The cold, spindly fingers pressed against his mental shields. A headache, what seemed his constant companion these days, blossomed painfully behind his left eye. There was only one way to alleviate the pressure completely, but to do so would mean instant death, so instead he allowed some select memories to be pressed forwards: the murder of a Mudblood and their children, the countless hours under his Master's own Cruciatus curse, including those which had just ended. The dark and twisted memories pleased his Master, and finally the cold fingers retracted from his mind. The sudden release made him gasp audibly, but he did not let the sigh of relief escape his lips. His secrets were still safe – for now.
His headache still ebbing in his temple, Draco Malfoy stood shakily and kept his head bowed. The Dark Lord did not tolerate impertinence.
"Your thoughts please me, Draco. I had, I admit, grown some concern over your loyalties, however I must conclude I was mistaken." Lord Voldemort spoke barely above a whisper, but his voice carried easily to Draco below his throne.
"Thank you, my Lord," Draco replied, hating the weakness in his own voice. "I wish only to serve you."
For many moments Voldemort did not speak but Draco did not dare raise his gaze from the floor. He kept his mental shields strong, but he never felt the return of the cold protruding fingers.
"Very well, Draco," the Dark Lord said at last. "You may return to your chambers for now. I will call on you later."
Draco bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." He lifted his gaze to the dais where Voldemort spent his days in his throne made of smoking darkness. His eyes lingered on the Dementor, the one ever present companion of Voldemort's whose job it was to weaken whoever had the misfortune of being called upon by their Master. Draco turned and left the hall, his uneven footfalls echoing uncomfortably in the near empty room.
Once back in his own small chamber, Draco fell into an ancient armchair and let out a deep sigh; he was exhausted. The last few years of his life had given him nothing of the rewards he had been promised. He lived in a constant state of fear, never knowing if he would make it to his next meal, and it was starting to wear on his twenty-six-year-old body.
Out of the drawer beside him he pulled out a small stone which he began to turn over in his hand. After the third turn, a sallow-skinned man with a hook nose and greasy shoulder length hair appeared in the room. He appeared somewhat faded; his edges slightly hazy – stark reminders that Severus Snape was nothing more than a memory.
"He suspects nothing?" The man asked.
"He suspects without evidence," Draco corrected, grunting in pain. He tapped his wand once on his right thigh drawing a soft hiss as his artificial limb disconnected from the rest of his body. For two years now he had been missing his right leg from just above the knee: a reminder, Voldemort had assured him, of the importance of unwavering loyalty. Some nights in his dreams Draco would revisit the prison cell, his own leg lying across the room and the blood pooling around him, his screams doing nothing to mask his Master's laughter.
"That is probably as good as you can hope for," Snape admitted. "You have everything ready?"
"I have everything required and I could recite the text in my sleep."
"And have you thought more on what I have been suggesting?" Snape raised an eyebrow, peering down his long nose at the blonde man.
Draco ignored him, hissing in pain. "This damn leg..."
"Draco," Snape insisted.
"Yes, I heard you. I still don't think –"
"Your task will be far simpler with him on your side. Childish feuds aside you know you will need him if for nothing more than the information Dumbledore is sure to give him. The earlier you begin the greater the trust you can establish between you."
Draco remained silent. He knew Snape was right; Draco's only chance at success depended entirely on Dumbledore's Golden boy. Without him, his whole plan would be for naught.
"There's someone I need to speak to first," he said suddenly, reattaching his limb. The stump at the end of his leg had started to smoke and fester; the blade with which the Dark Lord had cut it off had been poisoned. The only thing stopping the toxin from coursing through his body and killing him was the antidote fed through his artificial leg which had been given to him by Voldemort himself as an 'act of good will'. Since then Draco had been reliant on the curative metal to keep him alive, never able to go more than a few minutes without its medicine.
"Of course," Snape said, smirking to himself. "I have no doubt she will enjoy your company."
"Shut it," Draco said, pulling an old invisibility cloak over himself and walking out of the room. He adjusted his gait to muffle the clunks and hisses issued by his leg with every step. This was a venture on which he did not want to be found.
As Draco wound his way through the dark castle, his mind drifted to the last several years. It was almost ten years ago now that his life had truly gone down the path of darkness once he took the Mark in his sixth year at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord had challenged him to do what no wizard had ever managed before: to kill Albus Dumbledore. It had shocked no one more than Draco himself when he had achieved his task. He could vividly remember the shock on his old Headmaster's face as the green light of the killing curse lit up the Astronomy tower and Dumbledore had tumbled, quite dead, off the top onto the stones of the courtyard far below. Only moments later his fellow Death Eaters had stormed the tower, exultant at his success, and so opened the path to the top for the Dark side.
Not everyone on Voldemort's side profited from Dumbledore's death. Severus Snape had mysteriously disappeared mere days after the Headmaster's death, only for the Potion Master's own murder as a traitor and spy to be reported not long after. It wasn't until years later that Draco learned the true reason behind Snape's death; he, Draco, had never been supposed to succeed. The double agent, Snape, working for the Light, had been the one meant to kill Dumbledore. The whole plot had been arranged months ahead in order for Snape to prove his apparent allegiance to Voldemort and set in motion what could have been a victory for the Light, but Draco had ruined everything by killing the man himself. Snape, unable to prove his loyalty, had paid the ultimate price.
The following year had spelled nothing but disaster for the Light as Hogwarts and the Ministry both fell to the Dark Lord. While Draco had risen to one of Voldemort's most highly ranked followers, the battle had come to Hogwarts within months. The Order of the Phoenix folded that night, the Dark Lord announcing his official victory. Nine years later, Wizarding Britain was unrecognisable.
The steadily dropping temperature drew Draco's thoughts back to the present day. The prison cells were located deep within the dungeons of the Dark Lord's castle, and he had managed to navigate his way there without any interruptions. His luck was holding.
Draco wandered between the cells, still underneath his cloak, ignoring the pitiful moans of the countless prisoners the Dark Lord kept locked away. Many were his own Death Eaters, punished for their attempted rebellions. Like Draco, they had grown angry at Voldemort and his treatment of them, but unlike Draco, the fools had been too incensed to work out the time was not right. Some had not seen the light of day for over a year.
"Who's there?" Came a voice from the final cell Draco had reached. He pulled off his cloak and frowned at the back of the cell where he knew the caged woman to be sitting in darkness. "Don't look at me like that. Like I don't know when someone's hiding under an invisibility cloak." She scoffed bitterly. "You're early today. Or have they changed their torture schedule recently?" While stale from disuse, her voice still managed to hold that know-it-all scorn from school.
"I haven't been sent to torture you, Granger," Draco murmured. "I'm here of my own volition."
Another scoff came from the dark cell. A groan of pain and the sound of something heavy dragging along stone brought Hermione Granger into the musty light of the dungeon. The five years in hell had changed her; the once bushy hair was now short and clipped, tufts pulling free easily without effort. She was startlingly thin, her prison keeping her alive without the need for nourishment. Draco knew if it hadn't been for the magic of the castle, Hermione would have died many years ago.
"And what, pray tell, has brought you to see me?" Her eyes stared at him, only a vague burning left of the passion she had always carried.
"I need your help." Draco knew how she would respond even before the humourless laugh filled the dungeons.
"Why would a Mudblood like me help a Death Eater like you? You're a murderer Draco, a cold-blooded killer who cares for only himself. I wouldn't help you if you were the last human on earth," she spat with nothing short of pure loathing.
Draco struck the metal bars with his fists, white hot pain shooting up his arms. He glared at the witch in front of him with equal disgust.
"You think I want to ask you for help? If I didn't know that it would be one of the last things I ever did here, then I wouldn't dream of it. But as you Mudbloods say – desperate times."
They glared daggers at each other for several moments, neither wanting to break first. Draco knew, though, that time was of the essence; sure, for now, the corridors were silent but for the pitiful shrieks and moans of prisoners long past insanity, but how long would it take for the Dark Lord or one of his few remaining loyal followers to find him?
"I need you to tell me everything that you, Potter and Weasley knew about defeating the Dark Lord."
Granger stared at him suspiciously. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to know that?"
"Why do you think, Granger? I need to know how to kill him."
"Do you really expect me to believe that you've reformed? What, you want to battle for the Light now, do you? Well tough break, the Order collapsed nine years ago, there's no good side left to fight for.
"Or maybe it's simpler than that. Do you fancy yourself in the top job, do you? Think you're going to battle the most powerful wizard on the planet and come out on top? We couldn't manage that with Albus Dumbledore on our side, what makes you think you've got any chance?"
Draco allowed her to rant into silence. Only once she was finished did he speak.
"I don't have to explain anything to you –"
"You might want to if you expect me to tell you anything." Granger interrupted.
Draco pondered over how much to tell her.
"I have a plan to make things right – to make them better. Something that could end up just killing me instead, so you can carry that small hope with you if it makes you feel better," he finished sarcastically.
Granger glared at him. "What did you mean asking me for help would be the last thing you ever did here?"
This simple question brought a manic grin to the aged face of the blond young man.
"What do you know about time travel, Granger?"
Seven years earlier
A darkness had settled over the world. A heavy, palpable darkness that seeped into homes and hearts. Those old enough were familiar with the weight of evil pressing on them from all around, but the younger generation, those who had been small or not yet born during the days of the Dark Lord's first reign, had never felt such despair. The nation had a sickness; a sickness of fear.
More and more wizards and witches were changing sides, creating a deep sense of mistrust among colleagues, friends and even families. With the Ministry in the hands of Death Eaters, the Aurors were unable to respond to emergency situations. Healers at St Mungo's were under strict commands to be selective in who they accepted, Death Eaters and supporters of the Dark Lord given precedence over anyone else. Muggleborns were all being hunted or else escaped the country already. Only the most evil, the sickest of heart found solace in the Dark Lord's rule.
But in every extremist group, there was malcontent as Draco Malfoy could attest. The promise of supreme rule, of joining the Dark Lord in his victorious conquest over the Wizarding world had brought many to his side before the war. But the reality had been far bleaker. The Death Eaters were nothing more than Voldemort's slaves, performing his bidding and spreading fear while he sat on his throne in his castle. On bended knee they would prostrate themselves, kissing his feet and the hem of his robes as thanks for the honour of serving him. Each day at least one follower would succumb to the Cruciatus curse if they had not been performing well enough, and time locked in the dungeons was another brutally common punishment. The life of equality had been a lie, and Draco Malfoy had had enough.
The dangerous fantasies had begun at a time before becoming a highly established Occlumens, making time spent in the Dark Lord's presence very dangerous indeed. Draco had only his good fortunes to thank that he was still regarded as one of the most loyal followers since murdering Dumbledore two years prior, meaning his mind was trusted to remain faithful far more than those of others. This allowed the bitterness to fester, the thought of himself one day ruling the Death Eaters growing in strength each day.
It was back at Hogwarts Draco now found himself. The day was cloudy, and mist hung in the air, odd for June but nevertheless common these days with Dementors breeding and growing their numbers everywhere. A celebration party had just ended, marking the second anniversary of Dumbledore's death which was seen as the day the Light truly fell. It had now become a day of drunken debauchery for the Death Eaters; they would arrive at Hogwarts at sunrise and leave well after the sun had set. In full view of the castle and its students, they would trash the grounds and trample the large white tomb, drunk on drink, drunk on power, drunk on victory. In the days following, Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father and new Headmaster of Hogwarts, would make the task of cleaning after the Death Eaters punishment for those who dared misbehave.
The party had mostly ended when Draco found himself wandering the grounds on his own, his steps staggering under the influence of the wine and mead he had consumed. It was times like this when he was drunk that he tried to stay away from the other Death Eaters – he didn't trust himself in this state to keep quiet.
He was glad Dumbledore was dead. And Harry Potter. The Dark winning the war had created everything he'd dreamed of on the outside; the Muggles being hunted, the Mudbloods cast from the world too. The true power of Purebloods was respected once more. But just once Draco would like to have felt that he had won too.
His feet had carried him back to the second celebrated spot in the castle grounds: the site of Harry Potter's murder by the Dark Lord himself. That had not quite been a year ago, but the place had still been trampled and defiled, the knowledge the Boy-Who-Lived was dead still giving the Death Eaters joy.
"I reckon you got it easy, Potter," Draco heard himself slur. "You got nothing to worry about where you are. No Master to disappoint, no raids to fail. I bet you're having a great time, you filthy Muggle-lover."
His feet flew from under him, his face landing in the dirt. The wind howled through the trees in a way that almost sounded like laughter.
"That's right, Potter, laugh it up. Look at me, the Pureblood heir, drunk and lying in the dirt with ideals that could be my death sentence. You always were an arrogant – ouch!"
Something sharp had stabbed into his hand. He picked it up, and by the moonlight could see it was a strangely shaped rock with a sharp crack in it. He began turning in in his hand, following the crack around the stone several times. After he'd turned it a third time, sudden footfalls behind him made him curse.
"Language, Draco," a voice sneered over his shoulder.
Draco froze. He hadn't heard that voice in two years, and this, drunk and crawling in the dirt, was not how Draco had hoped to one day hear it again.
"What have you done, you foolish boy?" This time the voice of Severus Snape was low and dangerous, and finally Draco turned to look into the pale face of his dead Potions Master.
"Severus…" Draco blinked. How much wine had he drunk tonight?
"You ruined everything! Everything! What will it take for you to learn not to act so impulsively?!" Snape's nostrils were flaring in fury; Draco could almost feel the anger pouring off the man. He managed to stand, stumbling as he did so.
"Wha– what are you talking about? I haven't ruined anything!" Draco lurched forwards to try to touch the man before him, but he staggered right through him. Unlike the chill of a ghost, Draco felt like he had just walked through a warm breeze. Snape turned around, ignoring the fact Draco had just walked through him.
"The whole state of the Wizarding world is your fault. The Dark Lord's victory, the end of the Order of the Phoenix – all of it rests on your shoulders."
"But how –"
"You killed Dumbledore, you idiot boy! Instead of allowing me to assist you, you murdered him yourself, thus setting in motion everything that has happened since." At Draco's confused stare, Snape continued. "I was the one supposed to kill him, the two of us had arranged it months in advance. He had a plan to ensure the Light would win, that the Dark Lord would be defeated, but you with your own desire for glory managed to destroy those plans in one evening!"
Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Organised murder? The Light winning?
"You aren't making sense, Severus. What do you mean you planned for the Light to win? You're on our side!"
"I hadn't been on the Dark Lord's side for fifteen years," Snape spat.
"So it's true!" Draco bellowed. "You were a traitor! That's why the Dark Lord had you murdered."
"The Dark Lord murdered me because of your selfishness. Had I been allowed to kill Dumbledore as he and I had planned, the Dark Lord would never have questioned my loyalties again, allowing me to continue my services for the Order without fear of discovery. My death is another for you to add to your personal list, Draco."
"As far as I'm concerned," Draco began, shaking in anger, "it's been worth it to get rid of a traitor like you! The right side won without you, and I wouldn't have it any different." He was lying through his teeth and hoped that Severus couldn't still see right through him.
A horrid grin fixed onto Snape's face.
"So you're enjoying life as one of the Dark Lord's favourite Death Eaters, are you? Having fun grovelling at his feet, following his every command? I never pictured you as a lowly slave, Draco."
A nerve ticked in Draco's temple and he could feel the flush on his neck and face, the alcohol not entirely to blame. Snape's words hurt for no other reason than that they were true. Perhaps Snape had seen how deeply his words had cut, because he took a great calming sigh and spoke his next words much more gently.
"I know you wish for this to end, Draco, but I see no way as of yet. It will be difficult, and you will need help to achieve freedom if that is what you truly wish. I am merely a shadow of my former self, brought into this world through an old stone's magic, but I can give you that help, should you desire it."
Draco, however, wasn't interested in hearing what Snape had to say anymore. He was a traitor, and there was nothing more distasteful nor unwise than associating with traitors.
"I have nothing more to say to you," he snarled, "and I don't think there's anything more you should say to me." With a final glare at his old professor, Draco dropped the stone on the ground causing Snape to vanish.
He stared at the stone he had dropped – what sort of Dark magic was this, bringing back the dead to mock him? And why did it bring him the shade of Severus Snape? Did fate mean something by the old Potion Master's return, or could the magic only call on who it deemed to be the closest person to you whom had died? The drunken calls of the Death Eaters in the distance dragged him from his musings.
"Draco?" A voice called. "You just about done trampling over Potter's deathbed?" It of course wasn't where Potter was laid to rest, that location was known only to the Dark Lord, but the place still represented his death.
"Yeah," he called. "Coming." Hesitating for only a moment, Draco bent down and pocketed the stone before traipsing back towards his fellows.
It was several months before Draco pulled out the stone again for Snape's company. He still hadn't forgiven the man for being a spy and was even angrier that he had never been told, but Draco admitted to himself he would need all the help he was offered if he was to ever find a way to overcome the Dark Lord's power.
"I was never allowed the same knowledge Dumbledore possessed about the Dark Lord and his methods of immortality. The Headmaster seemed to fear that my mind would not be forever immune to Legilimency." Snape told him one evening.
"I need to defeat him, Severus. It's the only way to be free, isn't it? To kill him and take over his rule of the Death Eaters and Magical Britain."
Snape remained silent whenever Draco brought up his dreams as openly as this. Draco knew the man didn't approve, but that was only because he had turned on the Dark long ago. He voiced his displeasure once or twice, but Draco never responded.
"You would do better to defeat him for the good of the Light, Draco. Your current place at the Dark Lord's side is not becoming of you."
The most help Snape was able to provide in the early days was to help Draco perfect his Occlumency shield. With a few weeks of endless practice, Draco finally felt that his mind was safe from his master.
And not a moment too soon.
Draco spent the next year poring over ancient tomes in the Malfoy library. There were instructions to magic so dark that they made Draco's stomach turn, but he read on in the hopes of finding something – finding anything – that would help him destroy Voldemort. On occasion he had even broken into the Hogwarts library under the guise of furthering his knowledge of the Dark Arts for the Dark Lord's sake. Only Draco's mental shields kept the truth from his master's mind.
While he had thus far failed to find anything to aid his goals, Draco had learned a great deal about the stone he had found. The Resurrection Stone, as it was called in most literature, had given Draco the best ally he could ask for in Severus Snape. He learned about the other Hallows, at last understanding the origins of Potter's Invisibility cloak, inspiring him to source one for himself. The final Hallow, the Elder Wand, was what had made Draco's heart plummet.
"That's the Dark Lord's wand, isn't it?" Draco had voiced to Snape one night almost a year after he had found the stone. "I haven't got a chance against him!"
"That wand belonged to Albus Dumbledore up until his death. Upon disarming him, you became its master until a point down the track when Potter subjected you to the same treatment. In murdering Potter that night, the Dark Lord became the master of the Elder wand."
Draco had been master of the most powerful wand without even knowing it, and now it was back in the hands of the most powerful wizard alive. This revelation made it clear to Draco that he would need to find something far stronger than he had imagined if he were to beat the Dark Lord.
And so Draco went back to his studies. He read book after book, travelled across the country searching for wizards or manuscripts that could instruct him in his path, but nothing bore fruit. Several times he suggested Snape should ask Dumbledore in the afterlife about it and bring the information back to him, but Snape would only respond with:
"It doesn't work that way, Draco."
It wasn't until Draco returned to Malfoy Manor in the depths of the library that he found something he just knew would work.
"No," Snape said upon hearing the plan.
"Severus, this can work," Draco insisted, "it has to work."
"Time travel? There's no such thing –"
"Time turners are real, aren't they? Or at least they were." Draco interrupted.
"For travelling back hours not years!" Snape yelled; Draco thankful for his preconceived need for a silencing charm on his door. "What you are talking about would require unimaginable levels of magic, levels that you most certainly do not possess!"
"I know that I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. That's why I'll need the Dark Lord to supply some of his own magic." Draco watched Snape for his reaction. The man's face slackened.
"Now I know you have lost your mind," Snape muttered. "And how do you expect to get him to donate some of his magic? You think he'll willingly help you travel back in time to destroy him in the past, do you?"
Draco threw his hands in the air and began pacing the room in frustration. He ignored Snape's question for a moment and looked back at the small notebook he had found. It was as though someone from long ago had known that Draco would have the need for this one day. The book was ancient, the Latin words all hand-written. The heading on the first page had given Draco the first glimmer of hope he had had in a long time.
Tempus Itinerantur – translated: Time Travel.
From what Draco could gather with what he knew of Latin, the process was primarily brought about by a potion which was both good and bad news. It was good in that Draco himself was very good at potions, and his deceased guest was Severus Snape, former Potions Master of Hogwarts. The negatives though were that Draco didn't know if all the ingredients would still exist in the world today, and if they did, how he would ever begin to find them.
Draco had immediately begun a rough translation of the steps and how the process was to take place. It was this that made him sure that the Dark Lord would be able to help.
"But listen, Severus – 'upon consumption of the potion, the wizard shall recite the text whilst a powerful magic passes through their person delivered by an associate.' Don't you see? It's so simple! All I need is to anger the Dark Lord after drinking the potion, he'll use the Cruciatus curse on me and provide this 'powerful magic'. It will work!"
"And when it doesn't work? You'll have angered the Dark Lord into murdering you for naught." But Draco wasn't listening to Snape.
"I know this can work and I know I won't be able to do it without your help, Severus. Please. If it doesn't work, then you can spend the whole afterlife telling me how you were right." Draco suddenly did something he had not done willingly for as long as he could remember: he begged. "Please, Severus. Help me to do this."
Snape stared at Draco for a long time without moving. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle whilst trying to work out what to make of Draco. After what felt like several minutes, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"When do we begin?"
"Are you saying that you did it? You've actually brewed the potion?" For the first time since Draco's arrival in the dungeons, Granger had lost her bitterness, the old curiosity of hers showing.
"It's taken six years to collect the ingredients and get it right, but yes. Tonight the potion will be ready and I will use it."
"And how do you know You-Know-Who won't just kill you instantly once you've drunk the potion and revealed your treason?"
Draco grimaced, "The Dark Lord likes to play with his food before killing it. He'll subject me to the Cruciatus for a long while first." He had to, Draco thought, or else the last six years would have been a waste.
"I still don't understand how this will actually work," Granger mused, "how will you hide from your younger self if you need to be at Hogwarts?"
This had been the part of the old notebook that Draco had found most difficult to decipher; they had only managed to translate it one year ago and it was lucky they had as it required a complete restructure of their planning.
"As far as I know, my physical body remains here, empty. Only my mind and soul are transported back into my younger body. That way I can appear as any other student whilst having the thoughts and memories of my twenty-six-year-old self."
"And you go on to create your own parallel timeline," Granger whispered. She stared pensively at the bars of her cell for a long while. Draco was about to remind her of what he needed when she spoke again.
"So you're going to go back in time, relive your days at Hogwarts to try and defeat You-Know-Who. You realise that means you'll have to be friends with Harry, don't you? Dumbledore won't tell you anything, so your best bet is to be on Harry's good side." Granger was smiling at the disgusted frown on Draco's face; it told her everything she needed to know.
"Alright, I'll tell you everything."
And so she did. Draco listened with rapt attention as Granger told him all about the Dark Lord's Horcruxes and what her, Potter and Weasley had known. He had come across Horcruxes in his years of reading about the foulest of Dark Arts, but he never could have imagined Voldemort creating six of them.
"So we were only able to destroy the diary and the ring," Granger concluded. "We found the locket elsewhere but it was originally in Sirius Black's house. Helga Hufflepuff's cup we suspected but we never found out where it was hidden."
Draco burned this all to his memory. The knowledge his father would be in possession of one of the Horcruxes made for a good start, but without the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets dead, Draco would have no safe way of destroying it until after his second year. That is if he allowed things to progress exactly as they had done before.
If all went to plan and Draco arrived in the past when he thought he would, there would be time to consider these things before having to act upon them.
"I suppose I should thank you," he grumbled. She had given him lots to ponder over. He frowned at the smirk on her face.
"No need," she quipped. "I only told you because I know you won't succeed."
"It will work," Draco hissed at her. "I will go back and make things right."
"Oh, I'm sure that you will succeed in going back. I'm just not so sure that your exact plans will be fulfilled." She stared at him blankly, not giving anything away. "Do you think this timeline will get rewritten and disappear when you leave?" Granger asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"Why should I know or even care?" Draco responded bluntly. It was a few moments before she replied.
"I hope it does."
Draco stared at her. "You want to die?"
Granger scoffed, "Wouldn't you?"
Draco hesitated. He would and he knew it. Wasn't he effectively planning a suicide mission himself? His life was terrible, but he knew Granger had it worse. What would it affect him if he gave her this final request? She had helped him after all.
"I could arrange it, if you wish," he said softly, no trace of his earlier bitterness. "Painless, even."
"Thank-you, Draco," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I hope that you find what you actually need in the past."
Nodding slightly, Draco replaced his invisibility cloak over himself and headed out of the dungeons without a backward glance.
Horcruxes. Admittedly Draco hadn't suspected Horcruxes were involved in the Dark Lord's immortality, purely because he hadn't expected him to place so much trust in other people or inanimate objects to keep his soul safe. However, at the same time, it made sense that someone so hateful and evil could manage splitting their soul into seven pieces. He would have achieved it years ago.
In Draco's haste to return to his quarters to talk to Snape, he perhaps wasn't being as careful about staying quiet as he ought to have. A close call brought him inches from Yaxley prowling the corridors. This was enough to remind Draco of what was at stake; he slowed down once more.
Upon reaching his rooms, he hastily shut the door, locking and silencing charms placed on it at once. He grabbed the Resurrection stone and began turning it so quickly he almost dropped it. Severus Snape appeared in front of him with a bemused expression.
"It went well, I take it?"
Draco quickly told Snape everything Granger had told him. He actually let out a small hiss at the mention of the Dark Lord's foulest brand of magic. Snape remained silent for a long time after he had finished hearing this information. He silenced Draco with a gesture as he paced the room agitatedly. Very suddenly he stopped and stared at Draco with a strange look. Draco couldn't place it, but the intensity of the gaze was enough to make him stop and listen.
"Draco, it is imperative that you think very carefully on your relationship with Potter in the new timeline! I have every reason to believe that there will come a time when Potter must die at the hand of the Dark Lord."
Draco stared at the man.
"You mean Potter is meant to die? I don't honestly care, but why?" Draco couldn't understand it. For years Snape had been trying to insist Draco would need Potter on his side to win his battle, but now he was telling him that the boy would need to be killed anyway.
"Dumbledore clearly believed, and I understand why, that Potter was a Horcrux. You remember the words of that blasted prophecy, yes? Neither can live while the other survives. Potter and the Dark Lord were tied to each other. Because Potter was killed before the other Horcruxes were destroyed, the Dark Lord still had means of immorality tying him to this world. If all other Horcruxes could be destroyed first, then –"
"– then once Potter dies the Dark Lord would be mortal. He could be defeated!" Draco finished in an excited whisper. "And I would have room to take over in his place." Snape frowned at these last words but remained silent. It was a battle he had been losing for six years.
"There will come a day when Potter has to die. You will need as much help from him and Dumbledore as you are able to get, otherwise you will have no chance at succeeding in finding all the Horcruxes."
"But we already know over half of them: the ring, the diary, the locket, the cup, and then Potter! There is only one more to find, isn't there?" Draco counted again in his head – seven pieces of his soul, that's what Granger had said.
"I find it unlikely the Dark Lord intended to create a Horcrux in Potter. It is plausible that he accidentally created an extra one, meaning there would be two further objects we do not know about."
Silence sat between the pair at this. While it made sense, Draco hoped Snape was wrong. He didn't want to have to find two new Horcruxes as well as find the cup of which no one still knew the whereabouts. Draco stared at the potion he had been working on for six years. It was in its final stage, glowing the purest white and ready to accept its final ingredient – blood of the one travelling back. Draco was about to pierce his skin when he remembered a promise he had made.
"Bunty?" Draco called uncertainly.
A loud crack echoed around his chambers as a small house-elf appeared in front of him. Bunty was Draco's own personal elf he had inherited after the death of his father two years ago. The Dark Lord did not know of the elf's existence.
"Master called for Bunty, sir," the elf asked in its squeaky voice.
"I require you to deliver this potion to the prisoner, Granger. She is expecting it and will know what it does if you tell her it is from me." He handed a vial of potion from his stores to the elf who took it in his hands. "Once you have done that, return immediately to me here."
Bunty bowed his head low to the ground and disappeared once more with a snap of his fingers. Snape, who had watched the display in silence, spoke.
"So," he began with malice, "she gives you everything you ask for, and you repay her by sending a Dreamless Sleep potion laced with poison? You disappoint me, Draco."
Draco didn't let himself get angry at the Potion Master's words. Instead he busied himself in his drawers and responded calmly.
"Granger asked for a peaceful death. She has been tortured every day for five years and, as you say, gave me what I needed. I am merely granting her wish as it is of no importance to me what happens in this timeline once I am gone." Draco could feel the man's stare as he extracted a fresh pair of socks from his drawer and placed them beside him.
"What are you doing now?" Snape asked curiously. A loud crack signalled the return of Bunty.
"Bunty is giving Miss Granger the potion, sir, and she is thanking Master Draco for her peace. She is also sayings that she wishes Master Draco luck and to not be upsets when his plans do not works." Bunty wrung his hands nervously, as he had a habit of doing when anxious. Draco frowned at the elf's message; Granger never could help demanding the last word.
"Bunty, I need you to take these," and he held out the socks to the elf, whose eyes immediately began to fill with tears.
"Master is presenting Bunty with clothes!" He wailed. "Bunty is not wanting freedom, Bunty is wishing to stay with Master Draco!"
"Shh Bunty!" Draco urged. "There is no choice. After tonight there won't be any Malfoys left for you to serve and I do not want the Dark Lord to use you once I'm gone." The elf had finally fallen silent. "I want you to take these and leave this place. Find a family somewhere else far away from here where you won't be followed."
Bunty nodded, eyes still wet, and took the socks from Draco. With one final bow to his old Master, Bunty snapped his little fingers and vanished.
"You continue to surprise me, Draco," Snape admitted. "Perhaps there is hope for you after all."
Draco didn't respond. Instead he busied himself with the final step of the potion. Using a small blade, he made a small cut in his palm, letting the blood pool in his hand. In his uninjured hand he used his wand to siphon off the blood and held it aloft above the white potion. Very slowly, he allowed the blood to drip until fifteen drops had fallen, one drop for every year he wanted to go back. As Draco healed his hand, the potion began to glow a vibrant crimson before it changed one final time to an impossible darkness. It was complete.
"You've done well, Draco. It looks as the notes described," Snape said, peering into the cauldron. "If what these notes say is true, then it should indeed work so long as your other planning is correct. You feel confident the Dark Lord's Cruciatus curse will be strong enough to send you back?"
"It has to be," Draco replied simply. He ladled enough of the potion into a flask.
"Evanesco!" What had been left in the cauldron disappeared. It would be unwise to leave a cauldron full of time-travel potion in his quarters which would undoubtedly be searched. Draco read over the text one last time – quite unnecessarily, as he had committed it to memory years earlier – and threw the notebook onto the fire. He watched as the embers greedily licked at the old book, surrounding it rapidly in flames. Draco turned to Snape.
"Are you still sure –"
"It would be unwise," Snape interrupted, "to tell my past self about your true identity, at least at first. You and I have discussed the various courses of action you ought to take, but in the whole allow many of the early ones to unfold as before. There will come a time when you will need to divulge your situation to an ally. Who you choose and when that may be I will leave in your hands." They had run this argument raw many times. Snape always won.
The past six years of work seemed to suddenly hit Draco as he thought about what he was about to do. He had lost his mother and his father, neither of whom he had spent time with before their deaths due to his relentless potion brewing. He hoped he could be kinder to them this time around. There had been many close calls, dozens upon dozens of torture sessions from the Dark Lord himself after falling from his graces. But he had kept his secrets safe. They had never learned of his plans.
The shade of the man in front of him had also played his part. Without Severus Snape on his side, Draco would have been discovered and likely murdered years ago. It was the man's tutelage and advice that had kept him alive long enough to complete what needed to be done. But Draco knew there wasn't anything he could do in thanks.
"Please do not vocalise whatever repulsive emotions just ran through your mind," Snape sneered. "I think neither of us wish for the discomfort that would bring."
Draco simply nodded; he quite agreed, in fact. He was about to put down the stone for the last time when Snape spoke his final piece of advice.
"Remember what I have said, and when nothing is going as you hoped, think on Miss Granger's words also." Draco frowned at the man, confused. "For the mistakes I made in my past I do not deserve second chances. Use this second chance you are being given, Draco. Don't make the same mistakes twice."
Draco nodded, though uncertainly. He would not make the same mistakes. He would never let the Dark Lord control him again.
Dropping the stone, Severus Snape disappeared from the mortal world for the last time. Potion flask in one hand and his wand in the other, Draco held his head high and marched from his quarters. When he was almost at the Dark Lord's throne room, Draco opened the flask and downed its contents in one. Unsurprisingly, the potion was repulsive, but he forced it down without as much as a gag. He could feel a strange tingling starting in his hands and feet and as he began to softly speak the first lines of the spell, the tingling buzzed up his arms and legs.
"In virtute corporis, Virtute Tempus."
Keeping the spell going in his mind, he threw the door open and marched inside. As much as Draco feared it wouldn't work and he would be subjecting himself to pain and death for nothing, a part of him was deeply looking forward to this.
"Well, well. To what do I owe this pleasure, Draco?" The Dark Lord asked, smiling. "I was not aware I had called on you?"
"You didn't," Draco replied, striding forwards until he was in the middle of the room. There were other Death Eaters in the room, whether they had been there for punishment or praise Draco knew not, but it did not matter. "This time I request your audience." The lack of respectful title did not go missed by Voldemort. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Draco stumbled at the sudden attack on his mind, this time more than happy to lower his shields. He showed Voldemort all the times he'd ignored his orders, or he'd dared to dream of challenging the Dark Lord for leadership of the Death Eaters. Draco laughed at the look on the older man's face as he showed what he had done for Hermione Granger, his favourite prisoner. The only thing he kept hidden was exactly what he had been working toward the past six years.
With the damage done, Draco thrust his Occlumency shields back into place and let the words of the spell consume his every thought. He watched the Dark Lord rise from his throne, the swirling darkness of the chair hissing and spitting with its Master's anger.
"Your foolishness astounds me, boy. You dare think you could challenge me and win? I, who has ruled over magical Britain for near a decade?" Out from his robes, the Dark Lord pulled a wand; the Elder wand.
This is it, Draco thought, now muttering the words under his breath out loud. The buzzing in his body had risen so much that he felt his entire person was vibrating.
"Hanc potentiam me resuscitet."
"Allow me to remind you of what happens to those who lose their faith! Crucio!" And Draco was ready. Every torture curse he had experienced since learning the spell to take him back, he had practised his control at reciting it at the same time. So it was while his body yearned to scream in agony that he continued to ramble off the spell.
Furious his spell was not bringing screams of pain and torture, Voldemort poured every fibre of his magic into his curse. Draco's cries became inaudible, his mouth moving of its own will, as the pain in his body began to change. This was not the white-hot knives of the cruciatus curse; this was coming from within him, in his very centre. Then suddenly there was nothing but that feeling in his soul, all pain and sound disappeared, he could no longer see. Draco knew that this was it, the Dark Lord's magic had been accepted, and so with all his being he thought the final words of the spell.
Est, erat, erit iterum.
And then there was nothing.
No sound.
No sight.
No feel.
He was nowhere but everywhere at the same time. Was he even a He? Was he even a person? All it knew was that it just was. It didn't know what it was here for, or what its existence meant. It simply was.
Then a sensation began. What was it? Was it familiar? It certainly seemed so, like it had been experienced before in another life. It was a rocking sensation.
Train.
Where had that come from? But it was right – the rocking was that of a train.
A blinding white appeared.
A loud whistle.
A violent lurch.
The eleven-year-old boy opened his eyes.
Latin translation
Power in my body, Power of Time, Use this power to resurrect me. It is, it was, it will be again.
A/N: Hello hello. New story coming at you! Cannot guarantee any speed with updates as life is permanently busy and insane, but they'll be lengthy chapters when they do. This is obviously NOT a sequel to my other story (The Impossible Future), that is still somewhat in the works. This idea bugged me first to get written so we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoy!
