A/N: Warning for graphic detail of torture in final dream sequence that begins "Draco marched towards"


Draco Malfoy awoke with a lurch, and the steady rocking of a steam train and the smell of pumpkin pasties made his eyes snap open. He was sitting in a carriage on the Hogwarts express, the faces of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle blinking stupidly at him.

The very eleven-year-old faces of Crabbe and Goyle.

"AHH!" Draco yelled, causing his old friends to bid a hasty retreat. He put his hand over his thumping heart and almost screamed again – his hand was so small! But no – they were normal, weren't they? His too small hands went next to his face. It was cold and clammy with sweat, but undoubtedly still held the slight roundness of youth. What was he talking about – of course it did, that was his face, wasn't it?

"Uhh, Draco?" Goyle mumbled. "Are you alright?"

Draco's attention went back to the two people with him. He hadn't seen either of them in years. But – no – he'd been sitting with them in the train since this morning. Vivid images of their mangled corpses flashed before his eyes just as a sudden blinding pain stabbed through his brain.

Gasping in surprise, Draco muttered a hasty "Bathroom" to the others and bolted out of the compartment. If he had been hoping the corridor would give him peace, he was wrong. As he stumbled towards the end of the carriage where the boys' lavatory was, every face he passed seemed to bring more terrible pains through his head. There were faces he knew, but most he didn't. But that wasn't right either – he'd seen them before, some of them far older than they were now. Older? What was wrong with him?

Draco just managed to get inside and bolt the door behind him when the pain suddenly tripled. He collapsed to the floor and his vision went dark.


Nothing but darkness. Young Draco didn't know where he was – he had been on the Hogwarts Express, hadn't he? Where was this place of impossible darkness?

A pained groan startled Young Draco. It was coming from somewhere in front of him, but from who or what he could not see.

"Wh-who's there?" His voice seemed to have risen by several octaves out of fear. A bright light suddenly shone from nowhere, bringing into show a man heaped on the floor.

Young Draco approached cautiously. The figure groaned again and looked up. Young Draco gasped. The man looked so much like his father! He had long blond hair and despite being doubled over in pain he held himself tall. He was covered in blood and his right leg seemed to be bent at an impossible angle, hissing and clunking.

"I'm you from the future," the man said bluntly. "I've come back to set things right, so this –" he gestured at himself "– never happens."

Young Draco couldn't help his hands trembling. "It's your memories that have been flashing through my head. That headache – that was you trying to break into my mind." Young Draco couldn't help feeling violated.

"We need to work together," the man groaned. "If you let me in, I can help shape our future to be brighter than you or our father could ever imagine." As though Old Draco could sense the boy's hesitancy, he continued, "I'm still you. You will still be in there, experiencing it all. I can just give us knowledge and experience that can help us to the top."

Young Draco stared at the broken man in front of him. He was terrified of giving himself over, terrified of losing himself in the mind of this man who had clearly suffered worse than what Young Draco could imagine. But the prospect of power; that was something even Young Draco had dreamed of.

"You can win us power? You promise me?"

The two Dracos locked eyes.

"I promise."

Young Draco slowly stepped forwards, his hand outstretched. Old Draco matched his movements. The two of them grasped hands, letting out a piercing scream as they did.

And two souls became one.


Draco opened his eyes to find himself slumped on the lavatory floor. Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and stared into the mirror. The face that looked back at him he had not seen for fourteen years, but it was as comforting as it was unnerving to see his eleven-year-old self again. He let his hands roam his body, pulling off his shirt to look at himself properly. His clean, unblemished skin made him gasp; the scars inflicted in the future had not happened to this body. He pulled down his trousers, staring in amazement at the two flesh legs that he possessed. How he had missed his leg.

Trembling hands dressed himself again and he splashed water on his face in the hope of cooling himself down. The pain in his head was gone, Young Draco having stepped aside willingly to give Old Draco free reign. He could still feel the presence of his eleven-year-old soul, his emotions running rampant as only those of a child could. He was pleased that he could remember the future – his conversations with Snape and the plans they had made. Now he just had to try to remember his past.

A knocking on the door startled him out of his reverie. Making sure he looked calm, he fixed a scowl on to his face and opened the door.

"What?" He demanded.

"What's wrong with you?" Crabbe demanded right back at him.

"Nothing, just a headache," Draco said, shrugging him off and strolling past. There was no pain in his head from the faces that he saw in the other compartments along the train now, the merging of the two souls having clearly settled the inconsistencies in the two timelines. He returned to the compartment he shared with the other two soon-to-be Slytherins to find Goyle stuffing his face with pasties. Draco frowned at him in disgust. He was starving.

"Typical," he muttered. "Come on, boys. Let's go for a wander, shall we?" And he turned on the spot, completely ignoring the confused, blank looks on the other boys' faces.

Draco couldn't remember exactly where Potter and Weaselby had been sitting, but he could remember vividly how that first encounter went. This was his first chance to enlist Potter.

"Uh, why are we heading back to Potter and Weasley?" Goyle's voice rumbled from behind him.

"What?" Draco stopped suddenly. They'd already done that bit?

"Look, see." And Goyle held up his finger which still showed the distinct bite marks of Weasley's stupid pet rat.

Damn it, Draco thought. He'd already insulted Weasley in front of Potter, putting himself on the back foot in the process. Now he'd never get Potter to want to be in Slytherin with him. How was he going to get in his good books from enemy houses?

"I mean, I know that. I was just walking, you didn't have to follow me," he sneered, turning back to head to their own compartment once more. Draco busied himself with pulling his robes out of his trunk and pulling them over his clothes, ignoring the stares of Crabbe and Goyle. He settled himself by the window and tried to settle himself again. He hadn't been back in time for more than an hour and already he was making mistakes.

"Have any of you boys seen a toad?" An all too familiar voice called from the open door. "A boy's lost one further up the train."

Looking at the young, very much healthy, face of Hermione Granger made Draco finally stop and ponder what he had left behind in the future. Had everything he had once known simply ceased to exist? Or was there a furious Voldemort fourteen years in the future, laughing over Draco's empty corpse and rueing the loss of his favourite torture toy?

"No," a grunt interrupted his thoughts. "What do we care if someone lost their toad?" Crabbe said, laughing dully.

"Alright," Granger huffed, "no need to be so rude about it."

"Who lost it?" Draco found himself asking before she could slam the door shut. She turned back to glare at him.

"A boy called Neville, but I thought you lot didn't care?" With a disgusted look, she slid the door shut and continued her way down the train.

"Longbottom, you reckon?" Crabbe asked. Draco simply nodded.

The short time remaining on the train Draco spent in deep thought. There had to be a way for him to garner enough of Potter's trust to last the next several years despite being in different houses. If he was remembering correctly the two encounters his eleven-year-old self had so far had with Potter, then it would be a difficult task to repair the damage already done. His best bet would be to approach Potter later this evening to declare a truce. From there he could fix things better.

Draco shared a boat with Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini on the traditional journey across the lake for the first years. He pretended to show mild interest in the spectacle of the castle with its tall turrets lit up against the night sky. It was strange knowing that the castle was still under the rule of the Muggle-loving Albus Dumbledore; Draco still thought of it with the Death Eaters in charge. One day, he reminded himself.

As the first years shuffled into the Entrance Hall, a hushed excitement settled over the group. Draco watched on as the other students gaped around themselves at the impressive walls and statues inside. He ignored the part of himself that was looking forward to another Hogwarts feast.

Suddenly and without warning, Draco's mind plunged back to the war and what had happened inside this castle. The now strong walls crumbled before his eyes, giant pillars of stone littering the floor. His classmates, suddenly years older, lay among the ruins, some injured, more dead. The air stank of magic, the hairs on his arms sticking up as though from static. Draco found his feet leading him through the half destroyed doors of the Great Hall where the house tables lay smashed. A high-pitched laugh chilled his bones.

As abruptly as it had hit him, the visions stopped. The real Great Hall, very much still standing, was brightly lit and filled with the older students. Albus Dumbledore, along with the other staff, sat up at the high table watching over them as Professor McGonagall led the first years towards the front. Draco could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a cold sweat across his forehead making him shiver. Was he imagining Dumbledore's scrutinising stare in his direction?

"Abbott, Hannah," called McGonagall, officially beginning the Sorting. Draco allowed his attention to wander once more as his classmates began to be sorted into the same houses as last time. His eyes found Professor Snape who was watching the sorting with vague interest, clapping as Vincent Crabbe became a new Slytherin. Draco would respect his Severus' wishes to not be made aware of the situation too early. It would take time to remember, though, that this Snape did not know of what was to come. In the future, the man's shade had become a confidant of Draco's, someone whom he could trust implicitly; he hoped one day this Snape would live up to that potential.

"Malfoy, Draco," came his name from a long way away.

Dragging himself back to the present day, Draco marched up to the Sorting Hat with as much swagger as he could muster and took a seat on the stool. As soon as the hat touched his head, it would shout to the world –

"What's this then?" The hat's voice came in his ear. "I sense this mind has already been sorted, and yet I have never been placed upon this head." Draco tensed. Was he going to come undone at the simplest of hurdles?

Yes, you've sorted me before, Draco thought, and I'd appreciate it if you just put me where I belong. Any longer on this stool and those who knew the Malfoy name would grow curious.

"Such visions in your mind," the hat continued, completely ignoring Draco's discomfort. "I take this is what is to come?"

I've returned to fix things, Draco huffed, just put me into Slytherin and be done, dammit.

The hat remained silent for several moments. Draco was thankful he couldn't see the faces of the rest of the students for the inside of the hat; he dreaded to think how long this was taking.

"It seems you have returned with a purpose," it said at last. "Your mind and your heart have made it clear to me now what that purpose is, and it is apparent what needs to be done to set you on that path."

That's what I have been trying to tell you, Draco thought angrily.

"And so in that case, it had better be,

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted to the Hall.

Draco's eyes snapped open as the hat was lifted roughly off his head. He could feel the eye of every person in the hall fixed upon him. There was near silence from behind him at the staff table, and the Slytherins on the far side of the hall were staring at him in equal, quiet disbelief. A polite smattering of applause issued from various students, but those who knew the line of Malfoy did not move.

Gryffindor! Draco stiffly rose from the stool, his body seemingly acting separately from his brain, and moved towards the table of lions. What was the hat playing at putting him under the Gryffindor badge? How would it look, the future ruler of the Death Eaters, being a stinking Gryffindor? Draco's face paled slightly as he sat down next to one of the blood-traitor Weasleys; what would his father say when he was told?

Suddenly giant plates of food appeared on the table in front of him. Gazing around blearily, Draco realised that the sorting had finished, Potter and his red-headed sidekick seated across from him, both stuffing their faces with food. He looked across towards the Slytherin table where he ought to be sitting right now with his fellow first years who currently had their heads together in discussion, only breaking apart every now and then to send a curious look in his direction.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" A voice came from his right. He turned to glare harshly at the Mudblood Granger sat beside him. So now she wanted to be friendly, did she?

"Not really," he replied coolly before turning back to his dinner. A part of Draco's brain reminded him that in this timeline he was supposed to gain the trust of the three Gryffindorks, but right now all he wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

"I can't believe Malfoy got into Gryffindor!" He heard Weasley murmur to Potter. "What's the hat playing at, eh? Putting that righteous git anywhere but Slytherin – it's having a laugh, got to be!"

Draco sent daggers with his eyes at the two of them; Weasley's gaze dropped back to his plate of fourth helpings, while Potter simply stared back curiously.

After what felt like hours, the plates were wiped clean and a satisfied hush fell over the students as the Headmaster rose to address them before their dismissal. Again, Draco tuned out the old man's words. His eyes met those of Snape, who was watching him with a curious glare. He wished he could see what was going through the man's mind, he who as a close friend of Draco's father knew almost better than anyone the Slytherin history of the Malfoy family. What would his thoughts be of this unfortunate development?

The sound of scraping benches told Draco they had been sent to bed as he rose to join his housemates (Draco's skin still crawled thinking of the Gryffindors as such) on the way to the common room. Draco watched the Slytherins marching down to the dungeons, wishing more than anything that he was joining them, but instead he turned the opposite way to begin the steep climb up to Gryffindork Tower.

At last they reached the portrait of the fat woman who stood guard for the Gryffindors. The Weasel Prefect gave the password ("Caput draconis, don't forget it!") and the frame swung open to reveal Draco's nightmare. Clambering through the portrait hole, it looked as though the room was on fire so bright were the colours of the walls and furniture. Once again Draco found himself longing for the soothing darkness of the Slytherin common room sat submerged under the lake.

"Malfoy," Weasel Prefect broke his depressing thoughts, "the first year dormitory is right at the top of this stairwell. Do you need any help at all?"

Draco simply scowled at the redhead and pushed past him to the stairs. He entered the round dormitory with trepidation – the other five boys were already inside, some of them like Dean Thomas marking their territories with ridiculous posters. The only bed untouched was the one between Potter and Longbottom so, not wishing to be dragged into conversation, Draco changed into his pyjamas and instantly drew the curtains of his four-poster bed around himself.

"What's his problem?" Came the confused voice of Seamus Finnegan.

Draco blocked out the muffled response from one of the other boys and threw himself onto his pillow. Perhaps he would wake up in the morning back in his twenty-six-year-old war-torn body, not yet having travelled back in time at all.

With this thought all that was giving him hope, Draco fell into a fitful sleep.


"Quickly, Draco!" He followed blindly after the voice, unable to see more than a couple of feet in front of him. The sounds of battle were raging around him, voices yelling and curses flying it was impossible to tell who was on whose side.

"C'mon, move!" A hand yanked him sideways, a curse flying through the spot his head had just been. He thought he recognised the hand as familiar, but he couldn't be sure. The voice he knew, and it was only that which gave him the confidence to be pulled alongside them.

"You did it, Draco. The old fool is dead all thanks to you!" His Aunt Bellatrix managed to whisper in his ear while they ran. "The Dark Lord will reward you for this."

"MALFOY!" Draco had never heard Potter lose himself like this before. Curse after curse flew past his head; Potter's aim was off, whether due to the poor visibility or his own blinding rage Draco couldn't be sure, but he knew it wouldn't be long until one found its mark.

They tumbled out through the front doors into the clear night air. He sprinted after his fellow Death Eaters, desperate to reach the boundaries of the school's defences so they could return to their Master. Draco didn't know where Snape was, the spineless fool; perhaps he was sulking somewhere about Draco achieving the impossible.

"STUPEFY!" The jet of light flew past his ear. Potter just didn't give up. Draco was about to turn to give the Gryffindor a lesson when he heard a body fall to the ground behind him. The spellfire stopped with it.

"Draco, wait!" It was Snape.

"TRAITOR!" Yelled back Yaxley. They all kept running, not waiting for Snape to catch up to them. Draco didn't know if he was a traitor or not, but he knew waiting for the man could prove costly.

As soon as they reached the edge of the wards, they disapparated on the spot, reappearing instantly at Malfoy Manor.

"CRUCIO!" White hot knives danced over Draco's entire body, his screams echoing in the hall. Surely he would die from the pain – every one of his nerve endings was on fire. Every sense had been rendered useless in the presence of the excruciating agony he was experiencing.

The knives stopped dancing.

Draco's body ached as he lay on the ground gulping in air, the after-effects of the torture curse pulsing through him. Someone was yelling in anger. A heavy thump came from somewhere nearby. Suddenly Draco was being pulled to his feet and embraced. He realised instantly it was his mother and his arms wrapped around her automatically as though he were a small child once again.

"Did you do it?" She whispered in his ear.

Draco couldn't speak. He let out a shaking breath and gently nodded on her shoulder. His mother's hand clenched tightly on the back of his head and he felt her stiffen in his arms.

"Congratulations, Draco," came the cold, high-pitched voice from the edge of the room. He looked up into the red gaze of Lord Voldemort. He wore a wide grin, the insanity within showing purely on his face. At last, the Dark Lord had something to truly celebrate.

Draco stepped away from the comfort of his mother's arms and bowed his head to his master. He had chosen his path now – he knew there was no returning to the Light after what he had done. He would see this through until the Dark ruled once again.

"You shall be rewarded for this, Draco," the Dark Lord whispered as he began to circle his youngest follower. "Beyond your wildest dreams." Suddenly his voice turned hard. "I wish everybody to leave except Draco."

One by one the Death Eaters filed out. Draco watched his mother hesitate for a moment before she too bowed and left the room. It was now just Draco and the Dark Lord. Draco did not move from his position, both fearful and intrigued as to what his reward would be.

"I am pleased by your efforts tonight, Draco." The Dark Lord did not sound pleased. Draco stiffened.

"Thank-you, my Lord," he replied politely. He felt the piercing glare of the red eyes on him.

"I noticed you sought the comfort offered by your dear mother upon release from a tiny spot of pain. I cannot help but wonder if it was weakness that brought on that desire?" Draco suddenly realised how very cold it was despite the warm evening he knew to be outside.

"I do not mean to appear weak, my Lord," he murmured.

"I know that you are young, Draco, but you are a man, are you not? Men do not need their mother's embrace to feel better." Draco was trembling; would he hurt his mother?

"Perhaps some conditioning is required. Should I call dear Narcissa back to show you how adults ought to act after being tortured?"

"No!" Draco shouted before he could stop himself. He swallowed but his dry mouth had nothing to soothe his throat with. Draco knew what would happen now; he had dared to show defiance.

"No?" The Dark Lord teased. "A pity. I suppose I shall have to train you myself. CRUCIO!"

And the knives began to dance again.


Draco's own screaming woke him up. He struggled for a moment with his bedsheets until he was free, sweat pouring off him. He threw the curtains of his bed open, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. Slow, deep breaths began to settle his racing heart as he poured himself some water from the jug by the window. His hands shook.

"Are you alright?" Came a quiet voice behind him. Draco spun suddenly, slopping water down his front to stare at the young face of Harry Potter watching him with concern.

"What's it to you, scarhead?" He shot back. He wasn't in the mood for Potter's niceties.

"I get nightmares too, you know," Potter supplied. "It's not worth being ashamed of it."

Draco ignored him and drank some more water. His throat felt sore as though he had been yelling for hours under the cruciatus curse. It had been so real. He let out another involuntary shiver.

"Alright, you don't have to talk about it. I was just trying to be friendly." Potter began to settle himself back into his own bed.

"I don't need your friendship, Potter. I need you to leave me alone." The sound of curtains being drawn told him that Potter had properly gone back to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts at last.

The Dark Lord had subjected him to the cruciatus curse on and off for the rest of that night. Draco told himself he had only relented to protect his mother from a similar fate, but he knew it was more pathetic than that – as if he'd had a choice but to take every second of torture from Voldemort. True to his word, the Dark Lord did reward him after that night. Draco had found himself among the most loyal followers, entrusted with tasks ordinary Death Eaters could only dream of. It had been this period of time that had shown Draco how good it could be to lead.

A part of him regretted the harsh words he had once again spoken to Potter. He would need the fool to trust him one day and continuing to be rude would not achieve that in the end. He had been put into Gryffindor, against his wishes, but he could use it to his advantage. Draco had learned a thing or two about hiding his true intentions from those who he needed. He had been put right into the lair of his enemy, so to speak – this was not an opportunity to waste.

Taking one last look over the grounds far below Gryffindor Tower, Draco hauled himself to his feet and back to his bed. His clock told him it was only three o'clock in the morning, and he knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep after such a dream. As he pulled the curtains back around himself, it dawned on him that none of the other boys had been woken by his screams. Was Potter a particularly light sleeper, or was Draco not the only one lying awake that night with thoughts heavier than what an eleven-year-old should possess?


Draco took himself to breakfast early on the first morning of class leaving the other boys in his dorm to battle the last dregs of sleep on their own. He hadn't slept another wink as he'd expected, and perhaps it was this combined with the heavy thoughts of his nightmares that distracted him from what he was doing. It wasn't until he was halfway through his bowl of porridge that Draco's error was brought to his attention.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" A harsh voice sneered over him. Draco pulled his eyes from his gloomy breakfast to stare up at a young, but nevertheless much older-than-he, Marcus Flint.

"What's it look like, Flint?" Draco knew he'd never met Flint in this timeline, but he couldn't bring himself to care about showing familiarity this morning.

Faltering only briefly at Draco knowing who he was, Flint recovered to demand, "You'd best take your sorry self back to your own table. We don't take to your kind very well."

Draco frowned, not having a clue what Flint was going on about when the older boy pointed down at Draco's front. It was then he remembered the offensive colour of the tie around his neck. Glad the hall was still relatively empty, Draco glared into Flint's eyes, and abandoning the rest of his breakfast, made his way out of the Great Hall. To top off his morning, Draco's two favourite Gryffindors were just coming down the main staircase as Draco turned to go to class early.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter supplied kindly. Draco raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. He could hear Weasley as the pair made their way to breakfast.

"Honestly, why do you bother being nice to him?" Their footsteps carried them away into the Great Hall leaving Draco out of earshot to hear Potter's reply.

How Draco managed to get himself through the first few days he didn't know. Everything was the same but different now that he was in Gryffindor. Instead of Crabbe and Goyle following his every move, he found himself more often than not on his own. Anyone who tried to speak to him, Draco would shoot down with an annoyed glare and they would promptly leave him alone. The main person who seemed to hang around him was Hermione Granger, which Draco found both highly irritating and awkward having helped her arranged her own peaceful death what felt like only a few days earlier. More often than not she wouldn't say very much, preferring to just sit nearby him while she completed his homework. At least with this arrangement, Draco thought, it wouldn't look like he was friendly with the Mudblood.

By Friday morning Draco was somewhat regretting his decision to come back all the way to first year. Tedious it had been the first time, school was turning out to be mind-numbingly dull for a second time around. He was pleased that some of his magic had been brought back in time with him, putting his abilities securely at the top of the class. What was the point in going back in time without using it to your advantage, Draco asked himself frequently.

A quiet popping noise brought Draco's attention back to his breakfast. A small scroll had appeared beside his plate, tied together with a small bow. Frowning at it, he slid off the string and unfurled it to read the neat cursive inside.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

I request your presence in my office this morning after breakfast to discuss some things. The password is 'Sherbet Lemon'. Your professor is aware that you will be late.

I hope you are enjoying your classes.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore.

Draco paled at the letter. Had Dumbledore already worked it out? Was he about to be busted a mere five days into his journey? He looked up towards the head table to see the Headmaster in deep conversation with McGonagall. Suddenly finding himself not at all hungry, Draco stood up from his place and headed towards the large oak doors, fully aware of the Headmaster's gaze on him.

It didn't take long to reach Dumbledore's office. Draco gave the password and ascended the stairs, reaching his hand out to knock when a voice from inside interrupted him.

"Come in, Mr Malfoy," the old man's voice called from within. Draco frowned deeply. How on earth had he been beaten here?

Draco opened the door hesitantly, strengthening his Occlumency shields slightly as he did, and almost started with shock at seeing his father standing behind Dumbledore. His hands began trembling slightly at the sight of the man, far younger than he had been the last time Draco saw him alive before his brutal murder thirteen years from now in the future. That memory was frequently visited in Draco's dreams.

Remembering that he was only eleven years old, that his father here was still very much alive, helped Draco pull himself back to the present. He noticed a look of confusion swiftly pass across Dumbledore's face.

"Professor," Draco greeted softly. "Father." He had a fair idea of what could have brought his father to the school, and this made him confident this would not be a fun catch up.

"Draco, I hope that you are settling in nicely to your house and your classes?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"Yes, sir, fine." Draco answered brusquely. The deep frown on his father's face confirmed his fears.

"Now see here, Dumbledore, this is preposterous," Lucius Malfoy demanded suddenly. "A Malfoy in Gryffindor? What could be next; a Weasley in Slytherin? It just isn't done!"

Draco had in fact been yet to write to his parents about his sorting. Obviously he had heard the scandalous news from somewhere else. Draco was sure he was also irritated he hadn't heard it from his son.

"The Hat does as it sees fit, Lucius," Dumbledore replied in a manner that suggested this topic had been long discussed. "I have no control over its decisions. There was obviously something in young Draco's mind that convinced it he belonged in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin. Need I remind you of families past of long Slytherin lineage with an individual heir in Gryffindor? Sirius Black, for instance."

"Are you suggesting my son will become a traitor and a murderer, Dumbledore? I don't care what has to be done, I demand that my son be placed where he truly belongs!" Draco could almost see the anger radiating off his father in waves. Dumbledore, however, seemed quite unperturbed.

"The Hat cannot resort, Lucius, you know this. Besides, I have yet to hear a complaint from young Draco about his sorting. He has had all week to speak with me, and yet as I understand it he has settled in quite amicably to Gryffindor." His father's burning eyes and Dumbledore's twinkling ones settled onto Draco together. He swallowed, his mouth dry. Draco knew he had to be careful what he said.

"Father, it's fine," he said bitterly. "I am a Malfoy above everything else. Where I sleep at school won't change that." Draco was pleased to see his father's anger seemed to settle slightly. He suspected his loyalty to the Malfoy name had calmed that man somewhat.

"Sound sentiments," the Headmaster said, fixing Draco with a curious look. "If that is sorted, as it were, then I shall leave the two of you to catch up briefly. But don't delay too long, Draco. You ought to return to class soon."

"Yes, Professor," Draco nodded. He turned and left the Headmaster's office, his father close on his heels. Once the solid door had closed and they had made their way to the bottom of the stairs, Draco was grabbed suddenly by the shoulder.

"Why did you not tell me of this at once, Draco?" his father demanded.

"I– I didn't know how to tell you!" Draco could feel the fear of his eleven-year-old soul inside, the childish emotion seeping out. "I knew you would be upset."

"I was more upset to have to learn of it through the Minister himself! Did you know he actually laughed at the thought of a Malfoy anywhere but Slytherin?" Perhaps seeing the terror in his son's eyes, Lucius calmed himself and released Draco's shoulder.

"What you said earlier is true – you are first are foremost a Malfoy. You know what that means. I don't want to hear of you associating yourself with any of the… riffraff I know resides in Gryffindor tower. Remember your status and be mindful of the status of those around you." He stared hard, insisting that Draco understood his message. "I will see you at Christmas, son." And with that, Draco watched as his father marched down the hall and out of sight.


"Professor?" Draco said cautiously at the end of Potions that afternoon. Potter and Weasley had rushed past him to escape, muttering furiously about the two points Snape had taken from Potter that lesson. Draco had snickered, amazed that Potter was as stupid in this timeline as he was in the old one.

"What is it, Malfoy? Shouldn't you be running off with your revolting friends?" The man sneered while he looked over the work his class had just produced.

"They're not my friends," he spat. "Sir," he hastily added. Snape looked up at him at these words and gave him the same curious gaze as he had the night of the sorting.

"No," the Potions Master agreed, "I suppose they aren't."

"I just wanted to say father has always thought highly of you, sir. Always told me you were the best Professor here," Draco tried to sound sincere, but he couldn't help the snootiness with which he said the words. "I look forward to your classes, sir."

Snape's eyes did not change, but a small smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, well, so long as you stay far away from your housemates, I think we shall get on quite nicely, Mr Malfoy."

Draco smiled and nodded at the man, feeling at last something might be going right for him, and headed out of the classroom to enjoy the end of a successful first week.


Draco marched towards the Headmaster's office, praying he looked as relaxed as he ought. Inside he was frantic. His father would be in great trouble for this, he knew, and there was nothing he could do to assist him. Draco prayed the Dark Lord was yet to learn of his error.

"Purity Bliss," Draco said to the statue guarding his father's office. It leapt aside at once, Draco charging up the staircase as it ascended. Not even bothering to knock, Draco pushed through the door and into the large room within.

"Draco, you should not be here," Lucius Malfoy said at once, his eyes wide in fear. "If the Dark Lord were to find out you knew of this…"

"He doesn't know anything for now," Draco growled. "But I am certain another will report it to him soon. You need to leave, Father."

"No," he snapped. "I will not be forced to run. I have ruled this school for almost six years, I do not plan to stop now."

Draco surged forwards and grabbed his father's shoulders roughly. "There is no choice! He will kill you for this! Two students have escaped under your watch, taken away by their parents whom the Dark Lord wished to question and punish! They will have escaped the country, taken themselves as far away as possible. When our master learns of this it will be your head he takes in their place!"

"Then what do you propose, Draco? I hide? It will take no time for him to find me and when he does it will not just be me but you as well who he punishes. You are safe where you are now, close by his side and trusted implicitly. You do not wish to lose that privilege, Draco."

Draco began to pace around the office. He needed his father to listen to him. He could not lose his father, not so soon after they had lost his mother.

"Please, I can hide you. My Occlumency is strong enough to keep your whereabouts secret and protect the both of us. Go to the continent, somewhere far away. When the Dark Lord is dead I will visit and –"

"You are being ridiculous, Draco. The only way to protect yourself is to leave me, now. Forget what the Dark Lord may do, you are twenty-four years old you do not need me –"

"SHUT UP!" Draco roared. "Don't you dare tell me I don't need you! I will always need you on my side. We lost Mother just last year, don't make me finish this alone."

Suddenly Lucius hissed and grabbed his left arm. He and Draco looked into each other's eyes knowing what the burn of his Mark meant: the Dark Lord had learned of his mistakes.

"Draco, I don't know what you have been doing these past years, I feel I have barely seen you since you finished school, but that doesn't matter. You don't need me anymore –"

"No! I –"

"Listen!" Lucius interrupted. "You are my son and I will not let you endanger yourself on my behalf. I am a terrible father, but allow me this one chance at doing right by you."

Draco stared at him in disbelief, furious at the tears he could feel in his eyes. He couldn't let his father do this. He watched as his father gripped his left arm, preparing to apparate to the Dark Lord's side.

"No!" Draco shouted, lurching forwards to grab onto his father's other arm. Lucius's eyes sprung open in anger, but it was too late to stop the pair of them from apparating right into the Dark Lord's audience.

Draco fell away from his father who had been grabbed immediately upon arrival and forced to his knees. Draco watched as his wand was ripped out of his cane and snapped in half.

"My dear Lucius," the Dark Lord whispered. "What have you done? Crucio!"

"NO!" Draco cried until he too felt himself be restrained. The curse was cut off abruptly, Lucius groaning in pain on the floor. The Dark Lord's attention fell onto Draco.

"What's this? Do you disapprove of how I am treating your father, Draco? I thought I taught you many years ago that you no longer needed the comfort of parents." He lifted Lucius into the air with magic. Higher and higher he rose until he was at the ceiling. The screams began again.

Draco could only watch in horror as his father writhed in agony twenty feet in the air. He could feel every one of his father's screams as though the curse was affecting him as well. When the screams stopped again it was short lived, as Lucius plummeted back to the ground, crying in terror the whole way down.

With a sickening thud he hit the ground. Draco didn't want to see but could not look away from his father's twisted body, the soft moans all that assured him his father was not yet dead.

The Dark Lord grabbed the blonde man's face harshly and pulled him into a seated position, his legs pointing the wrong way. Draco knew he was using Legilimency, and he equally knew that his father's minimal defences had no chance of holding after such a physical beating. Growling in fury, Lord Voldemort threw Lucius back onto the ground and strode purposely to Draco who felt himself rise stiffly off the floor until he was eye level with his master.

"Your weakness and stupidity astounds me, Draco," he hissed. "Preparing to hide your failure of a father from me and openly wishing for a future with me dead? I expected better of you." Draco fell to the floor in a heap. "Take Draco to the dungeons where I will join him shortly. I must finish with his father first."

Unable to fight, Draco let himself be dragged out of the hall, his eyes only for his father's motionless form and the bright green light that the Dark Lord was sending his way. Thrown roughly into the cell, the hours passed as Draco waited for death to come, for he knew that's what Voldemort would have in mind. It felt like days with no food or water before he was visited by the Dark Lord.

"I am disappointed in you, Draco. I had thought you were my most loyal of followers, but even you have betrayed me." He leant down so that his lips were mere millimetres from Draco's ear. He could feel the hot breath tickle his neck. "While it would be justified, death is too kind for you after your display this evening. Instead, I think you ought to make payment." As he said this, a long blade was drawn out of thin air, its tip glinting in the faint light of the dungeons. It seemed to lower of its own accord to Draco's thigh, not moving from its mark no matter how much Draco tried to move away.

"This will show you just how little you are needed, Draco. You have had your time at my side, but no more. You have lost the trust to call yourself my most faithful, and that is something you will live to regret."

The blade plunged itself through Draco's thigh wrenching an agonising scream from his throat. Despite the apparent sharpness of the blade, it was blunt as though intentionally designed to have to saw through his muscle. As the blade reached the bone, Draco's screams rose in pitch and volume. Just as he was about to black out from the agony, his senses sharpened, the Dark Lord ensuring he remained awake to feel every stroke of the knife. Invisible hands kept his eyes open and staring at the gushing wound, the blood flwoing like a river, pumping out of his leg.

Draco became deaf to his own screams as the smell of rancid flesh made him ill. The poison in the blade was fast-acting; he could see the muscle of his leg turning black and begin to smoke. Unable to stop himself, he lost the few contents of his stomach down his front. He was forced to watch as the vomit swirled with the blood.

After minutes (hours? He could not tell) the knife had done its job, and while he could no longer feel the sawing sensation in his thigh, the pain seemed to triple at the sight of his right leg now completely separated from the rest of his body. Only magic was preventing Draco from blacking out and bleeding to death. Someone from a thousand miles away was speaking, but Draco was still screaming so he could not make out the words. He felt a presence leave his cell, leaving Draco alone.

Alone with his thoughts.

Alone with his severed leg.

Alone with his screams.


Even when Draco opened his eyes he could still see his own blood pooling around him. Breathing hard, Draco yanked the bedsheets off himself and ran his hands up and down his right leg as though needing to check it was still attached. He could even feel a dull ache on his thigh where the knife had sliced through him. The longer he touched and looked at his leg, slowly his breathing began to settle.

That night in the cell had undoubtedly been the worst of Draco's life. It was the main nightmare that recurred in the old timeline, and, Draco supposed, he shouldn't be surprised at its sudden reappearance the night after seeing his father again.

The loss of both his father and his leg had caused Draco to sink into a deep depression. He had spent nine days locked in that cell with his stump and his detached leg, the magic of the walls keeping his heart beating and his flesh from rotting. Upon release, Voldemort had presented him with his life-saving artificial leg making his message very plain: unwavering loyalty for preservation of his life.

Once he had completely calmed, Draco got up from his bed and padded softly to the window in the dormitory. His nightshirt stuck to him with sweat as he sat down and stared out at the dark grounds. There was no moon tonight, the blackness of the sky mirroring Draco's thoughts.

"He isn't here," he muttered to himself. "I'm safe. So are Mother and Father."

But for how long, his thoughts offered. How can I possibly keep them safe from what is to come?

"I will keep them safe," he reiterated. "With me in charge they will have nothing to fear. I won't let him win, not again."

With these affirming words, Draco got back into bed and drew his curtains, getting out one of his many books to read. Another sleepless night. He would have to find a solution to this soon or else he'd wear himself ragged.

Flicking through his Charms book, Draco allowed the soft page turning and the snores of the other boys to fill him with peace. If he hadn't been so shaken and exhausted, he might have found it strange that there were only the snores of four people in the room. If he hadn't been terrified of his own memories, Draco might have wondered why he was not the only first year boy losing sleep that night.