Puddlestoke Manor, Yorkshire – July 28, 1997
"Young Malfoy!" commanded the sibilant tones, "Step forward and accept your punishment for failure!"
Draco trembled, and attempted to obey the Dark Lord. He couldn't move, however. He was so paralyzed with fear that his feet remained frozen on the marble floor. A glimpse of the sad resignation on Severus' face told Draco the bad news.
It was over.
Hopefully, his death would be a quick one. Maybe it wouldn't hurt too much.
"Crucio!!"
Well, so that was a vain hope. It was going to be quite the excruciating death. Draco collapsed on the ground as sharp tendrils of pain began spiraling up his legs and out towards the rest of his body. Hot flames of agony spasmed over and over – cracking his bones and ripping apart his skin.
In between screaming his throat raw and vomiting out the contents of his tortured stomach – Draco actually found a moment for reflection. How had it all come to this? Lying in a puddle of blood and other bodily fluids, surrounded by gawking Death Eaters and an exceedingly pissed off Voldemort?
About to die.
Honestly, when had things gone so fucking pear-shaped? For Circe's sake, he was a bloody Malfoy! Hadn't he been always been the perfect, obedient Death Eater's son? And hadn't his father always been the perfect, obedient Death Eater? This was the thanks they both received from a grateful Dark Lord? Draco spared a wistful thought for his beloved parent, wasting away in the dankness of Azkaban.
Father. What would his reaction be upon learning of his son's death? Would he cry just as surely as Mother? Would he regret having been such a loyal servant to Voldemort? Father, who had always been so proud of his pureblood
heritage. Century upon magnificent century for the House of Malfoy. But today, the proud line would end here.
"Any last words, young Malfoy?" came another sharp hiss.
'Mummy!' screamed Draco silently as blinding shards exploded inside his head. 'I don't want to die, Mummy!'
"Avada Kedavra!"
The unmistakable green light hurtled towards him...then slowed to a crawl
Wait a minute – slowed?
So, you're probably wondering why I've nearly frozen time?
Where had that voice come from?
Inside your head, actually.
Suddenly, Draco realized his head had stopped hurting. In fact, his entire body had stopped hurting. Ah. So, this was what it felt like to be dead.
Don't be an idiot! You aren't dead...yet.
'Who is this?'
I'm you.
'You're who?'
I'm your inner spirit! Your essence!
Draco gave a mental snort. 'How nice of you to drop by, but I'm a bit busy right now!'
Ah. Lovely to see my sense of humor has evolved in the past thousand years.
'What??"
I'm your soul...your eternal soul. I've been through numerous other lifetimes, but I must say – yours has been, by far, the most irritating!
'I BEG your pardon?'
The inner voice gave an exaggerated whine – 'Ooh, filthy Mudbloods...ooh, if I were in Hufflepuff I'd leave...ooh, the mean Hippogriff bit me...ooh, Gryffindorcheats...ooh, my father shall hear of this...ooh, poor Potty has no family-'
'Shut up!' Draco raged silently. 'I'd prefer some peace and quiet while I die.'
About that. I'm very...displeased about how things have turned out in this lifetime-
'Well, at least we're on the same page there.'
-it's time to...retrieve the situation.
'Hello? Avada Kedavra en-route here! I'd say the situation is pretty damn irretrievable.'
I can't believe this is my destiny! To die such a clueless, deluded moron!
'Hey!' The green light seemed a bit closer now.
There isn't much time left, so I'll make this quick: In our last life, we...ahem, I, was a very great wizard. In fact, I was the most powerful wizard the world has ever known. That memory has been locked away until our brain was nearly shattered by the endless Cruciatus curses. But now, with every last bit of power I can muster, I can perform one final act of magic. I can save you...
Draco felt the strangest stirrings of hope. A powerful wizard? Himself? A final act of magic? Saved?
Just for one moment, Draco Malfoy, you will remember! All our greatness! All our past power! You will remember who and what we were! But quickly! We must choose a moment in time! A moment that made all the difference in this lifetime. If we could return to that exact moment, when would it be? Ah, let us see...which one...
The green light of Voldemort's death curse was almost upon him now. Strangely, Draco no longer felt any fear. He felt only peace. Somehow, he knew things would be...all right. He'd never felt such confidence. Such strength. Such wisdom. Such power...
Understand, Draco – it will take an incredible measure of power and craft! When the time spell is done, you will still have all your own lifetime memories. You'll remember this talk. You'll remember me. Us. However, you'll not remember my knowledge and skill. Perhaps, there will be glimpses here and there...but that is no longer important. Not an instant to spare! 'Backwards o time! Backwards in flight! Carry this dying soul back!'
The impact of Avada Kedavra shattered his mind into pieces. It must be true, Draco thought (he still seemed to have a mind, sort of) that one's life really does pass in front of one at the moment of death. But wait – this wasn't his life as a Malfoy. The flashes seemed to be of someone else's life:
A dignified grey-haired wizard holding a staff...
Watching with pride as a muggle boy pulls a huge sword out of a stone...
The same wizard, white-haired and wizened...as he lay dying in a crystal cave...
Holy shit. No. It couldn't be. No! Draco's quickly dissolving mind cried out in disbelief. It had to be a dream, yet here it was!
Oh, did I forget to mention that?
'You damn well did!' If Draco could have gasped, he would have. If Draco could have fainted from the shock, he would have done that, as well. As the entire world exploded into blackness, his last conscious thought was:
"Fuck me, I'm MERLIN??"
Diagon Alley - July 31st, 1991
"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" a familiar voice was drawling somewhere above him.
Draco stumbled on the cobblestones. "Wha-"
Lucius Malfoy huffed impatiently. "While I am selecting your schoolbooks, you will remain at Malkin's until your mother comes to collect you."
Draco gazed up at a different Lucius. The Lucius before Azkaban. Tall, elegant and groomed within an inch of his pureblood life. "Fa-father?"
"I expect you to comport yourself as befits a Malfoy." There was a pause. "Is that clear, Draco?"
"Y-yes, Father!" he barely choked out, and watched in utter astonishment as the older man gave a perfunctory nod, and swept inside Flourish and Blotts bookstore.
He was back! He was alive! He was whole, Draco marveled. He made an inventory of arms, legs and other assorted body parts. All unblemished, unbloodied and accounted for. Well-dressed, well-fed and completely Cruciatus and Avada-Kedavra-free. Talk about a cosmic reprieve! But he was smaller...way smaller. Apparently just eleven years of age and about to start Hogwarts again! Great Merlin! Great bloody, fucking Merlin –
Hang on a minute. He WAS bloody, fucking Merlin. How incredible was that? Not that he remembered much – more like the who instead of the what. Still, that sort of put a completely different spin on the world, didn't it?
You can never tell another living soul...
It was a gentle voice giving a gentle warning.
It's not as if anyone would ever believe you...
But the voice which had seemed so clear and strong before the spell, now was barely audible. It was almost as if it had done the job it came for, and could now rest again.
No one else will ever know...
Well, Draco shrugged, perhaps. Nothing was ever written in stone, was it? And even though all that staggering knowledge and power had disintegrated with the time spell – it hardly mattered. Such a delicious feeling of peace settled over him. For it was enough just to know just who he had once been. The legend called Merlin. A man he had the potential to become yet again. So that made three priceless, staggering gifts he had been given today. Self-awareness, first. Then he been given his life back, and he now possessed certain knowledge of the future.
He would do everything in his power to change what had previously gone wrong in these six coming years. He wouldn't make the same dreadful mistakes that had led to disaster the last time around. He could do that. Sure! He could do anything if he set his mind to it. After all, he was damn, bloody Merlin, right?
Draco wiped the cocky grin off his pointy little face, held his head up high and strutted towards Madame Malkin's robe shop and a destined meeting with Great Harry Potter.
A Few Minutes Later...
Standing on a fitting stool, he glared contemptuously at his reflection in huge mirror. Had his arms really ever been this skinny?
"Hold still, young Sir," cautioned the seamstress, "We're not through pinning.
The bell on the shop door tinkled. Draco gave a self-satisfied smirk as a scrawny, ragamuffin of a boy was led to the adjoining stool. The Boy Who Lived, right on schedule!
Strange, this time around, he could see Potter from a completely different perspective. The boy really was nervous, shy and still somewhat in shock about the new world he'd only entered this very morning. Now, the baggy, worn Muggle clothes only further accentuated his rival's vulnerability. Those disgusting relatives of his really must despise him.
Potter was led to the adjacent stool, and climbed up quietly, his eyes downcast. Okay, so...where to start? Right, the last time they'd gotten off on the wrong foot, apparently. Father had been quite displeased about his inability to "establish a rapport" with the Potter heir. This time, Draco buried his instinctive arrogance and attempted a more congenial tone:
"Hi!"
Potter raised his head, surprised that somebody was even talking to him, probably. "Um, hi!"
So far, so good. "Hogwarts, right?"
"Yes."
Time for the old "Malfoy Charm" genes to make an appearance. "Oh, it's the best place ever! You're going to love it!" Draco emphasized this sentiment with a broad, practically sincere smile. Well, pretty damn near it. After all, he had quite a lot to smile about! He wasn't dead! He knew the entire Death Eater schedule for the next six years. And oh, yes – he was also bloody, fucking MERLIN!
Potter warmed up instantly, like a plant opening its petals to the sun. "Sounds wonderful!"
"Are you...new to the wizarding world?"
"Could you tell?"
Draco laughed. "Yeah, but never mind that! Just wait till you learn about Quidditch!"
"Quid-what?"
This time, Draco's grin was genuine. "It's only the most super game ever! We play it on broomsticks...in the air!"
"Sounds wonderful," Potter sighed hopefully.
"Oh, by the way...I'm Draco...Draco Malfoy." He held out his hand. To his immense satisfaction and relief, the hand was clasped in return.
"Harry Potter."
"Really?" Draco smirked inwardly, knowing Potter was expecting to be pestered about his celebrity. "Your Dad was one of the best Quidditch players ever to come through Hogwarts!"
Potter's green eyes lit up with delight. "He was?"
Ah, and so their conversation was off and running after that. Draco realized full well that this was probably the first time anyone (except possibly that oaf, Hagrid) had ever mentioned Potter's dead father in a positive light.
"I bet you'll make the Gryffindor team, too! Did I mention Gryffindor was your Dad's House at Hogwarts? That's probably the house you'll be in...like I'll most likely be in Slytherin like my parents." He paused tactfully. "But the truth is, it doesn't matter which house you end up in. It's always the house that suits you best."
"Always?"
It was time to throw the Quaffle through the hoop. Draco leaned over confidentially. "Each house has something wonderful to offer. And they'd all be happy to have you, Harry Potter."
Moments later, when the afore-mentioned oaf made his appearance outside the front window of Madame Malkin's, Draco exclaimed, "Hey, isn't that Hagrid? He's supposed to know everything about magical creatures. They say he's not afraid of anything!"
"He's the one who brought me to Diagon Alley," confided Harry, with some degree of pride.
"Wow! Do you suppose I could meet him?"
"Sure!"
As Draco bounded down the stool and followed Potter out of the shop, he found it hard not to gloat. Take that, Weasel! This time around, you aren't his first friend at Hogwarts...I am!
Even while his fingers were very nearly crushed in the giant groundskeeper's meaty handshake, Draco was triumphant. "It was wonderful meeting both of you." He turned one last time to Potter. "I'll see you on Track Nine and Three-Quarters, September First."
Potter's bewildered expression was followed by a belated and somewhat embarrassed explanation by the moron, Hagrid. A most excellent development! Now that the Boy Who Lived knew how to pass through the barrier at King's Cross, he needn't waste precious moments waiting for some random wizarding family (Weasels!) to blunder by and offer assistance.
As Draco gave a final wave to his "new" friend being led away to Ollivander's wand shop, his triumph was complete.
Well done, indeed!
And apparently, he was still in touch with his inner Merlin.
Oh, I do intend to drop by now and then. It should be amusing to see where we're sorted this time around.
Slytherin, of course!'
Don't be so sure!
'WHAT?'
"Draco, darling," Narcissa Malfoy interrupted the silent conversation.
He gave a startled glance at his mother. He had forgotten how young and exquisitely beautiful she looked...before the strain and worry of the past two years had taken their toll. Before Voldemort had threatened to kill her. But at the moment, with the bright sunlight gleaming off her pale, shiny hair – she resembled an angel. A happy angel whose only child was about to go away to school.
"Mummy," he whispered in a broken voice. And in the middle of Diagon Alley, he forgot he was a Malfoy and hugged her.
She beamed and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. "Come, sweetheart. We'll meet your father for luncheon - and then onto Ollivander's. Your very first grown-up wand! I'm so thrilled, darling!"
And as he strolled with his mother down the cobblestone street on that sunny, warm July day, Draco felt only hope and ease. His new future was a blank page upon which he could write anything. A world of wonderful possibilities awaited for him to choose.
And the future will tell.
tbc...