Disclaimer: I make 10,000 a year. That is less than the lawyer fees required to sue me.

Warnings: abuse, slash, plot-justified AU

To my reviewers: Thank you for the love.

Ch. 3: Day One, Part Two: Malfoy's Evil Twin

Harry continued to notice slight abnormalities for the rest of the afternoon. While discussing quidditch with Ron between classes, he learned that he was not actually the youngest seeker in decades – in this timeline, Malfoy had never taken Neville's remembrall, and so Harry's seeker skills had not been recognized until second year.

After lunch, Harry had Charms and double Advanced Transfiguration, both classes which provided him with ample opportunity to watch Malfoy. And the more he watched, the less convinced he was that this was the same Malfoy from his timeline – but he still needed to talk to Malfoy, if only because someone so intimately connected to the problem must surely be part of the solution.

Superficially Malfoy's evil twin appeared more unpleasant than his counter – he never smiled or joked around with his housemates; and while this meant that he didn't torment any of his classmates, the resulting Malfoy seemed to be more likely to maim someone that insult them. His sneers weren't expressions of condescension flashed for the sake of the audience, they were grimaces of hate and disgust, revealing a true inner maliciousness. If the old Malfoy's looks could belittle and humiliate, the new Malfoy's looks foretold an immanent killing. Not that he looked much at anyone; he ignored everyone and only glared at those who dared (accidentally or otherwise) break through his purposeful buffer.

By the time the end of Ad Trans rolled around, Harry was positively itching to have an encounter with Malfoy. He didn't think he had ever had to sit through so many classes with the ferret without even a provocative glance. If this Malfoy hadn't the time nor inclination to torment him, then to where in Merlin's name were his destructive talents being channeled?

Ditching Ron and Hermione proved difficult. Both were quite aware of the fact that something was up with their famous friend, and that their famous friend was likely to be up to something, so they stuck to him like glue. He tried and failed to lose them in the crowded common room, and in the Gryffindor mass that made its way back from dinner. Finally, Hermione badgered Harry and Ron until they all ended up in a nearly empty library (it was, after all, only the second day of classes), by which time Harry had pretty much given up hope for the day – even if he did manage to escape his friends, Malfoy was likely to by in the Slytherin commons, and thereby virtually inaccessible

Alas, Fortune was feeling a little guilty about her last bitch-slap, and she took responsibility for presenting Harry with his opportunity: Malfoy walked into the library, quickly deposited two tomes, then headed back out again. The slender boy's entrance and exit were relatively unobtrusive, and Harry only noticed because of the boredom that was threatening to kill him; Hermione was thoroughly absorbed in a scroll she was writing on, while Ron was dozing over his own scroll.

"I'm gonna get a different book," Harry muttered with an intentional lack of enthusiasm, to which Hermione absently voiced a noncommittal grunt.

Harry languidly got up from his seat and disappeared behind a bookshelf before miraculously coming to life; he swiftly sneaked out of the library, using shelves and desks for cover. Once through the library doors, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. With a rush of borderline-panicked adrenaline, Harry dashed down the hallway – surely Malfoy couldn't have gotten too far! – and hurled himself down the staircase. . .

Only to find that he had almost hurled himself right into the very person he was looking for. He stopped so short that he actually stumbled down the last few stairs before gracelessly finding his balance on the landing – none of this accomplished, of course, without a few choice expletives. Harry's face was quite flushed with embarrassment as he forced his eyes up to look at Malfoy, a few steps up with a mouth slightly ajar in surprise, but with the same bitter and hateful scowl that Harry had become accustomed to in only a day.

Still, Malfoy said nothing and, though he managed to close his mouth, his expression remained eerily frozen, as if someone had cast a Petrificus on his crystalline features. He walked as he always had – an elegant movement of long legs, an effortless flow of strong arms, the purposeful sway of his back – except that he walked around Harry, with barely a look of recognition, and certainly without a single word. Now the arrogant ferret was heading down another flight of stairs as if Harry did not exist at all.

Harry knew what Hermione and Ron had told him about this world's "deal", but the idea of Malfoy simply ignoring him was ludicrous. Even when Harry had ignored him, Malfoy had never been able ignore him, probably not even if his life depended on it!

"Malfoy," Harry's voice called out angrily, surprising even himself.

Malfoy froze, hand still draped gracefully upon the banister, before turning around to look at the Gryffindor. It was only then Harry realized that the blond's viscous scowl was actually his normal expression: the vacant facade before him, tinted with calculation and suspicion, was most definitely Malfoy's game face. His eyes alone were almost made him feel like he was being dissected. Merlin, when and where had Malfoy learned to be so intimidating?

"Potter," came the low, icy voice.

Harry forced his faltering engine into action. He narrowed his own eyes and straightened his posture in an attempt to beef up his presence. "We need to have a conversation. Now, and in private."

Malfoy's lip curled a little, and his small nose wrinkled, and Harry watched with no small amount of wonder as the infamous Draco Malfoy actually bit back whatever malicious retort he clearly wanted to express. And then, in the instant it took Harry to notice it, it was gone, replaced again by emptiness. "Okay, Potter. Where do you propose we go to have this little chat of ours?"

Ugh, if decorum could kill. . .

Harry hadn't really thought about where, but since they were on the staircase anyway. . . , and, as it was so early in the school year, there probably wouldn't be that many snoggers up there. . . "The Astronomy tower," Harry answered firmly, pleased with his own quick thinking.

All Malfoy's game face showed was impatience, and he made a clearly irritated, wrist-heavy gesture upward that Harry took to mean that he should lead the way.

Up they walked in silence, Malfoy moving dispassionately while Harry tried hard not to fidget. How was he going to broach the subject with Malfoy? There was no subtle way to get his point across, at least that Harry could see; and even if there was, subtly certainly wasn't his forte. He'd almost rather blurt out his accusation than deal with the aftermath – that he could handle if only because he had been there before, many times.

Malfoy followed Harry into one of four small chambers located in the Astronomy Tower, then drew his own wand when Harry drew his. The two opposite, but equally dangerous youths eyeballed each other warily for a moment before Harry turned to cast a locking charm on the door and a silencing spell on the room. Finally, it was time to face off: wands out, though lowered; legs slightly apart in a defensive stance; muscles tensed and ready; eyes burrowing into each other.

Silence stretched for what felt like minutes, but was actually more like ten seconds.

"I know what you did last night," Harry started. In retrospect, he was proud of how composed he sounded.

Malfoy arched his eyebrow, while forcing his actual eye not to twitch in irritation. "Is that so?"

Harry felt a flare of heated vindication: that asshole actually knew what he was talking about! "Yes! And I'm not going to let you get away with it!"

Malfoy's game face broke into a sneer of pure contempt. "Oh really? And just what are you going to do about it, you stupid fuckwit?"

Harry took a deep breath, allowing the urge to strangle the infuriating blond to pass. "Well, I was hoping to resolve this without involving anyone else, but I will go to Dumbledore if necessary," Harry said, trying to sound as scathing and threatening as possible.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine, you do that."

Then he moved towards the door. And something about the interaction clicked in Harry's mind. "You're toying with me, you don't even know what I'm talking about," Harry accused.

Malfoy whipped around, game face gone and rage clearly displayed on his face. "No, Potter," he ranted poetic. "YOU are the one who is toying ME! We haven't had to exchange a single word in over five years, and now here you are, on the second day of classes, dragging me up to the fucking Astronomy Tower to accuse me of Merlin knows what, when I know perfectly well that there is no way you can incriminate me of anything I did last night!" His countenance changed back abruptly, and his voice lowered so that it became threatening, and almost snake-like. "Besides, you imbecile, I'm certainly clever enough to cover my tracks, if I were to ever indulge in any. . . dodgy activities."

Merlin, Harry really wanted to bitch-slap that rat bastard, but he found his mind working through the haze of his anger. If Malfoy didn't know anything, then he would have to bring the problem to Dumbledore (and it said a lot about Harry's relationship with the latter that he would rather subject himself to this encounter with Malfoy than deal with the Headmaster's infuriating, sugar-coated, two-faced scheming). Still, he hadn't quite given up on Malfoy as a source of information.

"Oh really," Harry retorted, attempting to imitate Malfoy's previous obnoxiousness. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely amazed to discover the degree to which goal-oriented conniving allowed him to ignore his anger. "Well, I know for a fact that you aren't that clever, Malfoy. Because I caught you last night, brewing a potion in the dungeon. Maybe you know of it? It's dark purple, contains Ent Tree's blood? Ring a bell?"

Malfoy was actually aggravated enough to reach up and rub his temples – why couldn't Potter just keep away like he had for so long? "Yes," he snapped. "Quareo Tempus, it's a time-altering. . ." Wait a moment. . .

Suddenly Malfoy's head snapped up and he frowned searchingly at Harry. What did the dark-haired Gryffindor know? How!

Bingo! Harry smirked.

Harry's smirk seemed to convince Malfoy to backpedal, his game face returned, and though evidence of slight anxiety could be detected around the eyes, he delivered his reply with utmost confidence and his own smirk. "It's a highly illegal time-altering potion. Punishable by a one way trip to Azkaban. But I don't see how that affects me. No matter what you think you saw, through your filth-infested spectacles, I didn't brew anything last night, and I do have several alibis to testify, under Veritaserum, to that fact."

It was strange how well Harry felt he could read Malfoy, almost as if his senses were heightened, almost as though an understanding of Malfoy tickled the recesses of his brain. Somehow, he got the definite impression that Malfoy was telling the truth – he undoubtedly knew more than he was voicing, but he wasn't lying about not participating in the event Harry clearly remembered from the night before.

"Well, maybe not in this timeline, but you did last night, in the real timeline, and now everyone is stuck in this weird universe where the seventh year Slytherins are missing and – this I really can't believe – there's actually a truce between you and me! Damn you, Malfoy, how can we have not spoken in two years! We fight all the time! We call each other names, we beat the crap out of each other, then we hex each other just for good measure!" Ugh, yeah, he hadn't meant to get so worked up, but now here he was, hot and slightly red in the face.

It was Malfoy's turn to revel in the power of thinking over emotion as he took a moment to ponder this truly outlandish unfolding of events. It was true that if he had used the potion in question upon himself, he wouldn't remember the previous time line. And, in his darkest hours, he had thought several times of using the Quareo Tempus, he had even memorized the instructions for concoction – but how would Potter know that? Malfoy had never hinted to a soul that he even knew the coveted potion existed, to do so would have certainly brought all sorts of ugliness upon himself, and probably the world at large.

Plus, and this was the clincher, Malfoy knew for certain that he would never have ever picked changed time to . . . this. No matter how unbearable the original timeline, Malfoy was rightfully convinced that he (from whatever timeline) would never willfully subject himself to the grueling horror that was this timeline. No matter what scheme the other Malfoy had devised, he was surely clever enough to set it in motion in a timeline that involved a little less damage and stress to his precious self.

Malfoy turned his attention back to Harry – he could see the hints of a self-satisfied smile around faded lips, and it stoked his ever-present anger back to life. "Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy ground out, words dripping with venom. "You think you know what's going on, but you're bumbling around in the dark worse than Dumbledore. There are a few convincing elements to your ill-conceived fabrication, but you missed one important detail, asshole: no matter who I am in this hypothetical other timeline, I would never – and I do mean never – intentionally place myself in this timeline. Especially not when the potion in questionwould've given me a choice. And this is not to mention the fact that the secrets of the Quareo Tempus have been lost for almost a century."

Malfoy never took his eyes off Harry as he turned slightly and muttered a Finite Incantentem to unlock the door. The wheels in Harry's head spun vigorously, grasping for the words and logic that would defeat Malfoy's objections to his accusation, but he came up empty. He stared so hard at Malfoy's suddenly still back, trying to make out what he was failing to see just by looking at the figure, that he completely failed to anticipate the move when Malfoy whipped about and landed a debilitating roundhouse to Harry's jaw.

Harry fell to his butt with a cry of pain and surprise. That really fucking hurt! He promptly pointed his wand at Malfoy, while clutching his cheek and chin with his other hand. "Whah duh hell wad dah for," Harry yelled angrily, though he immediately felt stupid for asking. Like Malfoy ever needed a reason.

"Didn't want you missing the other me too much."

This time, when Malfoy smirked at him, it wasn't the grimace of hate and rage that Harry had been watching all day; instead, it was a true smile amusement – malicious amusement at the expense of others, true, but it was actually a step up.

Then, with a graceful swirl of his robes, Malfoy disappeared out the door, and Harry was left nursing his stinging jaw. He still couldn't believe it – had the other Malfoy pulled his punches, or was this Malfoy actually significantly stronger? 'Cause fucking OW! That bitch hurt!

The pain faded quickly, though it was obvious that there would be serious bruising and that he wouldn't be able to eat or talk properly for days. Harry eventually picked himself up, cast a glamour charm (the same he used to hide zits) on his face, and headed back to the Gryffindor Tower. It was a rather long walk at his languid pace, giving him plenty of time to stew over the events of the past half hour.

Of course, when he finally reached the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Hermione were there waiting on the couch and looking distinctly displeased. They both stood and walked towards him when he stepped through the portrait door.

"Harry! What happened to you, mate," Ron asked first. Well, maybe Ron wasn't that mad; he looked more interested in the details of the encounter than telling Harry off.

Alas (but of course), Hermione had distinctly different interests. "Harry Potter! Of all the irresponsible – You better not have gotten in a fight with. . . him."

Harry noted that Hermione did not use Malfoy's name; given the number of Gryffindors from various years that were curiously watching them, Harry was actually grateful for her discretion. And he was going to repay her by taking complete advantage, because he really couldn't handle a scene right now. Too much had happened today, he just wanted to be alone to think.

"No," he lied shamelessly. "I didn't get into a fight, just some harmless talking." At this, both Ron and Hermione looked distinctly skeptical, and Harry rushed on before they could interrupt. "You were right, he didn't remember anything about last night, but I was able to pump him for information anyway. I know you don't really believe me, but if you want I'll give you the details tomorrow. Right now, I just want to go bed."

Ron looked a little shocked, while Hermione was definitely on the verge of an angry outburst. Harry bypassed both reactions by quickly moving past his two friends and muttering, "Goodnight."

Hermione didn't say anything, though Harry could imagine her half-mad, half-hurt expression.

"But, Harry. . .," Ron started plaintively.

Jogging up the stairs and into his room, then flopping onto his bed, Harry didn't think he had ever felt so relieved to be alone again. His thoughts were in turmoil, but he decided that that was to be expected. Not everything made sense, but it was obvious that he was missing several vast pieces of the puzzle. Still, tomorrow was another day. He'd talk to Dumbledore and his friends; maybe he could even get Hermione to help him research that – what was it called again? Quaero Tempus, he thought that was it.

Without too much difficulty, he fell into a restful sleep, convinced that everything was going to be alright; after all, tomorrow was going to be a new day.

. . . end . . .

PLEASE REVIEW. Tell me what you think. Is it too wordy? There's a lot of description and explanation in this chapter, I know. I wish I could promise less in the future, but there's going to be a lot more before the story is done.