Chapter Twelve
July 21st, 1981
Hermione met Harry and Lily on the stairs with a Blood-Replenishing Potion in her hands.
Though she was relieved to see peace on Harry's face, the tiny cracks in his resolve caused by the pressure of undue stress concerned her. She wondered if he had been sleeping well without Draco with him. The pair had been a surprise, that was certain. Ron had been the first to catch on to the apparent sexual tension between the two that somehow had gone right over Hermione's head. The moment she figured it out, however—after Ginny had to lay not-so-subtle hints on thick—Hermione could not believe she had never seen it before.
After the initial fighting between the two had waned, Harry and Draco somehow turned out to fit each other perfectly. All of the tension built during Hogwarts had settled when they were in Bulgaria, changing to run with an undercurrent of amused flirtation.
Hermione and Draco, however, still had not gotten on very well, mostly because Ron hated the blond's guts and the sentiment was eagerly returned. Though to his credit, Draco had kept his comments to himself and had been the shoulder Harry needed to lean on for support when Ron and the others did not return from a mission. Hermione had learnt to tolerate him after that, despite her own issues with the man.
It was nice having another voice of reason to bookend Harry's impulsivity. While they did not always agree on methods of action, she was grateful to have someone to bounce ideas off of from time to time. Harry—while intelligent and clever on his own—had developed a bit of a dependency on her, fostered from years of relying on one another so heavily. Unless it went directly against his reckless desire to sacrifice himself to save whomever he had his eye fixed on at the moment, Harry often caved to whatever idea Hermione had, which was not always the best thing for her since she—reluctantly—could admit that she was often wrong.
The relationship between Draco and Harry was a gift for Hermione. Seeing her best friend happy in the middle of a war that had gone from bad to apocalyptic was a breath of fresh air that cut through the smoke coming from the rest of the world burning to ashes. However, long after Ron had been locked away and Viktor killed, Hermione watched Draco and Harry with a wistful envy in her heart.
A small flutter of that envy echoed now when Harry smiled at her, silently communicating that Draco was going to be okay. She smiled back, ready to stamp down that bit of jealousy in her chest when she turned to head back down the stairs and met Remus's gaze. Envious flutter gone in an instant, the void was quickly replaced by a feeling of contentment unmatched by any other moment in her life prior to arriving in 1981.
She was an avid cynic of Divination, but she had a feeling that if she opened her mind just a tad, she would begin to wonder if travelling to the past had not been fate.
"So, tell us about your Death Eater boyfriend," Sirius said conversationally from his seat on the sofa. His feet were kicked up on the coffee table and remained there until Lily knocked them down. He had lost all hostility in his tone from before.
Hermione wondered if that had been due to her scolding, or if Remus and James had said something to him when she was not present.
Harry sighed, his smile vanishing. "He was coerced into taking the mark. He didn't want it. His father was—er, is a Death Eater. At the end of our fifth year, Voldemort infiltrated the Ministry to try and steal the prophecy."
Lily and James both paled at the casual mention of what was obviously a protected secret from everyone outside of the cottage. The redhead clutched at her husband's arm as he gently stroked the fingers of his free hand down her hair.
"So it's real?" Remus asked. "Dumbledore said as much, but . . ."
"A prophecy exists," Hermione answered tersely.
"I'll be the one to fulfil it," Harry said, looking at his parents. "Your . . . The other me won't ever come into contact with Voldemort. This is my job."
"You're no less our son than little Harry is," James said. "If there really is a prophecy like we've been told and you have no choice, then we'll do this together. We'll be there with you."
Before Harry started to argue—and Hermione could see him getting his favourite martyr speech ready—she prompted him to go back to his original point. "Voldemort has not heard the entire prophecy. So during our fifth year, he sent his Death Eaters to the Ministry to steal it. Draco's father was there. We stopped him from getting the prophecy, and he was arrested by Aurors."
"Wait," Lily cut in looking confused. "You said we. How were you there if this was during your fifth year? Where was Dumbledore?"
"Busy," Harry said, looking uncomfortable. "And we, well . . . It was supposed to be a rescue mission."
Sounding concerned, Remus asked, "For who?"
Both Hermione and Harry looked at Sirius.
He stared back at them for a moment before sighing loudly. "Well, fuck."
"While the Order was dealing with . . . the aftermath of the battle," Harry began, "and the rest of the Wizarding world was finally coming to terms with the fact that Voldemort was back, Draco was forced into taking the Dark Mark as punishment for his father's failure. Voldemort lived in Draco's home. He made it his headquarters. Draco's mother was under constant threat by Voldemort, Death Eaters, and . . ." He hesitated, sending a guilty look toward Remus.
"What?" Remus asked, looking panicked.
"Greyback," Hermione answered. "Voldemort took Greyback into his ranks as an unofficial Death Eater in order to try and control the werewolves. He also used him to threaten Draco into compliance."
"He can be trusted, though?" James asked warily. "Now, I mean?"
"I trust him with my life. And with yours," Harry said, nodding his head. "When we came here to the past, we . . . we didn't leave anything behind. Anyone."
Hermione thought of the Weasleys in Azkaban, but there had only been a rumour that they had survived. Even if they had been alive, they were suffering. Other than their imprisoned friends, she, Harry, and Draco had lost everyone else in the war. "We're all he has left. Draco, above all else, protects those closest to him."
"Singing my praises, Granger?"
Hermione turned to see Draco stumbling down the stairs. Mouth open, she snapped, "Why aren't you resting?"
"I've been stuck in a room for days, Hermione; give me a break, would you? I've yet to properly meet my in-laws."
Sighing irritably, Harry went to meet Draco on the stairs and placed his hand beneath Draco's elbow in order to help him down the rest of the way. "Could you not be a git for . . . two minutes?"
"I could try, but I was under the impression you wanted me to use what energy I had to recover."
Other than his obvious weakness and the fresh scar left that even Dittany could not fully repair, Hermione noticed that his arm was almost fully healed. His previous pallor had gone away, but even so, she thrust the Blood-Replenishing Potion into his hand once he reached the bottom of the staircase. "Take that in another hour, just in case."
When he smirked at her, she huffed and turned away, moving to the sofa to sit beside Remus. She watched as he slowly made his way to the other sofa, extending a hand to James and Lily. James shook it, but Hermione caught his eyes glancing at the bandage on Draco's other arm. Instead of covering his recent wound, it was wrapped loosely around his forearm, covering from wrist to elbow. Everyone clearly remembered what was beneath it.
"I'm not my father," Draco whispered.
Lily took his hand right after. "Harry and Hermione said that it wasn't your choice."
Draco shook his head. "It wasn't. I can't lie and say there hadn't been a time when I thought it meant something prestigious. I was raised with a different set of ideals in regards to how certain individuals should be treated. I've thankfully had a drastic re-education on the matter."
"Reeducation?" Remus asked.
"I punched him in the face once," Hermione said with a grin. "Maybe he means that I somehow reprogrammed his brain." Her smile widened when Draco narrowed his eyes at her.
"Just because you were raised one way doesn't mean you had no choice to believe blood supremacy bullshit." When everyone looked at Sirius, he shrugged unapologetically. "What? It's the truth."
"Says the Gryffindor who had friends to back him up when his beliefs shifted," Draco said, turning his full attention on Sirius. "I imagine it was also easier to turn away from a parent when they treated you poorly. I, however, was the apple of my father's eye and had no reason to question the man. He gave me everything, he was well-thought of by other esteemed people, and never once raised a hand to me. He also died to save mine and my mother's lives. I hardly believe that Walburga Black would have done the same for either of her children."
Sirius narrowed his gaze. "You know Walburga?"
"I've heard enough stories."
"From?"
"My mother."
He looked like he already knew the answer, but Hermione cringed when Sirius asked, "And who is your mother?"
"Sirius—" James and Remus said warningly at the same time.
Draco met the man's stare with a daring one of his own. "Narcissa Malfoy."
Everyone seemed to be waiting for Sirius to explode. James and Remus looked ready to jump across the room to intervene if he attacked. Harry kept a firm grip on Draco's uninjured shoulder, looking like he was silently begging his godfather to understand.
But Sirius Black laughed.
He laughed and laughed until he was gripping his side with one hand, wiping tears from his eyes with the other. Everyone settled slowly until he turned to look at Lily, grinning brightly. "All the jokes about inbred purebloods. Years of them, Evans. And your son is dating the son of a Black!"
Lily rolled her eyes at Sirius and crossed her arms.
"Why did you three come back?" James asked, ignoring both his wife and best friend.
Hermione and Harry both turned to Draco with interest.
His shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy sigh. "Because otherwise, I would have been killed."
Draco looked at the ruins of Hogwarts in front of him and sighed, feeling an old familiar bitterness rising up like bile in his throat. He remembered hating the place and the rules and constraints put on him that he never had at home. Granted, his parents had other boundaries and lines that were never to be crossed, but in his younger years he took for granted the safety that Hogwarts offered. By the time his father was in Azkaban, Draco longed for the days when his biggest concern in life was whether or not Granger bested him in Charms or Harry caught the Snitch before he did.
I did this, he thought as he stepped over moss-covered rubble that used to be a part of the former fortress. Hogwarts might as well just be one more castle in Scotland destroyed by war and abandoned by those who had no other choice but to run.
He had chosen Hogwarts.
Granger was safest in her little forest with a thousand and one wards set up, surrounded by every bloody book written in the past five decades—and then some. Harry had gone off to Godric's Hollow. If it had been any other time, Draco would have liked to have gone with him. He went once, earlier in the year when Harry insisted on visiting his parents' grave. A part of Draco had wanted to scold him for it because it seemed like a waste of time when they had so much at stake, but with his own parents dead—and no idea where or if they had been buried—he understood on some level the need to visit their final resting place. Shockingly, they had escaped without any attack or sign of Death Eaters.
There were other places he could have chosen for Granger's Summoning Spell to kill the Dark Lord. Malfoy Manor was high on the list, the Department of Mysteries as well—and having stolen the Time-Turners, Draco already knew how to get in. Harry had even mentioned a cave where the Dark Lord had suffered a loss due to the efforts of Regulus Black, another reformed Death Eater. That location was ruled out because Harry was not sure whether or not it was still infested with inferi.
But Draco chose Hogwarts.
Not only was it the place where the Dark Lord suffered his greatest loss—Snape's betrayal followed by Harry's second survival of the Killing Curse—but Draco felt he owed it to the castle. He had let the Death Eaters in. He had been the one to contaminate the hallowed halls of his sanctuary with the evil that was lurking in his home. He owed it to Hogwarts to make it right.
Ravenclaw Tower no longer existed. Nor did the Quidditch Stands, the greenhouses, and the Great Hall. The dungeons were fully submerged beneath the lake, no walls, glass, or magic keeping out the water and beasts lurking within. His boots splashed quietly in the water as he slowly walked up the main staircase, waiting for it to shift. It never moved. Nor did any of the staircases above him. It made getting to the Astronomy Tower that much more difficult, but a few charms and some careful stepping had him back in the place where it had all went to shit for him.
He could hear the echoing sound of "Expelliarmus!" His own voice spoken from years earlier when he was a terrified boy, waiting for death but doing his best to prolong the inevitable while trying to save his mother at the same time.
"No harm has been done. You have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived. I can help you, Draco."
He could still remember the way his hands shook as he held Dumbledore at wand point.
"No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."
For years Draco had cursed himself for not accepting the man's help—begging for it even. He blamed himself for everything that had happened following Dumbledore's death, even if he had not been the one to kill him. It was not until his feelings for Harry had shifted from confused and angry to protective and angry that he realised that Dumbledore could not have helped him. He had years to help Harry, his supposed favourite, and the man had done nothing but set him up as a sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered for the good of all.
Draco wondered if Dumbledore stood before him now—knowing all that he knew—if he would have still lowered his wand in the end.
A horrifying chill filled the air, and Draco turned his attention to the sky where he spotted a dementor hovering too close for comfort. He knew that several had taken up residence in the forest, likely sucking the souls out of every last unicorn and stray kneazle. More annoyed than afraid, he pointed his wand at the creature and cast, "Expecto Patronum!"
The stupid little ferret did its job and chased the dementor away. Draco did his best to try and look grateful. When the ferret had appeared after his first successful casting of the charm, he'd thrown a book at Harry's head for laughing.
It was only later while reading up on Animagi training that Draco learnt that a person's Patronus often reflected their inner Animagus. Granger had been beside herself with theories, coming to the conclusion that Moody à la Crouch Jr had not transfigured Draco into a ferret during fourth year but rather forcibly pushed him into an Animagus form that he had not yet been prepared for. Learning that the little creature had been a part of him all along made the memory slightly less traumatic, and he resolved to embrace the Patronus with pride.
Harry saying that it was cute had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Dementor gone, Draco looked around the tower, trying to find a stable enough spot to set up for the ritual. He took no more than three steps when multiple cracks of Apparition sounded, and he was suddenly faced with both Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange flanking the Dark Lord himself.
The dementor made him feel warm by comparison.
Despite spending all of his time with two Gryffindors, Draco still had a hefty amount of sensible Slytherin self-preservation, which was why when his gaze met the red stare of the Dark Lord, he tried to Disapparate on the spot.
The heavy pressure of familiar Anti-Disapparation wards pushed down on him, and his eyes widened. "Those wards were broken when Hogwarts fell."
Both Lestranges laughed at him. Rabastan had a twitch in his eye, and Rodolphus gave a little shudder with every cackle as though his body were no longer used to certain involuntary movements. Draco wondered if their madness had simply progressed this far or if they were both suffering the long-term effects of the Cruciatus. Compared to the unnatural stillness of the Dark Lord, they looked as though they were seizing. The Dark Lord—Voldemort, Draco mentally corrected himself—was calm, rooted to the spot, and smiling.
Fuck.
Slipping his wand into the pocket of his robes, Voldemort's smile turned into a grin, and he opened his arms to Draco, who trembled in revulsion and well-placed fear. He could not even summon the anger he knew was inside of him. This monster had destroyed his school, defiled his home, and murdered his parents. He wanted to slit the bastard's throat. He wanted to tear out his still-beating heart. He wanted to eviscerate him completely. Set him on fire and piss on the bloody ashes.
He wanted . . . very much to be as far away from Hogwarts as possible right then.
He wanted to be with Harry.
Draco felt his Occlumency shields shift in response to being prodded. A bubble of rage flared inside him. The fear was still there, certainly, but Voldemort was trying to push his way into Draco's mind. He would not let the bastard know of their plans, of their locations, or of the Time-Turners they had been using to try and dismantle the Death Eaters.
"Oh, Draco," Voldemort said, chuckling as he stepped forward.
Draco took a step back.
"This is no longer the Hogwarts you knew, ruled by the self-righteousness of a lazy fool. The magic of this land obeys me now. I knew the very moment you arrived. This is land that I reclaimed after my defeat of Potter and his silly little Order."
"You didn't beat Harry. He's still alive."
Voldemort chuckled, the sound cold and devoid of true emotion. "Not for long. I've killed everyone who has ever attempted to guide him. I've imprisoned his friends, tortured most to death, and murdered the rest. Only two remain, isn't that right?" Another two steps forward.
Draco moved back quickly only to feel the press of a broken railing against his lower back. Shit. On instinct, his hand tightened around his wand, but Voldemort took one more step, distracting him long enough for Rabastan to disarm him.
It felt nothing like the anger when Harry had taken his wand from him years earlier at Malfoy Manor. He felt disgusted. Violated, even, at the sight of the hawthorn wood in Rabastan's filthy grip.
"He knows where you are, doesn't he, Draco?" Voldemort asked, still smiling.
It reminded Draco of Nagini. Animal or not, he had been certain that the horrid beast had smiled before devouring Charity Burbage on his dining room table.
"I wonder how badly it would break Potter to find your body?" Voldemort's red gaze slipped from Draco's eyes to look over his shoulder, down onto the grounds below.
Unlike the soft grass that had been there before the war, Draco knew there was nothing but sharp rocks and broken pieces of what was left of the castle. It was amazing that the Astronomy Tower had held together.
Quick as a snake, Voldemort's hand gripped around Draco's throat, pushing him back until the railing gave way. Draco froze in fear for a split second before he began scrambling. He anchored the heels of his boots against the edge of the floor, fisting Voldemort's robes tight in hand as though he could cling to the monster to prevent himself from falling—as though he even had a chance.
His attention flickered to Rabastan, lazily twirling Draco's wand in his fingers.
It was not supposed to be like this. Merlin, why could nothing ever go the way it's meant to? He thought of Granger, likely having started the ritual, safe in her little forest. He thought of Harry, wondering if he had begun setting up inside his parents' old cottage or if he had stopped to pay his respects in the cemetery first. Unable to stop himself, Draco looked down. Would he be left there for Harry to find? Would he be buried? Would Harry come to visit him?
He did not want to die. Draco wanted to fight and kick and scream and sometimes run and hide. But he was trapped by Anti-Disapparation wards, had no Emergency Portkey, and his wand was in someone else's hand. He thought about wandless magic but did not believe he had the focus for it. Even if he had figured out how to become an Animagus, the stupid ferret that he was would die just as easily as he would when he smashed his head on the rocks below.
"How appropriate," Voldemort said, "that Potter will find you in the same place he found Dumbledore's broken body."
Draco lost his footing, and one leg slipped from the ground, dangling beneath him in search of something to grip onto but finding nothing but air. Heights had never made him afraid. He loved flying. But there had always been a broom between him and certain death. Gripping Voldemort's robes tighter, Draco's eyes widened just slightly and he looked down to prevent the man from seeing into his mind. There was only one way out now, and he could use it to spit in the Dark Lord's face one final time, but he needed to let go. The Time-Turner was beneath his shirt, and if he activated it with Voldemort touching him, then he would bring them both back.
"Any last words before I officially end the Malfoy line?"
Summoning what little courage he knew he had, he thought of Harry and forced a shaky smile. "Go fuck yourself, Tom, you useless, half-blood twat!"
It felt like flying.
He almost closed his eyes at the relief he felt at no longer being touched by Voldemort. He was free and flying. Snapping himself out of it quickly, Draco opened his eyes just in time to see the enraged look on the Dark Lord's face as he realised what Draco had done. Before the monster could fly down and stop him—because of course he could fly without a broom—Draco pulled the Time-Turner from his shirt.
Everyone was silent when Draco finished telling the tale. Harry's parents looked horrified. Black had his hands closed into tight fists. Lupin had his arm around Granger. Draco raised an interested brow. That was certainly something to ask about later.
"When I—" he began to say but was cut off when Harry threw his arms around his neck and held him tight. "You sentimental idiot."
He knew his tone was sharp, but he still returned the hug without a pause, pressing his nose against Harry's neck and sighing. He smelled clean, like soap and sweat without the tinge of smoke and dirt and blood. Draco could not remember the last time any of them had a proper bath instead of using Cleaning Charms and river water.
"How did you not die?" Granger asked, drawing Draco's attention.
Harry let go, and Draco smirked at the way his boyfriend turned his back to the rest of them as he not-at-all-subtly wiped at his eyes. Merlin, it was adorable and stupid.
"Once the Time-Turner activated and I saw grass appear beneath me instead of rocks, I cast Arresto Momentum. Didn't slow enough to cushion the fall completely, but I didn't die or break anything. Bruised up a bit. Once I realised where I was, I made for the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible. There were no students around and the weather was rather nice, so I assumed it was summer.
"I used the map to keep an eye on the corridors. I asked the Bloody Baron to keep an eye on Dumbledore for me. I think he might have assumed I was my father, so he was eager to assist. That's how I knew Dumbledore was aware that the castle had been infiltrated. It was also how I knew when I could escape."
"That's actually very clever," Lupin said with an inspired look.
"Wait," Black interjected. "What's a Room of Requirement? There's no such place in Hogwarts. We would have found it."
Draco watched as Harry grinned.
"Draco!" Granger snapped impatiently. "How did you not die? You said that Rabastan took your wand. How were you even able to use that level of magic to slow your fall?"
He felt the way his smirk slowly tilted up. "That's why Voldemort looked so angry when I was falling, you see." He put a hand on his belt, and magic shifted around the Disillusioned object there. When Draco's hand touched it, the spell faded away. "While I can't say for certain, I believe this belongs to you?"
Harry's eyes widened as they gazed down at Draco's hand. He could hear Granger gasp loudly.
"You . . ." Harry began. "You took the Elder Wand from Voldemort?"
"Right before I did not plummet to my death," Draco said with a satisfied grin. "He stowed it in his robes thinking that I was not a threat. He wanted to kill me with his bare hands. What's that Muggle phrase, Granger? Pride cometh before the fall?"
"You took the Elder Wand from Voldemort," Harry repeated, looking dumbly down at the wand now in his own hands.
By the way he was staring at it, Draco figured that it still technically belonged to him. Draco had been able to use it around Hogwarts to evade death and Dumbledore, but it had not been fast enough to evade attacking centaurs once he entered the forest as a means of escape.
"Wait, are we talking about the actual Elder Wand? From the stories?" Lupin asked, eyes slightly wide. Granger scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his leg.
"From Beedle?" Black asked sceptically. "That's just a children's story."
"It's real," Harry whispered.
"This is amazing!" Granger said, standing up, her hair looking twice as big as before. Draco wondered not for the first time if it responded to her moods. "Harry, we actually have the Elder Wand! Do you have any idea what this means? The advantage this gives us?"
Her eyes were manic in that same way that they looked when she was excited about anything. The last time had been when she found the spell she believed could kill Voldemort. She moved a lot when she talked, sometimes punching Draco or Harry in the shoulder. When she flung her arms out in emphasis now, he almost flinched out of habit. The collar of her blouse slipped just a little, and Draco's focus landed on an interesting looking scar peeking out. Oh, that's hilarious.
"Are either of you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked with a bright smile.
"That you might have a werewolf fetish?"
Lupin made a noise that sounded like a mixture between a growl and a squawk. Either way, the reaction was satisfactory. It was even worth it when Granger punched him in his good shoulder.
"The Hallows, idiot," she snapped at him. "We have all three Deathly Hallows now."
All eyes settled on Harry, who looked just a bit overwhelmed.