A/N- This chapter has been updated. Brought to you by me: a tired high school student with a cold.

(excuse my melodramatic behavior- being sick always makes me this way).

Chapter Eight

Draco ran a tired hand through his hair. The fireplace was the best area of the common room to focus his attention on; soot covered the dark stones that made up the center of the fireplace and the green fire never ceased its crackling. Unlike the rest of the mostly vacant room, the fire was in constant motion. And if there was one thing that would never change it was the Slytherin fireplace. The flames would always be tinted a green hue and the walls would always be caked with soot. Nothing would be different about it tomorrow, or in a week, or in a year.

Feeling pensive and guilty about what'd happened to Katie Bell in October because of his utterly stupid plan, Draco settled back against the couch. He had a book open in his lap, but it was a farce that everyone saw through. Draco had barely glanced at it twice in the past half hour.

Looking as though they'd been through hell and back, the entire Slytherin Quidditch team came romping into the common room, sour expressions on their faces. It was a sudden occurrence, which left the students who'd opted to stay behind to study stunned. Draco watched as Harper, the fifth year he had tipped off to play for him, broke off from the rest of the team. He headed straight for the blonde on the couch, his face murderous.

"Malfoy!" Harper cried loudly, making several people look up with veiled curiosity, "I hope you're happy. We lost, because of you. Had you been there, we would've won!"

Ah. So they had lost to Gryffindor.

Draco stood, pushing the forgotten book aside. He was quite put out with the hot-headed, poor excuse for a Slytherin he'd paid to play Quidditch. Draco'd thought Harper would've had enough brain cells to realize that it was better for everyone if he just kept his mouth shut. But of course he hadn't, and now Draco wasn't in the mood to play games.

"Are you implying," Draco's tone commanded the attention of everyone in the room, not just those who were pretending not to listen, "That it was you who, quite literally in this case, 'dropped the ball'?"

The insult/pun drew several snickers from the first years sitting near one of the bookcases, but otherwise the room remained relatively silent.

Harper's cheeks flushed a bright red color, but his voice did not betray his embarrassment, "That's not what I meant at all, and you know it you tosser—"

"Really? Because that's what it sounded like. What, afraid to admit defeat?"

"At least I'm not a coward, like you,"

Draco was seriously considering hexing Harper in a nasty, illegal manner, before the fifth year added to his previous statement, "Like your father."

Draco saw red.

In a haze of spit-fire rage, Draco had somehow managed to cross half the common room in just a few strides and shove Harper against the cool stone wall.

The action did not intimidate Harper, but rather, spurred him on. Although he was trapped between Draco and the wall, Harper had the gall to grin in the most shit-eating way possible. He then began to spit out insults which, in all fairness, was the dumbest possible thing he could've done.

"I mean, have you seen your family lately? They're the lacking stock of all pure-blood, and—hell, I'll say it—half-blood households. The patriarch, in prison! The little Malfoy boy, trying to fill daddy's shoes. Oh, poor Draco, can't even play Quidditch—"

Reeling back, Draco punched the little twit right in the nose.

"You should really think twice about what you say, Harper," Draco kept his expression as schooled as possible under the circumstances, "After all these years in Slytherin…"

With one hand over his bleeding nose, Harper shoved Draco violently with the other. It was enough force that he lost his footing and fell back onto a small end table, shattering several glass knick-knacks that resided there. Draco could feel the glass pricking his skin through his robes, and he was certain he'd be bleeding profusely in a few minutes if he wasn't already.

Hearing the commotion, the previously occupied Crabbe and Goyle rushed forward from a corner of the common room to help him up. Waving their hands off he stood, Draco glared at Harper in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion, and stumbled out of the room without further comment.

Unsure as to where he was going, Draco took to wandering through the dungeons until he found a rather dank, secluded corner. Sitting, gingerly because the cuts he'd sustained hurt, Draco muttered several healing spells on his back and arms. He hoped that the cuts were not severe enough to require a trip to the hospital wing. He did not want to go there; Madam Pomfrey was too inquisitive. Draco found it best to heal himself with magic and not rely on the school nurse. It was good practice for when the aftermath of a real fight would roll around, Draco thought.

So the blonde left his secluded area, not considering mending his robes or cleansing his shirt of blood. It was simply not worth the effort. (Though the shirt had been expensive, damn)

Damn Harper. I don't have time for Quidditch. It's just more stress I don't need, and I'm supposed to off Dumbledore before the end of this year! As if that isn't stressful enough without worrying about a golden ball with wings.

Rounding a corner, Draco was too lost in thought to see the red-eyed, tear-stained Rose Weasley lying on the ground. Therefore, he was quite shocked when he stumbled and fell across her lap.

"Holy Shit!" Cried she, squirming uncomfortably, "W-What…"

Draco pushed back on his heels, squatting to the side of her. Rose (that was her name, right?) grimaced and rubbed at her stomach, where his head had been. "Sorry," He muttered, avoiding her piercing blue eyes. Eyes which were so eerily familiar.

"S'all right," Rose twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, "Accidents happen."

It was then that Draco got a good look at her. If she was from the future (Not like she is, Draco thought in a rather stubborn manner, though the logical part of his brain was telling him that there simply was no other explanation for what he'd seen the previous evening), she would definitely be Weasley and Granger's kid. She had the telltale red Wealsey hair of course, and the same blue eyes. Her skin was tan, and she had an unreasonable amount of freckles across her cheeks. But her face was that of Granger's; heart-shaped with a small nose and curved lips. She was somewhat pretty, but not exceptionally

"You're hurt," Rose mentioned casually, motioning towards his torn and bloodied clothes. A hot flash of defiance washed over Draco. Why hadn't he fixed his robes when he had a chance?

"I'm aware," Draco's proudness was gone, and in its place was an odd sort of embarrassed feeling. Draco yanked on his sleeves to be sure no skin was showing above his wrists. This was by far one of the strangest situations he had been in since stepping foot into the castle this year.

"You know," Rose broke the silence that had fallen between them, "Scorpius is your son,"

It was so blunt, so… Weasley, that Draco had to laugh. It came out horribly bitter.

"Well of course. I'm not completely dumb, now am I? I chose to be ignorant, you know. It helps to block people out." It helped keep him sane.

Rose nodded, a calm look about her, "Then you must understand that Voldemort doesn't win,"

Draco shook his head furiously, "No. Please, don't."

Quiet dropped upon them again and they sat for what felt like hours, each lost in their own thoughts.

"They thought you were evil," Rose whispered, barely loud enough for Draco to hear, "My classmates did. But I didn't. You're just scared."

Draco's throat was too dry to respond, so he could only watch as she stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked away.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!"

Harry Potter looked up from the intense game of chess he was engaged in with Ron Weasley. They were sitting in the corner of the living room at the Burrow, hunched over the ancient chess board as though they were twelve again. Hearing the urgency in his oldest son's voice caused Harry to straighten up from his position over the game instantly. Years of being an Auror caused such a reaction; he was always to be on guard.

Despite his initial reaction, Harry knew that James' issue was most likely trivial, so he took a moment to stretch before standing. Ron, who was absorbed in deciding what move to make next, barely noticed the motion.

Harry glanced around the room, trying to locate his son in the cluttered and crowded room. Without warning, James burst through the archway between the living room and the hall. His cheeks were flushed an odd red color. His brown eyes were wide with what could only be described as fear and his hair stuck up in awkward places.

"James Potter, don't run in the house!" Ginny scolded lightly from the couch, though it wasn't her usual "no-nonsense" tone. Ginny glanced from her son to Harry, and he could see that she could see that something was wrong with James. Harry gave her a slight nod, as if to say No worries, I've got this one.

"Dad!" James appeared winded, leaning heavily on the chair his father had just vacated, "I d-didn't m-mean t-to…" Harry realized with a shock that James was close to tears.

It's more serious than I thought, then. Harry thought.

Moving to stand next to his son, Harry placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, "It's alright, James, you can tell me. Did something happen? I know that you and Freddie were looking about upstairs…"

James stood, his hands behind his back, head bowed in a sorrowful motion, and he said, "I found a time turner up there, Dad."

A cold knot of fear settled deep in Harry's stomach.

"Okay Harry's eyes flickered around the loud living room. No one had minded James' intrusion; such events happened quite often. All of the children were upstairs, except for Teddy and Victoire (who could hardly be counted as kids). George was sitting in the corner with Charlie (who had taken off work to relax for a few days). Angelina, Ginny, and Molly had been sharing several interesting stories on the couch prior to James' entrance. Bill and Fleur were chatting quietly with their oldest daughter and her fiancé. Hermione was watching Ron and he play chess, and she had taken over his place when he had gotten up. Even Percy had attended the Sunday dinner along with his wife Audrey, who were catching up with Arthur. Yes, everything seemed normal. Except it wasn't.

"I didn't mean to, honest!" James exclaimed suddenly, his hands flying to his hair, "I wanted to show Al the time turner, and Rose was out there with Malfoy and…"

Harry was struck with realization. His mind was thrown back into sixth year, when three students showed up claiming to be 'Rose Weasley', 'Scorpius Malfoy' and 'Albus Potter'.

"Gods, James. I forgot about that…"

James' face paled, and his face twisted with obvious confusion, "They… what?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry motioned to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The three stood, approaching Harry and James. Harry whispered, "Not here" to them and led them through the kitchen door into a small, secluded study with a large fireplace along one wall.

"Harry, why the interruption? For the first time since we were in school, I was beating Ron at chess!" Hermione joked. Ron looked ready to object, but Harry held up a hand. He needed a moment to think.

He'd almost forgotten about what'd happened when he was in his sixth year. The entire school year was a haze of schoolwork and meetings with Dumbledore. The students who'd appeared in November seemed like a distant memory; they'd barely stayed for three months. He remembered them of course, remembered who they claimed to be, but no one else did. At the time, Harry tried to put the strange occurrence out of his mind.

Because whenever he'd try to talk about it, everyone would appear confused. Hermione asked him if he was "alright" once, Harry could remember with an odd sort of clarity the way her face appeared when she said it. As though what'd happened was a mystery to her. After several other instances in which Harry would bring up something Ron and Hermione knew nothing about, he decided to let the matter drop. No one knew of students by the names of Victor, Benito, and Elizabeth.

Well, one person did.

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by Ginny, who was rubbing her hand over his. He smiled at her, grateful for her reassuring smile. Still staring at his wife, Harry said, "Ron, floo call Malfoy."

"But… what?" Ron was clearly just as confused as the rest of the office's inhabitants, though they did not voice their opinions.

"I need to talk to him, it's very important, please trust me."

Ron turned toward the fireplace, but stopped as though a thought had just occurred to him, "Does this involve mini-Malfoy?"

"You mean Scorpius?" Hermione mentioned, eyebrow raised. Ron flushed a deep red color, and mumbled something under his breath.

Harry took a deep breath, "Yes, and no. Ron, it has to do with all of our children."

"All of our children?" Ah, thought Harry as he heard his wife speak, there's that no-nonsense tone. I'll probably be sleeping on the couch tonight…

"Tell him that it's about the thing that happened before Christmas break in sixth year, and that he needs to come here. Now." Harry told Ron, while simultaneously avoiding eye contact with Ginny and Hermione.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

Ron picked up the small pot on the mantle, and without further ado, threw small pinch into the fire. He called out "Malfoy Manor" and stuck his head into the flame.

Harry sat behind the desk, suddenly feeling years older than he actually was, "It's about three students that showed up out of nowhere in the middle of Sixth year named Victor, Benito and Elizabeth Weasley,"