Chapter Three: Through the Fire
Draco thought he ought to be congratulated on the way he'd handled his predicament so far. He had not caused a scene, but merely sat in silence among his fifth year fellows as they all scratched out their final answers on their exam papers. He had even answered a question on his own exam, deciding that, dream or not, he could quite easily list the powers a dementor uses to subdue their victims. He had first-hand experience after all.
Then the examiner, Tofty, Draco remembered now, called time, and summoned their answer sheets to the front and dismissed them.
The grating squeak of a hundred chair legs and sighs of relief that the exam was finished seemed to grow and swell like a living thing, louder and louder as the fifth years realised their freedom.
Draco stood with the rest of the departing students and filed towards the Entrance Hall. There was exuberant chattering all around him; it was disorientating and seemed so frivolous as he tried to decide what to do now. The noise made it hard to focus, random words reached his ears, interrupting his train of thought-
"It's over! … What was with Potter? ... I'm starving … Finally, no more exams!"
The deja vu was mounting to an almost debilitating level as he was jostled to and fro, slightly unsteady on his feet. It was just like when he'd finished his final exam: the calls across the crowd, the plans for parties, the promises of smuggled in drink. The happy excited atmosphere had been infectious he remembered. But now even the smell of Hogwarts was overwhelming, with all the students pressed together in close quarters, the inevitable bottleneck at the doors, the girls with their flowery hair potions, and the boys with that adolescent mix of cheap aftershave and muskiness.
Thankfully the air in the Entrance Hall was fresh and a welcome change from the stuffy Great Hall. Draco drew in deep breaths, trying not to panic as he was shunted from side to side by the shifting crowd of students.
He heard both Greg and Vince calling after him as the crowd moved along, but he ignored them. He couldn't imagine that even they, as dense as they were, wouldn't notice that he wasn't quite right. He also didn't think he'd be able to hold it together if he had to look into Vince's face. Instead he focused on the great oak front doors, which were open to the smooth sloping lawn, and the summer sun was so gloriously real looking, Draco felt like he hadn't seen real sun for years.
That was when it struck, triggered by the sight of streaming sunshine- his panic and racing heart- the complete feeling of unreality vanished in one sweep as Draco was hit by a full-blown epiphany.
The last time he was free, truly free, it was this summer day.
This very night, his father would be arrested at the Ministry; the event had sealed Draco's fate. Voldemort's return was to become public knowledge the next day. Draco's path was set.
It was a surreal feeling to recognise such a significant moment in one's own life. His legs continued to carry him towards the doors automatically as his mind became so clear, so absolutely aware of his position at that moment.
The little pawn in Draco's fist squirmed then, and Draco nearly dropped it on the wide, front steps as he left the Entrance Hall. He'd completely forgotten he was even carrying it.
The soldier scowled up at him, clearly not pleased with the crushing grip and near dropping. Draco veered to the right, moving out of sight of the hall and the milling students waiting for dinner. He leaned back against the weathered, ancient wall of the castle, absorbing the full intensity of the early evening sun. Despite his confusion and anxiety the simple pleasure of the hot summer rays had him wanting to smile.
After a moment Draco lifted his hand to eye-level and opened his palm flat so the pawn he still held could stand and look at him. "Why are you even in my dream?" Draco asked, hoping that he could get some clue about the magic going on here, but the little man merely shook his handsome head and shrugged his uniformed shoulders.
"Is it a dream?" Draco wondered aloud, as he tucked the pawn away in his shirt pocket again, a bit disappointed but not really surprised that a chess piece didn't have any insight into his situation. His eyes closed once more, the sun felt almost medicinal, warming his face, so calm, so sweet, so opposite to the last year of his life; fear and shivering, that pretty much summed up his existence after the Dark Lord fell.
Eventually Draco peeked back around the door into the hall, but all was quiet, dinner must have begun. He rested the back of his head against the warm stone of the castle again. If this wasn't a dream he'd be better off going to top himself right now, rather than relive the next two years. He checked his watch, it was ten past five. A sad, little smile pulled at his lips as he gazed fondly at the timepiece strapped to his wrist. His father had given him this watch. Draco'd not seen it since he entered Azkaban.
Azkaban, he mused sadly. Tonight, his father was going to be sent there. It was this errant thought that caused an amazing and frightening idea to come to him. The idea that if this was not a dream, then could he change things? Would he be able to change the past, possibly stop his father from getting caught, from being outed as a Death Eater?
Draco's stomach seemed to sink as he realised it would be too late to get a message to his father, that they would be caught now. The Death Eaters had been hidden in the Department of Mysteries since the night before, waiting for Potter to arrive. Someone else then… his mother perhaps, but how could he explain that he even knew about the plan to ambush Potter? And an owl would take too long. He glanced at his bare left forearm and experienced the strangest disappointment that the Dark Mark was not there.
"Draco?" A quiet voice interrupted these swirling thoughts.
Draco started, and his head whipped around to see who had discovered him. It was Kevin Entwhistle, a boy Draco had almost forgotten about. He was smiling nervously at Draco, his wavy black hair ruffling in the summer breeze, his dark eyes questioning. Draco had definitely forgotten how cute Kevin had been.
"What are you doing out here?" Kevin asked, with the same soft voice, he looked a little concerned.
Draco felt the corner of his mouth lift in response to the question and how absurd it would be to answer honestly.I'm having a minor breakdown about whether or not I can change history. Instead, he replied vaguely, gesturing to the brightly lit sky, "It's a nice day."
"True," Kevin agreed, casting a cursory look out over the grounds. "Um, about the other day," he continued, clearly uncomfortable, "you're not, er…"
Draco's mouth fell open slightly. This had to be a joke, or weird concussion karma; here he was on the last day of peace he'd had in his life, only to be reminded of the boy who'd, not broken his heart, certainly not, but perhaps scuffed it up a little.
'The other day' could only mean one thing in Draco's memory. Their last shared squad patrol before exams had started—which they had spent in a disused classroom on the sixth floor—with their belts unbuckled and their hands wandering more than they ever had before. Draco grimaced bitterly, suddenly remembering the way this conversation had gone the first time, with Kevin's insistence that he wasn't actually gay, just experimenting, and they shouldn't do it anymore; because it was weird. They had been in the boys' dormitory though, not standing on the sunny front steps, and Draco had been too surprised and, he could admit it now, too hurt to argue back.
Not this time though. He sent Kevin his best haughty glare.
"I'm not what?" he ground out through his teeth, "Queer?"
Seemingly of their own volition, Draco's fingers ran over the little bump of the pawn in his breast pocket as he spoke, as if to remind himself of Timworth's words. The move he wished he could make and the one that was possible were the same thing now, how ironic.
"Or are you worried I'm going to tell everyone you are?" Draco continued, shock and stress making him more candid than he ever would have been. Honestly though, he had wished he'd said that to Entwistle so many times.
"Er,"—Kevin stammered, his forehead wrinkling and his eyes widening in concern—"either?"
Draco sighed, finding Kevin's weakness almost funny. The fear of being outed was so tiny in comparison to everything that was coming, he couldn't find it in himself to lie. The freedom of this reality was liberating. "Well, I'm definitely queer," Draco said bluntly, "absolutely love dicks. Nothing better."
Entwistle gaped, his mouth a perfect comical 'O' of surprise.
"I probably won't tell anyone about this though," Draco went on, a little giddy with the rush of honesty, "and you'll be glad about that when you finally come out, no one wants a Death Eater for an ex after all." With that he pushed away from the wall, leaving a shocked Entwistle behind.
Back inside the castle, Draco decided he had to try. If this was real, if he truly was in his own past, then he had to try to find a way to save his father from arrest, to save his family from destruction.
The eerily quiet Entrance Hall gave him no inspiration, the buzz of chattering students through the doors to the Great Hall was far too intimidating, and he didn't dare head down to Slytherin where—someone was bound to notice that he was not himself. In the end, he started up the marble staircase, with the vague idea of visiting the library when it hit him:
Potter.
Potter, Draco realised, was a viable option, because if Potter didn't arrive at the Ministry, the Death Eaters would stay hidden and be able to leave undetected.
Immediately, Draco knew what he needed to do. The events of this evening had been told and retold by the Death Eaters that lived at Malfoy Manor the coming summer. They had all been so impressed by the Dark Lord's clever plan to lure Potter out of school. The vision of Sirius Black being tortured, the elf at Headquarters lying to Potter when he tried to check if Black was there.
And then, Draco remembered, Potter and Granger caught in Umbridge's office.
He'd been there himself, he'd watched Granger's convincing performance, tricking Umbridge into thinking they were trying to talk to Dumbledore. He'd believed it himself at the time. It was only later that he'd put two and two together and understood that they were trying to reach Black. That had been why Potter was so pale, so frightened looking; he'd thought the Dark Lord had captured his godfather.
And it was happening at this moment.
Potter was trying to talk to Black through the fire in Umbridge's office, so if Draco could tell Potter Black was safe, then he wouldn't charge off to the Ministry, and the Order wouldn't have to go after them and catch the Death Eaters waiting there.
Okay, that seems simple enough, Draco thought, turning at the top of the stairs and heading in the direction of the Defence classroom. If he could get into the office before the others, then he could warn Potter, get him out of there before the elf told him the lie.
Draco's fast walk became a sprint, as his determination urged him on, he could keep his family safe, him. His father would be so proud. Draco's fifteen-year-old legs were much stronger than his prison weakened ones, he felt so fit, so full of boundless energy. He wouldn't have been surprised if he got airborne as he pelted up two flights of stairs and took a shortcut through the Defence classroom.
Draco reached the corridor that held Umbridge's office in record time. He could hear Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood singing Weasley is Our King at either end, they had their backs to him. He remembered this, he remembered them singing as the Inquisitorial Squad approached with Umbridge. Weasley and Lovegood obviously had a better view of the incoming people, because Draco couldn't see the professor or any members of the squad yet.
Taking advantage of their distraction, Draco dashed across the open space from the classroom into one of the castle's many convenient alcoves. the covert space was directly across from Umbridge's door and held a bust muttering in Latin. He took a breath, marvelling at his stamina, being fifteen again was bloody amazing. Then he shot across the corridor and through the unlocked door into Umbridge's office.
At first glance it looked completely deserted, not a thing out of place: the walls with their horribly tacky kitten-painted plates, the liberal smattering of fussy doilies and potted plants, and the shiny brass block on the desk that read, Headmistress.
But then he caught sight of Potter's arse poking out of the green-flamed fire. He cursed, searching left and right for Granger in the cluttered office, was he too late? The elf would have been waiting, he would have already fed Potter the lie.
Seeing no one but Potter's bum, he approached the fire quickly, unsure how to get his attention without inadvertently feeling him up, when suddenly, there was a blunt wand tip jabbed in the side of his neck.
"Hold it, Malfoy."
Hermione Granger had appeared out of thin air on his right, her hand closed around the wrist of his wand arm, and she was glaring at him so maliciously Draco did not doubt her intent for a moment. He knew so much more about her now—the stories after the war, the things she'd done to aid Potter, the magic she was capable of—there was genuine trepidation in his chest as he met her fierce expression.
He held up his free hand. "You need to get out of here," he said at once, glad his voice didn't betray his fear. He knew they had mere minutes, he couldn't hesitate. "Umbridge is coming, the Dark Lord doesn't have Black, it's a trap."
There was commotion in the corridor outside as he finished speaking, and Granger's eyes flicked to the door. The singing had become shouting. "How do you know?" she asked urgently, pushing her wand hard into his throat.
"Does it matter?" He tilted his head back to lessen the pressure, and her fingers on his right arm became bitingly tight. "Don't let Potter go to the Ministry, it's a trap."
Granger's face went completely white as she absorbed the meaning of this sentence, that he really did know about what was going on, and her eyes narrowed in distrust. "Why would you care?"
"I don't," Draco spat, annoyed that she wasn't acting at once, "but you need to get the hell out of here."
As he said this he suddenly realised how the situation would look if they were discovered, him and Granger in the office, Potter in the fire; he'd be accused of being in league with them. That would be worse for his father than prison, the Dark Lord would not forgive. Potter and Granger could not be in the room when Umbridge entered.
There was only one solution Draco could see. He moved quickly before Granger could stop him, and placed his foot on Potter's bum and shoved hard, sending him headfirst through the flames. Then he pushed Granger toward the green fire, forcing her wand down as he maneuvered her toward the fireplace, using all the strength he had. But she didn't fight back the way he expected her too.
"If this is a trick—" she started, but there was another loud bang out in the corridor, and Draco heard Neville Longbottom's strangled voice.
"Get off her! Ginny, hex him!"
This seemed to decide Granger. She wrenched herself from Draco's grip and shoved him roughly away before she crouched to enter the still burning flames. "Tell Ron we've gone to Snuffles," she threw at him in parting, and then dove through after Potter.
A moment after Granger's shoe disappeared, the door to the office was flung open, startling Draco from his indignation at being manhandled and ordered around by Granger, being told to talk to Weasley of all horrid things.
"Aha!" Umbridge's accusatory shout echoed dismally in the empty room. She was framed in the doorway, stout, panting heavily, her toad-like face red, and her absurd black hair bow had slipped and now sat perched on her left ear.
Draco couldn't believe he'd respected this woman once. When compared to the furious determined steel he'd seen in Granger's eyes only moments before, Umbridge now appeared blustering and incompetent.
Draco lifted a cool eyebrow in response to her presence, and held up his hands in what he hoped appeared to be amused surrender.
"What?" he asked, trying to muster the drawl he'd been so good at once upon a time, all the while his heart drummed a rapid tattoo in his chest. Bluffing his way out of this seemed to be his only hope.
"What?!" Umbridge all but shrieked, "You have been caught breaking into my office!"
"I didn't break in," Draco said disdainfully, taking a few steps away from the professor to lean casually against the window ledge. He braced his shaking hands on the sill on either side of his hips so they would not give him away. "I got the message for the squad to assemble and find the perpetrators who had broken in." He looked at Umbridge with wide innocent eyes. "Was I wrong to assume you wished us to meet here like usual?"
The fury was draining from Umbridge's flabby face, and she lowered her wand. "And you saw no one?" Her voice was uneven, the disappointment at having missed Potter again was clear, because Draco was sure she knew it was Potter. She had been obsessed with expelling him that year. No wonder Draco had approved of her methods.
Draco shook his head, his pulse slowing. Of course she believed him, he had been an unrelenting suck up so awed by her power and pull with the Minister, because it was even greater than Lucius's had been.
"I arrived just before you," he said, as a revolted tremor crawled through him at this self-realisation. He swallowed, sickened by his own actions, but managed to hold onto his nonplussed expression. "But the door was unlocked, I must have just missed them."
"Did you pass anyone on your way here? Anyone suspicious?"
"Not that I can recall." Draco shrugged in faux apology. "If that's all then, I need to eat before patrols start, Headmistress," he added politely, desperate to leave the room. The sweet kittens on the walls were looking more and more sinister with every passing moment.
"Yes, I suppose you do." Umbridge had moved to the desk now and was shuffling bits of parchment around. "Thank you for your support, Mr Malfoy,"
"Of course, Headmistress," Draco said courteously, his pre-war-self coming to the surface more easily now, his words seemed to form without effort, "My father speaks so highly of you, Madam Umbridge."
"Does he?" Umbridge graced him with a smug smile, clearly bolstered by the praise. "Well, he has your best interests at heart no doubt."
Draco nodded, as he reached the door. "Good evening, Headmistress."
As Draco exited the room he came face-to-face with Greg, Vince, Millicent, and Kevin, all restraining Potter's friends. He smirked at them as he passed, the last bit of cockiness he possessed, because the moment he was out of sight he began to run.
The horrible fear was back, the absence of necessity to carry on meant his body could give in. The magnitude of his actions seemed to weigh heavier and heavier with every step, almost crushing as he tried to escape it by moving more quickly, pretending he had a purpose.
If this was real, and he was starting to think that it was, then he had just altered history, massively. Possibly changed the course of the whole war.
Unable to face food, or fellow Slytherins, Draco continued up through the castle. He was heading to the library, where he doubted he would find much relevant information about time travel or what to do when reliving one's own life, but at least he could be certain of quiet there. He needed somewhere to have his breakdown in peace.
A/N: Thanks for the comments, if I haven't replied yet I'll get to you very soon, I promise!
And thanks to Beta Boom for her perserverance! (do you like your new nickname? hahahaha)
