AN: No, I have not seen the new Aladdin. No this piece of fiction does not revolve around anything Disney, however the laws that govern my universe are loosely inspired by the original 80's Aladdin. I repeat, LOOSELY INSPIRED BY. I have tried to integrate aspects of legitimate Jinn-lore as well. You'll find as you continue reading that is this is not meant to be a corn-fest, I hope it comes across as somewhat serious but also pretty cute, because let's face it, there will be a specific amount of fluff involved but also a hefty bit of angst-filled, dark themes and explicit, mature content. You've been officially advised. Epilogue, what epilogue?

Jinn and Tonic
Part One
-o-

May 2nd, 1998

Once they'd seen that Harry Potter was still alive and it was clear the Dark Lord would be defeated, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy fled the scene, disapparating from Hogwarts Castle and reappearing along the pathway in front of the misty manor.

"What are we doing?" Draco growled in exasperation, when he quickly realized it was a stupid question.

Lucius rounded on him, his cloak billowing in turn as they paused inside the grand foyer. "Listen to me now," his voice croaked, desperation glinting in his eyes, "We have a new plan, and our work has just begun. What little hope the Malfoy name has now relies on what we do in these next few minutes," he had Draco's complete attention, he always did. Yet of course now, even though it utterly pained Draco to say it, his father had disappointed him beyond repair, beyond his expectations.

He truly, truly thought that in the end they would win and not have to worry too much about what came after.

How very wrong he was indeed. He'd started to think perhaps they were in over their heads when Potter and his lot escaped from the manor on Easter. When they'd arrived at the battle Draco was willing to give it one more shot, willing to give his all to see to it Voldemort's bidding was done, no matter that at this point his true allegiance had faltered… and as Draco was standing there, his mother's wand drawn on Harry Potter in the Room of Requirement, Crabbe and Goyle at his back like usual – his arm trembled, just as it did when he'd pathetically tried to face Dumbledore. He didn't want to do any of this, he never did. He'd kept up with it for so long, this façade – so greatly so that he believed it, believed he wanted to be just like his father, that he was supposed to be.

No, he was not. He refused it and something within him had finally ignited, telling him that his entire life, all the good and the terrible, had led up to this point, this moment – he just knew it. He may still always be a Malfoy, but as far as Draco was concerned he could do whatever he wanted with himself from here on out. No longer would he entertain his father's ideals, whether or not that meant he wasn't allowed his inheritance anymore, he just didn't care. Draco was his own person and that was that. He was lucky he even got away with his life, so he wasn't going to waste it. Surely, he had Potter to thank for that, right? Or had it been Granger who'd had them fly back through the fire to save his good-for-nothing arse? He thought that rather likely.

"Blinky!" Lucius hissed dryly for the house-elf and with a pop, she instantly appeared before them. "I'm going to my bedchambers, into the vault to make some preparations, Cissy please, get the downstairs in order and you, Blinky, you must help her," he barked and the poor little elf refrained from cringing away from him but she nodded with a half-smile nonetheless, an elf of few words, and followed Narcissa into the Drawing Room. In one swift motion Lucius was grabbing his son by the front of his ruddy shirt, a threatening anxiousness swirling around in his gaze as he loomed over Draco. "You will go to the library, get together anything and everything that incriminates us and bring it to Blinky and your mother. They'll know what to do,"

"Yes," was all he said, blankly, before heading upstairs; he felt utterly unable to even call the man his father at the moment, he'd broke his heart.

Mostly just then, Draco felt stupid to have thought – albeit for the briefest of moments – that he would actually still have an inheritance at all once the Ministry was through with them. Honestly, they fucking deserved it now. Lucius really had it coming after everything and would be lucky himself if he didn't end up with the kiss.

Thirty-five minutes later and Draco already had a huge pile of books by the entrance, waiting there to be removed from the manor's ginormous athenaeum. There were a number of random old relics and decorative dark items he had lined up there as well, yet still there was more work to be done.

Shelf after shelf, glass case after case, he suddenly stumbled upon a book he'd actually never read before, one he'd never quite noticed… The Lost and Found was the title, and it beckoned to be opened… however, as soon as he removed the dusty tome from its place he saw that right behind where it'd been was a small latched mechanism with what appeared to have a secret cubby.

Odd, Draco thought and motivated by not just curiosity but also the will to depose of any contraband that would harm his family's case, he clicked it open.

Inside there was something quite-brassy looking, old too. He took it out and held it in his hands as he inspected the intricate carvings. It was shockingly warm for having been locked away and the magic humming softly inside it was nothing like Draco had felt before. There was what seemed to be a language etched into the golden layers around it. Draco was confident in the knowledge he'd retained but he was certainly no expert in languages and linguistics, yet if he took a guess anyway he'd say it was ancient Arabic, or Aramaic whatever – one of the two. He might be wrong though, it could be Hebrew and at that moment really wished he was fluent in more than just English and French. The idea of learning Arabic was intriguing and as Draco traced bits of the slender characters with the tips of his fingers, he realized there might've been more than one language there after all… tiny rune-like symbols, almost hieroglyphics which definitely didn't seem to be of the Semitic variety; older than that, maybe Mesopotamian? They definitely weren't Egyptian…

That struck him as very strange and honestly, he wasn't sure what this type of contraption would have even been used for… it was a kettle, perhaps a lamp? Yes that was right, a lamp. At first glance one might've said it was only a plain, old trinket but his blood tingled with adrenaline; the lamp slowly, unmistakably undulating against his palms – as if it was a living, breathing thing. He felt it acknowledge his magic and Draco was sure it was something he should rid himself of quickly, that he wasn't meant to know this peculiar object's true purpose.

Unfortunately there was something within him, something too strong that had him not wanting to put it down, refusing to toss it away. He was positively captivated by its beauty, its mysterious carvings and he surprised himself as he dipped down and puffed breaths along the reflective gold of its girth. Then he used the sleeve of his shirt to buff it up nice and proper like, once more running his digits over its surface.

Then all at once, there was a prick along his spine, a pull to his naval and for a split second he was thinking he'd grabbed hold of a bizarre sort of portkey… that is until he felt himself shrinking and shrinking until his entire essence, his being was syphoned right into the relic, and he was trapped.

At first he held his eyes shut, he was petrified but slowly he peeled them open to find that although he was sure he'd been sucked into the object, he seemed to be floating through space itself. There were twinkling stars and spiraling, glittering galaxies all around him… it was positively ridiculous, and the most stunningly gorgeous and grandeur sight ever for him to witness. Draco felt tears welling at his eyes, unsure if it was from the breathtaking scenery or from the sudden lack of a heavy heart. It seemed there the painful heartache inside him had greatly lessened; could he be dead? It might honestly be a relief if he was.

There was a weird, uncomfortable feeling at his wrists and when Draco gazed down, he saw two platinum shackles magically assembling at his pulse points and around, as if they had come right out of his skin. However, even after fully-formed there was nothing attached to them, no chain. What was the point of that, then?

Next, despite the lack of atmosphere that made up the blanket of the universe, he felt the swish of a figure fly right past him. "Who's there?" his voice quivered to the open nothingness but before his eyes a blue, fiery-like mist materialized ahead and within it was the ethereal image of a man, a man who suspiciously looked a lot like his father. "Who-"

"I suppose I was once Ambrosios Malfoy, although I say, a significant amount of time has gone by now and it has been many years since I've walked the Earthly realm,"

Draco was floored, and if he hadn't been catapulting through lightyears of space-time he would be on the ground from shock.

Ambrosios Malfoy, if he remembered correctly, was something like his great, great uncle – a predecessor who was living centuries before in the 1700s. So how was it that Draco was speaking to him here, inside this… galaxy-lamp?

"I… you're my ancestor!" was all that Draco could manage.

There was a thoughtful, pensive expression upon Ambrosios' ghostly visage and then, "Why, yes. That does seem to be the case, doesn't it? How unfortunate the one who takes my place should have to be one of my very own relatives. Yes, what a pity,"

A specific level of panic began to rise within Draco from the entity's words and he had to ask, "What exactly do you m-mean?"

Ambrosios seemed to be about to sigh in exasperation, he was so tired but the old noble would at least do the young Malfoy a kindness with some type of explanation. "I… came upon the artifact in a museum, one that no longer stands. I found myself perusing a rare selection of relics among these archives, searching for information – nothing of any true significance now, though. The relic chose me, just as it has chosen you," he paused.

"Chosen? For what, exactly…?" Draco's chest had been tightening with a large amount of trepidation. This was definitely not on the list of things he'd wanted. He needed to get out of this place – he was going to be made a prisoner, a prisoner in a stupidly beautiful higher dimension but a prisoner nonetheless.

"You are no longer a wizard but will become more powerful than you ever were,"

"What?" Draco hissed, anger boiling up inside him. He didn't care how powerful he'd be, he was a wizard, through and through.

The ghostly apparition of his ancestor continued, "Some French folk might think of it as a genie, but the ancients referred to them as the Jinn," a chill ran along Draco's spine and he shuddered out a wavering breath, realization setting in. "However, in the untraditional sense, there are very strict rules and laws in which you must abide by and it has everything to do with the old magic that plagues the artifact we're inside. It has encapsulated your entire soul, you belong to it now."

Draco gulped, tears prickling at his eyes but he relented onward. He had to know, "What happened to you, then? Why do you get to go now? Will I ever return home?"

"Home," Ambrosios parroted, lightly snickering dismally. "What a lovely, yet mostly tragic concept. I suppose this place here, had become my home. After I did what I did, I never got to see my beloved wife and children ever again,"

"What did you do?"

"About a month after I was imprisoned, the artifact was found by my uncle, who'd always been an evil slug but sadly for me then, he was my master. He could release me whenever he wanted, and banish me away again depending on his whims. I could allow him three wishes –only three, however big or small and I had no choice but to oblige every time. He took advantage of my gifts, and in the end he put my family in danger… something in my magic broke the seal of the artifact, and temporarily I had the capabilities to do as I wished, so I… I killed him. I murdered my uncle because he, he wouldn't listen and I've paid for it forever since. Instantly, I was stripped of my Jinn powers and stowed away within the artifact, lonely and drifting. I haven't seen a soul since, you're the one. I'll be sent to salvation… I'm ready to pass on,"

Draco sputtered out in disbelief, hot tears steamrolling down his face, "You c-can go, I'm sorry,"

"Thank you, lad, I truly apologize it has to be this way. I wish you the best of luck," Ambrosios peered up into the oblivion, "Au-revoir," the fiery mist of his great uncle faded and whisked away into blankness and Draco was left completely alone.

-o-

June 6th, 2005

It was a glorious Saturday morning and it was about seven-thirty when Hermione Granger finally arose from her cozy, queen-sized bed. Usually she'd rouse right with the sun, often waking just before it broke the horizon but today – today Hermione didn't have to do a single thing, if she didn't want to. Of course, she had several, inane things she could think of already that could be tended to but none of it was quite urgent, and even she could admit that it was healthy to give oneself a break here and there.

Immediately following the Second Wizarding War and after the reconstruction of Hogwarts that very summer, Hermione had gone back to finish her schooling – something she was extremely adamant about considering she previously thought she'd never again get the chance. It was a blessed gift, to have been able to actually follow-through with her pre-war academic ambitions.

Hermione had found herself to be relentlessly proud as well, over the fact that despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's tempting request for she, Harry and Ron to enlist as Aurors right away, her two best boys had instead chose to return to Hogwarts alongside her. With participation and an intense amount of hard-work, the three of them graduated with flying colors and Hermione decided then to follow her boys to the Department of Magical Law enforcement where they'd became renowned Aurors.

Clearly this had kept the Golden Trio forever in the grasp of the public eye and each of them were frequently questioned, photographed and occasionally harassed by reporters, journalists and trash-talkers of the like. Thankfully it hadn't been too terrible for a good while now and Hermione was feeling practically blissful from all of the solitude she'd been given.

It was almost too much, if she was being totally honest. Yes, she enjoyed being alone most of the time, reveled in it well but recently, she found herself really missing Ronald. Sure, he'd been busy but he hadn't come around to her flat as often as he used to. It was just he was always so tired, or not feeling himself. He never was the same after Fred and everything, and it seemed to catch up with the youngest Weasley brother at the worst of times.

It made him drink… heavily.

That really worried her. She loved him but damnit, Ron could be a lousy drunk. Then again, so could she. Drinking was just not the best idea, unless under special circumstances. It wasn't something to be indulged in so often – it was a highly dangerous substance, for Merlin's sake! And she didn't mean to be such a buzzkill but c'mon, it was the bloody truth.

Perhaps she and Ronald could move in together, there was a cottage not far from Hogsmeade that'd long ago caught her eye; a charming little plot she was positively itching to get her hands on. She could help him there, they could start a real life together, she…

But… did she really want to spend her life doting and coddling Ron, forever waiting to witness him pull himself together again? Did she really want to endure the life he was laying out for them – a life which she'd been forced to think mightn't actually be the life for her? Not if he wasn't going to put in the effort…

Did she really want to turn out to be like Molly, and pop out a randy slew of ickle, red-headed Gryffindors? She certainly used to think it as mildly appealing however… she wasn't that same, naïve person anymore. War changes people far more than we are ever aware of and whether it was for better or worse, Hermione was vastly different now, she was grown.

Wild-haired and sleepy-eyed, Hermione sipped on her steaming bergamot tea, closing the kitchen window as she called farewell to the friendly owl who'd delivered her the daily edition of the Prophet. As she unrolled the paper and glimpsed not just the headline but the photo she almost dropped the mug of scalding hot brew and had to concentrate very hard to set it back down on the counter in front of her.

Narcissa: A Lonely Death
the End of the Ancient House of Black
the Last of the Malfoy's

Just then, as if on cue, there was a rumble from her fireplace and the floo blazed in a flash as Harry Potter walked into her flat.

-o-

June 8th, 2005

Hermione sat in her office after hours that Monday finishing up a proper stack of paperwork before she was on to one last endeavor that evening. The other day Harry had promptly informed her that they'd be required to work with a couple of curse-breakers, one of which being Bill Weasley, to effectively stabilize or destroy every single relic and book that had, in one way or another, fallen under the radar from previous Ministry raids at Malfoy Manor.

After business was understood and underway, she and Harry had reluctantly, got to talking about the sadness of it all.

Narcissa had passed away on her son Draco's birthday, which was June the fifth. If he was still alive, he'd be twenty-five years old. Strangely though, nobody knew if he was or not… it was a great mystery actually. Hermione had on occasion thought on it all for a wistful moment or two and wondered that if Draco was out there somewhere, did he have the type of life he'd wanted? Had it all been worth it? Had he seriously been that much of a coward that he couldn't have even faced the consequences of his deeds? Why couldn't he have been accountable for once in his life? Yes, they would have assuredly been stern about it but Hermione was very certain that the Ministry would have gone easy on him had he simply stayed, because she would have testified on his behalf, Harry too.

Draco knew exactly who they'd been at the Manor that fateful night on Easter, and he hadn't let up, he didn't give away their identities even though it was completely obvious at the time. That, that'd taken true courage, she'd thought… and she could tell he felt so guilty, as she was lying there, writhing in the unbearable throes of torture under the hand of his insane relative. It'd been the only thing Hermione could hold onto as she was so sure she was dying – her forearm split open, ruby red blood pouring out everywhere, it was a mess. The scared boy with silvery hair stared down at the claret pools and stains of sanguine fluid covering the floor, soaking his classmate's muggle clothing and there was a horror-struck expression adorning his features, a look like no other she'd ever seen on his face. It was as if he finally got it, he finally understood: her blood wasn't dirty, not at all – it was exactly like his own.

Then, although his lips remained trembling, a lifeless look touched his pale eyes. It was a stoic attempt to keep his cool-hearted nonchalance while his bitch of an auntie waltzed around the drawing room screeching offensive insults and profanities as she cruelly tried to interrogate Hermione to submission.

So she obviously didn't wish for Draco Malfoy to actually be dead, but anything would have been better than him turning out to be the running coward he always was. Was it a crime for Hermione to have actually wanted the guy to have changed? In him, there had been so much lost potential…

Over the last seven years Narcissa had practically withered away into nothing; she'd died from her misery, a broken heart and quite frankly, Hermione could understand it. Lucius was also gone, for quite a while now. It'd been the fatal kiss they were told … there was no stopping the Dementors once they got someone they'd really wanted.

The tiny fuzz on the back of her neck stood on end from the mere thought.

There was a sudden rapping at her door and Hermione cleared not only her throat, but also her thoughts. "Come in," she chirped and Harry swooped inside just as she had settled the last of the papers on the top of her stack.

She smiled at the wizard who plopped himself in the chair before her and she couldn't help but be aware at how much he had also changed. Harry was a man now, though his mop of inky-black hair remained messy as ever and he still had that boyish charm as usual, he'd become exceedingly more light-hearted, holding a more optimistic air about him these last few years. He let out a great sigh, stretching a bit, "Plans tonight, then?"

Hermione shrugged, giving Harry a somewhat apologetic look, "Well, actually yes," she admitted. "I was hoping to finally get a good look at some of the artifacts from the Malfoy estate. I had a monstrous workload put on my desk first thing, I just wanted to get it over with and out of the way and oh my goodness Harry, I've just been at it all day," she huffed in exhaustion.

Harry grimaced knowingly, "Mm, you have my sympathy," he stood, readying himself to leave, "Well if I hadn't already a date with Gin, I'd have invited you to get takeout somewhere. Normally I'd tell you to cut yourself some slack and go home for some much needed rest but who am I kidding? It's not as if you'd actually do that," he grinned coyly and Hermione cackled with laughter.

"That is probable," she muttered through her light fits of giggles. "However, I'll have you know Mr. Potter that I give myself plenty of rest. Why, do I not look as if I do?"

"What, no! I didn't say that…" again his mouth widened slowly into a grin, his sparkling emerald eyes gleaming mischievously behind his spectacles.

"Uh huh," she snickered, but the air surrounding them was immensely warm.

Harry Potter had always been and would always be her best friend. That was a comforting thought that Hermione could always count on.

Once she exited her office the rest of the second-floor was already dim-lit and deserted, as it often was for Hermione at the end of an efficiently established work-day. She'd been an Auror for plenty of years now. She felt she'd fully contributed all that she could to that particular department and it was time for her to move on. Her sights were set elsewhere – laws she intended to help put into place, the dream of opening up her own business as an apothecary; a lovely old villa with a greenhouse and garden she wanted to purchase…

The strong-willed, untamed magic, she could feel it, spilling beyond the door from the room which temporarily housed all of the books and relics of Malfoy Manor. It came in waves, echoing straight through her very body as she approached and for a moment, Hermione hadn't the spirit to turn the knob and walk in.

The scholar within her ached for new intriguing bits of knowledge, no matter how dark or ugly, so with a resolute breath she quickly went in and closed the door behind her. She only wanted a wee peek anyway. Maybe she could get a head start if she happened to find anything worth researching.

As Hermione gazed around at everything in semi-detached wonderment, she could already note that there were multiple books she'd never read before. In a hurried whirl of anxiety she picked some of them up and read their titles, their authors and then felt scorned to confess there was a chance she hadn't read any of them.

No, no, that wouldn't do. Hermione was clearly going to be spending quite a few of her nights there in that dusty spare laboratory just pouring over these damnably curious ancient tomes for the remaining time she was permitted to have them. This was a gold-mine for her, a brilliant lost wonder of the world. Hermione had a sense that this could be the very place where she one day would indeed lose her mind.

Kidding, she was only kidding… but she was excited.

She let herself "window shop" for twenty odd minutes or so before she was starting to yawn too much for her liking. It was then she came across a haunting photograph of the last Malfoy's – Lucius, Narcissa and Draco.

She felt her gut wrench at the sight – it had to have been fourth year for Draco, when this photo was taken. All three of them appeared very happy, happy in a Malfoy way – prideful sneers plastered over pasty white skin, shoulders poised in a regal-manner and noses upturned superficially. She focused in on Draco's silver-blue eyes, trying to remember exactly what the boy looked like when he'd been right in front of her so long ago in that far-away castle. Handsome, he was just… he'd been an undeniably good-looking wizard – explicitly insufferable and vile yes, but there'd always been something infuriating sexy about Malfoy that she never ever dared, or cared to dwell on.

And she shouldn't dwell on it now, either.

A misted daze sort of took over her senses as she set the picture back down and something strikingly brassy caught the low-light in her peripherals. There were detailed carvings on the outside of it, an ornate oil-lamp she figured. Hermione inspected closer, recognizing the language to be of old Aramaic. She hadn't any idea what it said or meant, she didn't know ancient Aramaic but she was adept enough to know this was representing either a code, or an incantation.

The other language seemed more like a code as its cryptic hieroglyphs were spread out as tiny markings, finely etched in between the flashiness of the Aramaic. Hermione guessed that one was ancient Sumerian…

Rapidly she started to worry as she noticed that she couldn't remember when she'd taken hold of the lamp, had picked it up without even realizing it. The magic within it was palpable, potent, and absolutely dangerous – Hermione could almost smell it. She thought it would be in her best interest to put the lamp down, for now. She probably shouldn't be messing around with something of that particular nature when nobody else was around to witness it but… she couldn't put the relic down. Literally, she found herself suddenly not wanting to and instead, almost hungrily her fingers grazed along its surface, the weight of its heart heavy against her palms.

Hermione Granger could never have prepared herself for what happened after that.

In an instant there was distinct thrum-like, pulsations coming directly from the object, the lamp in her hands – it reminded her of the mighty strums of an acoustic guitar, or rather it was just like a heartbeat. It just about melted into her very magic, like the toppling thunder of an ocean and she was tossed overseas, taken to the ground in a heap of brief unconsciousness.

-o-

AN: I hope you all have a fantastic weekend! Please, if you can spare the time let me know what you think of it so far! I have plenty of fresh ideas for the way this story is going but feedback is always greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!