Again I do not own Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, or any of the other characters in this fanfic, and any scenes/dialogue you might recognize is not my own.

Just a warning, the beginning of this chapter is slightly graphic with imagery and depression, just be warned.

Chapter Seven: "Seeker Of The Quidditch Team?"

He was standing in the bathroom, cold and shaking, staring down into the empty basin of a porcelain sink as though looking for answers he knew he would not find. His hair should've been falling in his face, but his skin was hot and sweaty, so instead it clung to his flesh like a dying man clinging to life. His breath was shallow. He tried to focus on keeping a steady stream of air flowing into and out of his lungs. His vision was a light show of colors, flickering from black to red, to green and then yellow, and then back to black again. His knees were trembling from the effort of keeping him standing, and he wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground and never get up again. He wanted to find a place where he could curl up in peace and never be found, just another person, missing in the chaos of war.

But no. he would never be "just another person." His last name proved that he was anything but. And though he'd normally taken pride in his family and what they stood for, today, he wished that he had been born as anything else - even a house elf would've been better off than him, now, after everything. He couldn't bare to look in the mirror, afraid of the monster he would see, and yet he raised his eyes to gaze at the wretched being that stared back at him, reflected in horrible detail. Dark circles on pale skin, dead gray eyes staring from beneath drooping lids. If only Mother could see him now, he thought. How horrified she'd be, that her son could look so ugly. But, he supposed, he'd always been a disappointment.

His eyes wandered over the shoulder of the reflection, half expecting to see a certain bespectacled boy staring back at him in surprise, wand at the ready, a curse on his lips. But Harry Potter, of course, was not there. Harry Potter was probably off somewhere, throwing a huge party or giving an interview to the Daily Prophet, as the wizarding world, who couldn't get enough of their savior, gobbled up his every word and practically groveled at the boy's feet. His friends, the Weasel and the Mudblood, would be with him too, pretending to be all modest and shy but surely reveling in the praise being hung around their necks like shiny golden medals.

And where was he?

In a bathroom that strongly resembled Moaning Myrtle's. But not at Hogwarts. Oh no, Hogwarts was too good for him now. Nobody would want to see his face ever again. He could hear nasty words ringing in his ears and it felt like the Sectumsempra curse had hit him again, and he was bleeding out on the bathroom floor, watching the water stain red around him as he waited for someone, somehow, to swoop in and save him from the darkness and the pain. But Snape was dead. So this time, he would really die, alone and cold on a bathroom floor, wondering if he would ever be able to be happy again. He forced himself to concentrate again on the situation at hand. Right. The cracked mirror. A filthy, Muggle gas station bathroom. That's where he was.

Look at you, a voice whispered in his ears, nasty and scornful. It sounded much like a voice Draco would've used back in school, as he made fun of Potter and his friends, sneered down his nose at those who he deemed lesser than he. Look at how far you've fallen.

He was Draco Lucius Malfoy. He was nineteen years old. He was standing in the bathroom of a run-down 24/7 convenience store, somewhere in a remote American town. He had been abandoned by those who he'd once called friends. His father was locked away in prison. His mother was locked away at home. And he...he might look free, but he was and would forever be locked away in the past.

Apprehension filled Draco as he followed the fuming form of Madame Hooch away from the other first-years. How he hated being in trouble. In the times when it had happened before, he had merely been filled with a sense of indignation. How dare these insignificant pests waste my time with this pathetic nonsense, he'd think. They were the ones in the wrong, not him. A Malfoy never got into trouble, and they most certainly were never wrong.

Until they were.

He shook that thought off. Everybody made mistakes. The Malfoy's, despite their utter and obvious perfection, had just made a big one.

"Hurry up, boy," Madame Hooch barked from the top of a staircase. Draco huffed. It wasn't his fault he was so short. It made keeping up with Hooch's lengthy strides all the more difficult. Besides, Malfoy's never rushed about or obeyed other's orders (unless it was You-Know-Who's, but that was beside the point) and it was always other people who had to hurry to keep up. Nevertheless, Draco picked up his pace and joined Madame Hooch at the top of the steps.

They were in a wing of the school that Draco had rarely, if at all, visited. It was the office spaces of most of the teachers, but because Draco had only ever visited Snape's office, in the dungeon, this quarter of the school was unfamiliar to him. He wondered again where he was being taken, what would happen to him, if he was in trouble, if he'd just messed up the future. Certainly, his actions must've caused something to be screwed up. He prayed to Merlin that Potter being on the Quidditch team wasn't vitally important to the future, but it probably was. He would worry about that later.

"Right this way, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Hooch beckoned, her voice only a degree warmer than it had been before. She was standing at the end of the row of office doors, impatiently waiting for the first year to catch up before turning down another corridor.

There was more silence as the pair now walked the length of this new corridor. Draco tried to think of something that wasn't What do I do, do I do anything, have I screwed everything over (Malfoy's don't screw everything over. They should also know exactly what to do in every situation). He listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. There were no windows in the corridor, the darkness lit only by the flickering lights of floating candles.

At last, Madame Hooch halted in front of one of the doors. She motioned for Draco to stop, and then raised her fist to knock on the door. From inside, a voice invited them to enter with a single word. The flying instructor pushed open the door and held it open for Draco to go in first. If Draco had contemplated escape before, he knew there was no way of fleeing now.

He found himself in McGonagall's office, which surprised him. He did not know the Gryffindor had one, or never really bothered to think about it.

The professor's lips thinned as she gave Draco a severe look, which he found completely unfair, and then focused on Hooch, who closed the door as she entered the office.

"Take a seat," she bid them, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk. "Rolanda, what is this all about?"

Madame Hooch let herself be seated, and then gave Draco a pointed look. He also sat down, keeping to the edge of the chair. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be in this office, or at Hogwarts again. Maybe this was his second chance, an opportunity for redemption and all that, but it was too much. He didn't want to decide the future, didn't want to figure out the consequences of all this choices. At that moment, he would do anything just to be back in his apartment again, back in New York, back to his miserable post-Wizarding-War life. Everything made sense there, at least, even if all the people he'd known in his childhood either hated him or were dead.

" - casting a spell way beyond his first year level of knowledge," Madame Hooch was saying. Draco jolted, realizing he'd tuned the two teachers out. He shook his head, trying to stay in the moment, even as his mind dragged him back into the turmoil and self-pity washing over him.

I shouldn't have cast that spell, he thought. Forget Malfoy's not feeling regret, because right now, Draco was feeling a lot of that. It was stupid. It didn't make sense. Casting a spell shouldn't feel that groundbreaking, like everything was wrong, like the future had been damaged. So what if Potter wouldn't be on the Quidditch team? That one fact couldn't be that important? Besides, the future had already changed. Draco was a bloody Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake. If that didn't screw everything up, then nothing could.

"Mr. Malfoy," a voice was saying, and Draco refocused to see both Madame Hooch and McGonagall casting disappointed expressions in his direction.

"Huh? Yes?" he managed.

"If you could be bothered to pay attention," McGonagall said drily, "then I think you would realize that we have asked you a question."

Feeling sheepish, Draco apologized. Then he looked down at his feet, feeling sudden shame. A Malfoy, apologizing? It was almost as if Voldemort had won the war and Draco was now living in a post-war apocalyptic setting, where You-Know-Who was the ruler of the wizarding world.

"What was the question, Professor?"

"We've been keeping track of your progress here at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said slowly, watching him with keen eyes as if assessing him to make sure that this time, he was paying attention to her words. He swallowed hard, feeling oddly nervous, which was silly, because, of course, Malfoy's don't do nervous. "And I am not your only teacher to make the observation. It seems, Mr. Malfoy, that the first year curriculum is too easy for you."

It was strange, to hear something akin to praise be directed at him from McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor house. It was a bizarre feeling, not unpleasant, but all-together unnerving. He did not feel capable of properly reacting (smiling, feeling a sense of accomplishment because finally it was him, not Granger, getting a compliment for his knowledge) because of course the first year curriculum was too easy. Merlin, everything was too easy. He could probably take the O.W.L.S. right now and expect at least six O's. But nobody could know that, because that would lead to questions. And as confused as Draco was at the whole stuck-in-my-eleven-year-old-body-in-the-past thing, at least he was getting used to it, and he didn't want anyone else to interfere.

"At Hogwarts, we don't exactly skip years, like they do sometimes in Muggle schools," McGonagall said. "However, we do offer the option of testing into the next level early. That would mean you would take second year classes this year, and then third year classes next year, and so on. You would not graduate early - your seventh year, you would be offered extended classes to further advance your knowledge. It's a rare opportunity that we offer to very few, so please consider your choice carefully, Mr. Malfoy. We're very pleased with all of your hard work."

Finally managing a shaky, tight smile, Draco said, "Thank you, and I will think about it."

"Very good," said McGonagall. She seemed to hesitate, before she spoke once more. "One last thing, Mr. Malfoy. It has come to our attention that your parents are somewhat...unsatisfied with the way your Sorting went. We don't normally allow students the choice - the Sorting Hat does know what it is doing - but if you feel that you'd like to be resorted, the option is open for you."

At these unexpected words, Draco almost reeled back in his chair. Was McGonagall serious? Well, she must've been, because in all seven years of Draco's Hogwarts' career, he'd never heard the Gryffindor Head of House joke around. But then, he'd never heard of a student being offered a second chance at being Sorted. As shocked as he was, and as appealing as the chance of being a Slytherin (as he rightfully was, because he was a Malfoy) was, he already knew that he couldn't accept the offer. He was sure the Sorting Hat would resort him into Gryffindor anyway, because the Sorting Hat already knew that Draco was from the future. And if Draco wanted to better the (his) future, then he would have to stay, unfortunately, in Gryffindor house with Potter, Weasel, and Granger.

"Thank you, Professor," he spoke after a measured amount of time. "But I'll have to decline. I'm happy where I am."

McGonagall hardly reacted to these words, but he could tell she was surprised by the slight raise of her eyebrows at his words. Nevertheless, she gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. That will be all." She rose, as did Madame Hooch. Taking his cue, Draco followed suit. He felt surprisingly calm, for the first time since waking up in the past. He was sure he'd done what was right. Except for the possibility of jumping ahead and taking second year courses (he was probably going to refuse that as well, because didn't he have to stick with Potter?), everything seemed in place. The one thing that kept bother him was, though, that Potter wouldn't be Seeker this time around. Unless...

"And Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall's voice pulled him out of his musings, and he turned around, afraid that all of this talk had been a ruse, and he actually in trouble for what he'd done to save Longbottom. But McGonagall was actually smiling, not a tight-lipped, disappointed smile that he was used to. If he wasn't wrong, he could almost detect pride in her expression. "Twenty points to Gryffindor, for quick thinking and saving a fellow classmate from harm," McGonagall said in a form of farewell.

Madame Hooch was already in the hallway, holding the door open for him as she impatiently waited for him to exit the office. And he was almost out of the room when suddenly he froze, realizing that perhaps he could do something to get Potter on the Quidditch team. He turned around.

"Professor," he began, "I realize that this will be a strange request, but it's extremely important. Would it be possible to allow Potter to be Seeker of the Quidditch team?"

A/N: Hey guys sorry for the long wait and for the short chapter. I tried going on but it seemed like it was better to save it for the next chapter or this would've been too long. One question I have is, do you think it would be better if Draco went back to the future again after the end of the first year, or should I continue to at lest the end of the second year? The latter option would mean longer story but I don't know if I have the ability to keep the story up that long. please let me know your opinions, appreciated. Anyway Ive been on vacation for a while but I also lost some inspiration/ideas for the story and didn't know how to continue, but I thought about what to write and hopefully ill have another chapter out soon. thank you for sticking with this story despite the sporadic updates, I really appreciate the support and I hope that I'll be able to finish this story, I really enjoy writing it!

Thank you to all the reviewers, there are so many!

TinySlippers: Pretty loud

Lily: Thank you, and I hope it remains realistic!

MagicornIs1: :)

Acute-angle-101: Haha sorry, hope it was still okay the second time around and sorry for the long wait.

Rain-XIX: Agreed, wish there were more! And thanks, that means a lot to me and hope you continue to enjoy the story

Anne: Thank you so much! Me too.

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Guest (May 11): Thank you, that means a lot, I'm glad you enjoyed my writing and hope you like the chapter! Sorry for long wait.

A: Haha yes, totally.

To all the Guests, Lil, and Hanna: Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to keep writing, I really appreciate all your motivation, it kept me going!