Chapter Six – Preludes
Ginny rinsed her mouth out with water, and thought about what she had read.
Bombay has eighteen million Muggles. And that's just the beginning.
They are going to kill my children.
The fate of the world rests on Draco's shoulders.
She leaned over the toilet and vomited again, not caring that the sound of her retching carried past the door.
Outside the door, Ron silently fumed, listening to his sister purge herself, thinking, "if that damned Malfoy has knocked her up I am going to make him suffer before I kill him."
Ten Years Later
As the walls of the Ministry of Magic began to shimmer and sparkle, Agnes Nelson smiled.
Draco never suspected.
She reached out her arm and opened the door leading to the Department of Mysteries. She felt a pang of guilt as she realized she was leaving the Muggle soldiers behind, but they had done their duty and the world was already beginning to fade around her. This world no longer existed; it would merely take a few minutes for the temporal bubble to reflect the fact the time line had altered and this had never happened and would never happen.
Dimly, right before the door slammed shut behind her, she could hear the agonized screams of defeat as the creatures of the Rectification realized what had happened.
All that brainpower and you didn't see THIS coming, you bloody bastards, did you?
She knew that Draco had already won. She knew, objectively, that he was ten years dead. Still, she figured the world owed Draco Malfoy a debt, and she was determined to collect on his behalf.
Ever since her sorting into Hufflepuff, over a hundred and fifty years ago, very few had taken Agnes Nelson seriously. Draco had, but he never quite grasped the depths of her intelligence, focusing instead on the power – admittedly rather lacking – of her wand. She was, after all, the last witch left in England.
There had been, however, an organization in England that had once taken Agnes very seriously indeed, both for her intelligence and her sense of discretion.
Draco never suspected that Agnes Nelson, in her day, had been smart enough to give Hermione Weasley a run for her money. Indeed, had Hermione lived long enough to meet Agnes, together they may have found a magical means to stop the Rectification without altering the timeline.
Not that it mattered – messing with the timeline had been one of Agnes Nelson's specialties, once upon a time. Over a century ago, a young and loyal Agnes Lovegood (ah, but she had been so proud to take Henry Nelson's name when he finally proposed, back when the world was young) had worked in the Department of Mysteries.
Draco had never realized that the time-slip theories Hermione had worked on up until her death were based on a still-classified thesis paper by Agnes Lovegood.
Yes, Agnes knew a trick or two herself about messing with the timeline. There was no one to watch as she stood before the ball of white light in the center of the Time room. The Gateway was already beginning to develop yellow patches on its flaming surface.
There was no one to watch as she threw a small glass ball into the sphere, no one to watch as she closed her eyes and walked into the light even as the world winked out of existence around her.
There were, however, many frightened eyes that witnessed when she reappeared some-when else, a look of triumph on her face as she walked out of the pulsating, flaming mass that was the dying but still powerful Gateway.
I hope Draco understands why I have to do this.
Ten Years Earlier
"Hershey's Kiss!"
The gargoyle began to spin as Harry Potter shouted the password and ran up the stairs to Dumbledore's office.
Why does the Headmaster want me at two in the morning?
He was out of breath, panting, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts merely smiled at seventeen-year-old Harry Potter as if it was perfectly normal to send a glowing phoenix to awaken a student several hours shy of sunrise.
Harry was still too shocked to be angry at the Dumbledore. That, however, changed when he saw the man standing against the far wall with his arms crossed, smirking at him.
Dumbledore spoke before Harry could. "Ah, Harry, so good of you to come. I believe you are already acquainted with Mr. Draco Malfoy, although not with this older version of him, perhaps, am I right?"
Dumbledore smiled. Draco smiled.
Harry did not smile.
"Oh, bugger."
Draco smile became even wider.
"Language, Potter."
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
Dumbledore chastised Harry gently.
"Now, Harry, I've spoken at length to Mr. Malfoy here, and I trust him. He has something very important to say."
"Yes sir. Of course, you also trust Snape."
"PROFESSOR Snape, Harry" intoned both Dumbledore and Draco simultaneously.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed.
"Bugger."
Draco laughed. "Really, Potter, not now, I'm not your type."
"Thank God for that. Why am I here, Malfoy?"
Draco reached into a sack and removed a small green animal.
"Why, Potter, I want you to meet my frog."