If Only Life Were Like This
By Josh McCusker
A/N: Your reviews are so important to me! I can't stress this enough. It keeps me inspired and makes it easier for me to give up the other things I'd want to do and keep writing. Please, keep them coming! Now, I have a few points to address:
No, everyone isn't gay. In this case, Draco appears to be gay and Harry isn't sure (this is addressed in this chapter), Remus and Sirius are gay and that is all. Everyone else is pretty much straight or unknown.
FF.net doesn't allow hardcore (to my knowledge), so this will not be a hardcore slash story. I can write alternate scenes and link you to them if I get enough of a request… Yes, this will be slash, though, and there will be more than kissing.
Also, inspiration for my badfuture!Draco comes from Debbie of 'debbiesfics.com'. Her story Draco In Darkness inspired me a long time ago, and has re-inspired me here. Thanks again, Debbie!
Chapter Four
Aftermath
The room lay dark around him, the evening sun having set and the candles all laying quiet in their holders. The manor itself seemed to lie dark most nights, a feeling that crept slowly into the man sitting by the mantle, reading a book. It had taken him a long time to find a charm that allowed for sightless reading, but Draco Malfoy was never one to give up.
The Mysteries of Time, by Tempus Longbeard lay open on his lap as he ran his left index finger over the words. In the light, one could see the words had taken on a ridge, or beveled shape that allowed him to feel them out. It wasn't quite in line with the word itself, but more aligned with the charm that allowed his finger to sense the words and relay them to his brain. For the reader, it seemed only as if they were reading the book normally, the words forming in their brain in the same way they do for everyone.
When the study door opened to reveal the foyer, a splash of light cascaded around the man, giving light to his poor clothes, worn from overuse and his shabby skin, paled from lack of vitamins and sunlight. His eyelids drooped from exhaustion and his face was ragged with lack of shaving, leaving him looking more like a homeless man and less like the lord of Malfoy Manor.
The house elf who had opened the door motioned wordlessly to the person silhouetted in the light of the foyer, moving aside to let her enter. Once inside, the candles all lit and bathed the room in a bright, warm, inviting light; contrast to the owner of the house.
"Hello Hermione," he said with a raspy, unused voice.
"Draco," she said stoically, her tone even with only a slight undertone of well-buried sadness.
"You're always given away by that horrible muggle perfume you wear. Why do you insist on holding on to that world?"
"Why do you insist on a complete separation? My parents are muggles, a lot of my friends are muggles. I wear perfume because it's part of my life." She sighed and sat across from Draco, her muggle skirt falling around her in a very matronly way. It had been years since she'd worn a witch's robe, and years since it had been necessary.
Draco was adorned in his dress robes, the same ones she believed he'd been wearing on that day. She vaguely wondered if he'd ever taken them off, which by the looks of them, the answer might have been no.
"Draco, why haven't you answered my letters?"
"Why have you come here? The fact that I didn't answer your letters should have indicated that I wished to have nothing to do with you." He reached over with a surprisingly steady hand and retrieved a bookmark, placing it in the book and closing it. She watched as he returned the book to the table with a still steady hand, causing her to have a brief lapse in concentration as she wondered how blind people were so easily able to do certain things.
"Draco, I had to come."
"No, you didn't." His tone was cutting, harsh, designed to frighten her off. He continued in the same tone, his hands now clasped together on his lap. "We're not friends, mudblood. I have no desire to have you in my home."
Hermione winced only slightly at the degrading slur, closing her eyes momentarily to control her emotions. Harry had loved him and that was enough. She had to help him through this for Harry.
"Draco, I know you loved Harry as much as – "
"If you mention that weasel, I'll be forced to kill you."
"It's not his fault that Harry died, Draco."
"It is. If he hadn't been – No, I will not relive this with you." He stood, pointing at the door and looking stern. "You will leave my house."
"No, I will not," she said with an alarmingly good impression of Narcissa on a good day. Draco cringed, nearly imperceptibly, but Hermione knew him better than he thought. "You are not going to be allowed to sit here and wither away. The elves tell me you haven't been eating or sleeping. You've spent nearly all of the past week reading books about time. It's not a wonder that Dumbledore has had to stem the Ministry's desire to monitor your activities. The Unspeakables say you're a menace, that you're allowing your grief to lead you down the wrong path."
"So that's why you've come; to warn me from meddling with time?"
"No, Draco, I've come because I'm you're friend.""My friend? I haven't got any friends, Granger. I lost all my friends during the war."
"I am your friend, Draco. I am. Harry – "
"NO!" Draco's scream startled Hermione so much that she found herself sitting. Draco's face was red and so filled with hurt that she nearly felt her heart leap out of her chest in a desire to hug him and tell him it was okay. "No," he said more softly, but with just as much pain. It was still too soon to talk about Harry, she determined, trying to find another tactic.
"Draco, please," she said, trying to calm him down. He was breathing heavily and his face continued to remain quite flushed. "You'll give yourself another fit," she said softly.
"'Another fit'," he parroted. "Ever since… I will not be told how to live my life." He paused, trying to catch his breath. Talking itself had become a labor for him and he had to sit to regain himself.
"You need to eat something, Draco. You can't do this to yourself."
"Why can't I? What really is left to live for? To fight for? The war is over, Voldemort is dead, Harry is dead and I plan to be as soon as I can."
Hermione could sense as he said it that it was a distraction. He was taking her small belief that he might be trying to die, one that had slowly been discounted as she noticed his new collection of books, and trying to keep her from the real story.
"You're lying," she said defiantly. "The Mysteries of Time, Draco? Time and Its Many Uses? Under the Light of the Stars: A Guide to Destiny? These are not the books the average wizard keeps in their library. Not even your father would have these in his collection. You're up to something." Her face had taken on the well-known 'Granger look' that so many fourth years had come to loathe during her time as Head Girl. It was to Draco's disadvantage that he could no longer recognize it.
"I'm not up to anything," he said calmly. Malfoys could lie like they could breathe. It was part of their lineage just as their icy-blond hair and steel-grey eyes.
"You are, and it's going to be against the law and dangerous. You can't do it alone."
"You can't stop – Hold on." Realization came over Draco's features, his lips coming into what one might call a smile, if one considered a sneer a smile.
Harry awoke the next morning to find himself in strange surroundings. For the first few minutes he forgot the events of the previous day and nearly had a fit when he realized he wasn't in his room at Number Four Privet Drive. Having remembered himself, Harry searched around for the glasses that had been haphazardly discarded during the night and found them on the floor. Once he put them on, he was shocked to find himself in one of the messiest bedrooms he'd ever seen.
The room itself, he noted, was a very nice room. The house was old, but the walls were all smooth and well-kept, littered with posters here and there, most of the Quidditch teams but a few some bands and even a muggle poster for one of the local football teams. Aside from Harry's bed, there were two night tables on either side, littered with gum wrappers and chocolate frog cards as well as a luminescent muggle alarm clock. On his right, opposite the door, there was a flat surface desk with what Harry realized must be a computer. Dudley had been the owner of a few computers in his day, but most of them had been smashed before Harry had even had a chance to turn them on.
On the same desk lay several muggle books and a small TV that was aimed at the bed. Harry also saw several video cassettes and even some compact discs of bands he'd never heard of. Having been denied the right to own his own things for most of his life, he wasn't used to having the option to even listen to his own kind of music. Aunt Petunia always preferred classical music, Dudley something that involved a lot of yelling and incoherent ranting with loud noises and Uncle Vernon the quiet music of a quiet household.
To his direct right there was a nice looking armchair that appeared fairly worn, probably second-hand but still in good condition. On it was an array of muggle clothes, most of which looked as though they weren't too far from that which Harry had seen Malfoy in. The idea that Harry was anything like Malfoy bothered him.
Malfoy. Fuck. Malfoy was supposed to be Harry's boyfriend. Harry's face puckered up at the idea, and he dropped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. He realized it didn't bother him so much that Malfoy was a boy, that Harry was gay here, but just that it was Malfoy. Harry supposed he'd never really thought about it one way or the other. It wasn't like he had a lot of time to devote to staring at one boy or girl or anything, what with school, fighting Voldemort and Quidditch, he was pretty busy.
A concern for a later time, he decided, sitting back up to explore his room again.
Directly in front of him was a wardrobe that was left open with clothes spilling out of the drawers and the open doors. He shook his head and saw a Nimbus 2001 in the corner between a workbench and the wall. It was highly polished, but very well used. He could tell it was getting old, which wasn't hard for a broom in Harry's room. The workbench was obviously his wizard's area because all of his school books, his wand, quills, parchment and his cauldron and potion supplies were littered all over it. Shaking his head, he noticed a bookshelf next to it that had a lot of muggle books, some trophies and pictures and even a set of wizard's chess.
Standing up to get a closer look, he stubbed his toe as he tripped over some of the clutter on the floor and muffled a cry. Damn himself, he thought. How could he be so messy? He supposed growing up outside of the Dursleys allowed this, but it was chaos. Without even thinking, he began to pick up all of the clutter and put it where it seemed logical to go. Within ten minutes, he had the floor clear and all of the dirty laundry in the hamper next to the wardrobe.
Temporarily satisfied, he moved over and studied some of the books on the shelf; Imajica and several other books by Clive Barker, the Lord of the Rings series, and several other fantasy and science fiction stories. He noticed a large collection of books by someone named Ray Bradbury and wondered at just how nice his life here must have been if he'd had time to read all of these.
To Harry Potter, Aged 9, Hogsmeade Under-11s Quidditch League – First Place (Seeker)
To Harry Potter, Aged 10, Hogsmeade Under-11s Quidditch League – Second Place (Seeker)
Several more trophies along the same lines lined one of the shelves. The trophies were made of gold and silver respectively and featured a floating golden or silver figurine of Harry catching the golden snitch. He smiled at how much for granted he must have taken seeing trophies with self sustained floating figures.
One of the figures in the poster above his workbench caught his eye as her hair went from bright red to shocking yellow with just a flick of her head. He'd only met one person who was able to do that, and shockingly enough it was indeed Tonks staring back at him from the Wailing Sirens poster. Harry smiled and moved over closer, "Hey Tonks," he said happily.
"Wotcher Harry," she said with a sneer. "You beat anythin' up today?"
"Erm, of course not," he said sheepishly. Was he a bully here? Didn't his father tell him that he got along with Dudley?
"Right - pansy," she said with a smirk.
"So you're not an auror here?"
"Me? An auror! You hear that girls? An auror! Me!" The three other girls in the poster all laughed along with Tonks, yelling and throwing things at him. They began tearing up the stage they'd been photographed on and threw a lot of their equipment, laughing and yelling obscenities. Harry just decided it would be best to move on and went over to the computer, finding the on switch. He'd never even touched one, so he was somewhat curious.
As it booted up, the Windows 95 logo glowing at him cheerfully for a few minutes, Harry studied a lot of the things on this desk. Here he found a wallet, which had a picture of Draco taken from a muggle photo booth, a picture of his family that was obviously a wizard photo as the occupants had all just rushed to pose for him when the wallet was opened. When they saw it was Harry, they seemed to relax and began milling about lazily. Harry imagined it was in case he opened his wallet with muggles around. Apparently in this world, he was quite on the line with both worlds. The occupants, some of whom were now trying to sleep, were his family, Ron and Hermione and Sirius and Remus. Harry smiled to see the two older men so much changed. Here they were both as young looking as they really were, neither worn with time or separation or even the hints of war that had always lined their faces in his world.
The computer made a loud noise that seemed to indicate it was ready to go, so Harry put his wallet down and looked at it, wondering what to do. START, said a button in the bottom left, so Harry used the mouse to click on it. It felt weird to use, but he'd seen Dudley do it a few times and had a vague idea of what to do. Under Programs on the list that came up, Harry found a lot of names; something called Tomb Raider, Myst and a bunch of others that he also didn't know the purpose of. His background picture was of him and Draco posing in front of Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Sarah. It was actually a really cool picture and Harry couldn't help but smile. Aside from Draco being in it, it was something that he would have imagined happening if his life had been different.
"Harry?" The door opened a crack and his mum's head popped through. "Oh, you're awake. Good." As she opened the door wider, her face seemed to go completely shocked and she looked around as if she were seeing bobotuber bulbs lying around. "You cleaned your room?"
"Well, sort of," Harry said with a lop-sided grin. This wasn't what he'd call 'clean', but it was cleaner for sure.
"Brilliant," she commented. "Well, breakfast is on the table, so if you want some, you better get to it before the monsters eat it all." She smiled warmly and closed the door, leaving Harry to make up his own mind.
Taking a last glance around, Harry noted a door to the right of his wardrobe, and upon inspection found it was his own lavatory. It also was a mess and Harry was nearly sick with the idea of taking a shower in all the scum that lined the walls, so he decided a shower could be had after breakfast.
Opening up the wardrobe proved that the Harry of this world hadn't heard of the word 'organization' at any time as most of the hangers were apparently left as decorations and the clothes were just pilled up inside the doors. Finding a tee-shirt with a Weird Sisters logo, Harry put it on and found a pair of fresh underwear, socks and trousers. Once satisfied with his attire, Harry emerged on the landing.
"Good morning, Harry!" The voice came from the portrait of his grandparents where his grandmother was fanning herself and rocking in a chair.
"Morning, gram," he said uncertainly. The words were alien to him, but they felt good. She just smiled and he continued on his way downstairs.
"…Think he's going to make up with Draco? Those two are always fighting. I wish – Oh, morning Harry," his mother said, startled at his arrival. "Would you like some eggs?"
Harry nodded and turned to see his father and sister, both preoccupied with reading, shoveling food into their mouths like there was no tomorrow. "Morning," he announced, receiving only a grunt and a small, distracted smile. Sitting down at the empty plate, which was apparently his spot at the table, Harry pulled the pitcher of orange juice and poured himself a glass.
"Tom's bill seems to be doing well," James announced. "Got 60% to vote yes in the preliminary."
"The Cannons beat United again," Sarah said excitedly. "I always knew Puddlemere was worthless."
"They are not," Harry said without thinking. His only knowledge of them was that Wood was second-string, but he somehow felt he had to defend his former Quidditch captain.
"How do you know," Sarah said snottily. "You've been under a rock all your life."
"Sarah," his mother started.
"Oh mum, he has no memory! How can he know?"
"That's not very nice. Be good to your brother."
Sarah just grunted and went back to her paper, which bore the title Quidditch Daily and had a picture of a team flying across a pitch. Harry started drooling to get his hands on it. Here he could follow the local teams!
"Can I see that after you've finished?"
Sarah just gave him a look and nodded, continuing to shovel food into her mouth. Harry had the distinct feeling she considered him a stranger, which he supposed he was. In some ways, he thought that might be a better way to go about it, unlike his parents whom he noticed were acting as if nothing had really changed.
Harry's thoughts were disrupted when the phone rang. His mum answered, but quickly turned to look at him. "It's Draco," she said nervously.
Harry rolled his eyes, but got up from the table and grabbed up the phone. It almost felt too early to put up with Malfoy.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Fuck you, Potter. You could be a little nicer to me, seeing as I'm your boyfriend."
"Sod off, Malfoy. You're not my boyfriend."
"My mum's told me you and I have been dating for a long time, Potter. She insists I call you and make up. She thinks we're having a spat, which we apparently do often."
"No wonder with you being such a prat." Harry sighed. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Mum thinks I should invite you over."
"No."
"Oh Potter, must you be so ridiculous? Do you know who called me this morning?"
"The Prince?"
"No, Hermione Granger."
"Hermione called you?" He couldn't even hide the shock.
"Yes, Potter. The mudblood seems to think we're friends. She wasn't actually that bad to talk to. It seems her parents took her off to Egypt this summer and she was quite excited about it. She's my best friend, Potter. Can you imagine?"
"Did you call to rub it in?"
"Of course," he said with an obvious grin on his face. Harry wanted to hang up the phone. "I'm coming over, Potter."
"To hell you are!"
"If nothing, we need to figure out what to do. I want to go home."
"No, I like it here."
"Of course you do, everything is in your favor. I think it was really you who did this."
"I thought I wasn't smart enough?"
"You probably had help from the mudblood."
"That's not a nice way to speak about your best friend, Malfoy."
"True, but if we get home she won't be my best friend; she'll be dead."
"Why would I want to help you?" Malfoy was about to say something, but Harry continued. "Especially with you acting like that?"
"Alright, I'll call her Granger then. For Merlin's sake, you're so Gryffindor, Potter."
"I'm hanging up the phone, Malfoy."
"This phone thing is interesting isn't it? Imagine Malfoy Manor with a muggle phone."
"Good bye, Malfoy."
"My mother –"
Harry hung up. His mother gave him a concerned look, but Harry just decided to go back to his room, get his broom and go for a nice ride. Malfoy had the horrible knack of making him lose his appetite.
When he'd settled back on the ground, thoroughly calmed by his flight around the neighborhood, Harry made his way back up to his room. Once inside he stripped off his clothes and dumped them in the hamper. They were all soaked with sweat from his ride, the hot sun beating down on him having left him feeling slightly feverish as well as drenched. Harry grabbed up his wand and, naked, attacked the bathroom.
Luckily he had spent the better part of the first month of summer learning cleansing charms. It had been with the idea of doing his chores for the Dursleys with a lot of ease, in secret of course, leaving him with more time for himself. Now though, they just came in handy for cleaning up after a very different version of him.
Once the room was clean, Harry left his wand on the counter and stepped into the shower. He kept the water at an only slightly warm temperature as, even with the coolness of the house he still needed to lower his body temperature. After a few minutes just soaking, he finally began to get clean. Gilderoy Lockheart's Amazing Hair Cleanser was used for his hair with only a slight frown, and the Special Glowing Skin Body Wash by the same man left Harry feeling somehow disgusted at the type of person he could be to actually buy something from Lockheart.
When he felt himself done, he vowed he'd have to go and buy some better supplies so he could throw those out. Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off and made his way to the sink. Opening the vanity, he pulled out Gilderoy Lockheart's Teeth Whitening Cleanser and began to clean his teeth. When finished, he used the vanity to inspect himself and was surprised that his teeth actually were whiter. As he moved to look at his hair, he saw something behind him that nearly caused him to pass out.
"Malfoy!" he shouted angrily, quickly wrapping the towel around his waist and glaring angrily at the white-blond sitting on his bed.
"What Potter? Didn't you mean to put on a show? It was rather good, you know. Nice arse. I'll give it a nine."
Harry blushed from head to stomach and felt awkward in just a towel. Put off at this feeling of inadequacy, he rushed to his wardrobe and found some clothes, retreating to the bathroom to dress with the door firmly latched.
Emerging fully dressed, Harry found Malfoy holding the computer mouse up to his mouth and trying to say something to it. He would have laughed if he weren't so angry.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"Oh, Harry," he said, turning around and casually dropping the mouse back on the desk.
"'Harry'?"
"Well I can't keep referring to you as 'Potter', can I? You are my boyfriend."
"I am not your boyfriend, Malfoy."
"Whatever," he said dismissively.
"Now what are you doing here?"
"I told you; I want to go home. Sometimes you really are thick, you know that?"
"And just what makes you think I would be able to help you go home, even if I did want to?"
"Don't make me say it, Potter," Malfoy sneered. He was dressed in the same impeccable clothing that Harry was used to, most of it black with the exception of an orange and green football jersey that featured the logo of a muggle team that Harry suspected this universe's Malfoy might have sponsored.
"I won't help you," Harry insisted, crossing his arms and wishing with all his might that Malfoy would just go away.
Instead of going away, Malfoy spent the next several hours following Harry's every move, complaining about his mum being "all huggy," and how annoying it was this everyone seemed to think they made a good couple. On that, Harry could readily agree. Even in this world they didn't seem to get on well enough to be boyfriends.
"You must be great in bed," Malfoy mused. Harry simply groaned and rolled his eyes. "I just can't think of any other reason to keep you around."
"Does your father know you're gay?"
"My father's dead," he said with a clipped, threatening growl.
Harry meant to continue it, but realizing just how evil the line of insult was, Harry dropped it. Instead, he jumped to a new topic. "I need to owl Ron."
"The Weasel? What the bloody hell for?"
"I want a game of Quidditch," Harry replied flatly.
"Quidditch? Now? But we have to get home!"
"I am home." And as he was leaving his room to find an owl, Harry realized he'd forgotten the one person who had mattered the most to him; Sirius. "No, scratch that, I need to owl Sirius."
"Sirius Black? Oh sod it all, Potter. You're hopeless."
"I've read every book I can find, Draco. There simply doesn't seem to be a way to do what you're trying to do."
"Listen Granger, this is magic we're talking about. Of course there's a way, but it won't be in your silly little Gryffindor books. You have to check the Restricted Sections." Draco sighed over-dramatically, his eyes rolling in what Hermione only guessed was a muscle memory.
"I have checked, Draco. No one seems to know how to actually transpose a person from one time to a time beyond that of their own lifespan. You're trying to go back too far!"
"I have to go back that far."
"Why? How will that save Harry?"
"Because it's when it all started. If I can stop Riddle from becoming Voldemort, there will never have been a reason for Harry to die."
"You're crazy," she said bluntly. "You have no idea how that could affect the rest of the universe. I'm not just talking about here, in Britain, or even just on earth, Draco. What you're doing could affect everything in the universe."
"I don't care," he admitted, pulling at his hair and then thinking twice of it, rubbing the oils off on his clothes. "Right now I do care that I'm in desperate need of a bath, however." He stood and moved off, extracting his wand and pointing it in front of him. Hermione knew it was relaying information to him, but still wondered at just how well it worked.
Sighing at what she'd gotten herself into, she pulled her mobile out of her bag and dialed up one of the only people she knew who might be able to help in this situation.
"Hullo?"
"Blaise? I need you to come to Draco's immediately."
"Draco? Are you insane? He'd have me eaten by his Quintaped for sure!"
"Draco doesn't have a Quintaped, Blaise. Even the Ministry hasn't been able to capture one; how do you think Malfoy achieved it?"
"He has, Hermione. Don't mess with him."
"Oh shut up, you stupid Slytherin. Get over here or I'll find you and we'll see whose worse to deal with." She hung up the phone with a sniff and stuffed it forcibly back into her bag. No one had ever resisted her with that tone of voice, except for Ron and Harry. She knew Blaise would be here as quickly as he could.
As if on queue, she heard the door bell and meandered into the foyer. The elf who appeared to answer the door disappeared as quickly as it could when Blaise forced his way inside.
"This had better be good." His appearance and smell indicated that he'd been rather busy when she'd called, and a blush crept up her neck at the idea. Blaise, sensing her discomfort quickly pulled out his wand and cast cleansing charms when she turned to go back into the study. Now red-faced, he sat opposite her and looked around nervously. "Where is he?"
"Taking a bath. How's your wife?" He reddened further. "Oh, well how is Justin then?"
"Fine," he mumbled, looking away.
Satisfied he was thoroughly debased, she continued. "Malfoy is planning on going back and changing history. He thinks it – "
"What?" Blaise looked scandalized, his face the portrait of shock.
"Just listen, Zabini. He could come back at any moment." She shifted in her chair, wishing that she hadn't allowed herself to get caught up in all of this. If it weren't for Harry, she wouldn't have. "What he wants to do is believed impossible. It's going to take a lot of research and magic to accomplish, but I believe he may have the right idea."
"And I thought you said it was wrong," Malfoy drawled, standing in the doorway toweling his hair. Hermione looked flustered and Blaise seemed ready to bolt at the slightest indication that Malfoy was upset with him. "What about all that nonsense about affecting the universe?"
Hermione simply blanched and avoided his gaze, forgetting that his gaze wasn't worth anything.
"Zabini," Malfoy said, his tone suddenly icy. "I thought I told you that I never wished to see you again."
"I—"
"Oh shut up. I can't see you, so what's the harm?" For a moment the two of them sat in stunned silence. Had Draco Malfoy just made a joke? "Now, with two of the brightest magical minds in the world at my wandtip, I'm bound to succeed. Let's get to work!"