Two minutes past midnight, Draco woke with a gasp.
"Tardy again, Mister Malfoy," Professor Flitwick tutted. "Come along."
The tiny professor grabbed Draco's hand with his unnaturally long goblin fingers. Before Draco could speak a word, Flitwick Apparated them both away to the classroom where he taught Charms.
Definitely a dream, Draco thought with relief. No one can Apparate into Hogwarts.
"Sit," Flitwick directed, pointing him towards the long row of student desks. Draco settled into a chair at the end. Shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, he wondered why he could not wake up.
"Do you know what this is, Mister Malfoy?" the professor asked in a lecturing voice. He slapped a plastic ball filled with glittering flakes suspended in clear liquid down on the desk.
"It's a Muggle snow globe," he answered his own question as Draco gave him a blank look. "Go ahead, give it a shake. Tell me what you see."
Gingerly, Draco shook it. To him, it looked like a cheap crystal ball. "I'm not a seer," he advised Flitwick. "Don't expect me to see anything."
"Ah, but this snow globe is special, Mister Malfoy. It shows the past, not the future."
Draco looked at the dark mass in the middle of the snow globe, obscured by the swirling flakes. As he peered more closely, he felt it draw him in, like a Pensieve.
The first thing he saw was a blond boy, a Slytherin by his tie and a first or second-year by his size, surrounded by textbooks as he studied, all alone.
"He stayed behind for the holidays, all alone, to bring up his marks. He wanted to impress his father," Flitwick said softly.
"Yes," Draco agreed bitterly, looking at his younger self. "Lucius couldn't stand it that I was second to Granger. A Mudblood, he called her."
"As did you, Mister Malfoy," Professor Flitwick pointedly reminded him. "Look again."
As he looked, Draco realized the boy was Scorpius - not the sullen teen he had become, but a frustrated child desperate for his parent's elusive approval. With a sudden sense of shame, he remembered how he had berated his son for finishing behind Rose Weasley.
"I don't need to see this," he said abruptly.
"Then shake the snow globe," advised Flitwick.
As soon as the swirling flakes resolved to show Professor Dumbledore trembling against the rampart on the Astronomy Tower, Draco shook the globe again. Then it was Granger, arching off the rug in his family's drawing room as he looked away. He gave it a harder shake and it shifted to Astoria's funeral.
"She was always frail," Flitwick observed. "But she had a large heart!"
"Yes," Draco agreed on both counts, his jaw clenched. He had not married Astoria for love, but affection and respect had transpired over time. He had admired her insistence on raising Scorpius to be open-minded and tolerant, as well as her sly methods of circumventing his parents' attempts to the contrary. Her funeral had been wrenching.
"Why isn't this working?" he hissed, shaking the snow globe with vehemence. "I don't want to relive this!"
"You need to see it," Flitwick insisted.
Inside the snow globe, Scorpius approached him at Astoria's gravesite. The summer she died, he had been only thirteen, still a good head shorter than Draco and with his mother's slight build. That had not stopped him from shoving Draco, hard.
"This is your fault!" Scorpius cried brokenly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You killed Mum, with your stupid need for a stupid pureblood heir!"
"Scorpius, get a hold of yourself. Your mother knew the risks, and she wanted a child. If she hadn't, you wouldn't be here." Draco had tried to reason with his son, but he winced now at how cold he sounded.
"Then I wish I'd never been born!" Scorpius screamed. "This is your fault and I hate you!"
"Come, Scorpius," he ordered him, striding away from wife's grave, unable to bear staying there for another moment. Watching the scene play out in the globe, Draco realized he had been so focused on his own grief that he had failed to comfort his heartbroken son.
He sighed in relief as the scene faded and the swirling snowflakes dissipated to show his own office. Nothing too horrid had ever happened there. In fact, during his affair with Granger, some very pleasant things had happened there.
Draco realized the snow globe was showing the moments after one of those work-inappropriate interludes. He was relaxed, leaning back in his desk chair and knotting his tie, frankly enjoying the view as Hermione dressed. More accurately, he was watching as she straightened her clothes, pulling her brassiere down and her knickers up and buttoning her gaping blouse. It always had been quick and dirty, but so very satisfying, when they fucked in his office.
"Don't forget to cast a contraceptive charm," the miniature Draco in the snow globe reminded as Granger cast a Tergeo to clean up between her thighs.
She rolled her eyes at him as she cast the requested charm with perfect competence. "I never forget, Draco."
He smirked as she rolled her skirt down. "Speaking of forgetting, a little bird - or should I say weasel? - told me your birthday was earlier this week."
"I don't want to see this," he told Flitwick, shaking the snow globe to no avail. Draco realized it was showing the last time he had been intimate with Granger. He knew how this scene ended, and had no desire to relive it.
"You control the magic, not I," shrugged the half-goblin teacher. "It must be something you need yourself to see."
Inside the snow globe, Hermione was opening the present he had gifted her with, a furrow on her brow. "This is too much," she said flatly, looking at the diamond bracelet with a ruby clasp. "Why don't you just take me to dinner?"
"Sure," Draco in the globe replied lightly, still confident she would eventually accept his present. Witches always did. "I know a delightful bistro in wizarding Paris. Or if you're feeling more adventurous, there's a sushi place in Tokyo where the omakase is quite literally magical."
"What about the new restaurant in Diagon Alley?" she asked, the faintest note of challenge in her voice.
A shadow crossed the face of his past self. "I'm afraid that just won't do, pet," he shook his head. "The board of directors and many of our customers are very traditional. They'll see stepping out with you as an insult to my wife's memory." More importantly, Scorpius would feel betrayed.
"Tori died fourteen months ago," Hermione said bluntly, a faint pain in her voice. She and Astoria had been friends. "Your year of mourning is over."
"You wouldn't understand," Draco in the snow globe dismissed her. His blood-prejudiced directors could go hang, but Scorpius still was greiving the loss of the mother. If he felt Draco had replaced her so soon, Scorpius would never forgive him.
"What I understand is that you've been fucking me in private since last Christmas, but won't be seen with me in public. This is about my blood status, isn't it?" she demanded, eyes bright with anger.
"It's about tradition, Hermione," he lied, with the haughtiness and deceit his parents had inculcated in him. Malfoys hid their troubles from the prying eyes of the world. Draco could not bring himself to admit that his relationship with his son was so strained. "You wanted to be discreet, as well."
"Discreet, but not your dirty little secret. I respect myself too much to be that." She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. "I've also never been a very traditional witch.
He looked at her, his face an implacable mask.
"I hope you are happy in the life you've chosen, Malfoy," she called over her shoulder as she left his office, fully dressed and outwardly composed.
"Change it!" Draco snarled, not sure if he was referring to the scene within the snow globe or the way their relationship had ended.
"I told you this globe shows things that have been. I cannot change it," lectured Flitwick. He consulted his pocket watch. "Ah, it's just on half-past. Time for your next appointment, Mister Malfoy."