A/N I don't own the toys, and I don't own the sandbox. I'm just having a little fun playing in it for a while. Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, on with the fic! (Chapter specific A/N's will always appear at the end of the Chapter)
Prologue
The Journey of One Thousand Miles…
Blast it all to Hades, but he was crying again. This time, Draco was curled in one of the deserted corners of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, rather a bit more secure that this time his chances of having a near-miss of being discovered were diminished. A Malfoy – or at least a male Malfoy – was not to be seen publicly breaking down into a complete mess of blubbering sobs. Between threats and bribes, he'd managed to convince Myrtle herself to vacate before the tears had started. Now all that was left was contemplation of his fate. And truth to be told, he rather thought it might actually be worth tears.
"It's all bloody Potter's fault," he bemoaned to the empty space between hiccupping bouts of tears. It had come out half-whimper, and half-snarl, and much less angry than he'd meant for it to. But that may have been to be expected. The growing parts of him that had started to take things much more grimly, more seriously, more… maturely… since summer could easily see that blaming an orphan boy who'd had exactly no say about the drama he'd been thrust into as being the cause of his own situation was – well, it was childish. Of course, the part of him that currently had him sniveling in a girls' toilet thought it was entirely sensible to hate Potter all the more for the fact that he couldn't reasonably be blamed.
With a shuddering sigh, he pulled himself up a bit straighter against the wall, then held his breath for several long strings of heartbeats. When he let the breath out, it was still shaky, but more steady than he expected. Nodding firmly to himself, he reached over, and pulled his school satchel closer. Not that there were any school-things to be found in it on this cold afternoon. With a willful air of nonchalance – even to himself – he set aside first the leather-wrapped tool kit, and next a small, yet surprisingly heavy, black box with faded gold lettering that read "Mulligan's Do-It-Yourself Do-Over", instead reaching for an ever-full quill and a small ledger book.
"Day after tomorrow's the train for Winter Hols," he muttered to himself, almost as if testing out his voice. "If I don't sort this out now, I may not get another chance." He sighed, shot an extra locking charm at the door – along with an alarm trigger that would alert him if anyone lingered outside for too long – and then tapped the book's spine twice, requesting a third page to fold out beside the existing two.
Absently, he labeled his pages as individual columns. The first was marked Good Factors, the second Bad Factors, and the third, Why I Should Just Bugger Off, And Just Try Something Different (he had a bit of difficulty fitting the last on the space he'd allotted himself).
He stared at his first page a long time, before grudgingly writing down four things: Succeed = Entry into Inner Circle, Succeed = Live, Succeed = Mum Lives, Succeed = Father Lives.
The Second page was much easier, and if it hadn't been a magical ledger book, he would have been hard pressed to keep it all on the page. The first items were easy to write down: Fail = Tortured, Fail = Mum Tortured, Fail = Father Tortured, Fail = Dead, Fail = Mum Dead, Fail = Father Dead. Then with a little more thought, he grudgingly added: Succeed = More Chances to Fail, and Tasks = Likely Impossible.
Moving on to the third column, he recopied everything from the second. Then, holding his breath, for it was something he hadn't even dared let himself think too often, let alone put to voice or quill, he very shakily added: I Hate Lord Voldemort.
Seeing his full thoughts abbreviated in black and white in front of him made the decision much easier than he'd expected. "Tonight, then," he muttered to himself, dragging a hand roughly through his pristine hair. He cast a thorough incendio on the ledger pages in one of the sinks, checked that his face no longer bore any marks of tears, then repacked his satchel and left the room with his head held high. Either way it was a devil's gamble, but at least this way he'd be the one choosing the game.
MM
As chill and damp as the dungeon made the Slytherin Dormitories every winter, no one thought to question the fact that Draco had the curtains of his four-poster drawn, even as comparatively early as it was in the evening. Certainly everyone had noticed that of late his temper was short; although she denied having anything to do with it, his roommates had all put the blame squarely on Pansy Parkinson. After all, even the others who had a parent or two in the Dark Lord's service hadn't been informed yet of Draco's mission.
Had they ventured close enough to try to get his attention, they might have found that there was, in fact, a silencing spell held tight in against the curtains, which were in turn affixed to the bed and each other by a rather powerful sticking charm. And should anyone have been foolish enough to persist past those two discoveries, they would have encountered a variety of jinxes and hexes ranging from the mildly embarrassing to the sort that would require a visit to Madam Pomfrey to be fixed. He needed the utmost in privacy tonight. Tonight was his last chance; he could feel it in his bones.
Inside the curtains, and by the glow of a small conjured sphere of light, Draco carefully opened the Mulligan's Do-It-Yourself Do-Over box for only the second time. As before, the contents seemed innocuous enough. There was a small bottle of what was probably a potion of some sort, a quill, a needle of some silver-toned metal, a small pile of blank parchment, a pamphlet that most likely contained instructions, and sitting lightly on top, a single sheet of parchment that read simply: Worry not where you leave me when you begin your journey. As Time changes, so will my place, until I am where I'm needed to grace the next soul in dire straits.
Setting aside the loose leaf that had set atop everything, Draco lifted out the pamphlet, the front of which was decorated with the image of a snake devouring its own tail, over which was printed the words: How Mulligan Suggests You Do-It-Yourself! And beneath it: A Guide to Rearranging Time.
Much more curious now than he had been when he'd first found the box in the room of Lost and Discarded things, Draco carefully flipped open to the first page, and began to read.
Greetings Traveler, for that is what you are soon to be. Know that you are very lucky to have been chosen by the whims of time to find this box at a point when I am certain you feel you need it. And know that you are a special breed indeed to have chosen yourself to use it. I cannot reveal to you the hows or whys – not even of my knowing these things – but you have been given a precious gift – the gift of time. And not just any time, but the gift of time gone by, which can be used to change time yet to come.
The use of this kit is very simple. Use the enclosed platinum needle to prick your left index finger, and allow one drop of your blood to fall into the bottle for each year you wish to go back. Swirl the bottle counter-clockwise for that many turns. Then, after the liquid has settled, use the enclosed quill to write out the exact date you wish to return to on one of the blank slips of parchment. You'll know the ones. When the potioned-ink has dried fully, you must burn the parchment. Use the ash to mark the symbol for infinity upon your chest. For best results, go to sleep immediately after.
Make the best use of your new time that you can, for even if you should somehow happen upon this kit again in your new future, you will be unable to use it a second time. Good Fortune, Traveler.
Sincerely,
Mike Mulligan
Feeling that he truly had nothing to lose, Draco carefully re-read the directions, and then followed them to the letter. He slipped the box beneath his pillow, banished the light, and waited a very, very long time for sleep to find him that night.
MM
When he awoke in the morning, the first thing that seemed… wrong to Draco was the fact that it was light. He always slept with the curtains drawn when he wasn't at home. Then it dawned on him, he was staring up at the black-background, flying snitch bed curtains he'd had at home – up until his third year when his Mum had let him redecorate. Frantically, he scrabbled to get his left arm free from the bedding and looked down in fear, only to be greeted with smooth, unblemished skin. Had it really worked? Was he really all the way back in the summer before first year? Next to him in his bed was a battered plush Welsh Green toy dragon that seemed to smile at him in an affirmative. Rushing through the door to the bathroom, he stripped off all his nightclothes (seemingly the same as the ones he'd worn at 11) and examined himself in the mirror.
He certainly didn't remember being quite so scrawny, but he was definitely younger. Getting ready to wake up, he bit down on his tongue as hard as he could, then had to clamp down on a shout as a slight copper tang filled his mouth. Alright, not a dream then. He stepped down into the tub, startled when it automatically began to fill with tepid water. Draco had come to prefer much hotter baths. Perhaps he really should have thought this through more completely.
"Draco? Darling?" His mother's voice came floating through his bedroom.
"In the bath Mum," was that his voice at 11? He sounded 5!
"Try to hurry down for breakfast, dear. It's shopping day!"
Trust his mother to make shopping sound like it was as exciting as Quidditch. "Yes Mum. Won't be long!"
Well, it was the date he'd written down, at least. Now to find out if he could keep from getting everything else wrong… again. As he leisurely began to lather up his hair, he started to turn the new set of problems over and over in his head. He should have to try to be careful not to upset the flow of things too fast – a rapid switch in his personality could make his parents entirely too suspicious, that much was a given – the last thing he needed was to be drug off to some sort of mind-healer. Or have his thoughts examined by his Godfather.
Any nonsense about preserving the timeline was out – he'd come back specifically to change things, after all. Maybe the question was why he'd gone for this day – this date, in particular. The only thing he could think of at all, was that it was the day he'd first met Potter, back in Madam Malkin's. He'd been suffering through the process of getting an entire new wardrobe on his Mother's orders, when the boy had come in, so scruffy and lost-looking that it hadn't been until after they'd met again on the Express that he'd fully realized who it was he'd met.
Draco paused, mid-scrub. Knowing as little as he had about Potter at the time – and not even knowing it was Potter the first time they'd spied each other – he'd in retrospect completely blown any chance at an alliance before proposing one. And he had to admit that it was in no small part due to his manner at the shop, and truthfully on the train as well.
Could that have been the reason for the off-the-cuff choice of this day? After all, Potter was seemingly the anti-Voldemort. If he could orchestrate things such that by the time the Dark Lord regained his strength, both his family and himself were somehow safely allied with Potter, then… That must be it.
Groaning, he dunked himself completely below the waterline to finish rinsing off. It would seem that, at least on a subconscious level, it looked like he'd decided the initial key to the entire solution to his past-future-eventual problem hinged on successfully becoming friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The Thorn-In-His-Side the last time around. Just bloody wonderful.
Surfacing, he elected to dry off and start dressing for the day before his mother came looking for him again. He'd been excited, and therefore quite prompt the first time around, and the one thing he had to make sure of was that he was in Malkin's when Potter got there. Apparently everything depended on it.
Chapter One
Diagon Alley – Part One
As it turned out, Draco soon found out that the hardest part of keeping things running to what he approximated was the right timetable was actually reminding himself to stay to the script, as it were. He found himself revisiting his memory of his real first time buying school supplies constantly, trying to remember if he should be lingering here, or attempting to rush through there. Finally, his Mother drug him (and honestly it was still with a bit of reluctance on his part) into Madam Malkin's, arranged for a new wardrobe, then informed him that when the proprietor was done with him he was to come directly to Ollivander's, where he would finally be able to get his wand – and happy was he to hear it again, because he was feeling quite edgy being out on the Alley without the reassuring touch of Hawthorne ready at his fingertips.
He hadn't ever thought of himself as having grown more patient, exactly, but he must have since the first time he'd been through this day, as several times he caught the shop-workers giving him the oddest looks, as if they were expecting a temper tantrum or at least a few whinges about how they ought to be moving faster, or treating him more gently. Amusement at their confusion was enough to help him pass the time until he spotted the familiar hulking form of Hagrid bent down just inside the shop's entrance. Draco could just make out a quiet conversation about how the Groundskeeper would be back for him shortly, and something about Gringotts' carts, and then today's objective walked on ahead into the main workroom.
It was all Draco could do not to gasp. If he was scrawny now-then-whenever it was he found himself currently, than Potter was a mere shadow. The boy looked around, half excited and half furtive – as though he was in awe of his surroundings, but at the same time was constantly expecting something to jump out and attack him. He certainly looked eager, but infinitely small as well, and more than a little nervous.
When Potter jumped as they began to measure him – and chatter more to each other than to their clients, as they so often did with children – Draco realized he had to stop musing, and start setting things on a different path. Putting on what he hoped was an actually polite smile, he looked over. "Is it your first year for Hogwarts too?"
Potter startled a little, and then looked over, offering a guarded smile of his own. "Guess it's obvious. Yeah. Didn't even know I was a Wizard until today, but I guess my parents were."
Draco considered his angle for about a half a second, then realized he had to stay away from any aggressive stances on anything. "It must be nice to see everything for the first time like that. I'm Draco by the way. Draco Malfoy."
"Harry Potter," came the expected reply, but with something odd, a twitchy, seemingly reflexive flinch.
"Let me guess," said Draco, surprising himself when he heard genuine sympathy in his own voice, "You've only just got here, and everyone who finds out who you are falls all over themselves to try to be your fan, all for something that from your point of view isn't some victory, but the night you lost your parents?"
"Yes!" The reply was surprisingly firm. "Even Hagrid – he's great, mind you, found me where they thought we were hiding, and bringing me here and all – but he says my parents were so amazing, then acts like he's proud of me. He doesn't even really know me. No one does." He wound down suddenly, glancing around shakily as if expecting a harsh reprimand to come from somewhere. "Er, sorry," he said, softly and rather randomly.
"Don't have to be sorry – especially if it's true," said Draco with a shrug. Inwardly, he wondered how a boy whose emotions went in that many directions was destined to be a leader of the light. But he didn't know him all that well either, that was bound to be a lot of unexpected things along the way. "Did your friend Hagrid tell you what to get here?"
"Just standard school robes," said Potter. "Why?"
"You should get a basic wardrobe. You might not like being a center of attention, but you are one, and it wouldn't hurt to make the best first impression you can when you get to school."
"But I only got a little money out of my vault—"
"Trust Vault, I'm betting," Draco mumbled to himself.
"What?"
"I'll explain later, but anyway, you can have them draw the money directly out of your vault for you." He looked around for a second, then spotted the witch he needed. "Madam Malkin," he called, as sweetly as he could manage.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Since you're already measuring him up, how much trouble would it be for you to do a wardrobe for Harry?" He'd only barely kept himself from saying Potter.
"It would depend on a lot of things, Mr. Malfoy, not least of which being what items were to be included in it," said the slightly frazzled tailor.
"How about just doing it up mostly the same as mine – just in colors better for him. Some casual robes, winter weights of the school robes, a few cloaks… well, and he probably doesn't need dress robes at the moment, I don't think."
"That wouldn't be too difficult, I suppose," she said, the wheels in her head obviously already turning.
"Draco," Harry practically hissed in a half-whisper, "are you sure I have the money for this?"
He turned back toward Potter, "If you don't, I'll pay for it out of my own allowance, no matter how long it takes." Harry paled a bit, visibly swallowed, then nodded, so Draco turned back to Madam Malkin. "It'll be a vault charge. I'm sure he can be back to pick them up when he's finished with his other shopping?"
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled with the contentment that comes from having received two good commissions in one day. "Now if you two gentlemen will try not to fidget, we can finish up with you in short order."
Considering that talking might be construed as fidgeting, the two remained silent. All the short while, Draco wondered how on earth it was so much shorter an endurance for Potter. Perhaps his frequent squirming and complaining about the process in the past had given them reason to take their time with him in retaliation. He was just beginning to ponder if Madam Malkin had been a Slytherin when they were both allowed to step down.
Draco followed Harry over to the till to talk him through signing a Vault Draft for his purchase. As they walked out of the shop, they were practically bowled over by Hagrid, who had been pacing outside. "What's took yer so long," he asked Harry abruptly. Draco elected to stand quietly to the side.
"Sorry Hagrid," said Harry, immediately seeming to shrink. So much for standing to the side.
"It's my fault, sir. We talked a bit, and I realized he needed a few more things than just school robes. I set up the order for him, and walked him through signing a Vault Draft for it. I'm sorry if I've put you off schedule for something."
Harry looked both pale and shocked that Draco had taken the blame. Hagrid, on the other hand, just gave a slightly awkward smile. "Aw, 'tweren't mad at yer Harry, just worried. Can't go misplacing the Boy Who Lived, now can I? Now, who might you be," he said, turning toward Draco.
"This is my new friend Draco," Harry chirped in enthusiastically.
"Well," said Hagrid, a bit of reluctance almost showing in his tone – perhaps he recognized the obvious resemblance Draco had to his father – "Well, any friend o' Harry's is a friend o' mine. Glad to meet yer."
Meeting Hagrid having gone so much more smoothly than he'd expected, Draco almost missed the moment when the tall man started giving Harry options as to where to go next. Quickly he spoke up again. "My Mum's waiting for me at Ollivander's, maybe we could go together?"
Hagrid seemed to think about that for a moment, then a broad grin came over his face as he obviously came to some sort of conclusion. "Brilliant! I'll jus' walk the two of yer over. Meet me at the Magical Menagerie when yer done, an' don't worry 'bout it takin' too long – takes forever sometimes, finding yer wand." He parted ways with them at the door to Ollivander's, reminding them again of what he'd just said.
Draco put his hand on the door pull, then looked at Harry with pure enthusiasm he couldn't help letting show all over his face. "Ready to get your real magic wand, Harry?"
"Yeah." The other boy's awe and excitement were plain to see.
Door opened, the two ventured in, not to be greeted by Ollivander – who seemed to be nowhere in sight – but rather by Mrs. Malfoy. "Draco," she cooed, at first not even seeing there was another boy standing with him. "That took ages dear, were they terribly busy after I left?"
"No, Mum," he said, hoping things would start off well, despite Harry's current attire, "I'm sorry I'm late, but I was helping my new friend order a wardrobe, he's never had to do it before."
"New friend?" Her left eyebrow rose just the tiniest fraction as her eyes moved over, noticing Harry for the first time. There was a long pause, and suddenly Draco realized what it was she was waiting for.
"Oh, sorry again, Mum." He stepped out of the way, and gestured towards Harry while looking at his Mum. "Mother, may I present Harry Potter, fellow First Year." Then he switched his posture. "Harry, this is my Mother, Narcissa Malfoy." At her smile, and nod toward Harry, he knew he'd at least gotten this much off on the right foot.
"And," said a slightly eerie voice from the back room, "two of the three of you are in need of wands, I do believe." And suddenly, Mr. Ollivander himself had appeared from behind the counter. "Which of you fine young gentlemen would care to be first?" And as he looked down at them from over his spectacles, Draco suddenly remembered how intimidated he'd been the first time around.
"Why don't you go first, dear," said Narcissa. "If what I've been told is true, your friend is probably still trying to take a lot in today." She gestured for Draco to step up to the counter, then patted the seat next to her, inviting Harry to sit down.
Before giving his attention to odd, old Ollivander, Draco heard Harry hesitantly ask what it was she'd heard. He assumed she'd tell Harry about how the Wizarding world at large only knew he was safe, but that those attuned to politics knew he'd been living with Muggle relatives.
MM
Draco was beginning to get frustrated. The first time around, his wand – Hawthorne and Unicorn Hair, 10 inches and with a nice bit of spring to it – had been quick to choose him. When they'd gotten to that wand this time, there had been only the faintest of tingles, and it had been snatched out of his hand to be replaced with the next contender. That was at least 15 wands ago now, and he thought he was justified in starting to feel a bit irritable. There was a momentary pause before a new wand was put in his hand after the last lack of reaction, and he looked over to notice Ollivander giving him the oddest look. "Sir?"
"Just thinking, just thinking… I think I may have sussed it out at last. Wait just as you are!" And he vanished into the back room. Just as quickly, he reappeared, slapping yet another wand into Draco's hand. Draco immediately felt himself filled with warmth and a near electric spark.
"Well," said Ollivander, "Give it a wave."
And with a simple wave of his arm, a shower of gold and silver sparks spouted out of the end of the wand, showering harmlessly down over the entire shop. "I'd call that one a keeper," Olivander said, somewhat needlessly. "11 and a half inches, good firm snap to it, Hazel and several hairs from a strong Unicorn who was the Stallion leading the Forbidden Forest band at the time he was collected from. Potentially a very powerful wand, that will grow with you, as you face those things you must. Take good care of that wand, Mr. Malfoy, and it shall take good care of you."
Draco switched places with a somewhat less haggard looking Harry, who hadn't moved from his place beside Draco's Mother. As Draco settled in for what might be a long wait, he leaned in slightly toward his mother at her gesture to do so. "Draco, dear, however did you spot that he was the Potter Heir when he's dressed like riff-raff? And the poor boy seems to know absolutely nothing!"
"He gave his name when we were in Malkin's. I set him up for a wardrobe – didn't want him to suffer the scandal of showing himself around Hogwarts dressed in… are those Muggle castoffs? I thought maybe they were. He decided that made us friends, so I invited him to come here with me to get his wand next. The Headmaster seems to have Hagrid in charge of him today."
"I'd gathered as much myself from what he said," his Mother intoned, obviously impressed that her son had been paying attention to what information was available to be gleaned. She couldn't, however, resist testing to see if he'd done any better. "Have you learned anything else?"
"I can't be certain, but I don't think the family that was given care of him treats him very well. Something about the way he seems slightly jumpy… and he turned paler than parchment when he thought he'd upset Hagrid when we came out of Malkin's later than expected."
Narcissa gave a slow smile of approval at her son's level of observation, which immediately turned into a frown at what he reported. "Try to keep close with him, Draco. I'll explain more when we get home – but he is family on my side. Distant, but blood. If it hadn't been for your father's legal troubles, I would have lobbied for us to take custody of him after his defeat of the Dark Lord. But not a word to your Father about that particular tidbit if you don't mind – he still doesn't know I'd considered it."
"Family?"
"Yes. I think we'll mention something about it when we take him back to Hagrid. Perhaps, although we may have to spend the time with Hagrid and remain polite, we'll spend the rest of the afternoon with them as he finishes his shopping – we don't have anything else scheduled. There are bound to be things not on the official list that Hagrid won't think to mention he should buy."
"I like that idea, Mother. He really seems a decent fellow, and seeing as he is, after all, family…" He trailed off, and the two of them watched as poor Harry easily went through at least three times the wands that Draco had before finding a match. Draco found himself suppressing a shiver as Ollivander told Harry about the only other Wand that shared a core-donator with his own. It seemed it really was something like Fate that Harry and Voldemort were tied together. Even if he was mostly unknowing of it so far, it was such an enormous burden to be placed on so small a boy's shoulders.
MM
Not wanting to insult young Harry, or overstep the bounds of a new friendship, Narcissa had allowed him to pay for his own wand, even though his eyes had gone quite round at the price. She had, however, gotten him a holster and care kit exactly like those she bought for Draco, stating that it was a "welcome back" gift, and the reason would soon be revealed. She successfully put enough mystery in her tone that he didn't protest, but instead let Draco show him how the holster could be used on the wrist or on a belt, and decided to wear it on his belt – beaming the whole while – as he was wearing short sleeves anyway.
They made their way toward the Magical Menagerie at a leisurely pace. Upon finding out that his Robes, and now his Wand were the only supplies Harry had thus far acquired, Narcissa took the time to point out all the best shops for the other supplies he would be in need of. She also didn't fail to notice that as they passed Florean Fortescue's, his eyes went just as silently hopeful as Draco's. Sadly, the silence seemed more that of one used to being denied than it did of one who had learned that not whining was a better way to get what they wanted.
When they reached the Menagerie, Hagrid was sitting out front, a calm smile on his face. "An' there's Harry," he said in greeting, then standing and in a much more formal tone adding, "Mrs. Malfoy, Draco. I'm sure yer didn't need to walk the lad all the way here – probably got shopping of yer own to finish."
"It was no trouble at all, Mr. Hagrid," answered Narcissa, as warmly as she could manage – mindful that Harry considered Hagrid a friend. She was about to add something, seeming to feel this as an opportunity to clue in the boy that he was among family, when Hagrid's own boundless enthusiasm gave her an even better opportunity.
"Harry," Hagrid said eagerly, almost forgetting the Malfoys were standing there, "I bought yer a birthday present. Firs' years are allowed a pet. Toads went out o' style years ago, and cats're nice, but an owl, now an owl is dead useful, carryin' mail and all." He reached below the bench he'd been sitting on, and gently lifted up a cage that contained a beautiful snowy owl that Draco recognized straight away. "Bought ya all the kit yer gonna need for her to start out, too. Perch, food, treats, everything."
"Hagrid," Harry exclaimed, "She's Magnificent!" And he awkwardly threw his arms as far as he could around the overly tall groundskeeper.
A twinkle kept firmly at bay in her eyes, Narcissa took the opportunity to speak up. "Oh dear, how terrible of me to have forgotten that it's your birthday!"
Stepping back from Hagrid, Harry gave her a confused look. "Why would you know, Mrs. Malfoy? Unless… does everybody know that about me too?" He looked so strangely crestfallen that it was obvious more of her heart went out to the boy.
Draco was amazed when she went down onto one knee as she still did when he himself was especially upset. "Of course not, child," she said gently. "The fact is that Draco and I are your cousins. Distantly, but family still. I own a self-updating tapestry, and when you were born, you and your date of birth were added to it. There are very few of us left related through the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and although I rarely see most of my relations, I do try to keep as good an idea as I can of how they're doing. You'll find that in the Wizarding World, family is very important to a great many people, for a great many reasons."
"In fact," she said, raising up to her feet, after gently touching Harry's cheek with the back of her hand. "I think this settles it. Draco and I had been considering accompanying you for the rest of your shopping. Perhaps we'll find a gift of our own for you, and if we're lucky, an opportunity to pick it up. But first, I think I need to make up for forgetting it was your Birthday… perhaps with some ice cream?"
When Harry's eyes lit up with excitement and bright unshed tears, it was obvious she'd hit on the right tactic. "You're really in luck now, Harry," Draco said conspiratorially. "Mum buying 'I'm sorry' ice cream means the whole menu is in bounds for ordering. You're going to love this!"
Hagrid, having been blindsided, wordlessly handed Harry the Owl Cage, and trailed along behind, carrying the rest of the supplies. He had no idea how he was going to explain this turn of events to Dumbledore. Suddenly he was wishing he'd had more than one drink back at the Cauldron.
MM
At the Alley's beloved Ice Cream Parlor, Mr. Fortescue greeted everyone warmly, but avoided fawning over Harry – instead opting for vocally recalling memories of the boy's parents meeting over Ice Cream to work on summer homework during their later terms at Hogwarts. Hagrid, understanding the dance of hospitality, only had to be assured once more that Narcissa insisted on paying for the ice cream. Harry, on the other hand, stared wide-eyed at the menu, and had to be given a near-constant (and exhausting) stream of commentary by Draco – assuring him that at the moment, nothing at all was off limits. Finally, the scrawny boy tentatively settled on one of the largest sundaes that was on offer; surprising no one but himself with his choice.
When the treats arrived, the boys dove in with gusto. Draco noticed how Harry savored each bite as though it were both the first and last he would be allowed, and wondered if his mother had picked up on it as well. He also was pleasantly surprised when his mother gently went to work on Hagrid.
"Mr. Hagrid," she said graciously, after taking a cooling drink of her Ice Cream Soda, "I'm certain you're terribly busy this time of year, helping get the castle ready for the students and all. It's very good of you to have agreed to come shepherd young Harry around like this."
"'Tweren't nothing." He said proudly. "Dumbledore gave me another important chore today too, but I can't talk about that one. Trusts me, he does. Great man, Dumbledore."
"Still, you must have so much to do, ensuring the Forest won't pose a danger to unwitting students, for example. Though, I'm sure it's safe as houses to one as knowledgeable about its creatures as you are." Hagrid flushed a bit in pleasure at that, and Draco knew his mother had the big man where she wanted him. Flattery was often so effective. "Now that you've rescued young Harry from his hosts for the day, brought him here, gotten him a birthday present and all… I would be happy to help him with the rest of his shopping and see him home if you'd like – give you a chance to finish your errand for the Headmaster in due time and all."
Surprisingly, the grizzled looking man shook his head. "I promised I'd stay with the lad. He needs a gentle hand, Dumbledore said. Don' mind if you decide to come along with us," he looked a little surprised himself to have said that, "but I've got to stay with him."
Knowing when not to press things, Narcissa smiled, "I'm certain we'll all have a lovely time together, then."
The four of them made bits of small talk between sips and bites as Harry proceeded to utterly demolish his enormous ice cream. It made for a surprisingly pleasant break in the shopping, given the make-up of the people around the table.
A/N This fic was inspired by an abandoned piece that my partner-in-crime (and beta reader!) Lupinefire read. She mentioned it to me, and like her, I was intrigued with the idea of a time travel fic in which it was actually Draco who had done the travelling. As far as I know, a few others were inspired by that piece (which I unfortunately forgot to note the name or author of) and also ran with ideas. Other than those (which I have not read), I have never heard of or encountered a time travel fanfic where Draco is the traveler.
I currently have a 16 chapter lead-time on posting, so for the foreseeable future (especially given the rate at which I've been writing lately), there should be no trouble posting weekly – which is the current plan. I hope you're all willing to come along on this journey with me. It's already been a great one to be penning.
Please, no one ask me about pairings. At this point, they're only 11. While at some point in the future of this fic someone or other may pick up a romantic partner, it will happen when they're of an appropriate age to be thinking such thoughts. And as I let the writing go where it wants for the most part, potential pairings haven't been plotted out, much less thought about yet.
However, other commentary is more than welcome!
