Chapter 1
He came to abruptly.
Blinking his eyes rapidly, Draco felt for his wand, cursing silently when he couldn't find it. He turned on the soft bed (not in a hospital, then), letting his hand feel for the bedside table as he was too scared to keep his eyes open. He wasn't sure what he would find.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to find.
He opened his eyes.
Sunlight streamed in through the high windows.
Draco stared out at his room, nearly just like he remembered it before he left. Shelves upon shelves filled with books lining a wall, the dresser and desk and the thick blue rug covering the floor. It was all as he remembered, not a thing out of place. There was the door to his private bathroom, the door to the adjourning study and the door to the hallway. Everything was correct.
The problem was, it was correct years ago.
It wasn't how he left his room the last time before he had left and never came back. It was the little things that were different, the paint on the walls, the candleholders on the tables, the couches in the middle of the large room that had been replaced three times. Draco sat up on the bed and noted that the covers were old as well.
They had been replaced a few months before he turned on the Dark side.
What was going on?
Stumbling out of the bed, he hurried towards his desk, taking a hold of the newspaper he could see laying there frantically. The date was all wrong.
It was, according to the paper, the year of 1994.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell was going on?
He crumbled the paper in his hands after he took in the front-page. The news was about the Death Eater attack on the Quidditch match. Which had happened what felt like ages ago. It was old news.
Certainly nothing worth reporting. But the only news article on his desk was always from the same day.
A flash of fire in the air behind him made him turn around hastily.
Draco breathed out deeply when he caught sight of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix familiar, smaller than he remembered. The red bird was flying in the air in front of him, fire sprouting in its wake that soon dissipated. Well, he supposed it would be safe to assume the bird had had something to do with whatever was going on.
It made the most sense.
"Okay, Fawkes," he started, "tell me the truth. Am I dead?"
The flaming bird seemed to shake its head. Draco furrowed his brows. "So, what is this, time travel?"
Fawkes let out a victorious sound that he presumed meant yes.
Draco tilted his head to the side. "And I assume you had something to do with this, as you're here?"
The bird once again made the same shrill sound. Narrowing his eyes, Draco huffed and dragged his hands through his hair. "So, all that really happened? I wasn't just having a really bad dream?"
The bird appeared to nod.
"Again, let me make sure I got this right. I died, and you brought me back into the past?"
The bird shrilled highly and started flying around him in a dizzying rush. Draco groaned and sank down on one of the couches in the room, a comfortable black one. He buried his head in his hands and tried to make sense of it all. Well, there wasn't much to make sense of, he was in the past apparently. He was inclined to believe the words of a phoenix, they didn't have the tendency to lie. The question was why. Why did it send him back? What was so different about him that he deserved it?
Maybe it wasn't anything about him at all? Maybe it brought many people back when they died. Maybe it was an unknown quirk of phoenixes—but no that just sounded ridiculous.
Maybe it wasn't complicated at all. The phoenix had brought him back to a time when he was still in a good place with his family. When the Dark Lord was still building up his army, still making sordid plots and planning his moves. Perhaps he shouldn't be bothered by the why's and how's, but rather concentrate on what to do now.
If he was a better person, his immediate response would be to use this chance to get ahead of the Dark Lord, to use his knowledge to defeat him. To defeat the most fearsome and powerful Dark Lord this century.
It should be his immediate response. It was what a good person—a Light person—would do. It was undoubtedly what Harry Potter would do. Hell, it was what any sane person would do.
But Draco was selfish. He'd betrayed everything he had been raised to believe in once and it hadn't gone well. It hadn't led to a good or even a decent conclusion. It hadn't made a difference.
All it had made him into was an enemy of the people he loved.
He didn't want to be that again. He didn't want to be a person that would betray his loved ones, that would turn his back on his history, on his very sense of self. He had been there, done that and guess what? The ending sucked.
It was a horrible thing to even imagine, against everything he had decided when he went to the Light side in the first place. It was horrific and terrible, and he could barely believe he could even contemplate the idea, but… what other options did he truly have? It was a year, barely even that, before the Dark Lord would be back at full power, cursing everything and everyone that didn't agree with him. And there was nothing he could do about that.
Voldemort would be back, insane, disfigured and ready to kill.
Draco grunted when he felt the warmth of Fawkes on his neck. Sitting up properly, he stretched his legs out in front of him and took a deep breath. Now was no time to panic. He turned his gaze to the red bird that had climbed into his lap, staring at him with large soulful eyes filled with underserved sorrow.
Despite it all, he found himself smiling. "I'm okay, Fawkes. And I am thankful I'm not dead. It's just… a lot to take in."
What an understatement.
He spent the next hour just basking in being in the presence of a Phoenix. It was soothing in a way nothing else ever managed to be. He was pretty sure that if Fawkes wasn't here, he would be panicking right now, going over everything that had happened and doubting his sanity. But the presence of a Phoenix was a singular sensation that no mind, no matter how insane, could fake. Draco ran his hands down the back of the fire bird, letting the soft feathers split in his hands. It was odd, petting a mythic creature without it trying to maul him for it. He was used to animals not really liking him, which he could admit was partly his fault, but still... he didn't think there was anything about him that would make a Phoenix, a legendary being of Light, favor him. If anything, he'd thought it would bring back Harry Potter through time. He was, after all, the target of the prophecy to defeat Lord Voldemort.
Draco was just Draco. A spoiled kid with too big a head and dreams crushed by the harshness of reality. The reality that the man he had always expected to serve was insane and obsessed with a teenager. The reality that his father cared more for following his admired lord than protecting his son. The reality that no matter what he did, he was always going to be on the losing side.
He'd tried to make up for everything. He'd tried to choose a different path. He'd thought that if he could just prove himself, he would be accepted, would be given the sweetness of redemption. But there had been no such thing. Just some spying, some torture and some nightmares.
And when it was all over, when he'd done his part, there had been death.
He shouldn't even be considering it. The thought shouldn't even cross his mind. He should be making plans to contact Dumbledore, to get on, if not good, then adequate terms with Harry Potter. He should be trying to figure out a way to use this to help the Light side.
But he wasn't moving.
He wasn't writing any letters, wasn't packing any bags and wasn't determined to do the right thing. Instead he was petting a Phoenix, using it to keep calm and a clear head. Instead, he was sitting in a comfy sofa and contemplating the idea of calling for a house-elf to bring him a snack.
What was wrong with him?
The bird in his lap let out a small cry and Draco let his thoughts go in favor of staring down at the Phoenix in fascination. It had never even occurred to him that traveling back in time for years was possible. Even more, if he wasn't mistaken, this was his old body, not the one he'd died in. It was shorter that he remembered and his hair was slightly longer. That begged the question of what had happened to the old him. Had they merged? They were the same soul, so that was the most likely solution. Or maybe his soul hadn't gone back in time at all, and only his memories, what made him him, had.
Letting Fawkes cuddle into his side, Draco hesitated for a moment before he opened his mouth and said, "Fawkes... would you be... upset... with me if I don't take the same path this time? If I don't make the same choices?"
Fawkes popped his head out from where he had squeezed it in under Draco's arm. The bird gave him a stern look and let out a sound of something that vaguely resembled a no. Draco nodded and pretended that he had any idea of what it meant. "The thing is, I don't want to tell Dumbledore. At least not yet. The last time I did so, it didn't lead to a good thing. I thought he would save me, instead he asked me to spy for him. I don't want to do that again."
The bird sang a sorrowful song and gave Draco a calming look. Despite it all, Draco found himself laughing at it. There was just something about having a mythic bird in your lap trying to calm you down that was amusing. Or maybe he was just in shock. "So you won't tell anybody?"
Not that, as a bird, the Phoenix could really tell anyone, but he had no idea how the connection with Dumbledore or Hogwarts worked. He never had.
Fawkes seemed to give him a grave look and let out a loud shrill while nodding his head.
"Thank you," said Draco. "I owe you more than I can possibly express."
Fawkes jumped closer to him and nipped his ear slightly. The bird seemed to suddenly think it had done enough, because the next second, in a cloud of smoke and flame, it disappeared. Without it, Draco was left sitting on a black couch in his room at Malfoy Manor, three years in the past, and feeling hopelessly alone.
That snack would be a good idea right about now.
Before he could remember where—when—he was now, he called out, "Kreacher!"
To his astonishment, the house-elf appeared front of him.
When he caught sight of him, Kreacher's eyes widened to what must be painful levels. The elf immediately straightened his uniform and did his best to look presentable. Draco looked just as shocked. The house-elf got his bearings first. "What can Kreacher help Young Master Black with?"
Draco sat up straight in his seat. A slight smile spread across his lips.
He could work with this.
Leaning forwards, he stated, "The locket that Regulus gave you to destroy, I need it."
Immediately, the small elf gave a step back and gave him a suspicious look. "Why?"
A house-elf wasn't supposed to talk back, but considering what he knew about them, he would let it slide. A house-elf that disliked you would leave you to die, a house-elf that loved you would literally die for you. "I know how to destroy it."
The house-elf got a manic glare in his eyes and disappeared from his location. When he came back, he was carrying a golden locket with a large S shaped snake on the front of it with ruby eyes. It was a lovely piece of jewelry. Draco summoned a handkerchief and used it to grip the chain and take it from Kreacher's hands. He held it up in the air before him and studied it.
Bundling it up in his handkerchief, he grabbed a tight hold of it and told Kreacher, "In order to make sure it really gets destroyed, I am going to need everything you can find on Horcruxes and soul-slitting. Can you do that?"
"Will it help you destroy it?" Kreacher asked with a hopeful voice.
Draco smiled. "Yes."
Kreacher nodded fervently and stood straight. "I shall do as you order, Young Master Black."
With that, Draco was once again alone in his room.
He stood from the sofa and walked over to the door that lead to his study. Opening it, he entered the large room and made his way to the big window behind his desk. He nudged the office chair until it was just below the window and climbed up on it. Once he was steady, he felt along the edge of the window until he reached a small hatch and popped it open. He pulled it up and saw the small space carved into the wall, with runes lining every edge of it to make sure what was in there could never be felt outside it. Calmly, he carefully put the bundle he was carrying in it, making sure nothing poked out. When he was satisfied, he closed the hatch again and felt it close. Breathing easier as soon as he was no-longer carrying around a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, Draco stepped down from the chair and put it back in its place.
He didn't know what to do now.
Theoretically, he knew how to destroy the Horcrux. Fiendfyre or Basilisk venom would leave it without a chance of healing. It would, according to what he knew, destroy the soul piece in the object. Draco was a Malfoy, if he really tried, he could get his hands on some venom. It would be hard and take time, but he could. Until he tried out his magic skills, he wouldn't know if he could manage a Fiendfyre. But yes, he could destroy it.
He could destroy the Dark Lord's ties to immortality.
He knew where all the Horcruxes were. He knew how to get past the protections. He could collect them all before anyone realized it. And once he got his hands on the venom, he could destroy them all. Draco couldn't kill Lord Voldemort, but he could make sure that if someone else did, he'd stay dead.
He could, in part at least, defeat the Dark Lord.
It was a thought that was damn near terrifying.
If anyone found out the knowledge he held, he didn't doubt that all that would await his future was torture. Even Dumbledore would resort to it eventually. After all, his knowledge could help win the war.
Who wouldn't want to get their hands on the secret to Lord Voldemort's immortality?
Morals be damned.
Draco could help kill the Dark Lord. And he wouldn't.
This was a second chance, a chance to do right by his family and heritage. It was a chance to not disappoint everyone he ever knew or loved. Killing Lord Voldemort would make him enemy number one and that wasn't what he wanted.
Then again, he didn't have to decide right away. He could make some changes, collect the Horcruxes as a back-up plan, and wait to see how things played out. If there was a way out of this war that didn't involve fighting or spying or anyone betraying their family, he'd take it. His mind kept going around in circles, so he should just stop thinking about it. Make a list and start by small steps. Things that needed doing in order to not take the same path.
But first thing's first. Occlumency.
If he couldn't manage it, it was game over. Both the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and Severus were accomplished in the Art of Legilimency. A single look in his eyes and they'd know everything. He'd need to make sure everything worked as it should and strengthen all of his defenses.
Calling for a house-elf in service to the Malfoy family, he asked for a snack and ate it with relish. The food while at the Order's headquarters, and elsewhere, just wasn't what he was used to. The standard was significantly lower, which he could acknowledge was in part because of the lack of high quality ingredients, but it was also due to the fact that the people that cooked just weren't as good at his, as much as they would never admit it. Considering the fact that he had turned on his own family, he didn't think that good food were too much to ask for, but apparently no-one else agreed. They just thought him rude or spoiled when he made remarks about it.
It was, quite honestly, annoying.
Once he finished with the snack, he went back to his bed and settled himself on the covers comfortably, leaning back on a pile of pillows. This could take a while. It was better to make sure he was in a good position, so his neck or back wouldn't hurt later.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he let all his worries and thoughts go. Despite his concern that it wouldn't work, he entered his mind-scape without a problem.
When he opened his eyes again, he was at the center of a large labyrinth.
The ground was covered in mist that was so thick that it couldn't be seen. The hedges of the labyrinth rose high above his head and there was a shimmering above them that signified a sticky net. If you tried to fly over it, you get stuck in it. Childish perhaps, but effective.
Now he just had to make it more so.
He started with the ground, turning it into thick ice, cold against your feet and impossible to get under. Far beneath it, he hid the memories of his life in the future. The mist covered it from being seen.
He turned the hedges into a mix between concrete and iron and added more dead ends. He also switched around the paths to the extent that many more ones would just take you out of the labyrinth again, rather than the center. There were trick passages and traps that would encase you in ice and fire respectively, chains that would drop from the sky and surround you. At the top of the labyrinth, together with the sticky net, he added thick hard chains that barely left room to squeeze between.
And then there were the creatures.
Sphinxes, Pixies, Basilisks and Acromantulas were just some of the ones he dropped all over the labyrinth, both outside it and inside it.
Surrounding the labyrinth were a giant lake that stretched all around it. There wasn't a clear edge where the labyrinth began and the lake ended, so if you ended up following a path that lead out of the labyrinth, at some point it would just end and suddenly you'd be standing on water. Moreover, the lake was filled with both bloodthirsty giant squids, merpeople and sharks. There weren't any bridges at all.
It wasn't meant to be easy.
When he was finally satisfied with his progress, Draco blinked his eyes and found himself back in his room in reality.
He was exhausted and when he looked outside, he could see why. It was dark, in the middle of the night.
Draco pushed himself up off of the bed and made his way to the bathroom to soak in a bath and just relish in the thought that he was back home. Watching the night sky form his window was a magical sight.
One that he had sorely missed.
The bath was like heaven. The warmth of the water was perfect, just the way he liked it and the large bathroom with marble tiles and a large gold-framed mirror above the sink was just as he remembered. It was stupid of him, most likely, to miss his bathroom this much, especially as since the age of eleven, he spent the majority of the year away from home, but he found that he couldn't help himself. It was like it was proof of all that he had once given up. And all that he had gotten back with the help of a Phoenix.
When he was finally finished with the bath, after what felt like hours, he worked his way out of it and finished his business in the bathroom. Stepping out of the room, back into his bedroom, he got the absurd urge to dance.
He was just so relieved.
Everything that had happened in his memories didn't feel like only a dream. It felt like it had happened, no doubts about it. He could remember the pain when he died.
He could remember it all.
It wasn't pleasant.
After the war both for and against Lord Voldemort had begun, there weren't really any pleasant or even decent memories that he had. There was just bad choice after bad choice in the name of what was right. But that was the thing. Good and Evil were subjective, everyone had different opinions of it. One man's redemption was another man's vengeance. One man's salvation was another man's damnation.
Contrary to popular opinion, it wasn't objective.
Maybe that was part of the problem.
Draco had tried to measure up to the Light side's view of Good. He'd done his best to get their forgiveness and become a true member of their side. And he'd done his best to forget what he'd turned his back on. So perhaps it was about time he tried to fit into his own image of Good.
Or maybe he should just stop concerning himself with Good and Evil all together.
If there was one thing he'd learned from this trip to the past, it was that life was terrifyingly fleeting. Putting a label on his nature meant choosing a side and conforming himself to it. Perhaps it was time to just be himself and pick whatever side which turns out to fit him best, no matter what that meant for this war. After all, Draco had no intention of sacrifying anything at all to save the pitiful people that made up the majority of the British Wizarding Community.
And if the world ended in the process, well he'd already died once. What did one more time matter?
