Erasing Time's Tracks
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.
- - -
Draco woke up early the next morning, feeling somewhat anxious. He bounded out of bed and tripped as he remembered to readjust for a smaller body; when he lifted his left sleeve he grinned on seeing a distinct lack of a Dark Mark. He had never really realised until some months after he had begun his sixth year exactly how much of a badge of slavery it really was. One did not gain any power or glory; all you got was a chance to maybe avoid a Cruciatus or three at the hands of a capricious self-styled Dark Lord who lived to appease his sadistic impulses.
He looked at the bottle of Sulla's Wizard Hair Gel and scrunched his nose at the thought that he'd once slathered it all over his hair to attempt to reproduce the swept-back look his father had, since his hair wasn't long enough to tie back. He had abandoned that gel after second year, and wished he could quit using it now. Unfortunately, he realised if he did so it might raise questions from his parents, so he gave in and slicked his hair back.
He initially found breakfast to be jarring. He had walked into the same room as he had done before his trip back and the only noticeable difference was the oak table; it looked a bit shinier, and maybe, after a second glance, one of the paintings was different, but other than that, things had changed little.
The truly bizarre part was seeing his parents, together, looking so calm and regal. The innocent past, being presented before him anew, threatened to incapacitate Draco in sudden sadness, but he pushed the emotion away, reminding himself that he could indulge that later. His parents must not suspect anything different about their son.
For the first time in far too long, Draco Malfoy enjoyed what was, by Malfoy standards, a relaxed morning. He remembered to sit properly and avoid staring at his parents who were looking so much younger. The stress of being a Death Eater once again had aged Lucius Malfoy more than Draco had realised at the time, whilst his mother looked impossibly healthy and carefree, as she had no need to worry about life-or-death situations involving her son.
His father broke the comfortable silence by saying, "Draco, is there anything in particular you want to do in Diagon Alley today? Your mother and I will be glad to take you – provided you behave like a gentleman."
The last word had been delivered particularly sternly, but Draco could tell it had been meant – in awe, he realised it was the closest his father would ever get to expressing the love he had for his son. It broke his heart in two to realise that there would only be three more years of this. If he had any chance at all, he would have given Potter all the tools in the world he needed, all the money – everything – if it meant the Chosen One could get rid of Voldemort right that moment and let Draco keep his family.
In that instant, he felt truly ashamed for all the times that he had thoughtlessly needled Potter over his lack of parents. He had never realised how painful it could be for a child who lacked a proper family to be taunted about it by a boy who had one. It also struck him as being supremely bizarre that Potter might actually have preferred being adopted by the Malfoys to being an unwanted urchin at some Muggle house; Draco didn't know all the details, but from what he had pieced together over the years, the Boy Who Lived spent his summers and childhood with relatives called the Dursleys, who apparently had no love lost for their orphaned relative.
It was then that Draco realised that he had been rude; he had not answered his father right away.
"I'm sorry, father. I was thinking for a moment. Could we look at the brooms? I've heard there's that Nimbus Two Thousand!"
His mother smiled warmly and leaned forwards.
"Of course, my dragon, and we will get you some new school robes, won't we, Lucius?"
"Indeed, Narcissa. Thank you for reminding me; I have Draco's Hogwarts letter here, and we shall pick up his supplies before I meet with Minister Fudge later today. However, are you sure you would rather Draco did not go to Durmstrang?"
Shit, no! Not Durmstrang!
Draco panicked as he realised all his plans could be shot to hell if anything changed and made his mother more inclined to send him away. Pleadingly, he looked at her with wide eyes.
His mother saved the day once again.
"No, Lucius. We have discussed this before; I want to keep Draco as close to me as I can. I would not feel right knowing my son was so far away. Am I not right, Draco?"
Draco beamed and said, "Yes, mother." He then looked at his other parent and added, "I'm sorry, father. I realise this must make you upset."
Lucius had looked rather miffed when his wife had put her foot down, but he had seemed more mollified at Draco's proper behaviour.
"It is fine, Draco," he said, "As long as you remember that you are a Slytherin. I will be very displeased indeed if you end up in Hufflepuff or in Gryffindor. Ravenclaw might be acceptable, I suppose, but Slytherin is where the Blacks and Malfoys have been for generations; I want you to uphold that tradition, Draco."
"Of course, father."
And so the Malfoys made their way to Diagon Alley, and Draco nervously awaited his appointment with fate.
- - -
Draco recalled that his father had long decided that robe shopping was not for him; therefore he was not at all surprised when the older wizard had said, wearing his usual "I am going to spend tons of money" expression, "I shall be back after I pick up your textbooks, Draco."
His mother had taken him to Madam Malkin's and, after some chatter with Madam Malkin, who was clad in mauve, she had said, "Draco, I am going to go to Ollivander's to ask about your wand. Will you be all right by yourself for a little while?"
He willed himself to look as adult and mature as possible as he replied, "Of course, mother. I'll meet you there after I get my robes done."
She smiled warmly and briefly squeezed his shoulder before she regally swept out of the shop. It was a short while later that Draco was perched on the platform as he remembered from before. Just as a witch began measuring his sleeves, he heard the door open again, and Madam Malkin called out, "Hogwarts, dear?"
He heard no answer but the witch had quickly continued, saying, "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
Draco remembered hearing the exact same words the last time, and his heart raced as his palms got sweaty.
This is it, Malfoy. You've got half of one chance here, and the other half on the Hogwarts Express. Blow both, and you're sunk!
He turned to his right and saw a short boy with messy black hair and green eyes. He was wearing glasses that had been taped in the middle, but even so, at that young an age, Harry Potter radiated a kind of inner strength which Draco knew, in that instant, truly marked the other as "The Chosen One."
Draco marvelled, with the knowledge he'd accumulated, at how he'd been so quick, in the previous timeline, to dismiss the other boy and talk down to him because he'd been dressed in intolerably ill-fitting clothes. Additionally, Potter's presence was not diminished an iota by the fact that he stood there in hand-me-down rags.
Draco could not understand why, even with the knowledge of his combined seventeen/eleven-year-old self, he had suddenly had the thought, I promise I will stay by your side through this turbulent life, Harry James Potter.
He spoke up a bit loudly. "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"
Potter replied softly, "Yes."
The blond wondered why he had never noticed how shy Potter was. Had he been even a bit more sensitive to other people in the previous timeline he could have made a lot more friends and a lot less enemies. Merlin, he'd been such a self-absorbed, petty little snot; that would change though, and he started by saying, "Oh, good. My father's just next door getting my textbooks and my mother has gone to go look at wands. I want to go look at brooms later. And – oh, I'm being a bit rude, aren't I? I should have asked your name."
Potter smiled slightly and said, "Harry Potter."
"I'm Draco Malfoy."
It was with some trepidation that he unobtrusively wiped his hand on his robe and extended it as he said, "Pleased to meet you, Harry."
Neither of the boys had bothered to notice that the witches measuring them had gotten a bit nervous at hearing those two names in juxtaposition.
The bespectacled boy extended his own hand, and shook the one the blond was offering, a bit awkwardly with all the extra fabric and such. The slight tingling Draco felt along his arm could have been Potter's strong magic; he tried to hide his startled reaction.
He said, after Harry said nothing for a few seconds, "I don't suppose you've heard of Quidditch? It's a game wizards and witches play quite often here in Britain."
Something seemed to sparkle in those intense green eyes, as the boy said, "No, I'm afraid not. How do you play it?"
"Easily. It's a wonderful game. I've been at the World Cup a few years ago – players on brooms rushing around tossing the Quaffle back and forth – that's the ball you need to toss through goal hoops to score ten points each time – and dodging Bludgers – those things are nasty, made of iron; you hit them towards opposing players to try and disable them."
At the latter's startled look Draco added, "Mind you, Harry, we can heal injuries really quickly with potions and spells, so nobody is hurt for long. The seekers, meanwhile – they try to catch the snitch, which is this little golden ball with wings; it's charmed to fly around and it's very hard to see, so when the seeker catches it, that's a hundred and fifty points and the seeker's team wins the game."
Harry was clearly entranced. "Can I play it at Hogwarts?"
"You can, but unfortunately first-years aren't allowed on the house teams, so we'll have to wait 'til second year to have a go at tryouts. My father says that I fly pretty well on a broom, but my feeling is you could be a natural."
Potter was immediately wary. He said, "What makes you think that? I've never been on a broom before!"
Oh… right. Potter hasn't yet figured out those Seeker reflexes. And to think I was the one that ended up accidentally getting him on the Gryffindor team because I was such a bloody prat!
The blond answered airily, "You've just got the right build is all, and don't worry about having never flown before; we have flying classes and all that at Hogwarts. My father went, so I heard all about how they do things at that school. I'd be glad to write back and forth to you if you want to know more about how things work there."
He noticed that his fellow was suddenly somewhat saddened. "I wish I could," he said, "but I don't think I'll have any way of communicating with you."
In realisation that Potter hadn't gotten his owl yet, Draco replied, "Oh. Well, don't worry about that. We'll probably meet up on the Hogwarts Express – that's the train that takes you to Hogwarts. It's a tradition we have. But if you do get an owl, you can use him or her to send me things. Just make sure you clearly mark that it's for me if you send something."
He smiled at Harry, then looked up to see the huge bulk that was Hagrid in the window; the large half-giant seemed to be eating a large ice cream.
"I say, is that—"
The thin face next to him broke into a genuine grin as the owner saw who was outside. Harry turned back to Draco and said, "Yes, he brought me here! That's Hagrid; he works at Hogwarts as the gamekeeper."
The blond knew his reply was rather lame.
"Er, he's… well, tall." He really didn't want to insult Hagrid in front of Harry, but honestly, what idiot would make that half-giant a professor? His idea of cute animals defied comprehension!
Harry chuckled, saying, "Yeah, he is."
It was at that point that Madam Malkin told Harry she was done with him; she then turned to Draco and said, "I've got one more set of dress robes for you, dear. Your mother wanted you to have a set for her Yule party."
Draco rolled his eyes at the mention of another commonplace and vapid social-club encounter. His mother had loved to have them before the second war broke out.
"All right, but could you hurry, please? I want to get my wand."
Madam Malkin laughed a bit, saying, "You young men! Always wanting to rush about! Honestly – oh, I think your friend is saying good-bye to you, by the way."
His head whipped towards the front door and he lifted his hand to wave to Harry, who was looking back at him, also waving as he left the shop. Draco hoped that he had made a good impression on Harry Potter; it transpired later on that he had successfully done so. He had also managed to avoid painting Slytherins as arrogant snots.
He breathed a sigh of relief both from the fact that he was finished being measured and prodded and poked for his robes, and that his encounter with Potter had gone better than in the first timeline, Draco took his robes, which had been shrunk for him by Madam Malkin, and went to go visit his mother at Ollivander's.
- - -
Finding his wand had been quite the adventure.
It became rapidly apparent to Draco that he had not accounted the possibility that some of his magical core would transfer across with the essence of his seventeen-year-old self. He went into the wand shop and had gone through the usual charmed-measuring-tape exercise before he began trying out wands, the first of which had blasted scorching fireworks all over the ceiling. He was absurdly grateful that his father was absent; he would have hated to have had his father see him cringing after that display!
Draco then gingerly accepted a "holly wand, eight inches, unicorn hair" and gave it a swish.
It promptly blasted a chair in the corner into pieces.
Worried, Draco then tried out a "mahogany wand, a bit stiff, nine inches with dragon heartstring." He nearly had heart failure when the sudden outburst of magic had blasted an entire shelf (luckily empty of wands) into smithereens.
He whirled toward Ollivander; he was alarmed at the way his magic was behaving this time around, and blurted, "Hawthorn, unicorn hair!"
Ollivander abruptly turned and fixed Draco with a hard stare.
"And what," he asked, "young man, do you think you're doing telling me my job?"
Draco resisted the impulse to flay the man alive with his usual repertoire of stinging, sneering wit; instead he said, "It's just… it sort of came to me, that might be my wand. And… I'd really rather not destroy your shop if that is my wand, since it would save us all a lot of time."
Ollivander seemed to withdraw back into himself, and muttered as he searched the shelves. Soon, he extracted a particular wand, saying, "Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches."
Draco picked it up, and smiled as he felt the familiar surge of magic as the wand recognised its owner. He swished the wand and it gave off bright sparkles. Ollivander only spoke once more before dismissing Draco and his mother from the shop. He said, "Your wand will be rather unusual. It is very temperamental and very sensitive."
Draco lifted his eyebrow as he pondered his wand-shopping experience on the way back to Flourish and Blotts.
- - -
Lucius deposited a pile of shrunken books into the charmed Ever-Light satchel that his son had, and then he gave Narcissa some Galleons as he said, "I must be off to speak with the Minister. I shall see you and Draco at home. He needs to get his Potions ingredients, a cauldron and an owl. It should, if at all possible, be an eagle owl."
Draco tried to restrain the impulse to roll his eyes at the mention of Fudge. If it was one thing he and Potter had in common, it was the opinion that Minister Fudge was an idiot. The man was far too easily manipulated; all one really had to do was reassure him that he could keep his head stuck up his arse and not pay attention to any dangers that might actually threaten the wizarding world.
That – and wave lots of Galleons at him. The blond wondered if that Finch-Fletchley bloke he would meet at school could have bribed Fudge, for his parents had apparently a lot of Muggle money, points or whatever they called it. All the same, none of his thoughts showed on his face as he bid his father goodbye with the simple assurance, "I shall try to be quick with the rest of my Hogwarts material."
His mother briefly kissed her husband goodbye before the two left for the Apothecary, and got the ingredients plus a standard pewter cauldron. Draco gave into his eleven-year-old impulse and whined, "But why can't I get a gold cauldron?"
He found himself rebuked as his mother sharply said, "Now, Draco, you have been well-behaved up until now. You know from your private Potions tutoring sessions with Severus that a gold cauldron is too expensive to risk ruining by a first-year student at Hogwarts. I will not reason with you like this if you keep whining."
Crestfallen, Draco mumbled, "I apologise, mother."
The next to last stop was Eeylops Emporium where Draco waded through the racket of hooting and screeching owls, to find his young eagle owl, which he wanted to name Zeus as in the previous timeline. As soon as he saw the tawny eagle owl, he locked eyes with it and said, "Hello, there. Want to come with me? I like eagle owls, you know."
The owl hooted, and fluttered its wings. Draco went to get the store owner, who got down the cage for him (damn my new height, thought Draco) and let him carry it to the front table where his mother paid for Zeus.
Once outside the shop, Draco excitedly said, "Mother, can I please look at the brooms?"
Dotingly, his mother smiled and said, "Very well, Draco. But remember that your father will ultimately decide if you are allowed to have one at school."
Draco remembered how, the first time around, he'd pleaded and whined to his father that night about bending the Hogwarts rules regarding first-years bringing their own brooms, and was met with his father's stern admonishment to uphold Malfoy standards of conduct and prove he was worthy first, before having a brand-new racing broom at school. Only after he'd practically thrown a troll-sized fit over the way Potter managed to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year did his father relent and, as a token of esteem, give the entire Slytherin team those Numbus 2001 brooms for second year.
Even knowing that two new brooms, the Nimbus 2001 and then the Firebolt, would be out quite soon, it was still a marvel to press his nose against the glass front of Quality Quidditch Supplies and eye up the Nimbus, while excitedly reciting its speed, acceleration, and braking to the equally excited children around him. With an eye to the future, he couldn't wait to try a Nimbus 2001 with six years of extra experience on a broom!
Narcissa's coaxing finally drew Draco away from the broom, and they returned to Wiltshire.
Author Note:
And there we go. Draco has managed to hopefully get Harry on his good side. :)
Although Deathly Hallows canon has changed the nature of Draco's wand, I would still like to rec marysia's fic "The World According to Draco Malfoy", which is a Draco-centric fic that tells the stories of Philosopher's Stone and so on from Draco's POV. :) The original incarnation of this chapter used the wand from her fic.
And once again, thanks to Maddevillechilde for the beta work.