Chapter One: We Don't Drink Until the Devil's Turned to Dust
"It wasn't supposed to end like this," the black-haired boy mused. He was sat on a rickety chair, staring out of one of the only intact windows in all of the destroyed castle, watching as the sun rose above the horizon with the sky barely as red as the blood covered courtyard below.
Another boy, blonde and pale, was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. "How else would it have ended?" He asked, his voice lacked the usual loftiness it usually held, and was instead soft, if cautious.
The boy in the chair said nothing for a moment, and did not turn to see who the newcomer was, as that particular blond boy was the only one he had even barely expected this morning.
The dark-haired boy rubbed his dirt and and dried blood stained hands through his hair, exhaling, "I'm not sure really. I just have a feeling that, in perhaps another world, less people would have died."
"Well Harry, less people will continue dying now, thanks to you," the pale boy observed. "Is that not enough?"
Potter, still squinting through dirty and cracked glasses at the horizon, tilted his head slightly. "I don't think "enough" is the proper word for it, Draco. I didn't want anyone at all to die for me."
It was quiet for a minute, until Draco pulled a stool noisily beside Harry and stared at him. "Not everyone who has died since the Dar-" Draco stammered, "since Voldemort came to power has died all because of you. Especially not before you. Hundreds of people died because of him long before you were born." A pause. "You've got quite the guilt, for a hero."
Harry scoffed, "You have quite the opinion, for someone who isn't really sure what side he's on."
There was a small glimmer of a grin on Draco's face at that, just for a second, and then it was replaced by the careful stoic mask he'd always kept. "Whichever side my family's on, that's my side. And right now, I'm sure what side that is. No one will trust my father, you seem to have a soft spot for my mother, and everyone refuses to look at me because they locked me in the dungeons and still i helped save some of their sorry arses." That small grin had glanced his face again. "I don't care, really, I just don't want to go to Azkaban."
A snort came from Harry, his eyes rolling. "I don't think you will. And anyways, if I did think you were, would I be talking to you right now?"
Draco shook his head, quiet again. He then glanced at the courtyard below, and stood from his wary perch on the stool. "If I don't end up in a cell, like you believe, maybe I can fix things."
Harry looked at him, confused. "Fix things? What will you do, go back in time?"
The blond made a noncommittal gesture with his hands. "Perhaps, for now, I'm off to speak with a man in a portrait."
"If you see anyone, don't mention me up here. I'd rather no one else find me." The dark-haired boy responded.
"Secret's safe with me, Potter." Draco replied.
Harry looked over his shoulder as Draco walked out of the room, "Thanks, Malfoy."
qpqpqpqp
Draco found himself at the end of the corridor to the Headmaster's office.
"Defodio," he muttered, pointing his wand at some of the larger rubble blocking his movement, blasting the chunks of rock out of his way.
At the entrance to the office was a battered looking gargoyle, which lept out of his way when he stopped in front of it.
He carefully ascended the spiral steps. The double oak doors were closed, but not locked, and inside was a disturbingly calm, barren office. The paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistresses hung on the walls were all vacant, except one.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore peered over half-moon glasses at him, his eyes twinkling. He smiled at Draco, and beckoned him forward.
As he came to a stop in front of the large portrait, it spoke. "Hello Mr. Malfoy."
Draco inclined his head to the Professor, "I need to ask you something, Headmaster."
Albus chuckled lightly, "Of course. Anything at all."
The boy paused, "What would you say if I told you I wanted to travel back in time and fix everything that went wrong?"
Draco was expecting confusion, or anger, or really anything but the gentle laughter the old man released at his question.
Albus stopped laughing after a moment, and smiled down again at Draco, "Oh, young Draco Malfoy, why do you believe me the person to ask of this?"
A wrinkle appeared between Draco's eyebrows, "Are you not the person I should be asking?"
"No, my boy, I think you should be asking yourself if you should do it." Albus paused, pondering. "Although, I suppose if you will it enough, anything can come of a simple question."
Draco Malfoy was a man of many talents, but he did not expect that he could somehow just will himself to travel back in time,
It dawned on him then, the real question he needed to ask. "How do I go back in time to fix it all?"
Dumbledore bowed his head, "And that, dear boy, is just the question we have to ask, isn't it."
qpqpqpqp
For the next several weeks, Draco Malfoy spent most of his time in the Headmaster's presence. He acquired an office just down the hall, with a connected bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette.
The majority of the castle was occupied with being rebuilt by the survivors. The house elves, or what was left of them, were steadfast in the kitchens, preparing food for the castle's occupants, almost as if nothing had changed. Dobby caught Draco sitting alone in a corridor eating his dinner the first night he stayed, and insisted bringing meals to him in his office.
The bedroom was drab, and fresh linen appeared in the closet soon after Dobby explored the room. Draco spread as many books, papers, and notes on the desk as he could. He spent half of the day working on his research, and the other half debating with Dumbledore about what he'd learned.
On the fifteenth day of research, he had an epiphany.
"Alright old man, what if I can amass power great enough to expel my 17 year-old soul seven years into the past and somehow managed to get it to combine with my 11 year-old body and mind while retaining my memories?" Draco sat atop the Headmaster's desk, leafing through countless pages of his notes and theories.
Albus mused, "And how, pray tell, do you plan to create a catalyst that powerful?"
Draco grimaced and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "What's the most powerful spell you can think of?"
"The Killing Curse. Though, I'm not sure how killing something would send you-" Albus paused abruptly. "You can't possibly believe killing yourself will send back in time."
"No no, of course not. Well, I'll work on it. It's something like that, I just don't quite understand how I should go about it." Draco looked around at his notes absentmindedly. "Will you ask some of the other Headmasters what they know about portals, vortexes, or anything that will act as a sort of prism. Stuff like that, I think, will help me try what I think I can do."
Albus simply looked at him for a moment, his bright eyes concerned. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. For now, get some rest."
Draco gathered his things quietly, and before he reached the door, he turned to look at the Professor again. "Sir? Do you really think I can fix things?"
The man smiled, "Why, Draco Malfoy, I always thought you were destined for great things. And this? This is perhaps the greatest and bravest thing you could do. In your endeavors, you will succeed. I can only hope for that."
A:N/ Hello everyone. No copyright infringement intended whatsoever, title's come from various songs I listenened to while writing.
This will be a series of adventures cataloging Draco going back in time to right his wrongs and save as many innocnet people as he can. If you think Draco may be a little OOC here, you might be right. Due to the fact that he just witnessed a near massacre, I think he's allowed to act a little odd. Anyways, Draco will be very 'Draco' soon, never fear.
The next chapter may be up later today, August 11, 2016, or tomorrow, August 12, 2016. After that, updates will always be every week, with some extra chapters when I'm feeling inspired. Stay tuned.