Disclaimer: See Chapter 1! The conception of Merlin and his role in this story is my creation, but otherwise, I own nothing!

Author's Notes: Potential Trigger Warning. Vague mentions of physical, mental, and emotional abuse. Nothing graphic or explicit. Love to my readers and as always, major props to my beta PTwritesmore and all the loves to my Larks!

Chapter 3: A New Beginning

Draco opened his eyes, swaying on his feet. Looking around, he felt as though he'd taken a long fall and landed before expecting to. He opened his eyes and looked around. Had the whole thing been a dream? The idea of meeting Merlin seemed rather far-fetched now that he was no longer face-to-face with him.

Wait, just where was he?

The room he was in was decorated in royal blue with gold accents, the furniture handsome and elegant, and hanging on the wall was a poster of...Benjy Williams! His favorite seeker from Puddlemore United! He looked at the soft carpet under his feet, golden with a large Puddlemore crest in the middle. This was his childhood room; it hadn't been a dream!

Draco walked to the large ornate mirror, his reflection confirming his suspicions. He was eleven years old again, horrid slicked back hairstyle and all. He grimaced; that would be the first thing to go. His hair had always been a source of pride for him, and being forced to wear it this way had been torture.

He walked through the room, his fingers brushing the furniture that had long since been replaced or destroyed. If this was still here then...he looked towards the corner, a bright smile lighting his face. "My orrery!" he shouted, running towards it. It was a magnificent instrument; displaying the entire galaxy on a miniature scale. Mesmerized by the tiny planets and stars, he suddenly recalled why he had lost it: his father had destroyed it after disastrous occlumency lessons.


"So weak, Draco. How do you intend to shield your mind from those pathetic fools at the ministry if you cannot even protect yourself from me?"

Draco was on his knees, the stone floor beneath him had been cold and hard. They'd been at it for hours, and Draco was no closer to being able to shield his mind."

"Legilimens!"

Memories flew through his mind. Playing with his mother. Learning the stars on his orrery. Cuddling his stuffed dragon in first year while he cursed Harry Potter. Losing time and again to Hermione Granger. Desire to please. A need to be worthy of the Malfoy name. Wanting to escape.

No. Not that. Please, not that.

His father pushed deeper, sneering in disdain all the while. "Pathetic. You will be of no use to me or the Dark Lord when he returns."

Draco tried to resist, but it was too late. His father had never assaulted his mind like this before and his secret was revealed. Draco, reading muggle novels and magazines. Wandering muggle London and admiring a motorcycle, wishing he were old enough to ride one. Talking with a muggle boy who had let him try on his leather jacket.

"YOU ARE A DISGRACE!" His father had ripped his way through Draco's mind, causing as much pain as possible. The physical punishment he'd received had been brutal, his father screaming words of vitriol the entire time. It was what came after that had completely broken Draco's spirit.

His father had gone into his room and taken his muggle treasures from underneath the floorboards where he'd hidden them, using his wand to set them on fire while Draco watched.

"This is for your own good Draco," his father had told him calmly, "we will purge you of your weakness. You will learn who you are meant to be, and you will take your destined place in the Malfoy Family."

When he'd come home from school the following summer, his room had been changed to the one he'd remembered; his quidditch posters, astrology charts, stuffed Dragon, and even his orrery had all been taken. He'd been 12 years old.


When he broke from the memory, he realized with a start that he had completely forgotten about his stuffed dragon and the things hidden under his floorboards. He flung himself to the floor by his bed and pried open the loose boards. There they were! His novels, magazines, and the leather jacket! He held the jacket to his chest tenderly. His father had spent that summer reinforcing the beliefs that anyone other than a pure-blood wizard faithful to Voldemort was no better than dirt.

He put the leather jacket on, admiring the feel and comfort, sat down on his bed, and held his stuffed dragon. He realized at this moment that occlumency must be his priority.

"You'll retain your knowledge, but not your abilities", Merlin had said.

Thinking it through, Draco realized that made sense. A person was born with a magical core, some innately stronger than others. The magical core was able to grow both as the body did, and with practice. In a sense, it was like a muscle that needed to be exercised to improve. Since he was in his 11-year-old body, his core would be the size it had been during this time. He would have to train extensively once he got his wand.

His occlumency shields were an absolute necessity; no one could be allowed to see the memories of the war and his meeting with Merlin. Even without that, he would never allow his father a chance to humiliate him as he had done before. As he entered his mind, he saw with relief that his occlumency shields were as they had been before he had been "reborn". He realized this was due to the nature of occlumency; anyone with the knowledge of how to compartmentalize their memories and emotions would be able to properly shield their mind. Because Draco had been allowed to keep his knowledge and memories, not even his father or Voldemort himself would be able to invade his mind.

"Woopy!" he shouted, calling for the first house-elf he could think of. Although his thoughts on house-elves had changed a great deal, he still found their names to be rather silly, and hers still stuck out in his mind.

A house-elf with large pointy ears, a tiny pointed nose, and enormous sky-blue eyes appeared with a small pop and a formal bow, "Yes, young master Draco? How may Woopy serve you?" Draco was shocked when he first saw Woopy; she looked rather healthy, the pillowcase she wore was clean, and she didn't have that beaten-down look he'd grown accustomed to.

After a moment, he remembered that his mother had taken pride in the care of the house-elves before his father had invited the Dark Lord into their home. Once every year or two she would "adopt" one from the house-elf placement agency. She had told his father that more house-elves elevated their position in society, and it reflected poorly on the Family if the servants were in poor condition. Of course, knowing what he knew of her now, he realized that she had treated them well out of the goodness of her heart, and the story she used was just that. He was filled with overwhelming sadness for a moment until he remembered that the war hadn't happened yet; his mother was still alive!

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he put on his most imperious expression, "I've forgotten, what is the date today?" Woopy looked at him for a moment and answered, "It is being Saturday, the 27th of July young master."

Draco nodded, "And where are Mother and Father?"

Woopy looked at him with confusion and concern, "Master and Mistress is being at the Parkinson home today. You was not wanting to be going. Is you alright young master? Can Woopy be doing anything for you?"

Wincing mentally, Draco shook his head, "No thank you Woopy, you may go." Woopy looked at him with astonishment and disappeared with a small bow. At first, Draco was confused by her expression. "Bloody hell," he said to himself. He realized that only had he forgotten that his parents were never home on Saturdays, but he had also remembered too late that he never used to speak to the elves so calmly, and he had certainly never thanked them for anything.

Sitting in his favorite armchair in the corner, Draco sighed wearily. Thankfully house house-elves never questioned their masters; he shouldn't have to worry about any repercussions from his slip-up. At least his parents weren't home; this stroke of luck meant he could spend the rest of the day planning before seeing them.

After resting for a few moments and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of his childhood room, Draco returned to his previous position in front of the mirror. He had important plans to make and things to figure out, but he suddenly remembered that he had access to a large tub and decided a long, hot bath was in order. With the chaos of the war, it had been a very long time since he had been able to enjoy such a luxury.

Draco slipped on his silk robe and slippers and headed towards the bath, letting out a sigh of relief at the simple comfort of the soft material brushing against his skin. Dark images of chaos and destruction flashed through his mind as he made his way through the dimly lit hallway. As he made his way past the guest rooms and large library, Draco chose to focus instead on the beautiful paintings and tapestries that decorated the walls. He could only hope that time and change would allow him to forget the pain and fear from his previous life.

Once in the bathroom, Draco spent two hours splashing around in the pool-sized bathtub and enjoying the various scented soaps and shampoos. When he was finished, he styled his hair like they had in his third year; neat, but bangs loose and hanging just above his ears.

Draco returned to his room briefly to dress for the day and decided to explore the manor a bit. He needed to plan, and he was always able to think better while moving around. He wandered the various hallways, relishing the feeling of his family home being full of light and free of damage.

Draco looked at the clock: 5 PM. His parents never returned before 9 when they went on their social outings; he still had plenty of time. He moved to return his possessions to their hiding place and realized he would need a safer place to put them. His father had only left his room alone before because he had no reason not to. Draco had no privacy here, no safety, and no ownership of himself. At this moment, he realized he would need a hideout. He wished he had somewhere like the Order… "That's it! Dobby!"

Dobby appeared before him, covered in bandages and trembling, "y-yes young master?" Draco was overwhelmed with guilt at the sight. Although his mother had cared for her house-elves, Dobby was his father's personal elf. His father took great pleasure in beating the elf and even more pleasure in making the elf "punish" himself. Draco's guilt flared when he remembered that Draco had taken to doing the same, first in hopes of pleasing his father and then as an outlet for his anger.

"Dobby," Draco said gently, "What do you know of Harry Potter?"

Draco couldn't suppress a smile at the change in Dobby, who immediately straightened, his eyes filled with pride and adoration, "Harry Potter is being the savior of the wizarding world! Harry Potter killed old voldy-mort! Harry Potter is being a hero!" Dobby seemed to realize at this point that he had expressed excitement and immediately began to stammer apologies for stepping out of line and pull at his ears.

"No. Stop Dobby. I order you not to punish yourself."

Dobby stopped, shock and confusion covering his face as he looked at Draco.

"Has my father mentioned Harry Potter before? What does he say?"

Dobby shook his head, trembling in fear at the thought of speaking about his master.

Draco knelt to Dobby's level and touched his head gently, patting him softly when Dobby flinched, "I'm sorry for my treatment of you lately, Dobby. I'm sorry for the way my father treats you. I need to know. Tell me, please?"

Dobby's eyes welled up with tears and he spoke haltingly, "Master Malfoy is not liking Harry Potter. He is saying that Harry Potter is the enemy who destroyed his lord. Master Malfoy is filled with hate for Harry Potter."

"This is going to be hard for you to answer, Dobby, but do you approve of what my father believes?"

Dobby began to shake his head and reach for his ears, only stopping at the last minute. It was obvious to Draco that the elf desired to punish himself, but was also trying to obey Draco's order not to do so. After several moments, Dobby whispered, "N-no young master Draco, Dobby is not approving of Master Malfoy." The house-elf hunched into a ball on the floor, obviously expecting a blow for his answer.

"Thank you, Dobby," Draco whispered, being sure to allow the gratitude to show through his voice.

Dobby raised his head swiftly and burst into fresh tears, quickly rising from the floor and giving Draco a large hug, "Young master Draco is being so kind to Dobby!"

Draco patted Dobby's ears awkwardly, wishing he hadn't when the elf only cried harder at the gesture. "Listen Dobby," Draco said seriously, "I need your help."

Dobby stepped away, rubbing his eyes and blowing his nose noisily into the tattered pillowcase he wore. Draco fought to keep the disgust off his face as Dobby nodded, "Of course, young master. Dobby is being ashamed. What can Dobby do to help you, sir?"

"I want to help Harry Potter, Dobby. It's going to take time and work, and I'm going to need a place to hide, as well as a place to hide things I wish to keep secret from my father. I know a place, but I can't get there myself."

Dobby hesitated, looking rather nervous.

"Don't worry. Father has ordered you to obey me, so he will have no idea so long as you do not tell him. I'm sure you can imagine how he would react if he found out I wanted to help Harry."

At this, Dobby's eyes filled with fear followed by determination, "tell me where you is wanting to go, young master."

Draco smiled triumphantly, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place."