A/N: Stupid Trivia of the Week - the time bits in this (sans magic) actually came out of Scientific American magazine. Yes folks, this is real science. Scary thought, huh? They had an article on how one could [theoretically] build a time machine. Very interesting reading for those who are of that bent. The current issue has a bit on quantum information science, including teleportation. Pretty darn cool. Qubit is now officially my favorite word. Qubit. Heh.
A/N part duex: Even I don't know where this is going....it was *supposed* to be a nice, short PWP, but it sort of snowballed on me. If the time travel is really bothering you, take heart. It's not involved like most of you probably think it's involved.


Chapter 4

In which assorted things happen...

Harry and Draco talked of less important things throughout the early morning hours, who married who, who was in jail, and other topics of interest to those coming together after a long time apart. Hermione Granger marrying Ron Weasley was no surprise, although the arrival of their first - a daughter named Meredith - only seven months after the wedding raised Draco's eyebrows. Granger had always seemed to him to be the prim and proper type.

The Cho Chung and Seamus Finnigan match was even more of a shock. When he'd left Hogwarts Seamus and Neville Longbottom had been professing their everlasting love. Gold ring, crappy poetry, matching robes, the whole bit. He wasn't quite sure where the night went from there. Draco could hold his drink well, but a bottle of vodka tended to knock just about anyone on their arse, especially when it was combined with scotch and beer. He remembered saying yes to something, then he was looking at the ceiling...and things got iffy after that.

He woke up still looking at the ceiling, except now it was a different one. He was stripped to his boxers and laid out in his office armchair, an afghan thrown over him. Draco briefly wondered at where his clothes had gone, but decided that drunk or not, somethings you would remember. Besides, he still had his boxers. He stumbled through the main bedroom on the way to the master bath to shower, pausing only to exchange the usual morning insult with Marie. She didn't look as though she'd been home all that long - he could still smell traces of Lancôme Miracle, which Miguel apparently bathed in. Draco didn't know any other way to apply cologne so that it would be strong enough to illicit a gag factor from twenty feet away.

The shower was patterned after one that Draco had come across in an upscale hotel while on a business meeting in Vancouver. Even though the house had only been a couple years old at that point, he'd had the bathroom completely renovated as soon as he'd gotten home. Marie had since replaced the lovely gray marble with some ugly faux fresco thing, but she'd left the shower itself alone. Besides the dinner plate sized shower head, jets positioned at random intervals along the walls gave a jacuzzi effect, and at eight by eight square, there was no press for room. If Draco could only figure out a way to link his office and shower without having to look at the rest of the house, he would be in paradise.

Since the golf game was out, his day was open. He choose a pair of jeans that made up for in softness what they lacked in appearance, and a hunter polo, and padded barefoot to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Or perhaps it was lunch now. Technically, since it was his first meal of the day, didn't it still count as breakfast, even though it was a little after eleven? In any case, he wanted bacon. His LA Times was on the corner table as usual, except that unlike as usual, someone was reading it. That someone was also eating his bacon.

There's eggs in the pan on the stove, said Harry, I hope you don't mind, Marie said to help myself. She's much nicer then I expected.

Is there any bacon left? Draco grabbed the orange juice, and added a dash of Scotch. Harry rasied an eyebrow, and he shrugged. Hair of the dog and all that. There was some bacon left, and just enough scrambled eggs to make a meal.

Draco dove in without hesitation. These are good. Where'd you learn to cook?

I'm surprised you can taste anything under the half bottle of kethcup you've got on it. My aunt and uncle used to make me cook breakfast for them. I prefer this way over magic, for some things.

Huh. Marie's a bitch. She flirts with anyone I bring home, thinks if she can swing someone back to the het side of the force that it'll make her some kind of sex goddess. He snatched the Business section out of Harry's hands, who didn't seem to mind. He was staring at Draco with an eyebrow quirked in a near perfect arch.

So, do you bring gay men home...often?

No. I usually go to their place. He shoved another spoonful of eggs drowned in kethcup in his mouth, keeping eye contact with Harry. What had that coffee cup said? Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with kethcup. He liked that cup. Should have bought one.

Ah. I see. I'll need a few days to arrange things. You will be able to leave your work if need be?

For what? Draco thought, but then another memory kicked in. Time travel. Seers. It seemed so foolish, so fanatical an idea, and it had come up too quickly. If an idea is obvious to you, then you can bet it's obvious to everyone else. Solid decisions tend to be just complicated enough to weed out the idiots, he'd once told an investor. But, again there was that gut reaction to believe Potter. A little nagging voice that warned of trouble if he didn't. He nodded, You know where to reach me.

Well then, I should probably be off. Harry folded the paper up neatly, and set his plate in the sink. I hope you don't mind if I'm terribly rude and leave the dishes...?

Draco waved the concern off. The maid comes by at one. She'll get it. Any idea when you're going to disturb me again? The unsettled feeling was lingering, and Draco had the urge to toss off a few insults just for the hell of it. The morning was turning out to be entirely too domestic.

No. Perhaps during the day next time. The late nights aren't agreeing with me. Good day then. Harry slipped soundlessly out the double glass doors, and paused on the brick patio. Then his outline blurred, puddling and reforming in a way that made Draco queasy just to watch. The calico cat now in Harry's place gave it's front paw one dainty lick, then bounded off into the cover of the Bougainvillea that bordered the property.

++



Draco had gone in search of his wand shortly after Harry's first visit, determined to brush up on his magic. He had found it the next day, buried behind Marie's old high school yearbooks in the laundry room cupboard. The wand had been wrapped in a tie that bore Slytherin colors, and Draco had simply stood holding it for a great long while. The memories of Hogwarts had come back in more vivid detail then he'd dreamed possible, and as he fingered the musty old cloth of the robe, he could hear the excited shouts of his teammates, and see the flash of gold as the snitch went flying by. It had been a long time since he'd last thought of Quidditch.

If someone had asked, he wouldn't have hesitated to tell them that he had no emotional ties to his school years. But when he held his old belongings...faces had shifted through his mind, professors and friends alike, and he had been forced to swallow around the lump that was suddenly in his throat. Even Professor Snape, who hadn't been nearly as easy on Slytherin as the Gryffindors would have liked to believe, aroused a wave of sadness. Draco knew he'd retired to Wales after the final battle, but wondered what else had become of the man.

Magic, like riding a bike, was never really forgotten once learned. That did not mean one could return to it after a twenty year absence and expect any degree of competency. After the dryer had gone skipping across the room singing God Save the Queen, Draco had swallowed his pride and gone back to square one.

Now, after polishing off the rest of the bacon and eggs, Draco retreated to the guesthouse for his new daily ritual of magic practice. Marie would likely sleep until dark, and if any neighbor's saw anything out of the ordinary, they would simply assume it be one of the usual Muggle occurrences, like an exploding a meth lab. By the time the sun began to dip down below the Eucalyptus trees, he had made a great deal more progress. Like putting together a puzzle, each skill added to his repertoire laid the foundation for the next, and periods of frustration tended to be follow by stretches where everything flowed smoothly. Soon, he mused, while wrapping his wand back up in the old flannel shirt he now kept it hidden in, I'll actually be able to visit a wizarding community without making a total fool of myself. Somehow, the thought didn't bring the joy he had expected it to.

++

Lee Jordan hated America. He hated the nice accent comments. He hated the obnoxious in-your-face attitude the Muggles all seemed to have. He hated everyone driving on the wrong side of the road. Most of all, he hated all the guns. If he had been in back in London, the man who had him cornered in the back of the market would probably have a knife out. Perhaps a club of some sort. Knives and clubs Lee could handle. The .38 leveled at his chest was a different matter entirely.

His wand was tucked inside his shirt, as usual. The elder Mrs. Weasley had been kind enough to sew little hidden wand pockets in all his clothes before he left for America. It made the wand easy to carry, but not so easy to get out in a hurry. Lee supposed this was karmic pay back for breaking into the market, but then again, this was LA. The odds of someone else breaking into the exact same store as he was at the exact same time probably were high.

He kept both his hands on the shelf as he'd be told, and stared at his assailant, who stared back. Neither of them seemed quite sure what to do. Lee blinked. The gunman blinked. He sighed. A few more minutes of this, and somebody was going to have to get shot just to break up the boredom.

Look, you can have the cash from the front. I just want to steal something from the back. Sound good? Lee took a chance, and lifted his hands from the shelf, making sure to keep them in plain sight. He kept every movement slow and steady, and tried his best to look harmless, although he wasn't quite sure what harmless looked like.

I don't want to deal with no fucking police, the man spat, shifting slightly from foot to foot. Lee guessed him at twenty years old, maybe twenty-one. This probably wasn't his first felony, but he hadn't been at it long enough to be totally jaded about the whole affair either.

Would it really be in my best interest to steal something and then call the police on you? I don't want to go to jail either, Lee said. He decided to press his luck, and stepped back. His gamble paid off, or perhaps the guy's arm was just getting tired. The man tucked the gun back into the waistband of his jeans, relaxing somewhat.

You sure talk funny for a black guy. Where you from anyway? East side?

Yeah, far east side. Like across the ocean, he muttered, turning back to the job of opening the storage room door. After a moment, he heard footsteps, than a crash. Rather then waste time trying to simply pry it open, the would-be robber had shoved the cash register off of the counter. Brilliant, Lee thought. He didn't even ask if I'd disabled the security system first. It reminded him of a joke he'd heard in an Irish pub. Crime can be very profitable, but it requires at least five working brain cells to be pulled off successfully. Otherwise, you're better off joining the army.

From the outside, this place looked like any other hispanic market, which is why Lee had been so shocked when he'd tracked his definitely very British mystery wizard here. After the fight in the used car lot, when Lee had blown his cover to Lucius Malfoy, Hermione had suggested, among other things, that he shift his focus from Lucius to the strange book that apparently had been worth killing for. He'd managed to get a tip on the whereabouts of the remaining unknown wizard that Lucius had met with that day, leading him to follow the older, brown haired man here. As luck would have it, the book had been in this man's possession. Yesterday, Lee had watched him come in here with the book and disappear into the back room with it, coming out some time later empty handed.

Lee had assumed that all he would need to do was break in, take down the security cameras, walk in to the storage area, grab the book, and leave. He was starting to rethink that theory. Gringotts didn't even have as much protection as this damn door did. Lee had run through every opening and lock-breaking charm he knew, tried the Muggle route of lock-picking, cussed at it, and had even given it a solid kick. So far, all he had managed to do was chip the paint and hurt his foot.

Inspiration hit, as it always did, with the force of a train wreck. He broke out into a grin that took up most of his face, and ran towards the front of the store. His partner in crime was bent over the broken register scooping up handfuls of quarters, evidently intent on getting every last penny he could out of his heist. Knocking him out was child's play. Lee grabbed the largest jar of pickled cactus he could spot, took a good hold, and swung it down as hard as he could manage. The other man dropped face down on the linoleum like a stone. Lee grabbed the gun out of his waistband, and jogged back over to the uncooperative door. Two shots blew the lock cleanly off. One would have probably sufficed, but no one had ever accused Lee of being a good shot.

Another good kick, and the door swung open. He allowed himself to gloat for a brief moment, then kicked into action. The gunshots might have been heard and reported, and there was no telling when sleeping beauty would wake up. The room was a tangle of cleaning supplies, messy file cabinets, and unstocked goods. A dark wooden hope chest was tucked into the far left corner behind a stacked pallet of Tide laundry detergent. It's obvious age and quality made it stand out over the rest of the rooms contents, and Lee headed for it. This time his opening charm worked like, well, a charm.

The chest was filled with various benign wizarding paraphernalia, spices and herbs and cauldrons in shapes and sizes. There was a large rectangular object wrapped in red velvet cloth nestled in the bottom, and Lee lifted it out carefully. He only had to unwrap a single corner to tell that he had what he was looking for. The book went into the knapsack he had brought for it, and a simple personal cleaning charm took care of any fingerprints. The gun he kept, as it might come in handy later. Lee felt the pulse of the unconscious guy, just to double check that he hadn't killed him, and Disapparted just as first police car arrived.

++

After much begging, pleading and promises of baked goods, Lee had managed to weasel an extra allowance out of Hermione. This had allowed him to move up into a moderately trashy motel, as opposed to the extremely trashy one he had been in before. This one had a better shower, fewer unidentifiable stains on the mattress, and while he had to listen to the honeymooners in the next room getting their groove on at night, it was still better then the prostitution busts he'd overheard while in the old room.

Lee double checked the silence and muggle-repelling charms he'd put around the perimeter, leaving his prize and the gun securely wrapped and in the book bag until he was absolutely sure that no one, by magic or other means, would be able to witness anything. Then, he carefully, oh so carefully began to unwrap the book. With your ordinary, run of the mill magic the spell itself might end up screwing you over, but you could at least handle the books and potion ingredients without fear. Well, unless what you were doing involved Hagrid, but that was another case. With the dark arts though, even the damn book could kill you, never mind the spell. This wasn't Lee's area of expertise, and he couldn't keep the fine tremble from reaching his hands. For safety's sake, he kept the velvet between his hands and the bottom of the book and he slowly drew the soft covering clear of the book itself.

He'd been half afraid that the book would be written in some obscure language, and that he'd have to go all the way back home to have it translated. The title though, was written in English. Old English, but readable none the less. Reading and understanding were two different things. He read it front wards and back, even flipping the book around and reading it upside down. He understood each work separately, but as soon as he tried to put them together, the idea in his head dissolved into muck. He wasted a half hour before it dawned on his that this was probably some obscure form of protection spell, and he promptly got mione on the phone for help.

she said after he'd explained the situation.

Uh-oh what? Last time you said uh-oh' my pants were set on fire, remember? In the background, Lee could hers the frantic shuffling of papers, and could easily imagine mione diving through the cocoon of books she surrounded herself with, flipping pages with uncanny speed as she searched for answers. She still couldn't fly a broom worth a damn, but give her a book and a question and she turned into such an efficient machine that even the Ministry house-elves (unionized and paid living wage, of course) marveled at her ability.

I think I found the answer, but I'm not sure I like it.

Just tell me

She sighed. The book has to be keyed into it's owner to be understandable. For anyone else, all the words are just gibberish. It can only have one owner at a time, and it either has to be freely given....or the old owner killed.

So that's why Malfoy killed that guy. Course, this kind of fucks me over. Think anyone back there can break the charm?

Yes, but doing so will destroy the book.

he mumbled, starting to rewrap the book. If he couldn't read it, might as well put it up. The thing was starting to give him the jeebies.

It looks like we may have a loophole though. You're sure Lucius is the owner now?

Sure as I can be, under the circumstances.

A pause, and some more flipping of pages. Well, it says here that full blood of the Rightful Master' may also read the book. Stop me if I'm wrong, but I think that means Draco.

Destroying the book may be a good option after all.

Hermione mock scolded. He's not that bad. Do try to get in touch with him soon. Until we get that book decoded there isn't any telling what sort of timetable we have to work with. As far as I know, the world is ending tomorrow.

A ray of sunshine as usual

Sorry. I'll leave you to your work now. Just try not to commit any more felonies, please?

He laughed. I'll see what I can do. No guarantees though. This whole thing is getting weird. Lee tossed the phone back on the bedside table, and tucked the book back into the knapsack. He'd face ferret-boy tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to sleep.