Chapter 12
Your love I once surrendered, has never left my mind.
My heart is just as tender, as the day I called you mine.
I did not take you with me, but you were never left behind.
-Lang Leav
Present Time: November 2000 / Draco's Time: Same as present
After Draco's revelation about Hermione, he sat completely still for what felt like forever, but was probably just fifteen minutes, or maybe an hour or two, he didn't think to check the clock. When he moved past his catatonic phase, he started pacing the house, unable to stop not only his mind, but his body from racing.
Hermione was going to be his wife. She'd be Hermione Malfoy. No - she'd probably never take his name and if she wanted to be Minister for Magic one day, she shouldn't. Oh shit, there was no way she'd be able to be the Minister for Magic if she married him. Would she give up that dream for him? Would she really come to love him that much? How was that possible?
And would he love her that much? He certainly liked her now but liking her and wanting to marry her were two different things. How could he stand being with someone who was so painfully better than him in every way? But wasn't it a good thing, to get to spend his life with someone so perfect?
Fuck, he just wanted to see her, to hold her. He could do that now, right? No, she was with Weasley. That fucking Weasel was fucking his wife. How was Draco supposed to stand by and let that happen? But soon (or maybe not, soon) she'd be his. His. He'd get to take those blouses off of her and play out all the fantasies that had been running through his mind. He'd get to burying his hands in her hair, run them along her body, cup her breasts, squeeze her bum, taste her lips and hear her scream his name (his real one, not 'Malfoy').
Was this really what he was focusing on? What was wrong with him? He should be focusing on what awful thing would happen to Hermione in a few years to make her go insane and take up with a miserable wizard like him.
This was how his thoughts went for several hours, bouncing between elation, dread, and every stop in between. When he saw the sun peeking out over the horizon, he tried to sleep. He only managed to get fourteen minutes of rest, then decided to abandon it and go flying. But nothing he did (flying, drinking tea, taking a long bath, exhausting himself in the practice room, reading, or using Occlumency) calmed his overactive mind.
By the time the sun began to set - for some reason, he was measuring his time by the sun, now, instead of taking five seconds to look at a clock. Why was that? Was it because time had complicated his life so thoroughly that he wanted to try and avoid it for a bit? Maybe time was just a construct.
Time is a construct? What the fuck are you talking about? Shut up, you stupid brain!
He needed to get out of here before he went mad. Or perhaps it was too late. Either way, he was leaving. He grabbed his outer robes and went to the only place he could think. When he arrived through the Floo of Greengrass Estate Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass were reading in the drawing room.
"Draco?" Daphne's father asked.
Draco nodded. "Hello, sir. Sorry I didn't send an elf ahead of me. Is Daphne here?"
Draco barely waited for the man's affirmation before crossing the room to the hall. "I keep severing the connection to Malfoy Manor and that girl keeps setting it back up again." Draco heard Daphne's father grumble to his wife.
"I know," she sighed. "What's the point of that friendship if she's not going to end up married to him?"
Draco rolled his eyes and was relieved when he was far enough away and could no longer hear their voices. When he reached Daphne's room, she was sitting at her vanity, combing her hair.
"Hermione is Lady Malfoy," he announced, slightly out of breath.
"I know," Daphne said without a hint of surprise. She didn't even look up and merely eyed him through the mirror.
"You knew? Since when?" he asked, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.
"The first time I saw you two interact, during that lunch at The Cottage. You had this back and forth and were challenging each other about all this boring stuff I wasn't really following and I thought to myself, 'This is the sort of witch Draco needs. Someone like Hermione.' Once I thought that - it clicked.
"She would pick grey for an Autumn wedding, she'd struggle to get on with your mother, she wouldn't want to live at the Manor, and she'd force you to be friends with Potter. I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out, honestly."
"Yeah, yeah," Draco sighed as he flopped back onto the bed.
"Didn't you wonder why I became friends with her? I don't usually like to spend time with nice people with no taste in fashion (or wizards, for that matter) but I figured I should get to know your new wife."
"I didn't question it because, well, she's wonderful. Of course you'd want to be friends with her," Draco said to the ceiling.
"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."
Draco had thrown up for real earlier, after driving himself to magical exhaustion in the practice room, so he didn't feel sympathetic.
"What are you going to do?" Daphne was standing at the side of the bed now, looking down at him with her hands on her hips.
"I don't know. I don't even know if she likes me."
"She does."
"I think you might be misconstruing respe-"
"She does," Daphne repeated sternly. "And I can expand on that later, when you're in a mood to hear it."
"She has a boyfriend," Draco pointed out.
"For now."
"What am I supposed to do? Break them up? I sort of already tried that and it was a disaster."
Daphne regarded him for a few minutes, then pushed him over and laid down next to him on the bed. "Just be patient. Continue to get closer to her, as a friend, and I guess one day, love will blossom."
Draco snorted. They'd only recently reached the point where they could go through an entire meeting without breaking out into a heated argument and were still calling each other by their surnames. He didn't see how love was going to blossom out of that, especially with the time limit on her rotation.
Daphne turned her head toward him. "How do you feel?"
"Everything, all at once. It's nauseating."
She nodded. "Feelings are overrated."
"Agreed."
They were quiet for a while, each watching the ceiling. Draco was thinking about the spell his mother used to perform when he was younger to turn the ceiling into the night sky. He was trying to remember the incantation and wand movement when Daphne said, "Hermione Granger," drawing out each syllable.
"I know."
"Harry Potter's best friend."
"Yes."
"A Muggleborn."
Draco just sighed in response to that one.
"Do you care?" she pressed.
Draco could feel her eyes on him but kept his gaze up. "No. I'm sure Mother will but she'll support me, in the end, and it's a good thing Father's dead." He winced as he said that. That was a whole other complication. He had a chance to save his father but to do so, he'd have to give up this supposed future with Hermione. He couldn't bring himself to tell Daphne any of that.
Instead, he said, "It's going to be so fucking hard."
"Yeah," she agreed. "You're probably right about that, but you've both been through worse."
"Yeah," he said softy, as his eyes fluttered closed. For the first time all day, his brain was calming down. He figured it was because he'd already thought all the possible thoughts and now his mind needed a moment to recharge, so it could run like mad again later.
When Draco opened his eyes again, Daphne was sitting at the head of the bed, flipping through a magazine. "Hello, sleepy head."
"How long was I asleep?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She looked over at the clock on the wall. "A little over an hour. You can sleep some more. You look like you need it."
He felt like he needed it too, but he could finish off his night's rest at home. "Sorry," he said, turning onto his stomach and looking up at her. She just waved him away before looking back down at her magazine.
He watched her for a few moments. She looked thinner and tired. He knew she was still hurting from when Blaise had rejected her at the Ball. But there was a quiet power in her, hovering just under the surface (a little reminiscent of Hermine's energy). If Daphne could just find a way to tap into it, Draco knew she'd be okay.
"How are you?" he asked, nudging her leg with his elbow.
"Fine. Or...I will be. Don't worry about me. You have plenty of your own problems."
Draco grabbed one of her pillows and propped it under his chin. "Are you sure you don't want to get married? We can go abroad somewhere and leave this mess behind."
She kicked him.
"Come on. I'm rich. I'll let you buy all the pretty things you want and even let you sleep with Blaise, on occasion. Maybe once or twice a year. And I have it on good authority that your parents will approve."
She rolled her eyes. "One problem."
"Just one?"
She laughed at that. "Countless problems, but the biggest one is that you don't want to marry me. You want to marry Hermione."
"No, I don't."
"Not now, maybe, but one day."
"I think she's funny and clever and I definitely want to shag her - but...marriage? No way."
Daphne crossed her arms. "What do you want to do after you shag her? Send her home, or tell her about your hopes and dreams while braiding her hair?"
Draco cocked his head as he considered the question. "Can you braid curly hair?"
Daphne kicked him again. "The fact that you even considered that is answer enough. You have it worse than you're letting on."
"Maybe it's not her," he said hopefully. Even though he'd been agonizing over the past two weeks over the possibility of having to settle for a witch that wasn't Hermione, now that he was faced with the fact that it was Hermione; he couldn't handle it. Yes, he knew it was absurd but his brain had stopped behaving logically hours ago. "Maybe I got it wrong. Tell me it's not her."
"It's not her."
Draco groaned. "That didn't make me feel any better."
Daphne got out of the bed, then pulled him up to his feet. "We've been over this, Draco. I'm not the one to make you feel better. But I can do a temporary fix. Let's go out for drinks. I have a new dress I've been dying to wear."
"I haven't eaten anything all day, so drinking is probably a bad idea. I should just go home and sleep."
She shrugged, then said with a mischievous grin, "When have you and I ever done the thing we're supposed to be doing?"
Draco and Daphne were currently walking up the long path that led from the edge of her family's estate to the front gates. Daphne was in no state to Apparate them directly inside her house and Draco (who was faring only slightly better than her) was only able to take them just outside the property line of Greengrass Estate.
He'd considered Floo-ing straight from the pub, but didn't want to risk running into her parents again. Although, now that he reconsidered this, he realized her parents wouldn't be in the drawing room at this hour, but in bed. They should have Floo-ed, that would have been smart, but his brain wasn't firing as quickly as usual.
As they walked arm in arm, or, more accurately, stumbled arm-in-arm, Draco took large gulps of cold air into his lungs in a vain attempt to sober himself up. He had to Apparate home after he dropped Daphne off and preferred to do so without splinching himself.
"You're not listening!" Daphne shouted in his ear.
"Because I've gone deaf from all the yelling," he retorted, then chuckled inwardly at his clever joke.
She pushed him and he nearly fell over, taking her with him, but reached out and braced himself on a nearby tree trunk just in time. "Damn, woman. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"No one ever died by falling over."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Whatever. Stop talking and listen to meeee," she whined.
"Fine. Just stop using that awful voice."
She waved him away. "Anyway, I was trying to tell you why I've decided to ignore Blaise and just live my life! Without him!"
"What did I say about the yelling?" Draco was three seconds away from Silencing her.
"Any-way," she continued, ignoring him. "Back to my resolution."
Draco began to tune her out. She'd been talking about this new resolution of hers ever since her sixth shot (which was three too many for Daphne). Draco knew better than to let her drink this much but had been too distracted by trying to toe the line between numbing his emotions and completely blacking out to monitor her intake.
"You're not listening again," she scolded. They'd reached the gate now and Draco had to pull her wand out of her ridiculously small bag and guide her through the motions of taking down the wards. She nearly fell over three times during the process of unlocking and opening the gate. Damn, she was so far gone.
"Go on then," Draco said when they were on the other side of the gate.
"It's something your wife told me."
"Don't call her that."
"But that's what she is."
"Just get on with your big speech and keep your voice down so we don't wake everyone up."
"Okay," she said in a very loud whisper that was nothing like a whisper, but at least she wasn't yelling.
"I don't want to be like the women in the sky," she started. Draco had no idea what that meant but urged her to continue anyway. He knew Daphne was relentless and wouldn't let him leave until she got this off her chest.
"It's just an allegory for how women are treated in society. Cassiopeia claimed she was the most beautiful person in the world (which is what women are taught is their most valuable asset) and what happened to her? She was forced to sit upside down in the sky for all of eternity."
Ah, so 'women in the sky' meant constellation. Draco should have guessed. "I don't think that's what allegory means."
"Shut up." She paused to stick out her tongue before continuing. "Then, her daughter, Andromeda, was punished by being chained to a rock and raped by a sea monster."
"Really?"
"Yes! And the only other female constellation is the one with the seven sisters. They were hunted by that awful Orion and were put in the sky to escape him, but then he just went to the sky and hunted them there. And that's it! Those are the female constellations!" she finished as they walked into her bedroom.
"I don't understand what this has to do with Blaise," Draco admitted, not following this thread at all.
"I don't want to be like that! I don't want to end up chained to a rock or running from Orion for eternity or, or, upside down!"
"This was, uh, Hermione's speech?"
"It was more eloquent," she said as she kicked off her shoes, then disappeared in the small room adjacent to her bedroom that she used as a closet.
"And did it, uh, make sense?" Draco called.
"If I was made into a constellation," she called back, "I don't want to be Daphne, the witch who fell in love with a heartless wizard who trapped her in the Underworld for all of eternity."
She reappeared, wearing a pair of silk pajamas. "I want to be Daphne, the strong, capable, self-assured witch who sticks up for herself. Someone who doesn't wait around for happiness to find her but goes out and finds it herself. Wizards were flirting with me all night. Did you notice?"
Draco nodded as he guided her to her bed. "I noticed," he said as he pulled her covers back, then gently pushed her down onto the bed.
"Maybe one of them is my person. Or maybe he's not a random wizard at a dodgy pub. But I'm going to find him, wherever he is, instead of waiting around for Blaise to turn into someone he's not."
"Good for you."
She nodded and pulled her covers up to her waist. "But first, I should sleep."
Draco let out a laugh as he recalled suggesting the same thing in this very room several hours ago. He conjured a glass of water and held it out for her. "Drink this first."
She drained her glass and placed it on the bedside table. Then she laid down and let Draco tuck her in. "Do you think I can do it? I'm no Hermione. I couldn't even get her speech right, how am I supposed to do this?"
Her eyes were wide with fear. Draco crouched down so his face was level with hers. "You can do it, Daphne. You're stronger than you think."
Daphne reached over and patted his cheek. "So are you, Draco," she whispered. Then, she pulled her hand back and turned over, falling asleep almost instantly.
Draco let out a long sigh as he pulled himself back to his feet. His head was spinning even more now than it had been when they'd started their journey home. It took him three tries to extinguish the lights in her room and as he walked back to the gates, he wondered if Apparating was a good idea.
His thoughts drifted back to Daphne and her confusing speech, then to Hermione, where they settled. Hermione - his future wife. She was so fucking clever. Even through the fog of exhaustion and drunkenness, he could tell she'd handled Daphne perfectly, speaking to her in the language of constellations. After months of hearing from Draco and Astoria that she was too good for Blaise and should put herself first, Hermione had been the one - of all people - to finally reach Daphne.
Damn, Hermione was an incredible witch. Draco wanted to see her but also, never lay eyes on her again. He'd been thinking in conflicting absolutes like this all day. There was a word for that, wasn't there? What was it? Hermione would know.
And because his head was flooded with images of the witch he'd been trying to avoid thinking about while he'd been out at the pub, Draco didn't find himself back in his bedroom later - where he ought to be - but sitting on the bench where Hermione had taken him on her birthday, longing to feel close to her.
And then, almost as if he'd conjured her with his desperate will to see her, she appeared, right in front of him. "What are you doing here?"
Draco jumped. Illusions weren't supposed to talk. When he didn't say anything, she took a seat next to him and he could feel her warmth. Shit, was this real?
"It's three o'clock in the morning," she said next.
Draco turned to look at her and could see her breath on the cold air. She was wearing a strange outfit consisting of a trench coat over what looked like pajamas, a woolen hat, and snow boots. If she really were a hallucination, and it had been up to him to pick her clothes, he'd have never picked that, so she must be real.
"You're wearing wizard's robes," she said when she saw him looking at her.
"I also Apparated straight here and am using a Warming Charm," he replied challengingly. "Are you going to report me?"
"No," she said simply before turning to look at the lake which was barely discernible in the dark. They were quiet for a moment, then she asked, while keeping her gaze forward, "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," he said automatically, eager to fend off any further inquiries into why he'd decided to come here, of all places. If she pressed him hard enough, he was worried he'd blurt out the truth. Then what? Fuck. She needed to leave.
"I had a nightmare," she began in a weak voice. Draco turned and could see tears glittering in her eyes. He leaned into her instinctively and surprisingly, she didn't push him away. "It happens every so often and I try to go back to sleep, or read, or even work a bit and sometimes I can calm down and get back to sleep and other times I feel...trapped. I had to get out and this park is just a few blocks from my flat."
"Oh," Draco said, at a loss for words. What he really wanted to say was, "Can you leave, now?"
"Now you," she said, leaning further into his side.
Why did she have to be so damn inquisitive? Draco tried to fend off the question by asking, "What was the nightmare about?"
He looked over at her and she was blurry, which annoyed him. He wanted to see her clearly, to see all the familiar lines of her face, the curve of her lips, her wide, expressive eyes. How dare she be blurry. He knew distantly it was his fault she was blurry, not hers, but his brain was resisting logical arguments at the moment.
She turned on the bench to look at him for several moments before answering. He tried to use Occlumency to make his face blank, but he was too drunk. He wondered vaguely what expression was on his face now without it, then he wondered if she could even make it out in the dark.
"It was a common one," she began, her voice flat. "I'm back at Hogwarts and the Final Battle has just ended. I'm walking along the Great Hall, looking at the line of bodies. But in the dream - or, nightmare - the bodies never end. And everyone I love is there. Ron, Harry, Ginny, my parents, Luna, Neville, McGonagall, all the Weasleys…"
As her voice trailed off, Draco wondered if he was in the dream. Probably. He was probably standing over the bodies in his Death Eater's robes, having just cast Morsmordre. Or worse, a curse that had killed one of her friends.
Draco imagined going back to Hogwarts with her one day, after they were married - perhaps to an Anniversary of the Final Battle - an event he hadn't had the courage to attend so far. Would she really want to walk along the Great Hall, remembering the friends she'd lost, with a Death Eater on her arm?
Next, he imagined lying in bed with her while she slept in his arms. Then, he'd feel her twitch and watch her open her eyes in alarm, having just had a nightmare. She'd look down at his arm and see his Mark, then begin to scream, convinced she was back in that hell. Fuck. His mind might be too fuzzy to make out her face, but it was creating these imaginary visions just fine.
Fuck. There was no way this was going to work. Of course not. He'd been delusional to think otherwise. But it happened, didn't it? Wouldn't it?
He felt her warmth on his side again, then noticed he'd been absently rubbing his forearm. He pulled his hand back quickly and looked over. She'd been watching him rub his arm but didn't look disgusted, like he'd expected. She looked concerned. "Your turn," she said, leaning further into his side.
"Same," he said, his voice hoarse.
She turned to face him but he kept his gaze forward. "You had a nightmare, then came here?"
Draco nodded.
"Is that why you smell like a pub?"
He just stayed quiet.
"Why here?" she pressed. "Out of all the places you could have gone, why did you choose this bench?"
"It had nothing to do with you," he said sharply.
"Right." He could tell by her tone she didn't believe him. She placed a hand on his arm, right on top of his Mark and suddenly, it was too much. This was wrong. His brain was moving slowly but this fact, he was sure of.
He couldn't end up with this witch. She'd just had a nightmare from the war that had unsettled her so much that she'd gone outside, in the middle of the night, in her pajamas to escape the memories and then, when she'd come across a former enemy, someone who'd fought for evil in the war that had taken so much from her, a wizard who had once wanted her dead, she hadn't turned away, scorned him, or even scowled. She'd sat down and talked to him. She'd been kind and concerned and now, she was trying to comfort him. She was too good and Draco couldn't let her end up with him. He had to stop it. With that thought in his head, Draco did something very stupid.
"I know what you're thinking and you're wrong."
"What am I thinking?"
"You think I came here because of you. Because I like you, but you're wrong. And I know you like me, but you need to stop."
She scoffed, then leaned away from him, turning on the bench to face him again. He turned to face her too. "How do you know I like you?" she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
He ignored her question and continued with the rest of the speech he was making up as he went. He hoped it made more sense than Daphne's had, but wasn't holding his breath. "It would never work. The whole terrible past thing would be bad enough, with the bullying and hatred (on both sides) and teasing and slapping and war and all that."
"Yes, all that," she sneered.
"Yeah, well, that alone is grounds enough, but even putting that reason aside, there are more. We come from different worlds and you could never be Lady of an estate like mine. You don't wear the right things or pick the right colors, and you give your opinion too freely. You wouldn't be able to get on with my mother or even me. We'd fight about everything from your flawed view of house elves, to where to go on holiday, to how to parent - which I assume you have some ridiculous opinions about. It would be a disaster."
She smiled at him, which was a strange reaction. After a few moments, she dropped it and asked, "This isn't a joke?"
Draco just shrugged.
She glared at him. "You really think I like you and want to be - 'Lady of your estate?'" she asked mockingly.
"Yes," he said simply.
"I have a boyfriend, who I love. And I can barely stand you!"
"Maybe you don't want this now, but you will. I know you like me and those feelings will continue to grow."
Her mouth was hanging open now. "You are the most obnoxious person I've ever encountered."
"Keep in mind how much you hate me now when you fall in love with me. It'll help you move on."
"You're trying really hard to get slapped, aren't you?" Then, she looked around. "Am I involved in some sort of dare?"
"I'm doing this for you, to prevent future pain. No need to get your knickers in a twist."
She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a heavy sigh, then muttered under her breath, "He's like a drunk Mr. Darcy, but without any of the good qualities," which meant nothing to Draco.
"Malfoy," she began snippily, "allow me to relieve you of this grave concern of yours. I do not like you - not even in the slightest. My feelings for you are so far away from love," she bit out, "that I struggle to even say the word in front of you."
Draco scoffed, which just served to anger her further. This was good, right? What he'd been going for. He didn't know anymore.
"I know you're going through something right now with the time travel and your father - and that's why I'm not going to hex you to oblivion but - damn!" She seemed to be getting angrier with each subsequent word.
"I can't believe you! You seriously have the nerve to sit there and preemptively reject me? Running under a preposterous assumption that I'm in love with you?! Or will be, soon enough. Are you kidding me?!
"I don't want to be with you! I can barely handle being friends with you! You're my childhood bully. Someone who insulted my friends and told me I was filthy and worthless for most of my life and you think that's someone I want to be with? I know it's hard for you to imagine that there's someone in this world who's not in love with the wonderful Draco Malfoy, but that person is me - put me on that list!"
"Then why are you friends with Theo and Daphne?" he countered. "Why did you come to my house? Why are you always confiding in me and trying to make me feel better? And why did you go on about my nice clothes and hair and stuff, then ask me to say goodbye – while holding my hand – if you don't like me?"
She jumped to her feet and was so angry now, Draco could almost feel her magic crackling on the surface of her skin.
"When we were last here, you told me you'd have me swearing and flipping people off before the end of the year. You were right!" She held her middle finger up as she backed away. "Fuck you, Malfoy."
Draco woke slowly the next morning. He was conscious for several moments before he worked up the strength to move his body. First, he shifted his feet under the soft sheets. Then, his hands, which were shoved under his pillow. He noticed that he was hot, uncomfortably hot, but it took him a few moments to realize why. He was wearing clothes, a button-down shirt and trousers, and they were drenched in sweat. Gross. He'd have Finley clean his sheets today.
Next, Draco opened his eyes, but quickly closed them as the light coming in through the window threatened to stab a hole straight into his brain. He groaned as he reached around for his wand but it was nowhere to be found. He'd have to chance opening his eyes again. Or…
"Finley," he moaned.
"You called, sir?" he heard the elf squeak in way too loud of a voice. Draco groaned again.
"Make it dark. And have Tippy make her hangover mixture. And water, I need that. And my wand. Put it right here." He tapped a spot on the bed.
"Yes, sir," Finley replied, whispering this time. "Here's your wand and I'll be right back with the rest."
Draco tentatively opened his eyes and found the room dark. Much better. As Draco waited for Finley to return, he tried to recall what had possessed him to drink the entire contents of the Manor's liquor stores. He hadn't woken up this hungover in months.
The night began to come back to him in pieces. He hadn't been drinking here alone, but out at a pub, with Daphne. He remembered laughing, high pitched yelling (from Daphne, not him), constellations, several more fake proposals, way more talk about Blaise than he cared for, then Hermione. Something with Hermione. It hit him, all at once.
The letter. The revelation that she was Lady Malfoy. And...a park bench?
"No, no, no, no, no," he said, sitting up in bed. He instantly regretted it when the room began violently spinning around him, nearly causing him to vomit the entire contents of his stomach, which would probably just be loads and loads and whiskey.
"Master Draco? Here's the hangover cure and your water." The elf placed two glasses on his bedside table but Draco barely registered the action. He was busy thinking through his conversation with Hermione. Had that been real? No, no way that was real. Why would she be there in the middle of the night?
A nightmare...she'd been wearing her pajamas...then she'd been kind and he'd been…
"Fuck!" He pulled his knees up and dropped his head in his hands.
"Sir? Do you need anything else?" Finley asked, sounding nervous.
"Yes!" Draco looked over at the elf and asked eagerly, "Can you break into someone's flat and Obliviate them?"
"I don't know, sir. I can try." Finley was pulling on his ears anxiously.
Draco wondered if elves could do spells like that. Maybe, if he took Draco's wand, but it could be traced back to him. Hell, Finley could be traced back to him. Was he seriously considering this? Was he that desperate?
Yes, he was that desperate, but no, he wasn't seriously considering this. Poor Finley was trembling as he awaited the order.
"No," Draco said with a wave of his hand. "Just run me a bath and clean my sheets."
"Yes, sir." Finley piped up, clearly relieved. He popped out of sight, likely eager to leave before Draco ordered him to do something that would get him thrown into Azkaban. A few moments later, Draco heard the tap running in his bathroom.
He laid his head back against the headboard, closed his eyes, and forced himself to recall everything that had happened the day before. As he relived the conversation with Hermione, he felt sick, and it was completely unrelated to his hangover.
He'd been worried he was wrong for her so instead of telling her how he felt about her, then admitting why it scared him so much, he'd listed off all the reasons she was wrong for him. Absolutely perfect. Well, that was done.
But...he paused to consider. His brain was still sluggish and he was approaching thoughts of time travel, which gave him a headache even when he was sober, but he forced himself to go there. He needed to figure this out. He drank the water and hangover cure that was on the table as he considered the time travel again.
Everything he'd read about time travel said that the past, present, and future existed on a continuous timeline. Which meant that if he really had fucked things up so badly with Hermione that they would no longer end up together, he would lose all his memories of future Draco talking about her. He'd also lose that letter. "Finley!"
"Yes - uh - sir?"
"I'm not going to order you to break the law. Just - there's a letter in my father's study, on the top of the desk. Bring it to me."
"Of course." Finley popped out of sight and returned the next second holding the letter Draco would write in 2006. Draco scanned it. It was all the same. So, he hadn't broken anything.
He dismissed Finley, then laid back in bed and let the truth settle over him. He would still end up with Hermione, even after last night. Which meant that not only would she forgive him for being her childhood bully, insulting her friends, wanting her dead, and being a Death Eater - but she'd forgive him for being an unmitigated arse.
Draco groaned. He forced himself out of bed and into the bath, where his thoughts of Hermione followed him.
After wallowing in the bath for a full hour, Draco got dressed and went to find something to eat. He passed his mother in the sitting room, taking her morning tea. "Hello, Draco."
Her voice was hollow and as he approached he could tell she hadn't slept the night before. His brain cast around for reasons why - then he remembered. His chest clenched painfully. It was his father's birthday yesterday. Draco had been spending the whole day agonizing over Hermione and had never thought to check on his mother.
He took a seat on the sofa next to her and placed a hand on her arm. "Mother. How are you?"
"Doing about as well as you, I think."
Draco let out a small laugh. Yes, he looked like shit. But he was immediately guilty because it wasn't for the reason she thought. And then, the thoughts of his father and whether or not he should try to save him - which he'd pushed to the back of his mind - struck him as painfully as a hex.
He could save his father. It was a possibility, but he'd barely considered it. Though looking at his mother now and how much pain she was in, a part of him wanted to try. Tears were slowly streaming down Draco's face but he didn't even notice until his mother reached out to wipe them away.
She pulled him into a hug and he dipped his head against her shoulder as he cried, something he hadn't done since the worst part of the war. "It's okay, Draco," she whispered. "We're going to be okay."
Draco shook his head, trying to swallow back tears. "I need to tell you something," he said, pulling himself back up to a sitting position.
He took several breaths and she waited patiently for him to continue. "I think I can save him."
Her blue eyes widened and he saw hope flash in them. "What?"
Draco went on to explain the time travel as best he could and how if he didn't take the potion he would have a chance of helping Father battle the Dark Artifacts instead of leaving him alone in that room to die.
"Oh," she said when he was finished, dropping her head in disappointment. "No, Draco. You need to take that Extraction Potion."
"Mother I-"
"Your father's gone. Who knows what trying to bring him back would do? You could lose your own life. I could lose both of you-"
"Or keep both of us," Draco countered.
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "I've seen what happens when wizards chase power, Draco. And this - altering time, reversing a death – that's more power than any person should have. He's gone and I know you never got the closure you wanted with him, but you have to find a way to live with that and move on."
"I'm not considering this for my sake, Mother," Draco said, taking her hands, "but for yours. He's your husband and you miss him. I'm supposed to be taking care of you and I just want you to be happy."
Narcissa dropped her head and Draco saw a few tears fall onto her lap. "Lucius is gone," she said again. "We can't bring him back. He wouldn't have wanted us to try."
"Are you sure?" he asked, squeezing her hands for comfort.
She lifted her head and looked back at Draco with a determined look in her eyes. "He wanted us to be safe, more than anything, and the safest option is for you to take that Potion."
"Okay."
Draco sat with his Mother for the rest of the tea but they were each silent, thinking their own thoughts. Draco was hating himself for feeling relieved that his mother had just given him permission to do exactly what he'd already decided to do - abandon all thoughts of saving his father so he could pursue a life of happiness with Hermione.
But even though he knew, intellectually, that future existed, it felt unreal and so very far away. Especially given the incredibly stupid thing he'd done last night. When Draco stood to leave, he stopped in the doorway and asked, "Do you know a Mr. Darcy?"
He'd been puzzling over that part of his conversation with Hermione, when she'd called him a drunk Mr. Darcy, but without any of the good qualities. It seemed important for some reason.
"No. Is he Pureblood?" Narcissa asked.
"I don't think so."
Later that night, Draco was sitting at the desk in his father's study, moving his gaze between three objects that were resting on the surface of the desk in front of him: his father's hand from the family clock, an unstoppered vial of Extraction Potion, and the letter from his future self.
He'd already decided to take the potion, both in the future and now, and his mother had even urged him to take it, but the voice in his mind, his constant critic, had stopped him, claiming he was being selfish, choosing his own happiness over what was best for the family, choosing a Muggleborn, of all people, over his own father.
Draco was reminded of a conversation he'd had with Hermione a few weeks ago. They'd been talking about Quidditch and flying and Hermione had admitted that she hated flying so much because she was afraid of heights. Then, she'd quoted another poem.
"'Don't you get it? The ones who are afraid of heights don't trust themselves enough not to jump.'"
"Are you trying to tell me you're suicidal, Granger?" he'd asked.
"No but when I read that passage, I did wonder. I've had that sensation before, of jumping when I'm close to an edge, but not in a suicidal way, just, like - an impulse that comes out of nowhere. So, I researched it."
"Of course you did."
"And it's a thing," she continued, ignoring him.
"What sort of thing?"
"People who are afraid of heights truly don't trust themselves not to jump. They did studies on it in the Muggle world."
"What?"
She'd gone on to explain. "They found that people afraid of heights tend to overhype the danger of being high up and as a result, have an overwhelming survival response. Someone afraid heights would get to the edge of a cliff and be overcome with fear and anxiety (which is just a natural response of the body warning them of danger). So they feel that jolt of terror and step back, and this is where it gets interesting."
"Oh, good. There's an interesting part."
She'd just rolled her eyes. "The brain, working for a rational explanation for what just happened comes up with, 'Huh, I must have reacted so violently and stepped back like that because I wanted to jump.' Which is wrong. The reaction was a survival response but in our brain, we twist it."
"Really? They were able to prove that? Without Legilimency?"
"In a lot of ways, Muggles know more about how our brains and bodies work than we do, because they've been forced to figure it all out without magic. Anyway, there was a point to my rambling."
"I thought the point was always to annoy me."
"Added bonus," she'd said with a smile. "I like to think back on this study when I'm afraid of something and twisting it around in my head. Like this job, for instance. I was nervous about taking it - which is a rational fear - it's new, it's more responsibility, and it requires me to work with new people. But then, my mind began to take that fear too far and spout out the usual narrative.
"'You can't do it. You're going to go into a job that requires you to build relationships with people? You? The overly abrasive person who no one likes?' That sort of thing. Anyway, the point is that the brain twists the truth, it's been scientifically proven. Which means I don't have to listen to it."
"I like that." Draco said.
"I thought you would."
"Why?"
"I think your inner voice is as harsh as mine," she'd said knowingly. Then, before he could confirm or deny it, she'd added, "Some people don't have that voice. Did you know that?"
"What? Everyone has an inner critic."
"I've asked my friends about it. They have a little voice, but it's not as harsh and not constantly picking them apart. And sometimes, it even says nice things. I thought everyone had it this bad but I'm finding that's not the case."
"That's fucked up. I hate those people," he'd declared, then, realizing what he'd said, had tried to backtrack. "I mean, uh, not because they're your friends. Just - it's not fair that they get to live their whole life without dealing with that."
She'd just smiled. "I know. I hate them, too."
As Draco sat at his father's desk and the voice in his head that had been Draco's constant companion his whole life tried to tell him he was stupid and cowardly and betraying the entire Malfoy line, he tried to remember Hermione's words.
"The brain twists the truth, it's been scientifically proven. Which means I don't have to listen to it."
It was simple, with a very complicated explanation. Which was sort of like Hermione. It was easy to boil her down into a simple description: she was a beautiful, smart, powerful witch with an unmatched capacity for caring. But the subtext behind her could fill libraries. She was so complicated and Draco wanted to unravel it all. He wanted to figure her out, know exactly what made her tick, mostly so he could give her precisely what she needed. That unknowable thing she'd been searching for - the thing Weasley couldn't provide.
You're really going to pick a Muggleborn you spent most of your life hating? You can get back to a better timeline and you're just going to ignore that for her?
Draco heard Hermione's voice again. "Maybe this is the ideal timeline...You said you liked your future self, that he was a better version of you. If I were you, I'd trust him."
Do you really think you can give her what she's looking for? You - who have never properly loved anyone besides your mother. Which, I can assure you, is not saying much. Even a troll can love his own mother.
Draco looked at the letter and read over the lines he'd read a thousand times by now. I was so scared I couldn't make her happy. I can. I did.
Draco took the vial in his hand and drained it before he lost his nerve. He expected something to happen, but nothing did. The Potion didn't even burn or tingle going down and it tasted like nothing. The voice in his head had gone quiet, probably gearing up for a future diatribe. For now, Draco just appreciated the rare silence in his brain.
When his mind went into action again, the first words that appeared there were, Now what?
Draco sighed. He knew the answer but had no idea how to go about it. He had to make it up to Hermione, convince her to remain friends with him, get her to dump Weasley, then get her to fall in love with him.
He'd done impossible things before and this wasn't as bad as when the Dark Lord had tasked him with killing Dumbledore.
You failed at that. Do you have any examples of impossible tasks you've completed successfully?
Shut up! I don't have to listen to you.
And yet, you are.
Draco dropped his head in his hands and moaned, "Can I just skip forward to 2006?"
A/N: We know Draco tends to lash out when he's feeling overwhelmed. That's probably what was behind some of his bullying in school and we saw him do this to Hermione early on in Timeless. So, of course I couldn't write this story without including a super cringey, self-sabotaging moment for Draco. And now...we get to watch him fix it!