Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It and any characters from the franchise that may appear in this fanfiction are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made from this story.

Draco had been reliving memories for what seemed like ages. How much had Hermione managed to remove just to keep them safe in this war? This wouldn't even have been bloody necessary if snakeface had just stayed dead. But no, he had to go out and make seven fucking horcruxes. Well. That would be difficult to solve. Hermione said they'd never really figured out what they had been. The diary, which was hidden in the secret room under the drawing room at Malfoy manor was one. That was six left. Well. Five. Maybe. She had admitted to him once that she thought Potter might be one. That cursed scar he had on his face was more than it seemed. He definitely needed to look into that when he got back to his body.

"Your aunt was quite unhinged when she realized they had the Sword of Gryffindor with them when they arrived at the manor," Deandra mused. "Since Voldemort gave a horcrux to your father, might it be too much to assume he has given another to one of his other followers for safekeeping? Maybe the horcrux is in her vault, since she was so terrified they had managed to get in there."

"That still leaves us four," he answered as they were sucked into what felt like the final memory.

He was standing on the quidditch pitch, broom in his hand. It had just stopped raining, fog still hanging in the air. It seemed like everyone else was still in the castle, he was the first one out, the perfect time for some peaceful flying. Oh, how he'd missed flying ever since Moldy Pants and company had moved in with him. Flying was freedom. Freedom was power.

"Still too scared to fly, Granger?" he heard himself taunt as Hermione's magical signature walked closer to him. During the memories he had become more and more attuned to her, but he was unsure if his past self had actually felt it as strongly or if he was just projecting.

"Sod off, Malfoy. We need to be working on the project professor Vector assigned us. We haven't figured out the final calculations yet, and-"

"And taking a well-deserved break will empty my mind and help coming up with a solution," he argued back at her. "So, if you wouldn't mind and get yourself off of the quidditch pitch, I'd like to fly in peace. Which won't work with you screeching at me to get our homework done."

She huffed at him and crossed her arms, her hair frizzier than usual because of the humid air. "Well, then why don't you make me move?"

He smirked at her and strode over to her. "How about I make you shut up as well?"

She glared at him defiantly, chin up in the air. He was trying to determine when this happened as their past selves kept arguing. The quidditch pitch was back to normal, so it must've been after the Triwizard Tournament. The trees around them were starting to turn into bright hues of reds and yellows. Autumn of their fifth year then.

"I don't have time for this, Malfoy. I want this project to be finished. Some of us have actual friends to hang out with."

Ouch. That hurt. He knew Crabbe and Goyle were more bodyguards than friends. Pansy was just trying to become his betrothed so she could become the new Lady Malfoy – if only she knew that what she deemed to be a mudblood had taken up that title. Theo, Blaise and Daphne were alright though. He'd always learned to never trust anyone but himself, however. And, the one time he attempted to make a friend, well... Harry Potter had spat it back in his face, even if Draco had been a git back then. But he knew he'd trusted Hermione. More importantly, she'd trusted him.

"You could hang out with me instead," he answered, not letting her words get to him. "Perhaps go for a fly. You can always take a ride on my broomstick," he smirked.

Granger rapidly blinked at him and started blushing at his suggestion. "Are you barking mad?" she hissed. "Honestly, Malfoy, if this is your idea of fun then you can go fuck yourself," she spat close to his face. Oh yes, feisty indeed. And so easy to rile up.

"But what would be the fun in that?" he whispered as he took a step closer to her, noticing he was already a head taller than her. "Are you sure you came out looking for me here, in this rainy weather, just to finish some project that Vector assigned us? Are you sure you weren't just following me?"

Draco noticed how close they were, their noses almost touching as she glared up at him, still flustered. "Why would I want to follow you?" she asked, her Gryffindor courage not leaving her for a second.

"Because you can feel this" he said as he reached out to her with his magic, pulling on the thread that seemed to bind them together. Well. There went that theory. Seems like his past self definitely was aware of her magical signature if he could so easily grab onto it.

Granger took a step back, startled at feeling his magic grabbing onto hers. "What? Potter and Weasel not as attuned to you as I am?" he smirked. "Even after all the adventures you've been through? Or do you not know what this means, considering your… Upbringing?"

Hatred flared in her eyes for a split second, as her magic lashed out at him like a whip, making him let her go. Bloody hell that hurt.

"Never touch a lady without her permission, Draco," was all Deandra commented.

"I do know what it means," she spat back at him, taking a few steps back, holding her book bag in front of her protectively. "I researched it ever since last year when you said it's easy for you to locate me based on my magical signature. If the books I've read are to be believed, and trust me they are because I've cross-checked them, then you have a thing for me.

"10 points to Gryffindor," Draco smirked, closing in on her again. "But you seem to have forgotten one small detail. How did you find me here at the quidditch pitch anyways?"

"Well, you always go to the quidditch pitch after the rain," she huffed out.

Draco came to a stop right in front of her. "I do. And you know this how exactly?"

"Because I can…" Realization dawned in her eyes.

So, the little witch had researched magical signatures and what it meant to be attuned to them. Some people had a natural affinity for them, Lovegood was a prime example. Most family members also had no issues locating one another. He was pretty sure that the Weasley's clock which Hermione had mentioned to him once worked just because it was attuned to every family member's magical core. But one thing which every wizarding family knew was that sometimes, someone else's magic called on you. As Deandra had mentioned, it was almost like fate. Magic guiding the way, if you chose to act on it. If Granger knew where he was, just by thinking of him and following the thread that led to him, that could only mean one thing.

"You can just shut up and let me kiss you," he answered her as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering close to hers. "Last chance to back out, Granger."

What seemed to be like Hermione grabbing all of her Gryffindor courage together, she said. "Oh, you shut up," right before she pulled down his head and kissed him full on the lips, her hands in his hair. At least now he knew why she had scolded him for identifying the smell of the quidditch field right after the rain in his amortentia.

- Malfoy Manor, unknown time -

Draco's eyes flashed open as he returned to his body. Looking at the day-and-night cycle flashing outside his window, he was still traveling back through time. Deandra was still sitting in the chair at his desk, looking at him. "We've gone back about two years while watching the memories," she said. "Your body is already getting younger."

Draco sat up and looked down at himself. He did indeed look more boyish and slightly smaller. But the one thing he noticed immediately was his dark mark being gone. Thank fuck for that.

"Let's hope that foul magic will never stain you again," the spirit sighed. "Now, let's start planning for your return. We need to figure out the horcruxes. Since Hermione and Professor Dumbledore have been working on it for a long time, I'm not sure how far we would get with the time we have left. Right now we can assume that the diary is one and that your aunt has another hidden in her vault. According to Hermione, Harry might be the seventh. What about the other four? Is there anything else that seems off and could potentially help us in finding them now that you've looked at your memories?"

Draco stretched his neck and thought for a while. "The horcruxes are associated with especially dark magic, correct?" he asked Deandra. She nodded in agreement, encouraging him to continue. "Something which has always felt foul and off to me was his familiar, Nagini."

"Ah yes, Nagini," Deandra sighed. "An unfortunate story that one. She might be as attached as she is to Tom Riddle because she used to be on another dark wizard's side in the past, albeit as a human."

"A human?" Draco whispered. "Nagini used to be a human?"

"The victim of a blood curse," I'm afraid. "You've heard of maledictuses?"

"I thought they were a myth," he said. "No one has seen one in hundreds of years."

"There used to be one in the Malfoy line, about six hundred years ago," Deandra said, reminiscing and looking out of the window. "A beautiful little girl with strawberry blond hair. Her mother had been cursed because she married into the Malfoy family. Not even I could break it. One of the other contenders for your ancestor's hand, and thereby his fortune, could not live with the fact that she was second best, so she cursed the mother. After about thirty years, the girl turned into a peacock and stayed that way. She never had any children in order to not spread the curse, and your ancestor eventually remarried after his wife's death and had other children and heirs. No one wanted that particular curse to spread in the bloodline."

Draco was baffled. "So the peacocks in the garden?..."

"Don't worry, they are not your distant cousins," Deandra laughed. "They became a tradition to honour your ancestor's firstborn child. I'm afraid that the story of how this tradition came to be was lost over time."

"So, Nagini couldn't be a Horcrux?" Draco asked.

"She could've been," Deandra mused. "It would be best to cross-reference the magical signature of the horcrux we have access to, the diary, with any others we might encounter. It would be easier to locate them. Nagini might've been made a horcrux after Voldemort returned in your fourth year, however."

"That leaves three," Draco said. "But how would we even get to the one in aunt Bella's vault?"

"How's your Gobbledegook?" Deandra asked. "It's always smart to keep the goblins in your pocket and with more than just gold. They respect honour and tradition, and they would definitely want to get rid of any foul magic in their vaults. Perhaps a trip to Gringotts is in order once we get back."

"Gobbledegook?" Draco blanched at her. "Why on earth would I know Gobbledegook?".

"Right," the spirit huffed as she got up from the chair and moved closer to Draco. "I'd forgotten both your father and grandfather were so poisoned with their hatred of anything not Sacred Twenty-Eight that they forgot to actually educate themselves and their children."

Deandra sat down next to him, putting her hand on his forehead as if checking for a fever. "Luckily, you have me on your side. And as the spirit of this manor who multiple of your ancestors have shared their knowledge with, as well as being thousands of years old, I for one do speak Gobbledegook. As well as some Elvish. I can easily transfer this ability to you, if you'd be open to that?"

Draco just stared at her. Did she just say she held all the knowledge of his ancestors? Why had his father and grandfather never known this? If he had the spirit on his side, he couldn't imagine how his life might've turned out.

She smiled down at him. "I will always be on your side, little dragon," she said. "I'll take that as a yes?".

She raised an eyebrow at him and Draco nodded, feeling her hand get warmer on his head. Words filled his mind. Even though he had never heard them before, he could understand them.

[You wouldn't happen to know Parseltongue?] Draco jokingly asked her in Gobbledegook.

"The Gaunts did marry into the Malfoy line," she said. "But it is not an ability that is as easily transferred as it actually is a hereditary magical trait, much like being a metamorphmagus. People might raise questions if I'd actually succeed in teaching you Parseltongue, and you might attract certain familiars. I'm surprised that Mr. Potter never had a snake as his familiar, actually."

"So no cool magical hereditary traits for me," Draco signed, feigning disappointment.

Deandra let go of his forehead and held her hand in front of her mouth, laughing. "Oh dear dragon," she said. "Have you never questioned why the sleek pale blond hair is so dominant in your family, especially considering your mother is a descendant from the Black family?"

He blinked at her. He had the same hair colour as his father. He had never actually thought there was anything more to it than that. That it actually came from something magical.

"A few hundred years ago, Lady Malfoy was a veela," Deandra said. "And ever since, all Malfoy descendants have had white, silver, or pale blond hair. It is also the reason why your great-grandfather used a wand with a veela core in it. It was his great-grandmother's hair."

"Well, so much for blood purity," Draco mumbled. Just how ignorant had his father been? "I can't grow wings or anything strange, right?" he asked.

"I never actually thought about it," Deandra said. "But veela are meant to mate for life. I remember seeing one during your fourth year… Fleur Delacour. Yes. She met Mr. Weasley during the Triwizard Tournament, did she not? And then started working with him at Gringotts?"

Draco nodded. That was what Hermione had told him at least.

"Perhaps… Her magic guided her to him. It might explain why your magic always looked for Hermione's, and not just because she is the descendant of Armand's adopted daughter. Even though there is very little veela blood left in you, your hair colour shows that there are certain traits still activated by the magic. Perhaps… Magic is guiding you to your mate? I remember clearly that for a few generations, there were no betrothal contracts in the Malfoy family because the heirs always refused to marry just anyone for a political alliance. They actually used to believe in love, even though all of their wives were of course Sacred Twenty-Eight. You, my little dragon, seem to be the odd one out."

The wizard had to think about that. Had magic actually guided him to Hermione? He remembered looking for her in the Great Hall. Wanting to prove himself to her when she had insinuated he had bought his way onto the Quidditch team. All he could do was lash out at her, that was all he had ever done. But why? Why had he loathed her? Had he even loathed her? Or had he loathed not being able to spend time with her just because of her… unfortunate upbringing, as his father would say on his nicest of days.

"We need to protect her from them," he told Deandra, closing his eyes as he remembered how she'd been treated. Not just by death eaters and their spawn, not just by the purebloods. By the magical community as a whole. Even that damned Mrs. Weasley had refused to talk to her after Skeeter wrote that article on her and Potter during the Triwizard Tournament. One time Hermione had gone off to him how the Weasleys had a "cousin who was an accountant which they never spoke about". So even the blood traitors weren't too keen on squibs and those who had not grown up in the wizarding community, even if they would never admit it. Maybe they didn't even realize how biased they were considering they were on the side of the Light. The magical community wasn't worthy of a witch like her. He wasn't worthy of her. Honestly, he had no clue why she had started to help him, spend time with him, and eventually love him. Pity? Curiosity? Her stupid Gryffindor determination that saw him as her new charity project?

"Are you saying that because you want to protect her, or because it would sit better with your parents if her blood was more ancient?" Deandra asked him, unaware of his inner musings.

He weighed his words carefully. Blood purity had once been the most important determinant of someone's worth in Draco's eyes. But that nonsense had been passed down to him through his father and grandfather. They had both followed the Dark Lord, who apparently, was a half-blood himself. Son of a muggle and a near-squib. Draco's mother had multiple half-blood friends and was never rude to anyone, even though she always stayed on his father's side and had never actively sought to teach Draco otherwise. She had spoiled him, her only child, and had not thought of the consequences.

"I don't care for her blood status," he whispered. "I might have once, but not now. Not anymore. She never cared about mine either…" A sigh escaped his lips. "She never cared I was a death eater. I still don't understand why she didn't. I just know, that I want to make life easier for her, if I could. I'd overthrow the ministry for her, get rid of the whole Wizengamot, and make it so they would all see her for who she truly is. Brave. Brilliant. Beautiful. She saw something in me, that even I didn't see. And now…"

His hands had started shaking. He would do better for her. He'd make a better magical world for her, a better home for her. He'd do his best for her, prove his worth, even if he didn't deem himself worthy of her.

But what would he do now? He'd lost her. She had been his, despite his upbringing, despite his alliances. Because of the stupid war, and the insanity of one man and his followers, she was gone. Even if he remembered now, she would never. They would never share these moments. His Hermione was gone and she would never return. His wife would never return.

"I can't make her love me," he whispered to Deandra. "Even if I will try and do good for her, change the whole bloody wizarding world for her, I can't expect her to choose me again."

Deandra had seen this coming and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He'd finally realized what he'd lost. Realized it might never return. He was mourning his friend, his beloved. Mourning the times that would never be.

"It's alright, little dragon," the spirit told him, her silver hue enveloping like a warm blanket. "All we can do now is honour her memory. Make sure she grows up with a bunch of friends and loved ones, just like last time. Even though I assume the Weasleys might be more difficult to come around if she starts associating with you. But what is meant to happen, will happen. If their bonds were strong, they will find each other again. You will find each other again, in time."

He looked up at the spirit, grateful for her presence. Here he was, having a breakdown, but she was there for him. No one but Hermione had ever been there for him. Even his own mother had not always been on his side, and supported him through thick and thin. If only he'd known all of this before. If only he hadn't been such a git.

"There is no use in thinking about the past," Deandra stated. "Let's think about Hermione's status as a muggleborn in magical England. Outing her as connected to the Malfoy family might be too much," Deandra said. "But you mentioned she might be connected to the Dagworth-Granger line on her father's side?"

Draco nodded. When Slughorn had asked her if they were related he wanted to kick himself. Ofcourse a witch with her magical power and intelligence had not just been born magical out of nowhere. She had one time tried to explain the intricacies of what muggles called "DNA" to him and how she assumed that it was because of this "DNA" that she turned out to be a witch. She also told him it was probably why so many pureblooded families ended up with squibs or not getting pregnant, considering they kept marrying between themselves.

"The goblins at Gringotts would agree on doing a heritage test, and perhaps even keep her connection to the Malfoy line hidden," Deandra said. "Especially if you approach them with respect and address them in Gobbledegook."

"Perhaps I should do a test of my own," Draco said. "Just to make sure we aren't actually related, even if it is common in our circles to marry one's own cousin. The idea doesn't sit well with me, especially considering what Hermione mentioned about children's magical cores. Or the insanity running through the Black family line… If she would still decide to marry me, of course."

Deandra agreed with him. "What about Mr. Potter? Perhaps it would be wise to get him to Gringotts as well. His mother was muggleborn, but considering her accolades and accomplishments at both Hogwarts and during the First War, perhaps her blood is not as "new" as it seems. Even in squib lines, magic keeps growing, and is nurtured as it waits to reawaken in a new healthy generation. She potentially is also the descendant of squibs."

"His parents died in Godric's Hollow," Draco said, getting up now and watching the sun set and come up again through the window of his bedroom door. He could feel his clothes getting too big for him. Ugh. It would be annoying to be a small little runt again. "There are a lot of other magical families who lived there over the centuries. The Dumbledores and Bagshots are the most known ones, as well as the Peverells and Gryffindors. He might be more than just a Potter."

"Political power and alliances will be needed if we want this war to stop before it begins, little dragon," Deandra said as she came to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. "If Mr. Potter would be able to take up his lordship, and perhaps others, it would give us an advantage in the Wizengamot."

"We should test all three of us," Draco agreed. "The more ancient and supposed-dead lines we can get on our side, the better."

They both stood in silence, thinking, watching as a younger Draco was spending his time reading in the bedroom, not aware of the two time travellers in the room with him.

"If Hermione ends up being a half-blood," Deandra said. "This would mean she could be sorted into Slytherin. Have you thought about the sorting situation? I assume it would be easier to be all sorted together considering the rivalries you went through. Gryffindor would absolutely be out of the question. Their qualities are admirable and I am happy to see Hermione has rubbed off on you and made you into a more brave and chivalrous man. However, I feel like wit and cunningness would get us further, which means… Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Both would suit you well, little dragon. Most of your ancestors have been Ravenclaws or Slytherins and I am sure your mother and father would be fine with either one. Hermione would do well in Ravenclaw, and as a half-blood, she could thrive with her ambition and resourcefulness in Slytherin. But, Harry…"

"Potter was supposed to be in Slytherin," Draco told her. "Hermione said he asked the hat not to, after our unfortunate encounter at Madam Malkins, as well as on the train with Weasley and Granger."

What an idiot he had been. If only he wasn't such a pompous git, he could've had Harry Potter on his side since he was eleven. Not that his father wouldn't have taken advantage of that mind you.

"The houses do not define who you grow up to be, but only bring out the potential of what is already there. People can still change," Deandra said. "Slytherin it is then?"

"If I can convince them to join me wherever I get sorted, then yes. Slytherin. Even though Harry might want to be in the house his parents were sorted in. Then I will have to pivot and go for Gryffindor after all. There are also the Weasleys to consider. They were Hermione's magical family and I would hate to take them from her."

"The Weasleys might come around, perhaps it will take them a few years," Deandra sighed. "Headmaster Dumbledore will not be pleased if Mr. Potter ends up in Slytherin. That old man has always liked to meddle and keep his secrets. I remember your great-grandfather going on a rant about the Gryffindor Head Boy being a know-it-all, even if he was aligned to the dark arts back then, considering his association with Grindelwald."

Draco had read all about that particular story. Then he overheard one of the dark underlings saying that their master had traveled to Nurmengard to get something from Grindelwald. They all thought the leader of the Light had killed the dark wizard. Yet, he had never managed to kill his lover. The old wizard certainly did like to keep his secrets. How he had never ended up in Slytherin was beyond him.

"This time, it will be us doing the meddling," Draco stated, determined. "The old cooch won't be able to penetrate my mind as godfather trained me in occlumency. He might've done a bad job with Potter, but he actually taught me. I'll have to teach Mione and Potter too, I suppose."

"That's another thing that worries me," Deandra said. "Well, quite a few things actually, specifically concerning your powers. How will you explain to anyone that a mere 11-year-old boy can perform spells way beyond his years? I can feel your magical core shrinking the younger you get, so your spells will not be as powerful even if you are thriving on a lot of magical power. But being able to cast every spell on the first try would seem off. Also, it would be unfair to Hermione and others in your class to be outdone simply because you literally almost sat your N.E.W.T.s already."

Draco hadn't thought about that. Hermione indeed always wanted and aimed to be the best, and he felt it would be unfair to her. He'd always been more talented in potions, and Potter had been better in defence, but Hermione was a force to be reckoned with. Greengrass and one of the Patil twins had also beaten Draco in quite a few classes, and, even though he was loath to admit it, Potter had always been the better flier.

"I suppose I should give them their time to shine," Draco admitted. "However, I will not underperform considering my previous grades and accolades. I still want to be part of the Quidditch Team no matter the house I end up in, and I still want to be able to become a prefect. It will please father. It also helps to get into higher positions at the ministry, which we will need in the future. Getting to know the other prefects might not be a bad idea either if we want to gain more political clout. And if anything, we need to keep my father pleased and unsuspecting of what we're doing. He might be slightly disillusioned now, but he certainly was not before the Dark Lord rose to power again. And if anyone is ever in danger, I will also not refrain from using my extended range of spells. I could always blame it on being an only child with a lot of time to read in the Malfoy library?"

Deandra smiled at him. "You really have changed, my little dragon. Just, don't let the wrong people see that you have. If they do, use it as an excuse and say it is to get close to Mr. Potter. To be a spy if need be."

"I will have to tell him and Hermione," Draco said. "Not being friends with them blew up in my face once. Once they learn occlumency, I will tell them how I've lied to my parents about the nature of our friendship. I can't tell them the whole truth, but I want them to understand. It might have to wait a few years though… I need to forget what they were like before. Anything could change really. Bloody hell, they might not even want to be friends with me either way."

"Worrying doesn't solve anything," Deandra said as she guided him back to his bed. "All we can do is plan for the years ahead. Worry will get us nowhere. We will deal with it as the time comes. We will use the rest of our time here to plan ahead as much as we can."

"Will you still be here, when we get back?" Draco asked Deandra. "Or will you disappear again seeing as I am no longer the lord of the manor?"

"Draco," Deandra began as she wiped his hair out of his face. It had gotten longer again, and his face had steadily grown rounder, more childlike. "You are the rightful lord of this manor, even if your father wears the ring. Just like with Armand, I will come to you when you need me. I am always a part of you, even if I am strongest here at the manor. All you will need to do is close your eyes and think of me, and I will come to your aid. Just as I have done with your ancestors who've honoured me, and as I will do with your descendants after you. Now, concentrate. We will need some of your cunning to convince everyone you are still the same little spoiled brat, while actually being friends with Hermione and Mr. Potter."

He gave her his trademark smirk. "Are you doubting me, Deandra? I thought you knew how stubborn of an arse I could be."

She laughed at him as she tucked him into his bed. "Maybe you should train on smiling instead of smirking and sneering at everyone as if they are beneath you," she said. "Even if Malfoys do always aim for the best."