Chapter 3: Of Winning and Losing
"Please, I must speak with Headmaster Dumbledore right away," Draco demanded—growing increasingly frustrated at the unimpressive effect his sixteen year old body seemed to have on adults.
"I doubt that anything you have to say to Professor Dumbledore is grave enough to require an immediate audience, Mr. Malfoy," was McGonagall's terse reply. "He is busy, as am I," she added pointedly.
"Please, Minerva," Draco begged, grabbing her hands and looking straight into her cold gray eyes with his own. "It's urgent. I have cast a serious and dangerous spell and I think it's gone awry."
"That is Professor McGonagall," She stated tersely, tearing her hands from his. She looked furious and confused at the same time. "You just wait here."
McGonagall walked down the main passage and Draco found himself exhausted and alone in the Transfiguration Wing of Hogwarts. He had caught McGonagall mid cup of tea as she sat marking papers. Until the moment she called him Mr. Malfoy, Draco had not considered the full repercussions of his spell. While not exactly a child, he wasn't a man either. The superiority in her looks and tone was enough to make him feel extremely small and he didn't like it.
Draco limped to the corner of the transfiguration classroom and eyed his reflection in awed disgust. He was a few inches shorter than he would ultimately become. His scar, a thin line that was the result of his final escape from Voldemort's clutches, was gone. The skin of his body was smooth and unmarred. His left arm, once disfigured by a grotesque skull and snake was now devoid of anything except for blonde downy hair.
Finally satisfied with his self-examination, he searched for a place to rest. As he slid into a chair, careful not to jar his leg, his mind began racing. It had worked. Hermione was alive. He could have jumped for joy just then had he not been very certain his leg was sprained if not broken, not to mention the fact that he had gone several years too far—9 and a half to be exact. Damn Goyle!
It seemed like hours before McGonagall returned, but when she did, he was relieved to see that she was going to take him to Dumbledore after all. "The Headmaster will see you. Come with me," she said shortly as she led him through corridor after corridor. The pain in his leg was excruciating and every few minutes he would pause for just a second to regain his composure. His leg could wait. If McGonagall noticed his pain, she said nothing—even when she was forced to stop so he could catch up. If it wasn't for his future intimate knowledge of McGonagall's character, he would have thought her entirely devoid of basic human compassion.
As they walked, he recognized a few corridors here or there, but everything else in the castle was a complete and utter loss to him. If McGonagall hadn't been there guiding him, Draco would have been lost by now. Almost ten years had passed since he had last set foot in Hogwarts and not much less than that since he had thought of it.
They paused in front of a fierce looking statue of a gargoyle. Draco was about to ask why they were stopping, but McGonagall, as if anticipating his questions, quickly muttered, "canary cream." The Gargoyle spiraled upwards and a small enclosure appeared. McGonagall stepped inside first and motioned for Draco to follow.
Draco stepped out of the Gargoyle, a fascinated look on his face. He had heard about the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, but he had never seen it for himself. A giant reddish orange bird, a phoenix he noted with slight awe, was standing in a cage off in the corner. To an untrained wizard, it seemed to be asleep, but Draco could see that it watched his every move. Draco got the eerie feeling that the bird saw right through him—knew he wasn't what he seemed.
"The Headmaster will be here shortly. I have assignments to grade and lessons to plan. Don't touch anything while you wait," McGonagall snapped suddenly and before Draco could respond, she swept from the room, her emerald robes trailing behind her, and the gargoyle's descending staircase disappeared.
Panting in pain, Draco walked to Dumbledore's desk, where he sat with a grunt. He let out a sigh of relief at the lessening pain in his leg. He waited there for a few minutes before he grew restless, rose from his seat, and limped to the window. To his intense pleasure, Dumbledore's office had a clear and wonderful view of the Quidditch pitch. Even now, first years were at their flying lessons, zooming through the air, barely holding onto their brooms—but they were smiling just the way he had when his father first taught him to fly. His chest clenched and he looked away. To his surprise, Dumbledore had entered and was feeding his phoenix candy from his palm.
"Fawkes loves his jelly beans," the old man said seriously. "I save the particularly grotesque flavors for him. He seems to enjoy them most."
It was absurd. Now that Draco stood face to face with the living breathing Dumbledore of his childhood, he didn't know what to say or where he would even begin. He suddenly felt very young and afraid.
"Professor McGonagall told me you had done something dangerous," he said slowly and Draco met his eyes for the first time since Dumbledore's entrance. "If only she knew the truth of how dangerous."
"Sir?" Draco asked. There was no way that Dumbledore could know… Not just from looking at him. After all, Draco knew he was in his sixteen year old body. It had been a point of utmost frustration when trying to find anyone to take him seriously.
"What have you done, Draco?" The old man asked and Draco didn't like the reproach in his voice. It bordered on judgment and he would be damned if anyone was going to judge him for what he had accomplished.
"Only what I had to," he said shortly and all of the sudden, Draco was telling Dumbledore everything that had happened—everything that was yet to happen.
"A very sad story indeed," the Headmaster said gravely as he stroked his silver beard. "I must think on this very hard and decide what is to be done. In the mean time, you must tell no one of this."
"Not even Hermione?" Draco gulped.
"Especially Miss Granger." Draco physically blanched at the man's finality. It brooked no argument. "You have created a very serious chronological problem here, Mr. Malfoy. To some extent, damage has already been done. The best we can do is prevent more from being done, reverse what we can, and attempt to fix what we cannot."
Draco wanted to scream at Dumbledore just then. Tell him he was never going back to that void without Hermione. They would have to kill him first. But there was no point. There was no way for Dumbledore to reverse the spell. He couldn't even send Draco back into his own time. So, Draco bit his tongue and nodded solemnly, agreeing to all of Dumbledore's terms despite the knowledge that he would not heed them.
Dumbledore paused for a time as he stared off at something that was invisible to Draco. "The spell you have used is a very ancient one—very complicated. It requires great skill and precision. Few are desperate or brave enough to attempt it and even fewer succeed at it," he said quietly. "I am sure you know why." Draco nodded. "This spell has the potential to change a great deal about the world we currently inhabit. It differs from the time turners that we use here at Hogwarts in that way. Do what you will with a time turner and yet you find yourself trapped in a sequence of events outside of your control. Cast this spell and the world is open to you—you can change one thing or you can change everything. That is why it is a dark magic. That is why good wizards do not use this spell and why even the darkest ones fear it." He let his words sink in and Draco realized what the old man was saying. He was saying: I'll be watching you. "You'll be staying in the Slytherin dorms, of course. Your prefectorial duties will remain unchanged and you will act as though you are a sixteen year old wizard, which means no advanced spells. It is very important that your presence here remain unremarkable, am I clear?" Draco nodded for what seemed like the fiftieth time within the last hour. "It is almost evening. I daresay you should head straight to the Slytherin dormitories so you are not missed."
"I think I had best head for the hospital wing first, Albus," Draco said and for the first time, Dumbledore looked at Draco's leg. His pants were torn and there was blood. A piece of white bone was clearly visible.
"As you will, then," Dumbledore said quietly, seemingly surprised at how long Draco had been able to stand his leg being in that state. "Ask the first student you see outside of my office for assistance to Madam Pomfrey." Draco turned to leave. "And Mr. Malfoy," he called and Draco paused. "We may have a very different relationship in the future, but I am your headmaster and you are my student. I think it would be best if you called me Professor Dumbledore."
"Yes, sir," Draco said as he limped towards the gargoyle. It opened and he stepped through.
Draco's luck in the past was apparently no better than his luck in the future had been, for when he stepped outside of Dumbledore's office, the first person—or group of people, rather—he stumbled upon was Harry Potter and his best friends Ronald and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.
He froze the instant he saw her and Hermione looked away, turning red in embarrassment at the memory of the way his eyes had seemed to drink her in. "Her—Granger," Draco said, remembering Dumbledore's demands.
Harry let out a growl as he moved between them and Draco frowned. "What is it you want, Malfoy?"
"To speak with… Granger." It seemed weird and irksome to have to act so aloof and call her by her surname when he knew her favorite flower, what songs she sang in the shower, and every intimate detail of her body. Not yet, you don't, he had to remind himself. She still hates you… That was a harder pill to swallow than he could have imagined. He cleared his throat and said, "Dumbledore told me to ask for her assistance to the hospital wing." It was only a partial lie, but it was enough—enough to cause a momentary chaos anyways.
"She's not going anywhere with you, creep," Ron snarled.
Draco managed his sincerest Slytherin smirk and rounded his eyes on Hermione. "Headmaster's orders. Go ask him yourself if you like. I can wait." She bit her lip in that adorable way she did when she was caught between a rock and a hard place.
"I'll meet you all back at the common room," she said. "We came to see Dumbledore and he has obviously already spoken to Malfoy. I'm not going to waste any more time on this." Harry nodded, but Ron seemed the most opposed to her going with him.
"Take Ginny with you at least," he spat.
"It will be past curfew. She'll lose house points," Hermione stated logically. "Honestly, I can handle myself." Her tone was peevish and Draco couldn't keep himself from smiling, which the Gryffindors interpreted as something mischievous. Ron's face turned red and Harry looked ready to argue, but Ginny grabbed them both by their cloaks and dragged them away mumbling about stupid Slytherins and stupid boys.
"Whatever is wrong with you, it serves you right and I hope it hurts—terribly." And those were the last words she spoke to him the entire way to the hospital wing. Draco didn't mind. Her words kept playing through his mind: I hope it hurts—terribly. If only she knew how much it hurt. Just being in close proximity and not being able to touch her was enough to cause an ache so deep he could hardly stand it. Forget what it was like every time she brushed her hair out of her face, wafting the light floral scent of her shampoo in his direction. He was dying, he was sure, and it had nothing to do with his leg.
"We're here," she snapped briskly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"So we are," he agreed. "Wait here? I should only be a minute or two." Hermione's eyes opened wide in indignation.
"You didn't say I had to wait for you too," Hermione growled.
"How else will I be able to get down the staircases into the dungeons?" He asked.
"You can drag yourself down there by your teeth for all I care, Malfoy." Even as she said the words, she leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Draco walked in and Madam Pomfrey was on him in an instant.
"What happened? Oh dear, that's quite nasty. Does it hurt? Of course it does, dear," she mooned but all he could think about was whether or not the 16 year old version of Hermione was still standing outside. "Here you go. This is for the pain, this for the mending. Now let me see…" Draco cursed as she poked and prodded him with her wand. Finally, she muttered a mending spell, poured her vile concoction down his throat and sent him on his way.
To his surprise and disappointment, Hermione wasn't waiting for him when he finally left. He hadn't really expected any less, he supposed. Yes, you did… He hated himself for feeling bothered by it. He remembered just as well as she did what an ass he had been—still was, in her eyes.
This was going to be harder than he thought. Draco made his way, slowly but surely, down staircase after staircase and corridor after corridor. He didn't know how long he had been walking before he finally stumbled upon the entrance to the Slytherin common room, but he knew it must be late. The entire castle was dead silent and no students were hurrying around anymore. Draco was about to utter the password to get inside when he realized he didn't know it. With a howl of frustration, he leaned his back against the cold, rough wall and slid onto his haunches. He would wait for someone to come looking for him, he decided. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head. His eyes closed, against his better judgment, and as he waited, his consciousness slipped away.
"What the—" Draco woke as a shoe nudged his sleeping legs out from under his head. He scrambled to his feet, his platinum hair falling into his face. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Growled their seventh year prefect, Lucian Bole.
"I forgot the password, so I decided to wait here," he replied, not happy at all about the crowd of Slytherins that was now pouring out into the hallway to watch the spectacle Bole had begun. It was obviously morning, which meant he had been out in the corridor all night. He was cold and his bones ached.
"It's been on the notice board for two whole days and you forgot?" Bole asked.
"As I said," Draco replied.
"It's dogbane. Write it down or something so you don't forget."
It was hard for Draco to contain himself. Intellectually, he realized that Bole was actually older, but from the perspective of his 26 year old mind, it was hard to see him as anything but a petulant child.
"Thank you," he said through gritted teeth.
"Go get changed and make yourself presentable. Classes start in twenty minutes. I guess you'll have to skip breakfast." Bole shoved Draco aside and swept off down the corridor muttering about prefects forgetting passwords and looking as snide and arrogant as Draco had ever remembered him being.
"What a miserable git," Draco muttered and there were sniggers from the rest of the Slytherins. "Bugger off, you lot," he snapped and the first and second years bolted. The older students dispersed more slowly and with much more trepidation. Not even students of his own year dared to cross him. After all, Draco was a prefect too.
"Dogbane," Draco said and the wall slid aside to reveal the short corridor to the Slytherin common room. To his relief, his leg pain had been reduced to a small ache deep within the healing bones. It would take a few days for the potion to complete its work, but the change in his level of discomfort was already monumental.
The sixth year Slytherin dormitories were spacious and grand, but very cold. The stone walls kept no heat and any bit of heat that did manage to survive in the dungeon level rooms was absorbed by the lake, which was directly above a portion of the dorms. Draco shuddered as he walked to his four-poster. He knew it was his because it was flanked on one side by Crabbe's massive pile of dirty clothes and by the other, Goyle's candy wrappers and cookie crumbs. It was just like old times—except not. Crabbe and Goyle might be the same, but Draco couldn't have been more different.
Meeting up with Goyle was an uncomfortable thought considering that Draco was certain that Goyle had been the one that performed the killing curse on Hermione and their unborn child. Add to that the fact that Draco returned the favor by killing him not even twenty four hours before and you had the recipe for a very awkward reunion. Draco rummaged through his neatly organized things to find his schedule, fresh clothes, and a cloak that wasn't covered in blood and dust.
He changed quickly and managed to stuff his mouth with chocolate frogs at the same time. Draco did not miss the hunger that came along with being a 16 year old going through a growth spurt. As he skimmed his schedule, his chest filled with dread. Draco had several classes he happened to know Crabbe and Goyle were in. Draco couldn't for the life of him remember why he had signed up for such remedial and simple courses. His skills were far more advanced than those of his friends. He would have to speak to Snape about changing things around a little. Not only would that give him a reason to spend less time with Crabbe and especially Goyle, but it would also allow him a distraction from the one thing that he knew would plague his mind every minute of every day.
As he sat at the edge of his bed, Draco wondered if Hermione was eating breakfast with her friends. He wondered if she was happy…
. . .
Hermione looked at her companions and let out a sigh of contentment. They were all talking about what they were going to do in Hogsmeade the weekend after next. Harry needed a new set of oiling cloths for his broom, Ronald wanted some prank candy Fred and George had sold to Zonko's, and Ginny had heard there were some new enchanted scarves at Gladrags Wizard's Wear that changed color depending on the weather and time of day. Hermione herself needed some new quills from Scrivenshaft's Quills, as Ron and Harry had managed to destroy most of her set during a particularly fierce game of Wizard's Chess. Hermione wanted to know when Harry's set had learned to breathe fire, but it was a moot point. Ron and Harry were incorrigible—they would do what they wanted, against the rules or not. This was especially disappointing as Ronald was now a prefect, but her pleas for discretion fell on deaf ears.
Taking a final bite of toast, Hermione gathered her books and said farewell to her friends. She had advanced arithmancy, which none of them had the desire, nor the grades to get into. It required no less than an outstanding score on the fifth year OWLs. The class itself enrolled only six students: two Gryffindors (Hermione and a seventh year named Meryl Early), three Ravenclaws, and one particularly clever second year Hufflepuff that had been placed by Professor Vector personally.
So far, they hadn't done much in the way of actually practicing arithmancy. From what Hermione could tell, they would spend their first term studying the theory, philosophy, and history of arithmancy. What came after, she was genuinely excited about.
Hermione sat in her normal seat near the front and was happy to see her partner's seat empty. This gave her an opportunity to pull out her sixth year transfiguration text book and begin next week's assignment. It was pretty much a sure bet that if her nose was in a book, no one would bother her. The Hufflepuff that insisted on seating himself right next to her was very talkative and Hermione felt as though she had no time or patience for trivial chatter. It was becoming more and more apparent that her attention needed to be very securely focused on learning. Her ability to perform magic both quickly and flawlessly was going to be the only thing that could protect her friends, and just as importantly, her parents.
Voldemort was getting bolder with his attacks and more than one muggle had been murdered since his return had been outed last school year. Muggles weren't his only targets, however. To Hermione's horror, over the summer she had learned of several muggle born students being attacked while back home. Houses were attacked with dark magic in broad daylight. The Death Eaters were brutal and had no qualms leaving a trail of death and misery in their wake. All of this had solidified Hermione's desire for her parents to leave the country and she had spent the last four months figuring out exactly how to do it without frightening them half to death.
Professor Vector arrived and Voldemort was forced from her thoughts as the woman immediately plunged into the day's lesson. Hermione looked to her right and was surprised to see that Gerald Micken, her Hufflepuff partner, was still not present.
"Today, we are going to discuss number symbology and where we derive a number's meaning from," Vector announced. "You'll want to take very good notes this morning. This is guaranteed to be on your midterms."
As she scribbled frantically, Hermione became comfortably lost in their symbolic dissection of the number four.
Vaguely listening about how the number four: "resonates with the vibrations and energies of practicality, organization and exactitude, service, patience, devotion…" Her mind wandered for a moment to a pair of cold grey eyes that belonged to a Slytherin that had been particularly bothersome as of late.
Hermione pretended not to notice, but he watched her all the time. In classes their houses shared, she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. At breakfast and dinner, she had been exasperated to realize that he could always be found sitting at the end of the Slytherin table that most closely corresponded to her own seat.
She had no idea what she had done to deserve his attention, but it was starting to cost her sleep. In her deepest, most secret thoughts, Hermione feared that Malfoy was planning something. His father was a well-known Death Eater and Hermione was a very well known mudblood.
She would awaken some nights drenched in sweat. It was always the same nightmare. Her parents were dead—murdered. And the last thing she saw before being killed herself was a pair of cold grey eyes…
"Miss Granger, would you please tell the class who discovered the magical properties of the number seven in relation to health. Mr. Cross seems to have forgotten."
"It was Bridget Wenlock in the 13th century, Professor," Hermione stated without hesitation.
"And how did she come about this discovery?"
"Sheer luck," Hermione said and there were chuckles around the room.
"Humorous," Vector stated with a smile, "and not at all wrong."
The rest of the class was thought-consuming and Hermione was glad she didn't have a second to spare for wayward thoughts. If Malfoy had something planned, it was nothing that Hermione and her friends couldn't deal with when the time came.
As she packed up her things, Hermione saw Professor Vector motioning her to come to the front when she was done.
"I thought I should be the one to tell you that Micken won't be joining us for advanced arithmancy anymore," she said matter-of-factly.
"Alright," Hermione said, absorbing the information with little surprise. Micken was very clever, but easily reduced to a puddle of panic whenever quizzes or exams were near. His dropping out of one of the hardest courses offered at Hogwarts nothing less than what she had expected.
"Group work will need to be done with Early and her partner, but other than that, I see no reason why you can't work alone." Hermione nodded gratefully and ran off to her next class—care of magical creatures with Hagrid, Harry, and Ron, thankfully.
It ended up being a long day and Hermione was exhausted when they finally trudged their way up to Gryffindor tower. The only positive thing Hermione could look back on was that there had been minimal encounters with the Slytherins. Tomorrow, there would be no such luck. Double potions in the afternoon followed by transfiguration with Ravenclaw. Hermione fell into bed and closed her eyes, praying for dreamless sleep.
. . .
There were fire engines and ambulances parked all down Primrose Lane. Light danced into every alley and crevice except one across the street where stood the astral shadow of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was watching—waiting for all the muggles to put out the fire and leave, and when they did, she walked from between two houses and became her full corporeal self. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in unkempt ringlets. Her clothes were dirty and disheveled but did wonders to accentuate her figure. Bellatrix was tall with a womanly shape. In her small hand, she gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
There was no doubt in her mind that this was the work of the traitor Draco Malfoy. She had met few wizards who could cause this kind of destruction and walk away. She scowled as she approached. She could smell burning flesh. Goyle and Knock were obviously dead. But where had Draco gone?
She pulled up her sleeves and muttered a few guttural words under her breath. She was suddenly met with the unwilling shade of Gregory Goyle.
"Where is Malfoy?" She asked coldly.
"What happened? I was… gone and now I'm here… again."
"Where is Malfoy?" She repeated, growing impatient.
"Malfoy…" Goyle said slowly, scratching his transparent head. "Malfoy… He disapparated. I heard it." He squinted as he thought even harder. "I went to the window and he was there," he pointed. "That's when… everything exploded."
Bellatrix waved her wand and Goyle screamed in agony as his shade rippled and faded away in an acrid smelling fog.
She walked to the exact spot that Goyle had pointed at and closed her eyes. She focused her thoughts on the residual magic and forced her body to relax. With a loud POP, she followed in Draco's magical wake. In less than a second, Bellatrix found herself standing in the sun, her back to the ocean. She looked around and sighed. That was the end of the trail. Draco had to be here.
Walking slowly inland, Bellatrix kicked off her sand-filled shoes and left them behind. Before her stood an immense jungle.
"I will find you, Draco Malfoy," she promised as she disappeared into the trees.
. . .
A/N: Another chapter with a lot of changes as the plot is slowly revealed. I am having a lot of fun researching and figuring out all the little details I missed the first time around. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading :-)
