Draco didn't go to the funeral. Those were for the living.
It wasn't like she would actually be there.
She wasn't here. She was gone.
Draco went to class, though he never set foot in the Great Hall.
He'd see her spot at the Gryffindor table, and she wouldn't be there.
She wouldn't be anywhere. Not anymore. And that was because of him.
He failed. Like he always does.
Longbottom wasn't wrong when he said he was walking quaffle.
Draco got a knock on the door.
It looked like someone got a hold of her will.
The prick shoved a small, rectangular package in his hands and left.
Draco opened it.
As soon as he saw what it was, shock—the first thing he had felt in a week—rocked him and he dropped it.
It was her copy of The Secret Garden.
Something fell out of the book.
Draco reached down to the floor with trembling fingers, terrified of what he would find.
It was small. Square. A fucking picture.
He turned it over, and Draco fell to his knees.
It was them. Little, tiny shits.
Her birthday in his mother's garden.
There they were, happy, smiling, with their arms thrown over one another's shoulders. She'd wanted to talk to McGonagall, who took it.
Something shiny caught Draco's eyes. Oh, Merlin. It was another.
Sobs choked him. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to breathe. Wasn't sure he would care if he did.
It was another one of them, together in bed, taken about a month ago. She was laughing at something he said. He didn't look at the camera. Instead, he stared at her, amused. That was probably the only thing he did right. She leaned over and kissed him.
And that would be the loop that would play for them forever.
Draco's shaking fingers touched the photo, ignoring the drops of water that fell on their faces.
It took several moments for Draco to wipe his eyes. Even longer for him to pick up the book.
He gingerly opened it to the first page, just after the cover. She taped a folded piece of parchment to the inside.
To my dearest Draco,
I never told you how I love the way your eyes shine in the dark, nor the witty comments you make to cover up your softer side. I never told you how much I adore your smile and your incurable sweet tooth. I never told you that I love you most when you are the most relaxed; when your hair is messy and you're in your sweats, in bed, with your reading glasses and a book.
I never told you how much of a difference you made in me when I accidentally apparated into your mother's back yard. It was you who gave me the courage to start talking to people, and that's what led to all my other friendships in life. You see, you were my very first friend. I guess it's not surprising that you were my first, and only, real love.
You have that affect on people, you know, once you let anyone get to know you.
I want you, and only you, to have this. This was the book that started it all, and I wouldn't change a thing. Except possibly your hair gel phase—and I think I would have asked Madam Pomfrey to fix my teeth sooner, too. We were some awkward kids, weren't we?
Granted, even as I write this, I can already hear you denying it with that pout you think looks mean. Just so you know, I'm laughing at you.
One day, when you find a lovely girl and start a family of your own, I hope you'll still hang onto this. Read it to your future children. If there is anything I have found to be true, it is that magic can be found in everything. Don't say it's ridiculous again because you know it to be true, too.
Loving you was the greatest risk I ever took, and I would gladly take it again.
I love you now, I'll love you always, and I'll love you in another life.
Yours,
Mi
Draco felt numb. She'd already broken him—wrecked him beyond all recognition.
He wondered if this is how Severus felt when Potter's mum was killed. If his godfather felt even half the pain he felt now... how did he manage to go on as long as he did? Draco's mind skirted to the coming months—years—and his head fell into his hands. He didn't honestly know how he was going to do it.
He decided right then and there he'd burn his sweats. No witch would ever catch him wearing his glasses again. He'd find a way to repair his eyes so he'd never need them again.
How dare she assume that Draco would ever love another? Have children with another!
Did she really think so little of him, think so little of them to even contemplate that there would ever be another witch that could take her place?
He must have done a better job of convincing her otherwise than he thought.
He didn't tell her he loved her before she died.
FUCK!
Everything in his room exploded around him again.
She always did have a habit of wrecking him in the most loving way possible.
It was cruel.
Draco didn't attend his father's trial. He could rot for all he cared.
He couldn't stand to look at the Prophet, either. Everywhere he looked, he saw her face. She hated that bloody paper, anyway. She would likely throw a fit if she knew.
But she'd never know.
Draco didn't go down to the kitchens, either. He couldn't count the number of times Winky looked up at him with that look of pity. Eventually, he stopped looking her in the eye. It was just a reminder. She loved that elf. And Winky loved her.
Draco started walking a little faster when he was forced to have to walk past the library. He wouldn't dare set foot there. Not in her favorite place, her sanctuary.
Being in this school was turning into another form of Hell.
There wasn't a single spot in the entire castle her presence hadn't touched. Not even the quidditch pitch. The one time he tried to find sanctuary there, he could practically see her there, in the Gryffindor stands, with a book in her lap.
He didn't pick up his guitar again, either.
Draco was going to go mad.
That was why Draco began visiting McGonagall. He knew better than anyone that Granger hardly ever, if ever, set foot here. Merlin forbid she should get called here.
That was why he started talking to Severus' portrait. If anyone would understand, it would be him. Before Draco knew it, he was starting to look like him, too. He hadn't meant to, but his black robes had begun billowing around him. He understood that aggressive walk a lot more now.
Severus told him a truth he'd always carry with him.
"Treasure what you had, Draco," his godfather drawled. "Not all of us... can say... they had that much. I chose not to lay down my foolish, jealous pride and dove into the Dark Arts... and it costed us both. Hold onto the time you did get...and learn to live for her."
People wouldn't be understanding of his grief forever. They would expect him to move on and learn to live again, so the best thing he could do was bury the grief to where no one would see it. Draco was glad for one more thing. His godfather understood the unspoken rule to not say her name. He reciprocated in turn.
He never saw Potter, the Weasel, or Weaselette again for that matter. He didn't mind or care. The whole Gryffindor lot from their school days could disappear. He didn't want to look at them.
It was eventually Astoria who dared to knock on his door.
It was Astoria who weathered his screams.
It was Astoria who stayed until his temper died.
It was Astoria who quietly patted his back when he finally broke down.
And it was Astoria who quietly listened when he told her everything.
"She loved you deeply," the witch whispered, "and I think she knew you loved her, in the end."
"How?" Draco choked.
"As a witch myself, I can tell you when we know, we know. And let me tell you, Draco, you didn't exactly hide it. Not in the end. Even when you were trying to push her away, you still showed her. She wasn't the Brightest Witch for nothing."
Draco sighed. "She was so much more than that."
She gave him a gentle smile. "I know."
Astoria knew not to say her name, too, and for that Draco couldn't be more grateful. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend studying something curiously. He hadn't seen curiosity like that since... "What?"
"Draco," Astoria asked, "what is that? Over in the corner?"
Draco followed her line of sight, and his heart nearly dropped through his stomach. It was the first thing he genuinely felt in months. "That's..." Draco could barely breathe.
He scrambled over to the gold object that he hadn't thought about since that day. His arm shot out and he greedily wrapped his fingers around it. Would he dare use it? Should he use it?
"What is it?" Astoria asked again, her voice shooting up an octave.
Draco's head whipped around toward her, and he whispered, "A modified Time Turner. Mother had given to me... at Christmas... and I forgot all about it..." His gaze snapped back to his one shred of hope. His sights were so fixed on it, that he almost missed it when Astoria's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"How far back can it go?" She whispered.
"Years," Draco breathed.
"You should be careful," Astoria said gently.
That got his attention.
"You think...?"
"Save her," Astoria said, this time with a bit more finality. "But, before you go rushing off into the past, you need to think it through carefully. The smallest detail can drastically alter the present, and then the future."
Draco nodded numbly.
"Draco, I really need you to listen to me. You need to think through everything you are aware of now that led to her death in this timeline. If you aren't careful, you can just change the way she dies, or worse, cause her to die sooner. If you blunder it up, you might even change the outcome of the war."
Draco wearily looked back up at his friend. She was right.
"I think I know what I need to do."
"What are you going to do?"
Draco gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry. I won't fuck it up this time."
Astoria narrowed her eyes at him. A strange warmth filled his chest at the sight. It reminded him of another pair of eyes that looked at him that way. Ones that he couldn't wait to see again.
"See you later—well, sooner, Stori."
Draco draped the chain around his neck. He couldn't go back from here. If he did, he would run straight into one of the Carrows. He closed his eyes, and with a loud crack, he landed straight in his old bedroom back at the Manor.
It was just as he remembered it. His old room had begun as a homage to Slytherin, but the subtle changes over the years showed. The sheets on the four post were still a decadent green, though the Slytherin drapes were long gone. He'd left a few quidditch posters on the walls, though the number had dwindled. His old wardrobe was still intact—perfectly tailored suits lined in rows, all black with white button downs, a few black tees... not much had changed over the years, apparently.
Draco took this as a good opportunity to change. He couldn't be caught wandering around in the past with professor's robes. The younger him would likely have a stroke, for one, and they simply stood out too much.
A few minutes later, the robes were vanished, and he gave himself a quick nod in the mirror. There was only one thing he refused to part with—risk of altering the past somehow or not. A single finger brushed over his cufflinks. Those cufflinks.
Showtime, Draco. Time to break time traveling rule number one: the one about not running into yourself.
He held the modified pendant in his hand. In the center was an hourglass, just like the traditional one, but around the outside were two rings. The inner one, for months, and then the outer one. That was the one he needed. He needed to go back two years. He held it carefully between two fingers and slowly turned it. One click. Two clicks.
The world spun around him in a complete chaotic mess. He watched, wide eyed, as his life turned around him. Finally, the spinning stopped.
Younger Draco openly gaped at him from his lounge chair in the corner. The little prick opened his mouth, ready to start shouting. Fuck. He looked like hell.
Not today, little shit.
Draco immediately stalked across the room and pinned himself against the wall. "Listen to me, you little insignificant git," Draco quietly snarled. It was strange, ripping himself a new one. It was also strangely liberating. He clamped his hand over his younger self's mouth and gave him the sneer he had wished for years that he could. That felt good.
"Reach for your wand and I will rebreak your fingers. If I have to do that, then I'll make it good. I'll break them again for good measure, because if I have to put up with more joint pain than I've already got, then you better believe I'll make it worth it."
Younger Draco's eyes widened. Finally, the little shit gets it.
"That's right, you little snot nosed prick. You're looking at you in a couple of years." Draco took a deep breath through his nose. He needed to steady himself. As much as he would love to beat the shit out of his younger self, this little fuckface needed to be downstairs in a minute. "Here's the deal. You are not going to say a word about this. You're going to occlude, and you are not going to let our dear Auntie Bella know I'm here. In about ten minutes, the crazy bitch is going to go looking for her knife because Potty, the Weasel, and Granger are going to get dragged in through the front door and you're not going to give up Potter. Got it?"
His younger self nodded nervously. Draco grit his teeth. "And if you let Granger suffer, I'll come back here and beat you within an inch of your life. You and I both know you don't really hate her, so do the best you can not to be a dick."
Younger Draco glared at him. It was a strange thing, being glared at by yourself.
"You. Don't." Draco quietly growled. "You hate what she represents. She showed you that we were all wrong when she was eight. She showed you when she found you again on the train in First Year. Remember how embarrassed you were to learn that she was muggle born and already knew more spells than you ever bothered to learn?"
Younger Draco's eyes tightened, and he knew he hit a nerve. "That's right, and she's been showing you since. And we fucking hated it." When his younger self's body sagged, that was when Draco knew his younger self finally believed what was happening.
Draco pushed off him in disgust. "Get it together, you lousy piece of shit. You're about to get a wakeup call."
"What are you going to do?" His younger self sneered. Typical.
"I'm going to prevent our life from turning into worse of a nightmare than it already is." Draco gave his younger self one more glance over. "And fix your hair." With that, he quietly stalked out of the room.
Aunt Bella's favorite knife was exactly where Draco remembered it being. The crazed bitch had her own room down the hall from his parent's room. She had a safe in the wall behind a portrait of—go figure—Salazar Slytherin. Contrary to all reason, that's not where she kept it, but rather the desk she had right underneath it. It lay there, carelessly in the drawer, accessible to literally anyone if they knew where to look.
Draco didn't bother to touch it until he quickly fished a bar of silver out from Bella's safe. From there, he barely held the knife with two fingers while he transfigured the silver into a perfect replica. Once it was complete, he put the copy in the drawer, and then he was gone.
He let the Gringotts goblins take care of the blade. They would know what to do with it. With that taken care of, there was still one more thing Draco needed to do.
Deep under the school, the Mirror of Erised was still hidden. Draco approached it carefully. The last time he looked into this bloody mirror he nearly got lost in it. He took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the possibility that it might not show him the stupid stone.
He was afraid the damned thing would show him this.
All it took was a few seconds of seeing her, alive and fucking smiling up at him with her head on his chest for him to toss the whole damned mirror into the water. The sea urchins could have it. Mother wouldn't be getting her hands on it, at any rate.
One more apparition and one last jump, Malfoy.
Draco took a deep breath to steady himself and looked around. So far, so good. It didn't look like anything had been fucked with. He took one more small step out of the alleyway and found that he had timed it perfectly. Draco briefly locked eyes with his other self. They gave each other a brief nod of understanding before he guided an oblivious Astoria further down the busy street.
Draco's nerves were going haywire as he thought about what he had to do. He knew he needed to do it—but again, he was a selfish bastard. He knew that she was just a few steps away, and Merlin did he ache to see her. His heart was working in overdrive, threatening to override what he knew was safe for her; what was right, even.
What he wanted to do was walk right in there and kiss her.
He also knew she'd slap the shit out of him.
But Merlin... he would be willing to take it, just to see her eyes bright and full of life again.
He was officially mad. And he didn't care.
Draco closed his eyes against the weight on his chest that threatened to drown him. Making sure she stayed alive was more important than anything right now. And right now, at this particular point in time, there were too many odds stacked against them both. He'd already seen it once.
Not again. He would not endure losing her like that again.
When the time was right, and wizarding world politics and corrupt maniacs didn't run their world, he'd try again. He could start with friends—and stay friends for longer this time.
Yeah. He could try to do that. Friends. Being friends with her wasn't what killed her.
That's what he would do. He would walk in there and strike up a friendship—and hope that seeing her with the Weasel didn't break him.
Alright, you great prick. Time to go in there. Whatever you do, don't be too hard on the Girl-Weasel.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a stroke of inspiration.
Draco walked into the Book Nook with a large vanilla cappuccino—topped with cinnamon. He saw her behind the counter as soon as he opened the door. Of course, he did.
Merlin had he missed her.
It had also taken an act of Merlin himself for him to not go running over there like a blundering idiot. Draco had to remind himself that he was the king of putting on an act. He silently stifled a sigh. She hadn't learned to read him yet.
It took him firmly reminding himself that what had been a roller coaster for him hadn't happened for her. Not in this timeline. He forced himself to look bored, ignoring the love of his life and her Girl-Weasel friend gawking at him like he had grown two heads.
He vaguely remembered that the last time this had happened, she was pissed over making the paper simply because she had agreed to go back to school. Draco forced himself not to swallow. Right now, she's also Granger. Not Hermione, not Mi.
His heart disagreed.
Instead of going straight to the counter, like he really wanted, he allowed himself to browse through her shelves. This time, Astoria wouldn't be waiting for him. She was with... well... him. Probably heading down to Madam Puttifoot's. As much as he hated that place, she loved it.
Mi never once asked to go there. He allowed himself a quiet snort behind a shelf. She wasn't the type. She probably hated that place as much as he did.
Draco's ears perked up at the sound of their quiet whispers. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sound of being able to hear her speak again. It was already more than he'd hoped for.
Thank you, Stori.
Draco found it. As she once said, Bingo. Whatever that meant. He slipped the copy of An Alchemist's Advanced Guide to Healing Magics and Potions off the shelf, fondly remembering all the nights he combed through this book, though for an entirely different purpose then. This time, he needed to keep a promise. There was a particular witch who had demanded he open an apothecary.
He couldn't miss the flaming red hair in the corner of his eye if he tried. He slightly angled his body toward her, hiding his amusement, and opted to raise his eyebrows instead.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"
Okay, he could allow himself some amusement.
"Shopping, Weaselette." He held the book for her to make his point.
The redhead blinked a few times, face blank, as though she couldn't understand basic English. He snorted and tried to politely get around her. He really had been a right terror, hadn't he?
He could make up for that now. Starting with the particular brunette he literally jumped across time for. It had all been worth it—every last bit of it—to see her bright chocolate eyes blinking at him and the warmth in her cheeks.
Wait. What?
He nearly faltered... stuttered on the spot... when he saw what was around her neck.
A silver dragon holding a sapphire.
How the fuck? What...WHAT?
Draco swallowed.
Keep it together, Malfoy.
Draco worked to keep his shock off his face.
"It figures that I would find you in a bookstore, Granger."
She blinked at him. Silently. Just fucking staring at him.
He couldn't get lost in those eyes. He couldn't do it. Not now.
Breathe, Malfoy.
Finally, she remembers the paper in front of her, coffee stains and all, and moves to shove it under the counter.
Showtime.
Draco sat his coffee on the counter and pulled out his wand. Both women went to open their mouths to say something, but Draco only had eyes for one. "You look like you could use one. Apparently, you can't even go back to school without making the front page." One coffee turned into two, and before Draco could do something stupid—like try to physically put the thing in her hand—he just pushed it in her direction.
Hermione eyed it warily. Draco sighed. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering."
She reached for it, still eyeing him with a guarded expression, though it slightly softened. Success. "Thank you."
Draco nodded, keeping his mask of indifference in place.
Although her wide-eyed look of shock after she took a sip almost ruined it completely.
"How did you know...?"
Against every impulse, Draco arched a brow. "Know what?"
"This is my favorite."
He shrugged. "I didn't. I had one, you spilled yours all over the counter."
Hermione sat the mug on the counter, and when she looked back up, her expression changed into that 'people' mask that he remembered seeing all over the papers in the original timeline. It used to annoy the shit out of him.
"So, what brings you in here, Malfoy?"
This time, he decided to take a different approach. Draco sat the book and his own mug down and leaned across the space. "Two things."
He couldn't miss the redhead glancing back and forth between him and her friend. With that being said, watching his favorite pair of eyes widen and his most treasured set of lips slightly part stirred him in ways he knew would be harder to suppress as time went on.
"One, I clearly need to purchase a book." He slid the book toward her. It was probably best to put something between them. "Two, I came here to tell you something."
"What?"
"Don't go back to school."
Just like he knew she would, she straightened her spine, and there was that high, defiant jut of her chin he never thought he'd see again.
"Excuse—"
"Hear me out," Draco said, fighting the smile that threatened to overtake him. If he wasn't careful, he'd look insane. "Someone once told me that given how quickly a life can be snuffed out, it should be a crime to waste it."
Once more, there was that quiet, calculating look he knew. Slowly, her head did that slight little tilt she was never fully aware of. "What are you saying?"
"Think about it. If you were to write up your bucket list right now, would your N.E.W.T.s honestly make it in the top ten?"
Merlin. He just made her jaw fall open.
"You know what a bucket list is?"
Damn. She caught that. But of course, she did. She always did.
Draco shrugged. "It's been a long two years. Answer the question, Granger. Would it?"
He watched her with all the indifference he could find it in him to show.
"Honestly?"
"Please."
"Well... no."
Draco smirked at Weaselette's audible gasp and dropped a few galleons on the counter before he got tempted to stay any longer. He had already worn out his reasonable time block and he knew it. There was still a long way to go before he could do that.
"Think about it, Granger," Draco said quietly. "If you can take down the Dark Lord while keeping Potty and the Weasel alive, you can break a few molds for yourself. Who knows? Maybe you'll even be Minister one day."
He turned, smirking to himself, as he knew Mi and Weaselette were openly gaping at him. With his hand on the door, he turned back for one last look at her. "And no, Granger, I'm not Polyjuiced. I met you on your eighth birthday."
He leaned against the wall outside the shop, openly laughing when he heard, "WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?" Draco really was a selfish bastard, and he wasn't the least bit sorry about it.
Seventeen years later, there was a moment when gray eyes locked onto brown ones across the way on Platform 9 3/4. The Minister of Magic broke out into a bright, angelic smile that still got to him after all these years.
"Dad, is that the Minister of Magic? What is she doing here, and why does it look like she knows you?"
Draco tore his eyes away from her and turned back to his son. "Yes, it is, Scorp, and I think you have a lot of questions."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the Weasel giving his wife a kiss to her temple as they ushered their daughter on the train. Draco took Stori by the hand, brushing his thumb over her wedding band. "You might want to be careful. At this rate, the Sorting Hat might put you in Gryffindor."
Scorpius' little head slightly tilted to the side curiously and watched his father with eyes that matched his own. "Is that a bad thing?" Draco slowly shook his head with wry humor. Sometimes that kid killed him, and he was completely unaware.
This time it was the boy's mother who spoke. "Don't you worry about a thing," Astoria said gently. "We will still support you, no matter what house you get put in." She squeezed her husband's hand firmly. A warning. "Won't we, Draco?"
Draco couldn't help himself. "Of course." He glanced back over at his wife, who seemed pacified, so the moment she let go of his hand, he leaned down to meet his only child at eye level. "But let me tell you a secret. Once you get roped in with that lot, you'll quickly find out that they're always up to something—ow, Stori!" He was rubbing his arm when he looked up to find Hermione smacking the shit out of the Weasel, and he grinned.
"Did you get roped in with a Gryffindor, Dad?"
"Yeah, son. A long time ago."
