Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from Philosopher's Stone by JKR and I don't own it.
29 May 2013 - edited and reloaded. Some content may have changed, but the storyline remains the same.
A Letter From the Past
The red was going to take some getting used to. It exploded all over the place, loud and proud. It was dark outside Gryffndor Tower, but Draco had a feeling of warmth and comfort upon entering through the entrance hole due to the soft orange light the whole room was bathed in. (This might have added to the overall redness.) The large Common Room was filled with squashy looking couches and chairs, all red and gold. The huge fireplace was roaring, making the cold tower warm and toasty. While not as fancy and posh as the Slytherin Common Room, the place felt more at ease and welcoming. Even with the over abundance of red. At least it wasn't clown red, but a more muted shade.
Draco followed the other first years up the stairs to their room. The room was also rather warm, though it not as private at the dormitories in Slytherin. There were no privacy walls between the beds. In the center of the room was a stove, which warmed the room. Draco spotted his black trunk at the end of the room. He walked towards it and sat down on the bed. At least there were curtains around the beds, just like in Slytherin. That would allow some privacy. He noted Harry had the bed across from his. Longbottom was in the center bed on the other side, Thomas at the other end of the room. The Irish kid had the bed next to Draco.
He listened to the sounds of the others as they settled in and got ready for the night. Draco was about to begin to unpack his night things from his trunk when he spotted a letter sitting on his bedside table, propped up against the lamp. It was addressed to him in formal looking handwriting he recognized as Atlanta's.
Atlanta's handwriting from the future. Her current handwriting was still somewhat childish.
The words the Hat had said to him earlier rushed back into his mind.
Taking shallow breaths, Draco turned the letter over and saw the seal on the back. It looked old and it wasn't a seal he knew. It was an eagle and a snake, along with a wand with sparks issuing out of it. Carefully, he broke the seal and pulled out the note, which was written on Muggle paper, not parchment.
Draco snorted.
31 August 1979
Viaggiatrice,
Hope this finds you well and where ever the hell you wanted to be. I'd like to let you know, when you sent yourself to the past, you sent me too. Thanks. (No, seriously, thank you— the past three years have been a blast in a half. Honest.)
So, Gandolf and I theorized what you'd done to throw me backwards over the years, concluding you just sent your memories, soul and magic back into the past, not your body. We don't know how, but you sent me (body and all) to September 1976. We've no clue why or how you did this, nor do we care. Well, I don't care, because I'm dead. I'm not sure why Gandolf gave up. He might not have, but he won't meddle with you. Unless you do something REAL STUPID. So, here's some advice on time meddling:
Time can be rewritten, but there arefix points in time. Those cannot change. Trust me. Tragically, it's almost impossible to TELL what is a fix point. All you can do is try your best to alter things for the better and cross your fingers. If it's fixed, it won't change. Somehow, it'll revert to how it worked out in the first place.
I don't know how my being in the late seventies really effected things where ever the hell you went, but I assume you might have a few different memories. This is my theory: since you are sending yourself to yourself, you will already have the altered memories if they effect you, since you are sending memories, magic and a soul to yourself. It might help if you read Time Traveling Souls by Hans Tempidio. He is not as insane as people think.
Here is a list of things I've done during my stay in the late 70s:
1. Already found that thing Potter was looking for in that strange room on the seventh floor.
2. I've invented spells that you've never heard of, sorry. Might have to pay attention in class. (Insert maniacal, evil laughter here.)
3. I saved someone who was supposed to die.
4. Stick to the timeline you remember as close as you can. Don't change too much. Fixed events, remember. Example: no matter how many times I told a certain someone not to go dark, he went dark. No matter what I did. Fixed event.
On the matter fixed events: watch the rat, but don't do anything to him till Padfoot busts out, got it? That is, if he's in Jail in the first place. See date for why I don't know. I might have managed to get through his thick skull, but he is a hot head. He's so blastedly (I know that's not a word, but it works here) stubborn. Also, I am sure a certain event is way too fixed in time and space to alter, thus Padfoot's dumbness might also be.
Back to my list.
5. Tom. I don't know how to really explain Tom, but he is trapped in my flat for the foreseeable future. We couldn't figure anything out about him when we discovered him in the attic. Or created him in the attic. Potions and magical, creepy stalker sketch book accident. Tom might be able to explain better than I can about his "being" or whatever. He's at my flat. Moony will know.
6. I am strange. I assume I'll still be a little off, so I'll help you out if you need something done and can't exactly say why. Also, Luna will help you. She'll KNOW.
7. Don't tell me about Moony. I've got to figure it out for myself. Hopefully, it won't be as over dramatic as it was the first time around. (Though, Padfoot is highly overdramatic…so it might be.)
8. Don't over or under estimate Batman. (I sure hope you figure that nickname out, I'm pretty sure you'll guess the others from context.) He's not what he appears to be. He is angry and bitter, but he'd got an ace in his pocket, a weak point that I don't believe ever goes away.
9. I'm dead. I won't go into detail on my death at the moment, you'll find out later. I don't blame you for anything. This letter was entrusted on my death to Gandolf with instructions to give it to you when you did something that didn't strike him as normal.
So, so long and thanks for the time travel.
Love,
Adrasteia
"Draco? Are you okay?"
Harry's voice finally broke through to Draco and he realized he was sitting on his bed in his new home, in his new house and he had tears falling down his cheeks.
The Atlanta Black he'd read about on the newspaper clippings he'd found as a child was the one he'd known growing up in the first timeline.
The Hat knew about her.
Draco's method of time travel had somehow sent her back.
She must have been the one screaming his name moments before he'd found himself back in his eleven-year-old body.
Atlanta had died. The original version, the one from his primary past, had died. She went missing around the same his cousin Regulus. No, not missing, she was dead. She knew she was going to die, so she wrote the letter.
Draco frowned, remembering what his mother had said about Atlanta the First and her cousin. He looked over the letter again, noticing she failed to mention Regulus— unless Regulus was Tom.
That didn't make any sense. Tom was a product of a freak accident.
Harry shook his shoulder. Jerking up, Draco found Harry looking worried.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. I got a letter from an old friend who died," Draco managed to choke out. "It's nothing really."
Harry frowned, unsure what to say. Draco folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope. Harry fretted in front of him for a moment.
"It's fine. Really. I…I'm glad I know. She was, uh, missing," Draco managed to explain. "For a long time."
Draco's emotions were in a whirl. He'd sent Atlanta back in time. She had died. She'd written him a letter. He'd clearly done something to get Dumbledore's attention at some point.
Well, he had sorted into Gryffindor. What Malfoy did that?
The Time Traveling kind.
The Hat had said he'd changed the past in ways he'd yet to understand. Looking back at the letter, he began to wonder if she'd managed to change more than he'd realized passed his memories. He was only one person and he had not had contact with most of the people she'd mentioned. Well, at least he did not think he had.
He had a lot of questions. His head hurt. And Harry was still staring at him.
"Harry, it's really fine. Go to bed," Draco assured, his voice evening out. He put his pureblood mask on and stood up slowly. "It was a shock. She was old."
Harry nodded. Looking over his shoulder a few times, Harry made his way over to his bed and closed the curtains. The other boys all began to quiet down. Draco got ready for bed. He crashed into the bed, not bothering to draw the curtains.
Draco's mind was a hurricane. Things were blowing around too fast for him to grip onto. Memories were raining down at him so hard it hurt. The haunting image of the girl with the dark reddish brown hair and green grey eyes flooded his mind. Grasping onto it like it was a life preserver, he studied it. The girl looked similar to the Atlanta, but different in so many little ways no one would think they were the same person.
She had been disguised.
He lay in bed, feeling rotten for a long time. Sleep wasn't going to happen, so Draco rolled out of his bed and decided to write his mother The Letter and break the news to her he'd wound up in Gryffindor. Then, he'd start trying to decode Atlanta's code names.
