PROLOGUE
Draco Malfoy was trembling as he paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The first time he had come across it in his first year, he had burst into a fit of giggles at the thought of training trolls to dance ballet. Until his fourth year, he always couldn't help but snicker. During his fifth year, he snorted. Now, he couldn't even crack a weak smile.
He wished things were as simple as they had been before his fourth year. He had been happy. Not always, of course, but even with Potter and his gang humiliating him at every turn, he had been content. He could barely remember either of these feelings. Since his introduction to pureblood society, his whole life had just started to crumble, only to completely collapse at the end of his fifth year with his Father's imprisonment.
When his Father had finally allowed him to participate in some "adult" events, he had acted childishly and had embarrassed his Family. It hadn't been intentional, on the contrary, he had tried to imitate Father. However, he had only come across as a pompous weakling who basked in his Father's glory. He blushed, mortified, thinking of his behaviour during the Quidditch World Cup and the Darell's family Yule celebration. He had been utterly ridiculous and not fit of the name of Malfoy.
The resurrection of the Dark Lord had only worsened the situation. Having to cohabitate with a demented yet powerful Dark Lord who resented his Family had only been the beginning. It had been hard to assimilate that his home, his Ancestral Family Manor, was now the headquarters of a mad dark wizard who, for all his propaganda, had no respect of pureblood traditions. The first time he had seen his proud Father kneel to kiss the hem of his Master's robe, a small part of him had died.
His Father's imprisonment had been simply terrible. A harsh blow Draco could barely cope with. His esteemed Father, his Patriarch, was rotting away in Azkaban. His Family Name was dishonoured. The Dark Lord had never been angrier with the Malfoys. Before, when he left the Manor, it had been easy to pretend everything was alright. Draco had always been good at self-delusion, now, he couldn't escape reality. Now, he had been given a mission that he was positive would be his Family's death.
He tried, of course, he wished for nothing more than to protect his Family. As any good pureblood would want to protect their line. However, he knew the true purpose of the mission was for the half-blood to find an excuse to kill them. The only reason he hadn't yet was because of the stir it would suppose among the Death Eaters. After all, if the powerful, pureblood Malfoys weren't safe of their Master's ire roused without any provocation, who would be?
Killing Dumbledore, sneaking Death Eaters into Hogwarts. How was he, a mere sixteen year old, supposed to do what entire generations of dark wizards had failed at? Killing the Light Lord, breaking some of the most powerful wards in the British Wizarding World.
It had been at night, suffering from insomnia, when he had had a stroke of genius. He had gone into the Requirement Room before and had seen a cabinet that was exactly like the Vanishing Cabinet at Borgin&Burkes whose partner was missing. It had given him hope that maybe, his Family would survive this. He had purchased the Vanishing Cabinet and once in Hogwarts had gone to find its counterpart.
It was broken. He had delved into magics so complex to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. Arithmancy, runes, rituals, light magic, dark magic,... it didn't matter, he couldn't repair it. He had never studied so much magic theory in his life, some concepts were so convoluted it had taken him hours to comprehend. He slept 4 hours a day at best, spent 1 hour in total eating, he had even dropped as many subjects as possible to reduce his class time. He had tried to give himself as much time as possible. Yet, he could feel it in his blood. Failure. Looming over him like a Grimm.
Draco closed his eyes to stop a stream of tears. He had to stop thinking about how much he wished he was back in fourth year and focus on his mission. He sighed and opened his mercury eyes again, prepared to walk three time again in front of the Room of Requirement. But there was already a door.
It was different than the door Draco was used to seeing. The door to the Room of Hidden Things had been plain, not enough to be conspicuous in a castle yet missable. This door was grand, it claimed attention even in a castle. It was a double door, high and wide, framed with stone vines surrounding it. He couldn't recognize the wood but it was a rich tone of reddish brown that contrasted elegantly with the light grey stones enveloping it. The silver handle was well-polished and inviting.
He paused. The Room of Requirement always gave what was required. But he couldn't see what sort of response his thoughts could have gained, a place to sleep and relax? Or maybe, this was Hogwarts' way to get rid of him. He knew the ancient castle was sentient although he didn't know to what degree. It was logical the school would try to eliminate the threat.
But why would Hogwarts try to make him disappear now? Now that he had no hope left? It would have been more logical to do it back when he felt there was hope. Besides, so far Hogwarts hadn't tried to hurt him. Yes, the stairs were being particularly difficult and some of the corridors had vanished when he was running out of time to class, making him late. But nothing outright harmful had happened. Hogwarts was more benign than Malfoy Fortress or even Malfoy Manor, especially since he was a student.
He stepped forward and caressed the handle as he put his other hand on the door. He had always been magic sensitive and offensive magic had a very distinctive feeling. He closed his eyes as he concentrated on the magic. The blond frowned, it was powerful and at the same time vague. The intent of the magic wasn't clear. It didn't seem to seek harm yet it didn't feel inoffensive either. He had never felt anything like it.
He nibbled his pink lower lip nervously. It didn't feel harmful. And the Dark Lord planned to kill his entire family so what did he have to lose? He grasped the silver ring and pushed the door, it was rather heavy, obviously no one had bothered with light-weight charms. He stepped forward cautiously as he pushed the door.
He felt a rush of magic enveloping his body as he went in for a few seconds, making him instinctively close his eyes. The magic had been like a gust of wind, tinted with blue. The magic felt different to anything he had felt before, it wasn't harmful or protective...
It was dark. Draco opened his silver eyes hesitantly only to be greeted by his room in Malfoy Manor. He huffed, so much drama for a representation of his room but it wasn't exactly like his own bedroom. He couldn't exactly say what was different: the walls were a pale slightly grey blue; his enormous his elaborately carved wooden Tuscano bed, with its high arched panel headboard and four high posts; his fringed bed bench, its cushions covered in soft golden and rich blue velvet; his Villagio hazelnut armoire; his dresser mirror; his favourite paintings,...
He gasped. One of the tapestries was the one he had when he was younger, as well as a painting and that beautiful small statue of a dragon that a house-elf had broken. So the room had replicated his room from a couple of years ago. He sighed and went to his bed to lay down for a while.
He frowned. His bed was higher than normal. Maybe the room had taken his perception of the room when he was younger? It was certainly higher for him then. He went to take off his tie only to realise he wasn't wearing his uniform. Instead of his uniform he was wearing his forest green robe, he remembered that summer robe, he had liked it up until Blaise had joked saying he looked like a nymph.
Did the room just change his clothes? Well, they were more comfortable than the uniform. But to sleep, he preferred his pyjamas. He stood up to go into his dressing room, but as he passed his mirror dresser he paused. He stared at it. He seemed younger. He looked bloody fourteen years old!
What did this mean? Had the room decided to replicate his life as when he was fourteen? But the Room of Requirement couldn't affect one's body. And as he touched his body he could feel that it was his younger body. What had happened? Did this mean he was fourteen again? Or more bizarrely, did this mean he had gone back in time? Had the door been some sort of portal?
"Poppy!", he called for his personal elf.
With a muffled pop, the female house-elf appeared in front of him, "Master Draco, is there something Poppy can do for you?"
He bit his lower lip, he couldn't ask for the date, that would be too suspicious, "What are my appointments for today?"
"Master Draco is having brunch with Heir Blaise Zabini and Mr Theodore Nott, then Master Draco is going to Twilfit and Tattings with Mistress Narcissa at half past five. Master Draco is having dinner with the Masters and business partners of Master Lucius at nine o'clock"
Draco closed his eyes, he remembered that day. It had been the day Blaise had commented on how he looked like a nymph with this robe and he had fumed quite loudly. He had been in a foul mood all day afterwards. He had been disrespectful to some influential people at the taylor and then his polite attitude at dinner had been glaringly fake. He winced at the memory.
The dinner hadn't been extremely important, in fact, his parents had wanted to use it as practice before the real deal. But it had been the first dinner he had been acknowledged as more than a child and he had ruined in such a spectacular way. He closed his eyes. His mind was swirling with the implications and consequences of being fourteen years old again. This was his chance to make everything better. He was prepared this time. He knew how to act in social events as an adult now. He knew about Voldemort's return. He wouldn't make the same mistakes.