Chapter One: In Which Two Ends Won't Meet

And a time for every matter under heaven
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Harry Potter had awoken one day, and had no idea where he was. The last thing he could remember was buying a drink from… well, from a bar somewhere, and knocking the whole thing back at once.

At first, he thought it was just his usual hangover haze, but then he noticed that the rooms he were in weren't his, what he could see of his body was significantly larger, and Hedwig was staring at him from a suspiciously familiar perch in the corner.

His first act upon getting out of bed was to go into the bathroom in search of a mirror. His second had been to look for something with a date on it – well, technically his second had been to scream, but he was trying to forget about that. He'd found a crumpled Daily Prophet in the rubbish bin, but it had turned out to be from the previous week. Still, it gave him the year, which was -- horrifyingly enough -- eight years in the future from his last memory.

His first thought was that he'd been in a coma, but a quick search of the suite he apparently lived in showed that he did, indeed, live in it. It also revealed that he taught Transfigurations at Hogwarts, and had at least twenty essays to mark.

Upon finding out the actual date on a small, Chudley Cannons desk calendar, Harry spent a moment contemplating the best course of action before deciding that he might as well try to mark his students essays – he'd completed his schooling until sixth year after all, and if there were any seventh year essays in the pile he could save them for later – and settling in to work. As he underlined mistakes on what turned out to be a third year Ravenclaw named Maria Boot's essay, Harry contemplated his options.

He knew when he was (which sounded odd, but was the only way he could find to put it) and he knew where he was, which might have been slightly more important. Now, if only he could figure out why he'd never listened to Hermione's advice and kept a calendar. People in movies always had a calendar lying around to tell them where and when they were supposed to be. Of course, people in movies generally also found newspapers that weren't a week old.

It was, he supposed, what came from being Harry Potter.

Sighing, Harry looked down, and swore. Maria Boot's essay was now covered in red swirls, very few of them resembling anything he'd seen his own teachers scrawl across an essay. Well, a Ravenclaw's essay anyway. Snape had been known to carve frustrated squiggles into many Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's earliest attempts at Potion's essays.

Harry's head dropped into his hands. Who was he trying to fool? Obviously, he was screwed.

XoX

A week later, Harry tumbled out of an old fireplace into the middle of one of the busiest Christmas parties he'd ever hoped he'd been invited too. He'd waited for hours for someone to Floo him, yelling at him for missing a date or being late, but when the call never came, ha had taken a chance, and tried for The Burrow. Judging by the spontaneous cheer that erupted when he arrived, he'd guessed correctly.

As soon as he had stood, a very pregnant Hermione had waddled up to him, smiling, and told him that Hugh was waiting for him by the door.

Hugh? he thought. Who the bloody hell is Hugh?

Smiling back and trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes off Hermione's belly, Harry followed her over to an attractive young man with blue hair looking very out of place in one of the oldest chairs in the Weasley's house.

'Hello,' Harry said, hoping he didn't sound completely clueless. 'Hermione tells me you're here to see me.' Which, he realized after he said it, wasn't what Hermione had said at all.

'How'd you know where to be today, Potter?' the man asked amicably. Harry had to hold in a gasp of utter astonishment. Standing in front of him – no, in The Burrow, home to Weasleys everywhere – casual as you please, was Draco Malfoy. With an accent, and blue hair.

'Malfoy?' he asked incredulously.

Malfoy nodded in an all-together-too-amused fashion. 'The one and only, Potter. Now, how did you know you needed to be here today?'

'I – I spend every Christmas at The Burrow, Malfoy. It's not a new experience,' he managed to stutter, trying to hide his surprise.

'Let me rephrase,' Malfoy sneered. 'How did you know today was Christmas?'

Harry's mind was reeling. Of course Malfoy knew, he was obviously the one who'd pulled him to the future.

Malfoy smiled like a cat that'd gotten away with eating the canary. 'You're not alone, Potter. Owl me tonight. We're in this together.'

Malfoy gave him a superior look, tucked a strand of blue hair behind his ear, and Disapparated.

'Harry?' A hand landed on his shoulder.

Harry jumped and turned. 'You scared me!' he laughed, and was about to say something else when he noticed who had grabbed his shoulder. 'Ginny.'

Ginny smiled, which surprised Harry somewhat because in his time he and Ginny had just broken up… again, and smiling was probably the last thing she wanted to do to him.

'We almost started dinner without you!' she exclaimed in a way that made Harry wonder if she'd been at the egg-nog early. 'Who was that nasty American boy who came calling for you, Harry?'

'You didn't recognize him?' Harry asked, surprised.

'I don't know anyone named Hugh,' Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. 'Least of all an American.'

'He's not strictly American,' Harry explained. 'I think he just lived there for a while or something. He went to school with us, Ginny. You honestly don't recognize him?'

Ginny shook her head. 'No, but Harry… don't get involved with him, all right? He's a bad sort. A woman always knows.'

'What?'

'Don't let him charm you into his bed with his American wiles, Harry,' Ginny said seriously.

'I – what?' Harry had broken things off with Ginny, certainly, but he couldn't recall telling anyone about his attraction for his own sex.

'I saw the way he looked at you, all appraising like. Never trust a man who wears a cravat, mum always said,' Ginny said firmly, tucking her arm through his. Harry tried to remember if Malfoy had been wearing a cravat. 'Take me to Hermione and Phlegm. We must protect you from Hugh, if that is his real name.'

Harry thought better of telling her she was, at least, right about the name thing.

XoX

Sitting with Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny, Harry learned an awful lot about what he'd been doing, and what had happened, in the last eight years. For example, Hermione was nearing the end of her second pregnancy, Ginny had just started her first, and Fleur had sworn off kids after her first because of how fat she looked pregnant.

'The 'ormones,' Fleur purred, managing to make the word sound incredibly dirty. 'I did not like them at all, 'Arry. They are what make Ginny act so… strangely, no?'

Hermione put down her knitting and huffed at Fleur. 'Don't be so negative, Fleur. Children are wonderful things, and being pregnant is a learning experience for everybody.'

Which, Harry thought bemusedly, was an extremely Hermione thing to say.

'So Harry,' Hermione said with a content smile. 'Who was the American bloke? He seemed dead set on seeing you. When I told him you weren't here yet he wanted Floo powder!'

'Er…' Harry said, glancing cautiously at Ginny. 'No one.'

Hermione and Fleur raised their eyebrows in tandem. 'Are you sure, Harry?' Hermione asked. 'He seemed like your type.'

'Hermione!' Harry exclaimed.

'Oh come on, mate,' a red head giant he assumed was Ron said, coming up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. 'You know how she gets when she's pregnant; she wants everybody to settle down. Remember last time with Seamus?' Ron chuckled, and Harry smiled weakly.

'Oh hush,' Hermione cooed. 'Is it a sin to want to see my best friend happy?'

'Not everybody wants a white picket fence, Hermione,' Remus said, coming up behind the cuddling couple with his arm slung over Tonks' shoulders. Harry was relieved to see that very little had changed there. Tonks' hair was still pink, Remus' hair had gotten greyer since the last time Harry had seen him – admittedly, eight years in the past – and neither of them wore wedding bands.

As the conversation went on around him Harry began to realize that he really was over his head here, and an ally – even an ally with the last name Malfoy – would be ceaselessly helpful. 'Hermione,' he said. 'Could I borrow something to write with and something to write on? I think I'm going to owl Hugh.'

Hermione nodded, turned a triumphant smile on everybody else, and motioned for Harry to follow her.

'Oh, Harry,' she said as the two of them walked through The Burrow, dodging children and animals as they went. 'An American! You simply must bring him to the New Year's party!'

'Er,' Harry said. 'Yes. The New Year's party. Where is it again?'

Hermione gave him a funny look, but didn't question his apparent forgetfulness. 'At Creaver's of course,' she said. 'And try to wear appropriate clothing, Harry. I know you don't like dressing up, but it's really important that we all make a good impression on all the Ministry officials who're going to be there.'

'Of course,' Harry said dutifully, wondering what he'd done in the past eight years to make Hermione so nervous about what he'd wear to a black tie event.

Hermione made a doubting noise in the back of her throat, and swung a door open. Harry couldn't remember The Burrow having its own separate letter writing room/owlery, but eight years was a long time.

Harry picked up a quill, and a scrap of paper. 'Where do you think I should ask him to meet?' he asked Hermione. After all, who knew what shops were, and were not, still around?

'How about the new restaurant in Diagon Alley you were raving about the other day? The one in Florean Fortescue's old spot?'

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Yes, of course.' Dipping the quill in ink, he scrawled a quick message to Malfoy, asking him to meet around noon on Boxing Day in Diagon Alley, and … stopped. 'Which owl should I use?' he asked Hermione. None of the three owls sitting on an overly large perch in the centre of the room looked familiar.

'Use Starr,' Hermione said. 'I should get back to the party, Harry. Who knows what sort of trouble Georgina and Fredericka have gotten into with me out of the room!'

Harry smiled like he knew what she was talking about, and watched her leave with trepidation.

Turning to the owls, Harry raised an eyebrow. 'So,' he said. 'Which of you is Starr? Come on, there's probably a gourmet owl treat in it for you. I'm sure Malfoy has a ton of them. And think of all the pedigree owls you can flirt with when you get there.'

The three owls gave him thoroughly unimpressed looks.

'Right. If you don't step forward, Starr, I'll have to Summon you.'

One of the owls flew to Harry's outstretched arm, somewhat reluctantly, and gave him a sharp nip on the inside of his wrist.

'Ouch!' Harry said, tying his letter to the owl's leg. 'I'd complain, but I think I deserved that.'

Starr hopped off his arm, and flew furiously into the night sky.

XoX

Draco was toasting marshmallows in the fireplace of his father's study, resigned to a Christmas spent with portraits, when he heard the familiar sound of an owl scratching at the window. Carefully balancing the antique sword he'd been using in lieu of a stick on the edge of the mantle, he got up and walked to the window.

'Hello,' he said as he opened the window. 'Are you from who I think you're from?'

The owl hooted sullenly, and held out a leg with a letter tied to it. Draco chuckled softly, and untied the letter. He read it quickly, before pulling out another self-inking quill and scrawling an affirmative reply next to Potter's lunch invitation.

'Are you up to another flight?' he asked the owl, who gave him a dirty look. 'Of course, excuse me.' Draco tied the note in place, and watched as the owl took off again. Turning, Draco walked out of the study and towards the dining room, marshmallows forgotten.

Malfoy Manor had always been intimidating, even when it had been full of house elves and he had lived here with his parents. Now though, he wished that he had a cat to keep him company – the manor was a creepy place to be alone in, especially when you knew that in one of the dark rooms lay the reason to your being in the future.

The dining room was only a few rooms down from his father's study, and it didn't take him very long to reach it. The doors were open, the long oak table he'd eaten at nearly every day before going to Hogwarts overturned against the far wall of the room, and symbols were scrawled in blood across the Georgian hardwood floors.

Draco took a moment, not stepping into the room, to read the list of names attached to the elaborate pattern. Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Rufus Scrimgeour, Percy Weasley, Alastor Moody, Draco Malfoy – the names were spaced evenly around the outside of a large, six-sided star It kind of pissed him off – even only remembering a couple years of his stay in America, he'd managed to pick up the slang – that he'd been thrown in on the end. After Percy Weasley, for God's sake! But he supposed that by the time the Death Eaters had gotten around to casting the curse, he'd already been missing for a while.

Snape had been killed shortly after the end of the war in what would have been Draco's seventh year. Draco had only known because he had stopped getting letters from the man – not that he had ever answered any of the missives Snape sent, mind you, but Snape had understood, and his letters had turned into a diary of sorts. The Minister for Magic had died in the same attack that left Percy Weasley and the rest of his entourage in a coma, Moody had died of old age in Bermuda, and just like that he and Potter were the only ones left.

XoX

After a day filled with snapping cameras, three whining four year olds, and an awful lot of socks, Harry had fallen into bed without setting an alarm, and was subsequently running late for his lunch date – meeting – with Malfoy. 'Shit,' he said, collapsing into a chair across from the irate, blue-haired man. 'Sorry, I forgot to set an alarm last night.'

'I'm sure,' Malfoy drawled in the same disdainful way that had led to many a fight at school. 'Up celebrating with the Weaselette?'

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Oh, come on, Malfoy. That relationship ended a long time ago.'

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 'In recent memory?' he asked slyly.

'I – look, Malfoy, why don't you just tell me what you're here for?'

'Fine.' The disdain cleared from his features, and Malfoy's shoulders slumped slightly. 'I'll be frank; when I came from America I found a spell at work in Malfoy Manor. It's powerful and, as it uses blood magic, I'm pretty sure it's Dark too.'

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry. His last encounters with blood magic had involved an evil overlord.

'Potter, I need to know, are you … you?'

'I – Malfoy, do you have any idea what you're asking?'

Malfoy nodded, and gestured a waiter over. 'I'll take that as a no. Shall we order lunch?'

Harry sighed, and glanced half-heartedly at the menu in from of him. The restaurant – Scott Free's – was comfortable and family oriented, full of average families with two parents and 2.3 kids on a day trip from the suburbs. Harry found it very relaxing, but he could see that Malfoy was having trouble settling in. He smiled.

'I'll have a cheeseburger and fries,' he told the waiter with a polite smile, 'and pumpkin juice to drink, please.'

'A BLT, hold the pickles,' Malfoy snapped, shooing the man away.

'Malfoy, it wouldn't kill you to be polite,' Harry said, frowning. 'If we're going to work together on this … thing, then we need to be able to keep away from each other's throats.'

Malfoy's mouth twitched, and Harry, realizing too late what he had said, rolled his eyes. 'You know what I mean, Malfoy.'

'I do, and let me be the first to drag this thing out in the open. This is the future.' Malfoy swept his hand outwards, somehow encompassing the restaurant, the Weasleys, and his blue hair all in one go. 'Eight years in the future.'

Harry nodded. 'Eight years, give or take a few months. Do you have any idea why we're here?'

'Well as I said,' Malfoy replied dryly, 'there's this ruddy big bloodstain in my dining room that may have something to do with it.'

Harry smiled, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 'Alright Malfoy, let's compare notes.'

XoX

Potter, Draco reflected, wasn't that bad to spend time with. Granted, he wouldn't do it by choice, or want to be around him for longer than was strictly necessary, but in the end he was decent company.

'So let me get this straight,' Draco said, placing his napkin down on the table. 'You remember drinking something just before waking up … here?'

Potter nodded. 'Yeah, I was in a bar, and then bam! I woke up in a strange bed.'

Draco smirked. 'I assume you didn't immediately know you were in the future?'

'No,' Potter laughed. 'It took me a while. Apparently, I'm the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts now; go figure, right?'

'I can see you teaching,' Draco said. 'You had that club going in our fifth year, didn't you? Dumbledore's Army? Only I would have thought you'd be in charge of Defence classes.'

'Honestly, I would have too,' Potter replied. 'I hadn't finished up my schooling when I got pulled here. I'm hoping that we can get ourselves out of this place before classes start up again, and I have to attempt seventh year Transfigurations.'

Draco laughed. 'I was lucky, I guess. I woke up in a penthouse apartment in New York with a designer wardrobe, and an impressive bank statement. I came back over here as soon as I could, but the only one of my friends not dead or in jail was Pansy. Did you know she married Oliver Wood?'

'Oliver!' Potter exclaimed. 'Really? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor in a relationship together? I can't believe it.'

Draco nearly groaned. How like Potter to divide up the world into Houses when Hogwarts was years behind them. 'They're people, Potter,' he snapped. 'Not a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, just two people who happened to find each other and fall in love. I, for one, respect them.'

Potter frowned back at him. 'I didn't mean anything by it, Malfoy. Even you should be able to see how strange it is.'

'And I suppose the only colours you see in are black and white, is that it Potter?' Draco spat. This had been a mistake. He should never have gone looking for Potter, let alone suggested working with him, even for a common goal.

He pushed away from table – the restaurant wasn't even his taste. Homey and family oriented as it was – and stood. 'Obviously, it was a mistake to think we'd be able to get along long enough to get ourselves out of this fucking pantomime of a future. Goodbye, Potter – I'll get the check: can't have the saviour of hundreds breaking the bank over a mere Slytherin.'

He turned fast, throwing a handful of Galleons – far too many, he thought with a grimace – onto the table behind him, and marching out of the restaurant as fast as he could without running outright.

Behind him, he could hear Potter's affronted blustering, and none of his fellow restaurant patrons were even pretending not to be watching them.

As soon as he had the door of the tacky place open, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor for a nice, stiff drink.