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Chapter 10: Days Four and Five: A Whole New World
"Anticipare ab Deducere?" Harry reiterated, his tongue and lips trying out the words. His mind repeated them several more times, determined to score them in his memory.
Malfoy pulled away again and stepped back about a meter to begin to meticulously fix his hair. "Yes," he answered absently. "It was one of the solutions my great uncle Satanus Malfoy proposed, in his crazed prose and nearly illegible handwriting, before he was found comatose in his study. It is a potion that will transplant the drinker's consciousness into his or her body at some desired point in the past. . . I suppose if one knew the future, it would also be possible to transplant one's consciousness there. Feed it to the person who took the Quareo Tempus potion, then he'll be able to control movement through the realms, at least until it wears off."
Malfoy had finished messing with his hair, and was strutting towards the door to pick up his wand. Did that boy never stop moving around?
"Wait!" Harry started towards Malfoy's retreating form: he was just beginning to get somewhere, and he certainly didn't want to lose his source of information so soon. Malfoy turned around deliberately, and Harry got the distinct impression that Malfoy wouldn't be providing any more information without a good deal more persuasion. It's a time altering potion, isn't it? As in, highly illegal and very difficult to brew?"
Malfoy nodded, looking completely unconcerned, though some other fancy seemed to have touched his imagination and inspired a gleam of interest in his storm-colored eyes. The powerful memory of his recent ravishing flashed through Harry's mind, but he barreled on, "Then where am I supposed to find the complete instructions for such an illegal potion? And how am I supposed to brew it in the one day I have before being whisked away to another world?"
How was Malfoy supposed to know the answer to that last question, Harry's sarcastic inner voice commented. And yet, Malfoy gave no indication of not knowing the answer; indeed, he gave no indication of having heard either of Harry's questions, though surely he must have. "Tell me, Potter. What am I like in your timeline?"
Harry was a little thrown by the rather incongruous topic. "Hunh? What do you mean?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, his fingers fidgeting with his wand. "I mean, am I like I am now? Am I completely different?"
Okay, he could answer these without too much difficulty. His thoughts flickered back to the Draco Malfoy that he known for the last five years. Well, known might be a generous interpretation of his understanding of the blond. "I don't know you that well. You're good at Quidditch, really good actually, though I still always win. You hate that, I know. In fact, I'm pretty sure you hate me too, and all my friends. You're always horrible towards us, calling Hermione a mudblood, calling Ron Weasel, saying really awful things to me about my parents. We get in fights a lot, and quite a few detentions together. But the Slytherins adore you. Even the seventh years. You're their undisputed leader, I think. You're always talking about your father, how great he is. Everyone thinks you're going to be a Death Eater just like him."
Malfoy's expression clearly revealed how pissed off he was. "It's an act, to protect me," he ground out forcefully. "Like the way I am here. It has to be. I would never be like my father. He's, he's. . . you wouldn't understand."
Merlin, the other boy was so upset off that he was actually shaking; he had stopped talking and was studying the ground near his shuffling foot. Without giving it any thought, Harry stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Malfoy's upper arm. He felt an inexplicable connection with the Slythern – not one born of some freakish potion, but one born of empathy, of also haven been abused by the ones that were supposed to love you. "I understand, kinda. My. . . After Voldemort killed my parents, I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. I was. . . like, their servant, their house-elf. I had to do all the chores, and they were always yelling at me and telling me what scum I was. They dressed me in rags and forced me to live in a cupboard. I never even believed in magic until my Hogwarts letter came."
Malfoy still didn't look up, though his limbs had stilled. There was a heavy silence before Malfoy quietly asked, "Did they. . . hurt you?"
Harry wanted to Petrify his emotions, confused as they were with input from every direction: long-held and deep-seated hostility, a piercing and empathetic sympathy, and an unidentifiable twist of feeling rooted in attraction and lust and. . . life. "No," he said hoarsely. "My cousin would get in a few punches sometimes, but he was so fat that he couldn't usually catch me."
Malfoy looked up at that and offered a weak smile. Harry knew the answer, but he asked anyway. He wanted to hear it for himself, and he couldn't help but feel that Malfoy wanted – or maybe just needed – to say something. "What about you? Did your father. . . hurt you?"
Neither boy could've broken the eye contact, even if they had wanted to; and despite the unthinkable activity they had engaged in just a half hour ago, this was by far the most intimate moment Harry had ever shared with the Malfoy heir. Finally, Malfoy nodded slightly. "I used to be. . . well, jealous of you. V-Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby, and instead he ended up practically dead. I used to wish – I still wish – that I had that power. That anyone who tried to hurt me would find. . . their efforts revisited upon themselves instead."
Harry nodded in understanding: vengeance wasn't solely a Malfoy prerogative. How often had he wished to inflict his revenge upon the Dursleys? Upon Bellatrix? And as for Voldemort. . . sometimes he wanted to torture that bastard into oblivion, then resurrect him just so that he crush him again.
Harry moved forward and tried to hug the wretched boy before him, but Malfoy gently pushed him away and moved again towards the door. "I've already missed double History, Potter, I'm not going to miss Ad Potions too."
Harry was again surprised and somewhat impressed with Malfoy's ability to move from one emotional state to another. Still, there was one last bit of information he need. . .
"Wait. What about this potion? How do I make some?"
Malfoy muttered an unlocking spell before turning back to Harry, a smirk on his face. And yet, it was betrayed an underlying friendliness. "It was you who took the Quareo Tempus, wasn't it?"
"No," Harry answered bluntly, a little anxiously.
Malfoy's lush lips sobered a little. "Then it was me." Malfoy pondered that for a long second before reaching for the doorknob. "Don't give up, Potter. Ask me tomorrow."
Then he swung open the door and marched out as if he owned the entire building and there was nothing unusual about screwing and talking to one's supposed enemy from an alternate timeline. Harry was left emotionally exhausted and he slumped to the floor to play dead for a few minutes.
! BREAK !
A few minutes turned into a few hours, and Harry was woken suddenly by the sound of a sharp rapping. He sat up quickly, disorientation rapidly melting into a disconcerting flood of memory. His first coherent thought was, I can't believe I just lost my virginity to Draco bloody Malfoy. This disturbing realization was accompanied by an equally disturbing rush of pleasure and affection, before a second loud rapping brought his attention back to what had woken him up – a school owl pecking purposely at the window of this chilly room.
He stood, a little surprised to recognize the healthy sensation of overworked muscles in his thighs and abdomen. He made his way to the window, opened it, and untied the scroll from the bland owl's leg –
Detention, this evening at seven, for failure to appear to Advanced Potions.
That was all it said, and Harry rolled his eyes. Almost immediately, his stomach rolled in corresponding hunger. He glanced at his watch – it was lunch time, and he famished, but he had to get to the library to research this Anticipare ab Deducere potion, before school discipline forced him into inaction.
He ran out of the abandoned room, down the corridor, a right, then up several flights of stairs, a left, down another corridor, then slowed to a jog as he finally reached the library.
He stayed in the library for hours, uninterrupted as he skipped class after class in search of yet another time altering potion. He found plenty of references to it, and descriptions of its effects, and even accounts from those who had illegally taken it, but no instructions on how to brew it. He gathered from several allusions that it was related to a psychotropic potions designed to allow the severely scarred to revisit their past, but he found pragmatic information to be relentlessly lacking.
The only class he actually made it to was Advanced Care of Magical Creatures, the last class of the day, during which Ron continuously prodded him for what had transpired during all the classes he had missed, and Hermione had satisfied her concern and curiosity by casting him worried and weighted looks.
After ACoMC a famished Harry hurried to dinner, indicating that he had too much to think about to discuss matters with his two best friends. True to form, his friends persisted in their interrogation until he snapped at them and told them to "shove off and leave him alone." Both Ron and Hermione were noticeably put off by his dismissal and left him even more despondent when they obeyed his wishes and let him be.
He was so fucking frustrated! It had been four days since the beginning of these trials, and he was still so fucking confused! He still didn't know what he felt towards Malfoy, though he was under the obvious impression that his confusion was beginning to lean towards being in favor of the Slytherin menace. From what emotions he could discern, he felt empathy, sympathy, lust, admiration, a desire to help; aggravation, irritation, desperation. . . where had the anger gone? Was it no longer deserved? Did what he learn about Malfoy over the last few days truly apply to his Malfoy, the one he had hated for so many years now?
He couldn't say.
So he went to detention with Snape, which was the total horror that he'd predicted, hand scrubbing the day's potions mishaps under the potion master's intense and inhospitable gaze.
For days now the confusion had been so constant that Harry fell asleep that night feeling almost accustomed to the new pattern of events. After all, tomorrow was going to be a new day.
! BREAK !
Harry's eyes fluttered irritably awake, greeted by near total darkness, his heart racing oddly. His body sat up tiredly, but his mind was already dashing away at the speed of thought: Malfoy, bomb, sex, Malfoy, Quareo Tempus, Anticipare ab Deducere, Malfoy, potions, Voldemort, sex with Malfoy, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Malfoy!
Harry stumbled out of bed loudly, then suddenly sucked in and held his breath to determine if anyone else was awake. After a silent moment decorated by light, even snores, he grappled for his glasses to glance at the snitch-shaped clock by his bead – 1:52 AM.
Ugh. Day Five, beginning at an ungodly hour.
By all of Merlin's logic, he should be asleep, but he could tellthat wherever Malfoy was at the moement, he was WIDE AWAKE. Harry couldn't place the exact nature of the adrenaline rush: he was anxious, but it was an indeterminate kind of anxiousness, the kind that made you jittery, and drove you blindly without any direction. He could try to go back to sleep and deal with this day's insanity at a more reasonable hour, but the fantastic magic that was forcing Harry to vicariously experience Malfoy's emotions was forcing Harry's blood to pulse to the foreign rhythm of his so-called nemesis.
Yes, his so-called nemesis was most certainly hopping with energy and activity; and wherever he was doing it, it was some place far away, most definitely not in Hogwarts. Harry gave into the urgency of the moment and began dressing quickly, grabbing his invisibility cloak, then stopping momentarily to scribble a guilt-inspired note to his roommates.
Ron, mates: Don't worry about me, and don't call the watchdogs. I've gone on an important adventure. Don't worry, nothing to do with Voldemort. Will be back before dinner. Harry
Looking at his note, Harry couldn't help but feel like a total idiot. What was he doing? Running off after an altered Draco Malfoy in the middle of the night, into a situation he couldn't possibly predict? Who knows what he was getting himself into? Guilt and indecision flared up. Should he recruit reinforcements? Did he really want to involve anyone else in something that might turn dangerous?
Irritated by his inability to make a decision with confidence, he jumped on what was quickly becoming Old Reliable – there would be no long term consequences beyond this day, and so no permanent harm could be done by bringing some backup. Right?
So he knelt over Ron's bed and roughly shook his shoulder. The redhead moaned slightly and tried to turn away, but Harry didn't give up and he was soon rewarded by a sleepy, "Hunh? Whassup 'arry?"
"I've gotta do something important," Harry whispered. "Save the world and all that. I was hoping you'd come with me."
"Whah. . . ?" Ron sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What's going on? Did you have a nightmare? Was it. . . You-Know-Who?"
Ron could just make out Harry's shaking head. "No, it's nothing that dangerous. But it's really important, and I'd feel better if you were with me. Can I explain it to you on the road?"
Ron gave him one last puzzled, long-suffering look before nodding and getting out of bed. Harry's sense of guilt increased, settling sickeningly in his throbbing heart. He didn't deserve such trust, such loyalty, not after his brash actions had unwittingly led to Cedric's and Sirius' deaths.
Ron dressed even more quickly than Harry had, and they were soon heading down the stairs from the boys' rooms, through the Gryffindor common room. . .
"Shouldn't we get Hermione?" Ron asked, anxiously looking in the direction of the girls' dorms.
Hermione would have been a welcome addition to their party, of course, except for one critical problem – the staircase would transform into a slide if either boy tried to make it to her dorm room. So Harry shook his head. "There's no way to wake her up without waking up the whole house. I left a note upstairs that says we haven't been kidnapped or anything."
"Right." Ron sounded a little unsure, but he followed anyway.
. . . past the Fat Lady's sleeping portrait, down several more cases or stairs, through a certain dark passageway that led to the Whomping Willow (thankfully asleep). . .
Harry began running until he was well past the outskirts of Hogwarts, nearing Hogsmead, with Ron's comforting presence running alongside. He was purposely not indulging the various intriguing thoughts that insinuated themselves into his conscious mind, for they would only distract him from the mission that he had firmly latched himself to – to find Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy was most certainly not in the direction he was headed.
He stopped abruptly and looked around. Ron took the opportunity to breathlessly ask, "What's this about, Harry? What are we doing out here in the middle of the bloody night?"
Harry slowly spun around in the field he was crossing, trying to get a fix on the direction that the yet unexplained connection was pulling him. . .
"Tell me," Harry began with artificial nonchalance. "Where do you think Draco Malfoy is tonight?"
Ron looked completely thrown by the question. "Draco. . . Malfoy? Who's tha– wait. Draco Malfoy, right, isn't that the name of Lucius Malfoy's son? The one that disappeared? Where is he tonight? How'm I supposed to know! Probably dead! Even if he did run away, I can't see his father standing for that." Ron's bewilderment was beginning to be replaced by mild anger. "Okay, Harry, now I'm really confused. Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"
That way. Harry's poor sense of direction suggested that it was south, but before he could apparate, he needed to explain matters. "Here's the thing Ron. It's a really long story, and my involvement is more complicated than anything either of us wants to get into right now. But the skinny of it is that Draco Malfoy has somehow managed to concoct a supposedly impossible potion that has changed time – less for us, and most for him. But there have been several unacceptable affects, and while Snape and Dumbledore have provided some assistance, I am in a unique position to fix matters. And to do this I need to hunt down Draco Malfoy and convince him of the error of his ways."
Wow. His explanations were certainly clearer and more concise the more times he had to practice, though phrased that way it did seem like an impossible task. Ron was looking at him with an expression of gentle shock (he'd be a lot more outraged if only he knew how problematic it would be to persuade Draco Malfoy of anything), but he was able to swallow Harry's story with surprising ease. "Are you sure about this? And Dumbledore sent you on this mission."
Harry nodded – Dumbledore had sent him, after a fashion. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to. I know it all sounds barmy and hair-brained, but believe it or not I actually think I know what I'm doing this time around."
Ron smiled. "Naw, mate. And let you have all the excitement? I wouldn't miss the opportunity to meet the Malfoy runaway for all the world! Besides, however barmy this all turns out, I'm sure it won't be half as nutters as some of the shite we've seen."
Harry returned the smile, then, with a minimum of thought, he wrapped his invisibility cloak around Ron and himself and disapparated as far south as he felt he could without splinching them. They stumbled over each other and almost fell to the ground with the force of the disorientation upon apparation. Harry managed to right himself pretty quickly, and looked around to notice that they had landed on a farm, directly on top of some unidentifiable produce. He slowly completed a 360 degree turn, meticulously focusing again on the direction of the interpersonal pull. . . still south.
And so they apparated several times more, Ron holding on for dear life as each time they found find themselves closer and closer to some ill-defined mark, until they were in an urban muggle area of some familiarity. It was muggle London, Tottenham Court Road, somewhere near Oxford Street. The sky was gray, the way it is in London. It should have been as dark as space, but Europe's worst case of light pollution has left the whole city with a perpetual case of grayness, be it night or day – it barely matters, as sun light or electric light constantly reflect off the cloud layer either way. Drunks of every age, race, and orientation were stumbling up and down Tottenham Court Road as Harry and Ron instinctively made his way south. It was the whole world's party animals, unwittingly gathered in one city at 2:30 AM.
Wherever Malfoy was, it was very close, and Harry didn't even bother to apparate underneath his invisibility cloak.
"How are you doing this?" Ron asked in amazement. "You're tracking him, I mean Draco Malfoy, right? But how?"
Harry really didn't want to get into the intricate details, especially considering that he didn't understand the details of the connection himself – something to do, no doubt, with getting caught up in a potion calibrated for someone else. "I don't really know. It's kind of like a tracking spell," Harry explained vaguely. "I can tell his direction and vague proximity, but it works more of intuition than any really information about him. Hence the traipsing across the brilliant English countryside. Sorry about that."
"Nah. It was kinda nice," Ron replied off-handedly.
Two blocks south and one block west, and they were standing before a club in which Harry was pretty certain they would find Malfoy. There were men at the door checking an invitation list, but muggle bouncers couldn't stop what they couldn't see and Harry and Ron slipped easily by, though a couple of people looked awkwardly at the air that had just bumped into them. . . .
Harry had never before been inside a muggle club, and yet there he was, surrounded by so many bustling muggles. He jostled Ron to an inconspicuous corner to shed his cloak, realizing that they would be more invisible amongst the muggle masses than as a large, tangible obstruction amongst the moving throngs.
He wasn't drunk, but it was impossible not to feel so amongst the jumping, dancing, yelling, singing, and thoroughly intoxicated muggle crowds. . . There was a band playing loud music, and the air was pungent with sweaty heat and cigarette smoke. He was so close to Malfoy; he couldn't see him, but the vicarious high had reached such intensity that Harry's mind was swirling on what bordered on excited incoherence; Malfoy was somewhere nearby, having the time of his life. . .
Ron was sticking out like a sore thumb, but in London, where anything goes, well, anything goes, including gawping, strangely dressed redheads. Instinctually, Harry wanted to take up residence at the bar, before realizing that he hadn't any pounds; instead he settled for scanning the crowd, desperately hoping that identifying Malfoy would be as easy as following his intoxicated signature. . . But the whole club felt like Malfoy, overwhelmingly so: it felt like excitement, and energy and mystery and danger and depth and everything. . . it felt like being drunk and hyperaware at the same time.
"Do you know what this bloke looks like?" Ron asked loudly over the noise. Harry never got to answer before the attention of the entire club was drawn to the stage as the band finished its last song and a booming voice rang out over the din.
"WE ARE PROUD TO PRESENT OUR SPONSOR, OUR CLOSE FRIEND, THE MAN WHOSE VICTORY WE ARE CELEBRATING TONIGHT! . . . OUR GUEST OF HONOR, DRAGON MATHERS!"
Harry's attention was immediately pinned to the stage, where a muggle band was stationed, awaiting. . . Draco Malfoy.
! END OF CHAPTER !
PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks for baring with me for so long. The next two chapters should be the height of this freakfest, before it is time to bring the story back around.
