle retreated and dodged shafts of green lightning, unable to muster a proper defence with a wand that had betrayed him.
Crimson orbs flared with impotent fury as the Dark Lord ducked another killing curse. Skeletal fingers tightened with a creak around the length of Elder wood in his hand, and Lord Voldemort shrieked "You're a fool, Draco Malfoy! No one can defeat Lord Voldemort!" Swinging the Elder Wand about, the Dark Lord roared "Avada Kadavra!"
Green met green in a fury of sparks, emerald flames pouring out as two killing curses slammed together. The world hung in a breath, and exhaled as one curse broke beneath the other, with the victory rushing forward in a howl of wind to strike the defeated down.
Everything was silent as Tom Riddle's bloody gaze rolled up and the Dark Lord's body fell to the flagstones spread-eagled.
The crunch of gravel beneath Draco's heels was the only sound in the tense stilness as the blonde crossed the courtyard to stare down at the body.
Pale fingers curled around a piece of Elder wood, and amidst the sudden shout of relief that echoed from the few survivors, Draco Malfoy united the Deathly Hollows.
Three years later Draco kicked the silk sheets off his body in a fit of pique as another echoing bang rocked Malfoy Manor. Sighing at the noise, the last Malfoy quickly discerned from the pounding in his temples and the burning in his eyes that he wouldn't be getting much sleep that night either.
Rising with a curse, Draco clicked his fingers and summoned the last of the old Malfoy house elves.
Tribbly bowed low before her master, peering at Draco with bulbous green eyes as she croaked "Will master be having coffee tonight, sir?"
Pressing a hand to his aching forehead, the Malfoy pinned the elf with a glare. "Yes Tribbly. Now get to it."
Tribbly swept low again, muttering under her breath "Of course, Master Malfoy. Tribbly is a good elf, unlike bad Dobby. Oh, the shame!"
Ignoring the decrepit servant as she began to wail, Draco pulled on a house coat. Eventually the elf that had birthed Dobby popped away. More the pity, Draco rolled his eyes as he strolled from his room. For a house elf, Dobby hadn't been quite right in the head – but at least Dobby hadn't been senile and frail.
As he descended the stairs in a rush to the basement, the Malfoy paused only long enough to gulp down the steaming cup of bitter black coffee Tribbly brought back. Dismissing the house elf after pushing the porcelain mug back into Tribbly's gnarled hands, Draco blinked bloodshot eyes and threw open the door to the dungeon.
Back before the Wizard's Council had given way to the Ministry of Magic, the Malfoy family had been bonafide landowning feudal nobility. The Norman wizards had ridden in as part of William the Conqueror's army, establishing themselves as the undisputed authority in Wiltshire. As such, they had created and passed down a traditional dungeon with all the trappings and torture devices necessary to make a sadist orgasm.
"Granger!" Draco shouted, voice echoing in the vast dark space. "What the hell are you doing?" A wordless tempus charm gave more fuel to the fire as his tirade continued on. "It's three in the bloody morning! Can't you take just one God damn day off-" Cutting off abruptly as a hand slapped over his mouth, the Lord of the Manor settled for a burning glare.
Hermione's sallow drawn face peered back unimpressed. Pulling her hand away with a raised eyebrow, the bushy haired woman wiped her palm over her robes and turned away. "I'm doing what I'm always doing, Malfoy. Just as you should be."
Making a final scowl at Granger's back, Draco dropped it as a lost cause and followed her. Set in the middle of the room on a broad oak table was an apparatus of wire and steel twisted into the shape of a hellish gauntlet. Stomping into place before it, the blond tore his wand from his pocket.
As always, when Draco first settled his fingers about the length of elder wood there was a hum of power that settled through his senses.
Ignoring the now familiar feeling, Draco pushed his hand – wand and all, into the gauntlet and settled. Immediately the ring set with the Resurrection stone began to burn cold. Weight settled over him as Hermione sniffed and tied Potter's old invisibility cloak over his shoulders.
Frowning, Draco waited until the mudblood had stalked around the table and taken up a position across from him.
Hermione waved her own wand in front of her eyes, which took on a glittering sheen, and then nodded to her partner. Responding with a silent Lumos, the Malfoy waited impatiently as Granger muttered to herself and began to jot down notes with a muggle pen.
Their strange partnership had begun two years prior when Hermione had appeared on Draco's doorstep in a storm, soaked wet and watching him with wild eyes.
The blond that had by sheer dumb luck managed to defeat the Dark Lord had allowed his childhood enemy to take residence in his home with the promise of a shared goal. They would work to harness the power of the Deathly Hollows and force Death to give back those whom they'd loved and lost – one way or another.
Nodding distractedly at Draco, Hermione waved the rich pureblood off once she'd gathered enough data on the magical output that the Master of Death had given off.
More than pleased to remove his hand from the metal glove, Draco passed the Elder Wand from one hand to the other and shook his fingers out. Potter's cloak was quickly set aside on the table – Draco hated wearing it. Doing so always made him feel like a filthy grave robber.
Dropping the Deathstick back into his robes, the blonde turned to leave and hopefully crawl into a dark corner to sleep for a week. Out of the corner of a silver-grey eye, Draco spied Granger.
The mudblood stared at the parchment in front of her with a white face of shock and began frantically digging through her expandable file folder that she carried everywhere. "Stupid, stupid!" the brunette muttered under her breath, mania overtaking her gaze and hands shaking as she drew out a single page.
The paper was old and yellow and probably not legally in Granger's possession, Draco decided as he strode around the table and peered over the woman's shoulder. The series of numbers on the page stamped with the Department of Mysteries insignia was baffling to Draco, and he was quite willing to abandon her to overanalyze whatever hidden discovery the Ministry had been covering up this time.
Stepping back with a scowl, Draco turned to leave only to be pulled back as Granger threw out a hand and seized a fistful of his robes. The bushy haired witch pulled the irritated blond back, laughing in his face like a madwoman. "How did I not see it before? It's so fucking simple!"
Quickly releasing her partner, Hermione drew out a third piece of parchment and began to scribble on it, taking the two sets of numbers she had – one obtained from the Ministry, and one from her experiments on him, and imputing them into a formula.
Taking the results, Hermione dried the ink with a quick wave of wandless, silent magic and flipped the parchment over to begin drawing on the back. Draco watched with a bored look, one eyebrow climbing higher and higher as she drew out two rudimentary graphs with the harsh strokes that she'd developed as her mind began to break down over the years after the deaths of Potter and Weasley.
"So fucking simple!" she cried as she finished and shoved the parchment in his face.
Glaring at the two identical scribbles, he shoved the paper back and her and frowned.
Hermione scowled before shaking her head. "Don't you see, they're the same!"
"Oh well spotted, Granger." He snarked.
Huffing as she threw up her hands, Hermione glowered up at her partner with blazing brown orbs. "Honestly, Malfoy! Did you never study spell creation at all? Just what did you think we were doing here? Playing around? We're using the data generated from your use of the Hollows to develop a spell to use the real power hidden in the Hollows! Only we won't have to because an analogue to do that already exists!"
The annoyance bled out of Draco as he stared into the brunette's manic eyes.
It began slowly as a tingle in his toes and rising – triumph. Laughter burst out of Draco, maniacal with glee as he seized the woman in an impromptu hug and swung her around. He couldn't wait to see his mother and father again!
A smile lit up Hermione's prematurely aged face and she giggled along with him.
"Well, where is it?" he demanded, voice rolling with anticipation.
"In the Department of Mysteries. It's the Veil."
Whispers filled the air, a sound at odds with anything that should possibly exist on the living side of the divide. Little moans for release, for forgiveness, for renewal. A breath of spirit, chilling Draco's spine and instinctively raising the blond's hackles. Revulsion and longing mixed as he took in the insubstantial gray streamers the fluttered about.
"Do you hear that?" he bit out, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. She only responded with a fearful look, cringing away from the worn archway with an expression of distaste.
Unspeakables lay crumpled in their seats and across the floor behind the pair, no match for the two who had infiltrated the Ministry under Death's own cloak. Blaring wails echoed in the distance, summoning the Aurors to attend to the breach in defense.
Draco had commanded Tribbly to cause as much of a distraction in the upper levels as the old elf could, ignoring Hermione's hissing protests of slavery as he sent the servant to what could possibly be death. A chilling look had forced the former Elves' Rights activist to subside. Hermione was too afraid of the silent threat of him going alone – because Draco hardly needed her after she'd fulfilled her purpose of providing a way back for them.
She'd quieted with a glare. Hermione was ultimately unwilling to sacrifice the chance to save the lives of her closest friends and all the rest who had died when Voldemort had nearly won – even for the sake of a life.
Malfoy would have been perfectly happy at forcing death to yield up his parents, Hermione wanted to save everyone. Hence her refusal to devote her energy to any venue but one that would send them back to when it all began.
Draco subsided when she'd pointed out that they'd both win – Hermione could go running about on her hero's crusade while he had more than enough time to get his family out of the war.
The distant howling alarm cut off, leaving the silent buzz that would only be heard in the Minister's office. Informing Shacklebolt that someone had broken in the Department of Mysteries.
Too much time had been wasted already.
"Come on." Granger hissed, seizing his arm and dragging him towards the gate. Shaking off the distraction of the voices that were all the clearer now that there was no screeching alarm to crowd them, Draco stumbled forward.
Quickly overtaking the somewhat mad muggleborn that was slowly forcing herself forward against fear, Draco grasped the woman's hand in a crushing grip, pulling her into a running leap.
They fell into darkness.
Draco blinked about in the pitch darkness, pulling Hermione's form to his chest as they floated along in an abyss. It began so slowly that he was sure he'd imagined the faint lighting in the distance. Thunder crashed frighteningly close, sending his heart into a panicked spasm before an invisible force hooked below his navel and tore him across the empty void.
Stars exploded into painful existence, flaring sparks of light birthing a stabbing pain in his retinas. Silver glass shimmered, reflecting light back and forth until the glow became too strong and Draco shut his eyes against the agony.
Time passed.
Eventually the warmth on his eyelids abated, and the blonde opened his eyes and cast down to look at the woman crushed to his chest.
A skull grinned back at him, and he screamed, kicking the corpse away.
Draco shouted in pure panic as the skeleton grabbed his thrashing foot, digging bony fingers into his black trousers and pulling itself along up his body and against his sobbing protests.
Curling its claws into his white dress shirt, Death shoved its bony visage up against Draco's face and breathed out with all the rot of a hundred worlds. Tearing Potter's cloak from around his shoulders and fixing it about its own undead form, Death gave a heaving cackle and tore the Resurrection stone from the ring curled about his finger.
Draco went limp with horror, allowing the macabre spectre to easily root about in his pockets and pull the Deathstick out with fleshless hands.
Suddenly Death's face was back in his own, dark sockets peering into him and tearing through his mind. Pain blossomed fierce across his brain, which was only an inkling of what was to come.
"So bargained, Draco Malfoy." Death cackled in a voice old and young, man and woman, before shoving him away to tumble between the stars.
Agony took him, fire burning in every bone, every vein. Merciful heavens, it was worse than the Cruciatus, worse than torture, worse than death.
Draco drew in a blazing breath, cooking his lungs as if he really could breathe flames like his namesake and screamed.
He screamed until the light faded, He screamed until the whispers stopped. And then he screamed until he woke up in his childhood four poster bed screaming bloody murder.
The door flew open, a steely ferocious gaze darting about as Narcissa swept into her only son's room. The blonde woman held out her wand, a dark curse throbbing on the tip. Every fixture burst into light and banished every shadow.
No intruders.
Draco's screaming cut off into a sob, the boy burying his face in his hands.
Softening her severe expression, Narcissa crossed the luxurious dark marble floor and sat on the bed alongside her only child. The blonde woman wrapped her arms around the weeping boy, setting a cheek on the pale locks that were so like her husband's.
"There, there Draco. It's alright."
Rubbing his eyes at the dawn, Draco covered a gaping yawn before shuffling across his expansive bedroom and into the lavatory.
Twisting the faucets to fill the tub with steaming water, Draco pulled off his pajamas and threw them in a tangled pile for the house elves to clean up on the black marble tile and crawled into the enormous bath.
Nearly every surface in the manor was constructed of marble. It gave the Manor a feel of being akin to being a magnificent palace worthy of royalty.
Or a mausoleum.
Draco shuddered involuntarily. Death was still too recent a memory.
Granger's plan had gone off well considering the nature of what she'd been attempting to accomplish. Shame the girl had to die on the way back – there was nothing she owned to be used to bargain a safe passage with Death. It seemed Potter was on his own, Draco mused as he scrubbed under his arms.
Potter.
"Oh fuck."
Without Granger around to guide him, there was no guarantee that Potter would win against the Dark Lord when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose again. Potter had died the last time around – leaving it to Draco to play along with the luckiest godsend in Wizarding History. Even with Dumbledore's meddling, there was a limit to what sheer dumb luck would do.
When Potter lost, the Dark Lord would take pure pleasure in hunting down those who'd abandoned him. The Malfoys would be on the Dark Lord's shit list if Draco could convince his parents to flee. And if he couldn't, what were the options? Kneel and live in fear, or kneel and get killed for one insane reason or another.
Draco couldn't afford to have Potter lose. With Granger dead, that really only left…
Him.
"Damn Gryffindors." He muttered, dunking his head under the flow to rinse out the shampoo.
So what choice did that leave? There was nothing Draco could do besides get Potter's arse moving as soon as possible. The Dark Lord would return at the end of their Fourth Year – hopefully it would be long enough to whip the boy hero into shape.
"Really." He declared as he dried off and began to pull on the robes that had most likely been silently set out by Dobby. "There's not much to do but play nice with Potter on the train." The decision came so calmly and rationally that it would have surprised the blond, if he hadn't known he was holding onto his Occlumency training so tightly his brain ought to leak out of his ears.
"What an excellent choice Draco." Came Lucius' low purr from behind him. Spinning about with his heart pounding, Draco sent his father a shaky smile. "We'll make a Slytherin of you yet."
"Thank you, Father." He replied automatically as he cast about mentally for something to say. Draco wouldn't see his father for nine months, and he needed to get Lucius out from the Dark Lord's shadow as soon as possible.
"Father." Draco began, licking his lips as Lucius paused and stared down at him with a blank expression and bored eyes that Draco had always termed 'the face' as a child. It was an expression that said 'do not waste my time'.
"About the Dark Lord…"
Lucius' gaze sharpened instantly, and he wordlessly gestured for his son to get on with whatever he needed to say.
"I know that you've told me that if the Dark Lord ever returned that we'd serve him again, but…" Draco couldn't prevent the memory of Lord Voldemort's burning red gaze from sending a spasm of terror across his face. "I've heard awful things about him. About how he'd use the Cruciatus curse on a whim. About how he'd kill those who failed him."
"Draco." The tall blond began in a low dangerous tone. "Do you mean to tell me that you're going to go against the Dark Lord, against me? Such foolishness-"
"Yes!" Draco cried, words tumbling out as surprised anger grew in Lucius' face at being interrupted by his own son. "Why should we, the Malfoys, bow and scrape to some self-styled Lord with no House or true name!"
Playing to his father's prejudice and arrogance, Draco threw his arms out in declaration. "Why, with the way he'd gone hiding it, how would anyone even know that he was pureblood at all? I understand he went on and on about being Slytherin's heir – but that doesn't mean that he's not the halfblood son of a muggle and a blood-traitor!"
Inscrutably, Lucius cocked his head at Draco, suppressing his shock underneath a perfected mask.
"And even if his blood was pure. Being tortured and killed for the slightest mistake, is that the future you would've wanted for me?" Draco finished with a whisper, looking up at his father through fair lashes. Making such a speech to his father was a gamble, and one he would've liked to calculate more. But he was bound for Hogwarts in a pair of very short hours.
"Go and see your mother." Lucius finally ordered after a long moment of silence, no hint of emotion disturbing the Malfoy Lord's icy mask.
Knowing his luck was running very short on his father's temper, Draco rushed to obey and left Lucius standing alone in the bathroom.
Lucius spent a very long time tracing eyes over the white spidering lines in the black tile, thinking of what his son had said to him.
"And remember to write Draco." Narcissa commanded, setting her hands on her son's shoulders and peering into his face.
If she was a woman inclined to public displays of affection like the dreadfully uncouth Weasleys, she'd gladly press sloppy kisses on Draco's pale cheeks. Refined lady that she was, Narcissa settled for a desperate communication of her affection with tearful eyes.
The youngest Malfoy smiled past the grief and awe that constantly seized him every time he beheld either of his parents – alive and whole, and nodded sharply. "Yes, mother." He echoed his own words nearly a decade past. "I'll write you as often as I can."
Only barely satisfied at the promise – letters would never suffice for the nine months that Draco would be away at Hogwarts – Narcissa released her son's shoulders and turned away to face the crowd imperiously, dabbing discreetly at the warm shimmer distorting her vision.
Lucius was even less given to public displays of affection than his wife, and settled for a silent momentary grip on Draco's shoulder. From the cool, considering look in his father's gray orbs, Draco knew that their brief discussion that morning had not gone forgotten.
Releasing his son with a tiny nod, Lucius settled a hand on his son's lower back and gave a slight push to spur Draco into motion. The Lord Malfoy regally offered his wife his arm, and Narcissa wordlessly took it. Both faces wore blank expressions, but neither could entirely conceal their burning pride as they watched their son navigate the press of wizards and witches on the Platform.
It was only when Draco boarded the train that they stopped watching him, and with a quick glance over the crowd, the pair turned on the spot and vanished.
Shoving past a gaggle of second years, Draco lugged his trunk behind him as he began peering into the compartments about him.
Potter had grown into a habit of taking the last compartment at the end of the train in his other life, but Draco was unwilling to assume that the brat did so on his first ride and take off running up and down the train if Potter wasn't in the last compartment.
Better to be slow and methodical. Better to take his time. Better to settle his nerves before facing the music.
Draco managed to get halfway down the train before Crabbe and Goyle materialized at his elbows, cracking their knuckles and glaring with all the intelligence of a pair of trolls at the crowd that packed all along the train. Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Draco began to cast about for an empty compartment.
At his first eleven, the youngest Malfoy had been absolutely thrilled at having a pair of walking bookends to enforce any desire that came into his heart with mindless muscle. At his second eleven, Draco had a very clear understanding of what Crabbe and Goyle were and were not useful for. And one thing the oafish pair absolutely was not useful for was making a good impression on Potter.
Glancing a familiar face out of the corner of his eye, Draco squeezed past a pair of chattering Hufflepuffs and looked in at Theodore Nott conversing earnestly with Blaise Zabini. The two were dressed tastefully as proper wizards – nothing like those muggle rags Potter would be wearing. The blond mentally scoffed at Potter's fashion choices before tossing a glance over his shoulder at Crabbe.
"In here." He ordered, sliding open the compartment and stepping inside. Smirking at Nott when the dark-haired boy rose a brow, Draco favoured the dark-skinned Zabini with a wink before allowing Goyle to grab his trunk and heft it into the alcove above with the others' luggage.
"Finally showed your face Malfoy?" Nott jeered, beginning the instant jockeying for position that coloured Slytherin interactions.
"Well you know me old chaps." The Malfoy drawled back, pretending to buff his nails on his robes. "It would be exceedingly cruel of me to deprive you of the chance to take in my beautiful visage."
Blaise snorted with repressed laughter while Nott was unable to prevent the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed on cue, even if the advanced vocabulary had flown right over their heads.
Draco sent one last sneer about the compartment before shrugging and turning to leave. "Stay here. I'm just off to the loo." He ordered, leaving Crabbe and Goyle to munch candy while the Malfoy slid from the group of Slytherins and resumed his search for Potter.
Without the pair of bodyguards hounding his every move the Malfoy quickly moved down the train.
Draco made it to the last car before he was accosted by a pair of grinning Weasleys.
"Why look here Gred." One chirped, elbowing his twin. "What's a cute, ickle firstie doing wandering about on his lonesome."
"Just was wondering that meself." Gred replied, winking at Draco in an exaggerated motion. "Maybe he's lost, eh Forge?"
Draco's immediate instinct was to bite out an insult at Twin Number One and Twin Number Two about their home, or their upbringing, or their family – preferably all three. But Potter was inordinately fond of his pet Weasels, so the Malfoy swallowed his barb and attempted to think of a passably polite reply.
The blonde was still making a valiant effort at not insulting Weasleys when a third red-haired wizard stepped up from behind him and seized his brothers by the ears with a sharp twist. Fred and George swore at Percy as the older boy maneuvered them back into the compartment where Lee Jordan lounged one on of the seats.
"I've got these two Malfoy." Percy sighed as he shoved the twins into the compartment. Blinking at the unexpected generosity of a Weasley – though Percy was going to be the brown-nose prefect – Draco just smirked as the compartment door slid shut, cutting off the twin surprised cries of "Malfoy?"
Draco's pace slowed to a crawl as he slowly approached the rear of the train. Cold sweat broke out on the blond's palms as Draco tried and failed to distract himself by carefully observing the remainder of compartments. What if he screwed up? It wouldn't be the end of the world, but it would be a lot easier and safer to get Potter to get motivated if Draco was acting as his friend – or Merlin, not just acting as a friend, but actually being one.
Then if he did succeed, he had no idea how he would reconcile Potter's interests and his family's interests. Draco loved his father, but that didn't make him unaware of the elder Malfoy's uncompromising personality and instinctive prejudice. Potter's views were about as proletarian as one could get – and there was little Lucius Malfoy hated so much as an uppity plebian with delusions of grandeur.
Plus Potter was Dumbledore's man through and through, and to say Lucius was less than fond of Dumbledore was an understatement.
Still, the easy part would be to get Dumbledore and Potter to shelter his family – the pair were a couple of bleeding hearts unlike anyone that Draco had ever known. The hard part would be getting his father, and to a lesser extent his mother, to agree to take the headmaster's protection.
Far too quickly Draco found himself standing in front of the last pair of compartments. The one to the left of him was full of a gaggle of doltish Hufflepuffs, which left the one to the right for Potter and his favorite Weasley. Draco swallowed dryly, wiping the sweat from his palms off on his robes.
The latch was cool under his fingertips, burnished brass worn ever so slightly at the touch of generations of wizards and witches bound for Hogwarts. It seemed the click was absurdly louder than any of the other sounds of locomotion and the faint hum of the chatter of children. The roll of wheels as the compartment slid open was a heaving screech – in Draco's mind at least.
Weasley's freckles were the first thing to penetrate his mind, hypercharged synapses memorizing detail down to the spots as they shifted and twisted when Ron turned a quizzical blue stare at the intruder.
Red.
Had Weasley's hair always been so fucking red?
Maybe. But it didn't matter.
What mattered was -
Potter.
Shimmering emerald green stared back in a fine featured face. Faint planes revealing the future attractiveness that would come to entrance the opposite sex for Potter. Potter's clothes were far, far too baggy, clinging to bony shoulders and bony knees and Draco wondered how he'd ever ignored the implications of Potter dressing in a ragged size fit for a whale. The Potter's had a good deal of gold – and no proper family would send their child out in public with such hand me downs. Even Weasley's second hand clothes were decently sized for the impoverished boy.
Pink lips were wet by a little pink tongue before forming into a faint "oh".
A pitched "oh" that sent him stuttering as he shoved out a pale hand in greeting – the order was wrong.
"I heard that H- that Potter was on the train." Draco grinned weakly at Potter, mastering his shock. "I guess that's you, is it?"
Draco was still staring as Potter dragged one hand nervously through a messy mop of auburn strands and set the other fine boned hand in Draco's grip, grinning timidly back.
"Yeah, that's me." He said.
Potter had red hair.
What the fuck?
(AN): 7300 words. This was the first and possibly last Potterfic I'll write – the only chaptered one at least. And that's because as you see from the cliffie there that not only is this time travel, it's going to be pretty massively AU. Also, as you can see I didn't plan to change Draco too much too quickly. He still treats House Elves like slaves (even if he's not keen on torture). He still has some ingrained prejudices about muggles and the lower classes. He's still selfish and he's got a ways to go if he's actually going to reform into a more heroic sort of character.