Notes: Song lyrics, chapter title, from "Rushing Back" by flume. Thanks to me beta, dreamsofdramione. Written for Dramione RomCom 2020 Fest.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I write for fun.
I always let the days slip away, I should have been making up my mind
I never opened up, took it all in and now I'm running out of time
Sometimes I dream about going back, keeping all the things I left behind
But now I know you can't change the past, way too young to know the reason why
04.26.94
Draco had forgotten just how hard Hermione had hit him. He felt the stinging pain and gritted his teeth, turning back to see her winding up for another swing.
Potter and Weasley grabbed her though, pulling her away as she glared at him with hatred in her eyes.
Then she pulled out her wand, and Draco stepped back. He knew she wouldn't hex him, but the sight of a very angry Hermione Granger brandishing a wand was enough to make anybody nervous.
"C'mon." he muttered to his friends, and they headed into the passageway to the dungeons. Once they were out of sight of the entrance hall, Draco stopped. Now that the surprise of being physically assaulted had passed, he needed to stop and get his bearings.
"You okay, Draco?"
He jumped, startled, to find Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle watching him anxiously.
What the—
"I'm fine." He touched his cheek and tried hard not to wince at the pain. "Granger is a lightweight."
Vince clenched his fists. "You want us to go after them?"
"What?" Draco blanched. "Er, no. No, I... I think I'm going to go to the library."
"Are you sure? We could try to find that Great Oaf Hagrid, see if we can hear him sobbing again. Can you imagine, crying over his stupid hippogriff?"
Draco's mind spun. Hippogriff? What on Earth was going on? Why was he at Hogwarts? How was Vince alive? It was just like... Third year!
Without regard for his friends, Draco frantically pulled up the left arm of his robes and gasped. His arm was unblemished, pale and clear; he nearly collapsed with a strange sense of relief.
Of course, he still remembered everything—third year and beyond, being Marked by the Dark Lord, the war, his stint in Azkaban, marrying Astoria, Scorpius's birth. He remembered watching his son grow, teaching him to ride a broom, taking him to school for the first time, every birthday. And, with a scowl, he remembered what had immediately preceded being slapped by Hermione: Astoria's infidelity, Theo stealing his company, and passing out in a strange room somewhere in Diagon Alley.
Yet here he was, completely sober, in his thirteen-year-old body, every detail correct right down to his Mark-free arm.
What the bloody fuck was going on?
"Draco?" Greg was giving him a strange look. "You aren't going to let that jumped up little Mudblood ruin our fun, are you?"
Draco had to stop himself from cringing at Greg's use of the slur. He hadn't heard or spoken it in years. It felt strangely wrong now. Of course, at thirteen, he had said it as casually as any other word.
He needed to pretend everything was fine. "We'll do it later. I remembered something I forgot to do. I'll catch you two later."
Greg and Vince exchanged a look, then shrugged. "See you, then." They turned and continued down the passageway.
Draco headed back out toward the entrance hall, then realized he needed at least a school book or parchment so that he wouldn't raise suspicion. He caught up with Greg and Vince, glad he had because he didn't remember the password for their common room. He mumbled something about forgetting a book, ran to his room, grabbed a few things, and hurried back out. As he walked, he decided he needed to speak to Hermione. Yes, she'd just slapped him, but she was reasonable. In third year, she'd been excessively swotty, he only had to tell her that something had happened and he'd traveled back in time. Surely she would be able to set aside her wrath and help him. At least, he sure hoped so.
If there was anything he knew about Hermione Granger in school, it was that, sooner or later, she'd wind up in the library, so that's where he needed to go. Maybe it was because he had seen her first upon arriving here, but for some reason he felt certain that she would help. He had to figure out why he'd moved through time and how he could return. As much as he had liked his early school years, he wasn't anxious to relive them.
Draco took a seat near the door so he wouldn't miss her coming. He even stayed through dinner, despite being hungry, on the off chance she might arrive then. Plus, he wasn't keen on having to interact with his classmates. He didn't want to behave like his thirteen-year-old self had, but he knew he'd get a lot of funny looks and questions if he suddenly acted wildly different.
And, upon consideration of it, his behavior would be drastically different.
Plus, he had no idea what was going on. Had he truly traveled through time? Or was this a very bizarre dream? Considering what had happened in that strange room, this could be a spell or potion induced hallucination—although, the Slap had felt very, very real. And time was passing normally; his boredom would attest to that. He'd taken to writing down everything he could remember about third year, just in case it might prove helpful. But then he'd remembered that, if he had truly traveled through time, he couldn't risk changing anything.
Finally, not long after dinner ended, Hermione arrived in the library. Draco let out a breath of relief and waited until she had settled herself, spreading her books and notes on the table. He then waited an extra ten minutes before approaching her.
"Hey, Hermione." He slid into a seat across from her, laid his wand on the table between them, then held his hands up in a posture of surrender.
Her head jerked up and surprise registered briefly before a look of abject loathing took its place.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she practically spit at him, and he saw her reach for her wand.
"I'm not here to bother you. I just need your help."
She glared at him, tightening her grip on her wand. "You want my help? Since when? I'm just a filthy Mudblood, remember?"
He winced automatically and her eyes widened. "I know this is going to sound absolutely bat-shit crazy, but I can't think of anyone else to talk to about this. Please, I know I was an arse earlier, and you've no reason to trust me. All I ask is that you'll listen."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why should I?"
"Because the Hermione I know is fair and forgiving."
"You don't know me at all, Malfoy. I've always been beneath your notice."
He sighed and leaned forward, worried about being overheard. The Hermione he knew was also thorough and meticulous. "I... I'm from the future somehow. I don't understand how it happened, but I think you're the best person to help me."
Her expression would have been amusing if he weren't so worried about getting her to listen to him. She seemed torn between disbelief and extreme interest, with a hefty dose of loathing still in the mix.
"From... the future?" She spoke the last word in a whisper.
"Yes. I woke up... Or, rather, come to, right before you slapped me. I have no idea what's going on."
"Why should I believe you?" At least she had relaxed her hold on her wand.
He spread his hands wide. "Besides being unarmed, I'm sure you've noticed some odd behavior from me. I'm completely comfortable with your given name, as I have been calling you by it for years."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you saying we're… friendly? In the... the future?"
He hesitated. He had to be very careful, since anything he said might have unintended and devastating consequences, no matter how harmless a piece of information might seem. But he needed to gain her trust somehow.
"Something like that." He'd thought being vague was the best route, but then she gave him a look of horror.
"We aren't... together?"
Draco's smile dropped. "Oh, Merlin, no. Not at all."
Though of course, there were the distinct sensations of interest he'd been feeling for her lately, but he thought it best not to even hint at such a thing. This Hermione was seventeen years younger than him and currently despised him.
Relief flooded her expression, which quickly morphed into wariness. "So, you've used my name and haven't insulted me. It's only been ten minutes, is that supposed to impress me?" She paused, thoughtful. "Actually, I do believe that's an important detail. You've also not sneered at me, ridiculed me, insulted me, or called me names, and you asked me for help. You've said please, which I don't believe the boy I know has ever even heard before. But there's one test that remains." She glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then, without warning, reached her hand out and wrapped it around his wrist.
Thankfully, it was his right arm or he might have flinched, though not because she'd touched him. The Mark was burned into his left forearm, and he'd always been sensitive about it.
He didn't move, kept his gaze steady on her, until she felt convinced. She released him and sat back. "Fine. I'm listening. What happened, Malfoy From the Future."
He told her just enough to inform her of what had happened while not giving too many details. As he spoke, he noticed her hand sometimes rose to absently finger a chain around her neck.
"And that's when I realized I should speak to you. So I've been in here ever since. Waiting."
Hermione was biting her lip, her brow furrowed. She peered at him for a long while without speaking, then finally sighed. "Well, you're in luck. I happen to be doing quite a lot of reading on time travel this year, so I've a stack of books for you." She slid one of the stacks on her table over to him. "There's all sorts there. Potions, spells, dreams, physical transport—hopefully you'll find whatever you need."
He smiled at her, and she gasped at him. Oh right, he'd never smiled at her before. "Thank you, Hermione. I really appreciate this." He pulled the books over and started to go through the stack.
"Are you... planning to stay here to read?" she asked, incredulous.
"Unless you'd like me to move."
Hermione frowned. "Someone might see, though."
"I don't care if you don't," he said breezily, opening the first book to the table of contents.
After a few minutes, she huffed and put her quill down. "Why me, though? Surely any of the teachers would believe you. McGonagall or Dumbledore—"
He vigorously shook his head. "They might tell my father. And I need to keep the timeline intact, just in case this is real."
She seemed mollified and went back to her work.
Nobody bothered them, but they were tucked away in a back corner where people generally didn't venture. He read until the library closed, occasionally asking Hermione questions or showing her something interesting he'd found.
As they packed up, Hermione eyed him curiously. "So, what happens tomorrow? It's one thing for you to talk to me in here, but what about in front of your classmates?"
Draco snorted. "Hermione, I'm more than twice their age. I don't care about the things I cared about at thirteen. What can they do to me?"
"They can tell your father," she said quietly.
He froze in the middle of stacking the books on time travel. "Oh. That's... that's true. Excellent point. Of course, I'm not afraid of him. No matter what, though, I won't be a git to you. I'll figure something out, think of some way to make this work."
"Really? You suddenly want to be my friend?"
Draco grinned. "Why not? Although, I've already completed my schooling, so your top place just might become mine."
She gasped, indignation written all over her face. "That's not fair! You're a full-fledged wizard!"
He shrugged. "I didn't ask for this, you know. But I've got to make the best of it."
Hermione pursed her lips and he wondered if she was planning to increase her study schedule to prevent him overtaking her.
They stopped at the place where they needed to go separate ways. "See you tomorrow, Hermione."
"Good night, Malfoy."
Draco chuckled and headed for his common room with the heavy stack of books in his arms. He planned to read them until he fell asleep, then wake up and read every spare second until he sorted out what was going on.
There were a handful of older students in the common room, but Draco paid them no mind. In his room, Theo, Vince, and Greg had their curtains pulled, but Blaise's light was on.
He peered around his curtain and raised an eyebrow at Draco's stack. "Is there an assignment I'm not aware of?"
"No. This isn't for school." He didn't say more, only changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. He drew the curtains and settled in for a long night of reading.
Tomorrow he wanted to have a few theories ready for when he spoke with Hermione again.
The last time he checked his watch, it was after two in the morning, and he felt himself flagging. He yawned a few times, then slowly slumped lower and lower. Finally he got under the covers, a book open beside him. The last thing he remembered was a particularly useless passage on warts that had a bad habit of growing bigger as the sun rose in the sky, then fading to freckles as it set.
04.26.95
When Draco woke, he expected to have a crick in his neck from the way he'd fallen asleep. Sunlight peeped through the windows, and he could hear his roommates moving around, Vince and Theo talking quietly.
Draco sat up and rubbed his neck, looking around for the book he had been reading the night before. The trouble was, the book was nowhere to be seen. In fact, none of the books he'd borrowed from Hermione were visible.
He swept his curtain aside and saw Greg putting on his robes. Only... Greg looked different than the last time he'd seen him. Draco frowned, trying to sort out what it was. Maybe he was... taller? Wider? No matter.
"Greg, mate, where did all my books go?" Draco swung his legs over the side of his bed and pulled on a pair of trousers.
Then he froze; he distinctly remembered putting on pajamas the night before, yet he'd woken up in only a pair of shorts.
Greg looked at him strangely. "Your school books are right where you left them, Draco."
He slipped off his bed, trying to appear nonchalant, and went to his trunk. Inside were only his school books, and he let out a gasp as his gaze fell on The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four.
Draco sat back and stared unseeing at the contents of his trunk. Grade Four?
Had he really woken in his fourth year? Draco checked through all of his books, and sure enough, everything was for fourth year. He even saw the ostentatious black dress robes he'd worn to the Yule Ball.
Hermione.
Draco shot up and threw on the rest of his clothes, pulling his robes on as he ran from the room, heedless of the calls of his friends.
Unfortunately, seeing her alone proved nearly impossible. She was always with her friends, and he had to pretend to participate in castle life. At the very least, he needed to eat, even though it seemed he'd picked up where his fourteen-year-old self was and he wasn't any hungrier than usual. He'd felt pretty hungry as he'd laid in bed reading the day—the year?—before. He couldn't do that again.
Finally, after pretending his way through the day, he made his way to the library. After dinner, he went there and pulled out one of the books he'd been reading before and sat down near the entrance. Hermione came in not long after, but she wasn't alone. Viktor Krum was by her side, and they seemed to be having a pleasant conversation if her expression was anything to go by.
Draco frowned, recalling that she'd gone to the Yule Ball with Krum—and that he'd found her quite pretty that night—but he hadn't known that the two had continued any kind of association. He felt a strange bubbling of jealousy but forced it away. It was stupid; she obviously didn't carry on any kind of long-term relationship with Krum, and he happened to know that Hermione in his future had been single on the day he'd somehow traveled through time. If he could just get back home, he could divorce Astoria and then, after a proper period of time, he could consider pursuing something with Hermione.
Tonight, he would just have to wait Krum out.
After an hour, however, he was beginning to think that Krum would stay as long as Hermione did. With a heavy sigh, he stood and took the book with him so that he could look for them. To his annoyance, he found them in the same spot he and Hermione had occupied the day—year—before. Then he realized it must have been her favorite location in the library and resolved to get hold of his emotions.
As he approached them, however, Krum leaned in and kissed Hermione. Draco saw red. He may have had the mind of a thirty-year-old man, but his body—and all the hormones present therein—were of a fourteen-year-old boy. He reached for his wand and might have hexed the older boy had another student not stepped in front of him, causing Draco to collide with them.
"S-Sorry!" A red-faced Neville Longbottom spluttered in his attempt to get away from Draco as quickly as possible.
Draco shook his head. "It's all right. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Neville blinked at him, then his eyes shifted nervously. "I… what?"
"Never mind. I apologize for running into you." With that, Draco continued on his path toward Hermione.
She and Krum had been interrupted by the commotion of Draco's collision with Neville, however, and they were watching him apprehensively.
Draco reached their table and dropped the heavy book on it with a muffled thud. "Hermione, could I speak with you?"
Her eyes narrowed at him, but when she recognized the book he'd brought, she started in surprise. "I… yes, all right. Viktor, I'll see you tomorrow."
Krum seemed disappointed and gave Draco a dark look, but he left without arguing.
When he was gone, Draco sank into the chair across from Hermione. "Thank you. I've been trying to talk to you all day, but it's been rather hectic."
Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a very stern look. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that for her, he hadn't spoken to her in a very long time. "It's fourth year now. Last night, I took a stack of books to my room and read until I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was fourth year!" He leaned forward so he could speak quieter, his irritation with Krum gone. "It would appear that I jumped forward in time! Have you ever heard of anything like this?"
She bit her lip, indecision warring on her features. Finally, she sighed. "Listen, Malfoy. I don't know what's going on, and I don't know that I can help you. After that night, when we spent all those hours here together, you were… awful to me. I tried to speak to you the next day, and you acted like you had no idea what I was talking about. You ridiculed me, called me Mudblood, and humiliated me in front of everyone. I'm not interested in playing this game with you."
Hermione began gathering her things, and Draco started to panic. "Wait, Hermione, please. Think about it. If I, Draco from the future, skipped a whole bunch of time, then it stands to reason that I—future Draco—only exist in the days when I'm here, and my past self is here for the rest."
She paused. "So then tomorrow, if I tried to speak to you about this conversation—"
"My past self wouldn't remember it because he didn't have it. I did. I am. I will have done." He huffed. "You know what I mean? Look, I'm terribly sorry for the things I said to you as a kid. I was a right arse to you. I've apologized multiple times for everything I did."
"And do I forgive you? In the future, I mean?"
Draco nodded. "As I said yesterday, or uh, last year, the Hermione I know is very fair and forgiving. She listens and… well, she knows my story and understands it."
Hermione harrumphed but stopped packing. She peered at him, and Draco could practically hear her thinking. After a moment, she tapped the table with her quill. "I wonder why you'd skip time. How much time? Do you know?"
"No, I never bothered to look. Before, I thought I was there to stay—in third year. Never dreamed I'd wake up in fourth."
"Hang on a minute." Hermione began digging through her bag, finally pulling out what looked like a planner. Only it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, with colored tabs sticking out in all directions and loose sheets of parchment poking out at odd angles. It was either the most organized planner he'd ever seen or the least. She apparently knew exactly what she was after, however, and began furiously flipping through the pages. "Ah! Here." She showed him the planner, open to a calendar of April 1994, and pointed to April 20th. "This is the date that Buckbeak was sentenced to death." Then she moved her finger to April 26th. "And this is the first time we had Care of Magical Creatures after that. Consequently, this is also the first time we could speak to Hagrid about it." She tapped the little square, in which she had drawn—and then crossed out—a very small, green snake. "This is when I slapped you. And also when you came to me in the library."
Draco nodded. "All right. That's… something, I suppose."
Hermione then turned a few pages until she reached April 1995. Then she pointed to the box containing the number twenty-six. "This is today. It can't be coincidence that both of the days you've spent in the past were April 26th."
"I'm sure you're—Oh, bloody hell." He sat back in his seat, staring at the little box with a twenty-six inside it. "It's the same day in my timeline. The 26th of April." Astoria's birthday.
They looked at each other then. "So then, when you go to sleep tonight, you'll wake up—"
"April the 26th, 1996. Fifth year." He shook his head. "Maybe. I mean, it's hard to draw a definite conclusion based on such little data, but—"
"It's three points. The original date you left, last year, and today. If you wake up on the same date tomorrow, I think that would be huge." She seemed excited, but he supposed it was because they were in the midst of a mystery of sorts and she had just found an important piece.
"I think you're right." He pushed the calendar back to her side of the table and leaned back in his chair. "So, let's say the pattern holds. Will I just be reliving April 26th until I get back to my own time?"
Hermione shook her head. "I have no idea. I've never heard of anything like this."
"So, I just… wait and see?" He felt a bit deflated. If his experience was unique, then there was nothing to go on in terms of figuring out a way home. On the other hand, maybe all he had to do was wait and he'd arrive there. He panicked a bit at the thought that he might just keep going, skip forward in time forever until his body died. He shook his head to dispel the thought; he'd cross that bridge if he came to it.
"I don't know what else you can do. You could always go to Dumbledore—"
"No." He couldn't bear the thought of what was coming. This was the year, just a couple of months from now, that the Dark Lord would return, and his own world would be turned inside out. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to tell her everything that was about to happen, but he knew he couldn't. It was way too risky, and he couldn't take the chance that anything might change. He'd barely made it through alive the first time.
Hermione pursed her lips. "If anybody would believe you, it would be him!"
"I can't risk anything changing, Hermione. It's too precarious a thing."
"All right then." She closed her planner and almost put it in her bag, then thought of something and opened it back to the current month. She drew a small snake on April 26th, then flipped forward, new pages forming as she went. She stopped on April 1996 and drew another small snake on the 26th. Then finally, she returned the planner to her bag. "Come and find me when you arrive next year."
He gave her a wary look. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I'll be expecting you now. I'm sure we'll have loads to discuss. And I'll keep looking for anything I can find about what you're experiencing. It's clear now that you won't have much time to spend on the problem."
Draco shifted awkwardly in his seat. "You really don't need to do that."
"I know." She shrugged. "But I'm curious and want to see if our theory holds true." Neither of them spoke for a long minute. "Well, I suppose there's nothing more to talk about tonight."
"I suppose not."
Hermione didn't make any move to leave, and Draco had nowhere else to go. He needed to think about what his future might be, although there wasn't much point in that. He'd know when he woke up and not any sooner.
"What's the future like?" She blurted it out, then clapped her hands over her mouth. "No, I'm sorry. I don't really want to know, it's just that I can't imagine how you go from… well, who you are at fourteen to…" She waved absently in his direction. "This person you are now. In the future, I mean." She laughed lightly. "It's all so confusing."
"My journey is… a difficult one. And you know I can't tell you anything at all."
Now Hermione began packing her bag. "I know that, really I do. More than most. I spent all of last year taking extra classes by way of a Time Turner."
His jaw dropped. "You did? I wondered how you could be in Arithmancy and Divination at the same time. But I didn't really spend much time thinking about it."
"It was awful, really. I drove myself into the ground by studying too much." She shook her head with a sigh. "But in the end, it served a very good purpose. Harry and I saved Sirius and Buckbeak."
"What!?" he all but shouted. Hermione gave him a scolding look. "What?" he repeated in a whisper. "Buckbeak? The Hippogriff? I thought it was executed!"
"No." Hermione shook her head, her eyes gleaming. "Do you want to hear the story?"
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Absolutely."
04.26.96
The first thing Draco did upon opening his eyes was jump up and check his school books. Sure enough, they now included The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five.
It would appear he'd jumped another year which, in many ways, was a relief. He didn't think he could permanently exist in the past without changing something important, and he knew without a doubt that he'd have made different choices about many things, taking the Mark being a huge one. That would undoubtedly have huge implications for the timeline.
Next on the list was to verify the date. Draco had always kept a careful record of his school assignments, and he had a thin, black leather date book where he scribbled assignments. A quick glance confirmed that the date was, in fact, the 26th of April, 1995.
It was also a relief to have this theory confirmed. Although he certainly didn't remember anything specific happening on this date in his life, at least Hermione knew about it.
He still had no way of knowing if any of it was real. It could be a very elaborate potion-induced dream, though why someone would give it to him was beyond him. For the time being, it would seem that he was destined to live through April 26th every year, though he didn't like to think about what would happen when he caught up with himself.
Draco got back into his bed and pulled his curtains. He needed to think about fifth year so he could get through the day. Naturally, his first wish was to talk to Hermione and tell her their theory was correct, but it simply wasn't possible. It was a Friday, and that meant no classes for the fifth years, but there were plenty of other things going on.
Fifth year had been one Draco had enjoyed immensely, though it had been soured by his father being arrested at the end of the year. Yes, he had been part of the Inquisitorial Squad, but that had mostly been about bossing his fellow students around, docking house points, and generally having the run of the school. Sure, he had enjoyed his position—especially whenever he got to take points from Gryffindors—but he now recognized the harm of everything Umbridge stood for. She had truly wanted absolute power, which was a very dangerous thing, even in the best hands. Umbridge's were most decidedly not. At the time, it had been amusing to hear about Potter's punishment of writing lines in his own blood, but in the years since the Dark Lord's fall, he'd done a complete about-face in his beliefs in such draconian methods.
The irony of his name at the root of the word was not lost on him.
Hermione in fifth year was very involved with the little Defense group Potter had put together. If he remembered a conversation he'd had with her a few years before—Merlin, it was confusing trying to keep it all straight—she had been the one to suggest it. They'd worked together on Defense spells since Umbridge refused to teach them anything. At the time, Draco had been torn between wanting to be seen supporting Umbridge while also not wanting to fail his O.W.L. exams.
It hadn't happened yet at this point, but he'd never forgotten the way Hermione had manipulated Umbridge when she and her friends had been caught in Umbridge's office. At the time, he'd believed her to be weak, crying for Merlin's sake because they'd been found out. Later, when a fuller picture had been revealed to him, he'd been grudgingly impressed—and not for the first time.
Nothing special stood out in his mind about the date, so he dressed and got ready to go up to breakfast. Hermione had said he should find her, but they hadn't discussed when or where—though, considering the previous two years they'd met in the library, that was a pretty safe bet. Still, he didn't want to spend the entire day cooped up inside with nothing to do but wait.
With single-minded determination, Draco headed for the Great Hall. If nothing else, he'd see Hermione at breakfast and maybe get some kind of clue for when she could talk. He'd passed his broom on the way out of his dorm. It was a beautiful day; he decided he'd go flying later.
"Draco!"
He froze, a flood of memories hitting him all at once. When he turned around, Pansy Parkinson, his girlfriend, was hurrying to join him. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled.
Pansy looped her arm through his. "Going to breakfast? I'll join you."
It felt extremely strange to be at Pansy's side. He was so used to seeing her with her husband, Percy Weasley, that his first instinct had been to push her away. But that wouldn't do; he couldn't raise any suspicions that might endanger his past self.
"I'm going flying after breakfast," he told her, abruptly making the decision. It was something that wouldn't arouse suspicion, and he loved doing it. He'd be able to maximize his time away from his friends where he was most likely to slip up and act in a way that didn't fit with who he was at fifteen.
"You said you'd help me with Transfiguration." She pouted and lowered her voice as she leaned close. "We were going to work on Transfiguring my shirt into a handkerchief. While I'm wearing it. Remember?"
"Er, yeah, of course. But not right after breakfast!" He blushed furiously and glanced around, hoping nobody had heard. Merlin, he remembered doing that. And a whole host of other things he desperately wanted to avoid for the day. He didn't see Hermione at the Gryffindor table yet, but he sat where he could watch and wait for her to arrive.
"All right. Later then?" Pansy slid onto the bench beside him, sitting so close their thighs were touching.
Draco shrugged, using the movement to inch away from her a bit. "We'll see. I've remembered something that might keep me in the library most of the night." He was grateful that he was enrolled in a number of classes that Pansy was not.
"You and that library." Pansy rolled her eyes as she buttered a piece of toast. "You're nearly as bad as Granger."
"It's hardly my fault that I want to do well on exams." This was a conversation he'd had multiple times, both with her and his other friends in fifth year. His father, particularly, had demanded that he perform to the highest standard possible. Draco winced at the memory of how his father had reacted upon hearing that Hermione had bested him in almost everything—again. "You know what my father will say if I come home with poor results."
She pursed her lips and said nothing.
Draco made himself a plate, counting the seconds until he could be free of Pansy. He'd just started eating when Hermione arrived, and she looked directly at him. He let the barest hint of a smile curve his lips and she nodded her head once, then broke eye contact.
He felt immensely better.
After breakfast, he shook Pansy off in the common room and ran to his room. His broom was right where he always left it under his bed. Draco grabbed it and hurried out before anyone could stop him.
It was a lovely spring day, sunny yet chilly with just a hint of warmth in the air; it was perfect flying weather. Draco hadn't been on a broom in years—not for fun, at least. He really ought to accept an invitation to play a pick-up game of Quidditch if he ever figured out of this strange time travel adventure he was on.
Flying was the best thing he could have done that morning. He hadn't flown like that—truly flown, just for the sheer pleasure of it—in longer than he could remember. He needed to make it a priority. For all of his father's interference and machinations to secure his spot on the Quidditch team, he truly loved flying.
He spent the entire morning outside and only came in when he absolutely knew lunch was almost finished being served. His first instinct was to shower off, but then he thought if he stayed nasty, pansy might give him some space.
It worked.
She patted the seat beside her when he entered the hall. He sat down, broom in hand, and grinned.
She leaned over to kiss him, but he turned so that she only got his cheek. Her nose crinkled when she pulled away. "Ew! Since when do you come to meals sweaty and smelly?"
Draco shrugged and started piling food onto his plate. "Lost track of time. Really hungry."
A few times during the meal, she seemed to forget that he was gross and moved closer, only to give him a very offended look and scoot away again.
"You'll shower immediately after this, right?"
He frowned, chewing thoughtfully. Naturally he felt disgusting and wanted to get clean but he also wanted to avoid Pansy. Then he thought of the showers by the Pitch. "Yes. Of course. But then I've got some school work to do."
Pansy made a face for a moment, then brightened. "I'll come with you! I've got a little bit of Charms homework to finish. I suppose I should do an assignment every now and then."
Draco groaned inwardly. He remembered what study sessions in the library with Pansy had often turned into. "Fine, but I mean it, Pansy. I've got something big to research, and I can't be messing around." Then he had a brilliant thought. "How about this, tomorrow we'll do everything you wanted to do today, if I can just have the rest of today to focus. If I don't, I'll be forced to keep working tomorrow when I'd much rather spend the whole day with you."
She made another pouting face—she was a master of them—then huffed. "So I won't see you again at all today?"
He sighed dramatically. "I can't really say. This is a big thing I let skip and I need to get it done. It's for Snape. A special Potions project."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "I don't see why he has to give you such difficult projects. Nobody else gets them."
"I think it's part of his effort to help me do better than Granger." Draco shrugged. "Pretty sure my father asked him to do it. Can't stand the thought of me always being second to her."
"She's so pathetic. At least she doesn't bother trying to show off in Potions anymore." Pansy glanced over at the Gryffindor table and Draco followed her gaze. Hermione was in conversation with Weasley. "I wish she'd just... marry that blood traitor loser already and start popping out Weasley spawn. That would shut her right up."
Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. In his present, Pansy was currently pregnant with her third 'Weasley spawn.'
He steered the conversation away from Hermione for the rest of the meal, then bid Pansy goodbye so he could shower. He had the idea to pocket some food for later, as he hoped to avoid coming back for dinner. In the entrance hall, Draco decided to use his dorm bathroom for convenience instead of the Quidditch showers. Once he was clean again, he gathered some books and supplies and made for the door.
Blaise and Theo were playing a game of chess in the common room when he emerged. For an instant, Draco had an overwhelming desire to thrash Theo. He had no idea if he could, as the other boy was slightly bigger than him, but it would feel good no matter what.
"Draco!" Blaise waved him over but didn't take his eyes off the board. "Come join us."
"Can't." He held up the stack in his arms. "Potions assignment."
Theo spun round to look at him curiously. "Oh, you can take a few hours off. It won't hurt."
Why didn't anybody want him to study? Oh, right, because he'd spent almost all of his free time in fifth year studying, and as the year neared its end, they tried to draw him out of his books.
"Sorry, not today. Snape wants this done as soon as possible. It's supposed to help me get an O on my O.W.L."
Blaise frowned. "Why doesn't Snape want to give anybody else extra help?"
"Speak for yourself." Theo captured one of Blaise's pawns with a smile. "I've done three extra essays for him. But then, I asked for extra work."
"You two are taking this much too seriously." Blaise made a face. "As if you'd ever have to actually work a day in your lives. What do you need O.W.L.s for?"
"My father." Draco shrugged as though that was all that needed to be said.
Both Blaise and Theo grimaced.
Blaise waved dismissively, his attention back fully on the game. "Right, then. Maybe we'll see you in June once exams are over."
Draco continued on his way. Thanks to being a Prefect and a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, nobody bothered him.
The library was perfectly quiet, an extreme contrast to the Great Hall, and Draco took a moment to breathe in the silence. First, he checked the table where he usually sat with Hermione, and when he saw she wasn't there, he took one near the door. He didn't really expect her anytime soon, but it was the only way he could think to get away from his classmates—most particularly Pansy.
Draco found a few novels to read, but then realized he could use the time to figure out just what Theo had done to snatch the company from him. He pulled out books on Wizarding Business Law and set to reading.
The afternoon passed quietly and surprisingly quickly. His stomach alerted him that dinner time was upon him, and he fished out the snacks he'd taken earlier: an apple, a roll, and some sausages. It wasn't much, but it would do.
Another hour passed before he started to regret his decision to skip dinner. The light fare he'd brought wasn't enough to satisfy the hunger of a growing young man, something he hadn't considered.
Just when he'd decided to raid the kitchens—an unwanted delay wherein he might miss Hermione—she walked through the door. Their eyes met, and she continued walking toward their usual table.
He smiled slightly to himself at the thought; it was endlessly amusing that he had a 'usual table' with Hermione Granger in the Hogwarts library. As fifteen, he'd have been cursed to within an inch of his life if his father found out.
After waiting ten minutes, he gathered his things and went into the stacks, pretending to look for new books. After wandering for some time, he finally reached their table.
Hermione looked up upon his approach and hastily cast a series of spells designed to keep people away. She smiled tentatively, and he finally felt like he could relax.
"Hey," he said, flopping down across from her.
"It is... you, isn't it?" She eyed him warily.
"Yes, it's me."
Her apprehension disappeared and she pulled a little package from her bag. "I noticed you weren't at dinner, so I brought you some food."
Draco's eyes lit up and he reached for the package. "Merlin, thank you! I was about to go 'discover' the kitchen for the first time." She'd brought him a little plate of roast beef, potatoes, mixed vegetables, and a generous helping of strawberry tart. "This looks incredible."
"Good." Hermione set about unpacking her books. "I take it our theory was correct then?"
"Yes. I went to sleep in fourth year and woke up in fifth. It's awfully bizarre. I can easily observe the changes in myself from year to year. Growing taller, stronger, all that. It's very interesting to see it in others too." Draco started with the tart because that was who he was.
Hermione raised an amused eyebrow but didn't comment on it. "Have you been trying to solve the mystery today?"
"Er, not really, no. I sort of got into some other research. For my business."
"Oh!" Her eyes went wide. "In your time, you mean?"
He nodded, savoring his last bite of tart.
"It's so strange to think you are so much older than you look."
"Hey! I'm not 'so much older!'" He threw a crumb at her.
Hermione shrieked in surprise, then threw it back.
"Careful." Draco grinned. "Pince won't approve of noise, even from you."
She shook her head, still smiling. "You're twice as old, really, than you appear right now."
Draco started to say something but stopped and sighed. She was right. He had fifteen more years to go until he caught up to his real time.
"So what did you do today?" Hermione asked.
"Spent all morning flying and all afternoon here. I couldn't skip every meal, so I spent those trying to keep Pansy off."
Hermione looked at him curiously. "You were with her fifth year, I presume? I mean, it looks like it, but you never really know."
Draco chuckled. "Yes, we were together fifth."
"Are you with her still? You know, in the future?"
He hesitated but then doubted this information would matter much. "No. We, uh, both married other people."
Her eyes widened and she looked away. After a moment, she lifted her hands to her cheeks and let out a strangled sigh. "This is so strange. Every day you're the Draco I know—nasty, evil, mean, hateful—then on this one day a year, you still look like him, but you're completely different. I suppose this is… who you become?"
Draco studied her. It was weird for him, too, being back in his fifteen-year-old body, with all of its… urges, while having the thoughts and cares of someone who'd seen thirty winters. He was stuck with the impulsive brain of someone fifteen, but the maturity of thought of someone thirty. So far, it had served him well, and his brain would only continue to mature as the years—days—passed.
It was also strange conversing with Hermione. They weren't particularly friendly in the future, though she was one of Scorpius's teachers—his favorite, apparently. Their conversations over the last few years had been primarily centered around his son's school and the things Scorpius did there. He'd always found her interesting, always felt like there was so much they could discuss if given the opportunity—almost as though they kept getting interrupted just when things were getting good. And, yes, lately, he'd felt other things for her, just the very beginning of something, the stirrings of attraction, perhaps.
But that had all been pointless, as he'd been locked in an iron-clad marriage contract with no happiness or end in sight. With the discovery of Astoria's indiscretion, a whole new future was open to him now—assuming he could get back to the future and stay there.
This Hermione, however, was not quite the one he was interested in. There were differences—subtle, but significant. This Hermione didn't laugh as easily and seemed wound rather tight. He liked her, enough to wish that his entire life might have been different in such a way as to have allowed him to have been friends with her, but the Hermione in his future was the woman he was interested in.
"Draco?"
He started, drawing a light chuckle from her. "Sorry. Um, got distracted."
"I was remarking on how different you are from the person you were. Or are. Oh, it's all so hard to keep straight sometimes!" She shook her head, her wild, bushy curls whipping around.
"You're telling me. Apparently, I've got the pleasure of waking up every day a full year older. Talk about keeping things straight."
They settled into a comfortable silence. After a moment, Hermione picked up her quill. "What will you do tomorrow?"
Draco shrugged. "I've no clue what happened every year of my life on the 26th of April. I suppose I'll just wait and see." A weight of dread settled in his stomach at the realization that the next time he woke up, he'd bear that horrible Mark and be deeply entrenched in his task for the Dark Lord. Maybe he shouldn't even try to see Hermione next year.
"What are you going to do right now? Because I've got O.W.L.s in a little over a month, and I don't fancy failing them."
He rolled his eyes. "Like that's a big concern for me today."
"Ooh, do you know my results, by chance?" She leaned forward, her eyes wild with excitement at the thought.
"Of course not! I do know that I achieved nine Outstanding O.W.L.s."
She pursed her lips. "Right, then. I'll accept no fewer than nine."
He smirked. "Good luck."
There'd been one book on law that he hadn't been able to finish earlier, so he took that one off the top of his small stack and opened it.
Hermione stopped writing. "You're going to stay here?"
"If it's all right with you. I don't fancy bumping into Pansy if I can help it. You've no idea how hard it is to pretend not to be revolted whenever she touches me."
She laughed. "I don't know if I could manage it!" Her laughter subsided, her lips falling into an easy smile. "Stay as long as you like, just don't bother me. And I hope you'll come and see me next year so I can gloat about beating you on the exams!"
4.26.97
When Draco woke, he didn't have any doubts as to where—or when—he was. He immediately felt sick, likely from whatever concoction of potions his past self had taken the night before to force him into sleep. His clothes hung limply from his frame, and he could easily feel his ribs. He knew that if he looked in a mirror, he'd see a young man who was wasting away from stress and exhaustion.
Well, he'd do himself a favor and eat really well today.
At least there would be no Pansy to avoid, as things between them had ended before Christmas. She'd grown tired of his increasingly bad temper and put an end to the relationship—not that he'd cared. He was past the point in the year when he'd stopped caring about anything. His attempts to repair the cabinet so far had failed, thankfully, but his allotted time for finishing the task was almost up.
Draco got up and dressed for breakfast. He ate as much as his body could handle, considering the damage that had been done to it, but he still felt exhausted afterwards. He'd made eye contact with Hermione once, her eyes filled with alarm, and he knew he'd have to fend off her questions later.
Not bothering with classes, he went back to his room and quickly fell asleep.
ooo
The sun had traveled far by the time he woke again. It was still the same day. He hadn't even considered that going to sleep might propel him forward in time, but it would appear that he had to complete a full day in this… whatever it was.
He felt loads better but also hungry again. A glance at his watch told him that if he ran, he could just manage to get a decent lunch in. So he did, surprising everyone who saw him.
Greg and Vince approached him while he was filling his plate.
"Er, Draco? You want us to, um, watch anything for you today?" They exchanged a glance as he shoveled food into his mouth.
"No. Take the day off. I am."
They left without another word.
Blaise, who'd been on his way out of the hall, turned back and came to sit across from him. "Don't worry, there will be more tonight."
"Ha, ha." Draco took a long, refreshing drink of pumpkin juice. Eating had never felt so good in all his life.
"I'll admit you've been looking pretty rough lately. Hopefully whatever's had you wound so tightly has… settled down." Blaise knew enough about Draco's task to know that it hadn't been going well. He was glad he'd never told his friend the full truth.
Draco shook his head. "I'm right where I was last night. Just thought I could use a break."
Blaise nodded, then made a face at something over Draco's shoulder. "What does she want?"
Draco turned around, surprised to see Hermione standing near the end of the table, wringing her hands and biting her lip. She was looking their way as though steeling herself to come closer. He tried to tell her to go away with his eyes, but she set her jaw and walked towards them.
Blaise whistled lowly; a Gryffindor approaching the Slytherin table was basically unheard of. Granted, the Great Hall was now nearly empty, but still. Draco's heart started pounding.
"You lost, Granger?" Blaise sneered at her.
Hermione held her head high and looked at Draco. "Vector wants to see you."
"What? Now?" He'd either missed a class or this was her way of making sure he spoke to her.
"Yes. She sent me directly. She's in her office."
Hermione turned and walked away. Huh. He'd tell his Arithmancy teacher he wasn't feeling well, which was largely true.
"Guess I'd better go. After I finish eating of course."
Blaise was watching Hermione walk away with a very different sort of look than the one he'd allowed her to see.
Draco remembered that Blaise had first confessed his attraction to Ginny Weasley in sixth. "Thought you fancied Red." He said it casually but was anxious to learn if his friend had also harbored something for Hermione.
"Fancy is a strong word for it. And I'm only looking. These school robes cover everything interesting. I'd much rather they covered her face and that awful hair." Blaise chuckled. "Wouldn't that be funny? Granger in class with her robes up over her head? Maybe she's hiding something worth looking at."
Draco shoveled some more food into his mouth and grinned. It was a mild reaction for him, but if he'd responded the way he wanted—punching Blaise in his smug face—that might have raised some eyebrows.
"Well, I should go see Vector." He crammed a few apples into his pockets and stood.
"I hope this task is done soon. You aren't as much fun as you used to be." Blaise sent him a concerned look, then walked away.
Draco sighed in relief, then took a bite of one of the apples and headed out of the Great Hall.
He was nearly to the Arithmancy classroom when someone reached out of a doorway as he passed, grabbed his robes, and pulled him in.
Draco scrambled to find his wand only to discover that his attacker was none other than Hermione. "Shit, Hermione. You scared me!"
"Sorry!" She didn't look sorry at all, only extremely anxious. "What's going on, Draco? I've been waiting all year to talk to you. You look bloody awful now, and Harry thinks you're up to something. Your sixth year self, anyway, but you can tell me, right? Obviously nothing horrible happens, since you seem well enough in the future, married and all that."
She bit her lip and watched him anxiously. He faltered and, for the first time ever, seriously considered telling her everything. But even as his mind went through scenario after scenario of how to make it work, he knew he couldn't do it. There was simply no telling the potentially catastrophic consequences of altering the timeline. He might completely cease to exist, which he wasn't too keen on.
"I'm fine." Draco forced a smile. "Just... tired. I dealt with a lot of pressure from home sixth year. Since, you know, I didn't beat you in O.W.L. exams."
She relaxed slightly, enough to give him a small smile. "I got nine Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations."
"Congratulations. My father never told me your results, he just found out from someone at the Ministry—greased a few palms, you know. Before… before he was arrested. He sent me a highly displeased letter about it."
"I'm so sorry. That's awful." She seemed slightly uncomfortable, and he remembered that she had fought against his father in the Department of Mysteries.
Draco sank into a chair, feeling deflated. "Yeah, er, I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt last year."
She sighed, a hand going absently to her side. "It's something of a miracle we all made it out of there alive. All us kids, anyway." Her tone ended in a whisper.
He remembered hearing that his mother's cousin, Sirius Black, had been killed in the battle by his Aunt. Then, his eyes widened as he made the connection between the story she'd told him in fourth year and the news about Black. "Oh, wow. That was Potter's godfather, yeah? I just realized."
Hermione cut her eyes sharply to him, then her expression softened. "Yes. Harry only knew him for two short years."
There didn't seem to be much to say. Draco glanced around the room for some idea of what to talk about. "How is your year going?"
Hermione locked the classroom so no one would interrupt them. "It's... going fine. Ron is being an idiot."
Draco snorted, unable to stop himself.
"It would seem nothing has changed in that department in the future." She peered at him, clearly interested to know more.
"Careful, Granger. It's dangerous to know too much."
"I know." She sighed. "I can't help it. You're experiencing something... Well, something incredible! You should write a book about it."
He snorted. "Who'd want to read that?"
"I would," she said immediately.
"You already know practically everything."
"I don't know anything about what you're going through. You can't tell me how you're feeling, what you're struggling with, what's hard about this whole thing. I'd imagine it would be so tempting to change something, even something little, just to see what happens."
"I have changed one thing," he said quietly, scratching at something on the desk.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh? What is it?"
"I told you what's happening. So far, it's been okay." He took a deep breath. "But if you think about it, it's a huge risk. I had no idea what was going on, of course. I thought, third year, it was a simple matter of figuring out what happened and reversing it, but then I woke up in fourth year, and… everything is so strange." He let out a strangled laugh and dragged his hand through his hair. "I still don't even know if any of this is real."
Hermione put her hand on his too thin arm. It was warm through his robes, and the slight pressure grounded him. "This seems real to me."
Draco nodded dully. "I should... I should go."
"What will you do tonight?"
"Probably sleep. My past self doesn't get enough. Sleep, eat, sleep again. Then wake up in seventh year." He forced a smile and tried not to concern himself with what that would entail. Or if he'd ever see Hermione again.
She retracted her arm and smiled. "Well, I'll see you in seventh year, then, won't I?"
Draco tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, I'll, um, see you. Oh, do I really need to see Vector? Or was that just a rouse?"
"No, she wanted to see you. I offered to come find you after class." She waited a beat, then words practically poured from her. "Draco, is there something you want to tell me?"
He forced the grimace into a real smile, hating the fact that he now had to lie to her. "There's nothing I can tell you, Hermione. Have a good year."
He couldn't spend another moment in her presence, even though he wanted to stay there all day. Being with her, the long evenings in the library or the short time in the classroom, were the only times he felt relatively calm. The unknowns about what was happening to him were enough to threaten to swallow him whole.
Draco waved before going through the door. It felt entirely too final; he knew he wouldn't see her seventh year. He had no reason to think he'd ever see her again, really. Not until she stopped by his office when Scorpius was young to personally invite their family to join the new school she was starting.
He was too restless to sleep after all, so he went flying instead. This time, though, he tried to spend time alone with his thoughts—both remembering his sixth year and thinking about his future. He had to plan for whatever might happen; he couldn't arrive back in his own time without making some decisions. He hadn't wanted to make plans before because he had no way of knowing if it would even matter, but now he needed something to focus on to take his mind off waiting for the end of the day.
He'd already decided on divorcing Astoria. He'd stay at the Manor with Scorpius and see about inviting his mother to live with him permanently. Or at least come often and stay for long stretches of time. He couldn't really sort that out now.
He tried to think of his career options but found it oddly hard to focus. His thoughts kept straying to Hermione and what her reaction would be once everything that was going to happen actually happened.
Would she hate him again? Would she remember the man he'd become, the one who had spent a small part of four days with her?
No. There was nothing good that could come from the restlessness he felt. Draco decided to fly hard after all, hoping to exhaust himself so much that he could fall asleep soon after dinner.
4.26.98
The day dawned with remarkable beauty as sunlight streamed through the curtains in Draco's room. At least he had a private room, since Snape had made him Head Boy. Draco woke feeling drained, likely a result of whatever the Carrows had put him through the day before. Being Head Boy gave him a little protection from their wrath, but not enough.
Draco checked his calendar, relieved beyond words to see that this year, April 26th had fallen on a Sunday. Nobody would need him.
As he lay in bed, he stared at the ceiling, trying to think back to the events happening in this timeline. The days of his seventh year had blended together, one awful event following another. Even Quidditch had been horrible, though he'd continued playing since it was his only reprieve from the daily horrors. When he was flying, he could pretend that things were normal. Slytherin had been on track to win the Quidditch Championship, but considering how depleted the other three houses were, it wasn't surprising.
Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Hermione. It had only been a month since he'd had to bear witness to his aunt's cruelty toward her. Even now, he remembered the scene with a grimace. He wondered what she was doing right that moment. He knew from reading about her time away from Hogwarts that she, Potter, and Weasley had worked to bring down the Dark Lord, but none of the articles had mentioned any details. He still had no idea how Potter won, almost thirteen years after it had happened. All he knew for certain was that his mother had played a pivotal role, one so important that she had avoided any prison time and actually been given an Order of Merlin Third Class. That recognition had trickled down to Draco, resulting in a relatively short prison sentence followed by a long probation.
With a groan, he realized he'd wake up next year in Azkaban. Reliving a day there was truly a nightmare, but he could at least be thankful the Dementors were long gone.
Over the course of the year, Draco had taken to stashing food whenever he got the chance. Some of the teachers liked to use withholding meals as punishment and there was nobody they liked to punish more than him. He felt reasonably sure that he could stay in his room the whole day, only leaving to use the loo, which was just down the hall.
And that's just what he did.