WARNING: Since this is a time travel fanfic, this means there will be an age gap between Draco and Hermione consisting of about 5-6 years. The female lead (Hermione) is not isolated from her friends and family and there is no romantic intent behind the friendship between time-traveling Draco and Hermione in the first years of the story. I try and make it a point that he wants her to have a choice and be independent early on in the fanfic, even though he does change and manipulate a few things in the Harry Potter universe, because, well, they suit where I want to go with the story better. To fix the power imbalance in their relationship, Hermione will at one point in the story (this is a slow burn) discover that he has lived a different past than her. If you have difficulty with reading stories with an age gap, I suggest you stop reading now. In addition, since death eaters are definitely not the nicest people out there, references to torture (such as Bellatrix torturing Hermione at Malfoy Manor), rape, and child abuse can be found in this story. Multiple characters will also be using curse words, so be warned.

In addition, this will be a DracoxHermione (Dramione) story. Characters might be OOC to a certain extent. I'd like to think that Draco, having grown up as he did, had some time to reflect during that last year of the war while being a death eater. In the books, he was a bully, no doubt about it. Yet, he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. He didn't want to rat out the golden trio at the Manor, and he even became friendly with Myrtle, who for all intents and purposes was a muggleborn witch/ghost. I wanted to read a story where Draco travels back in time and tries to fix things. I haven't seen many of these, so I thought I would have a go it at it. In no way do I think this is the story out there, this is just my interpretation and imagination.

This story will be published on both FF and AO3 and has been rewritten since the original upload date. Anyone reading this story before the 18th of October 2023 has not read any of the updates before chapter 16. There is also a note added to that chapter to notify people that certain things have been rewritten.

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.

Author's note: Eternal thanks to my beta, GeekandProud (AO3) a.k.a. AnimeIsMyCrack (FF) who also made the cover image for this story.

Would there ever be an end to this darkness? Or would every night be filled with despair and screams echoing around in his mind? Would every nightmare end in inexplicable feelings of loneliness and hunger clawing at him from the inside? Or would he one day wake up and feel whole again? Feel like he'd felt before this damned war?

Draco stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, remembering all the pain and suffering he'd seen during the last year. Every night he was haunted by his dreams, but some were worse than others. Children were tortured and killed, death eaters laughing maniacally at their suffering. Some of his female classmates were… He swallowed deeply, trying helplessly to forget what Fenrir Greyback had done to Lavender Brown. Sometimes, he would see her. Granger. Being caught, being brought to the Manor along with Boy Wonder and the Weasel. He never truly understood why it had him so worried to see her in his nightmares, her big brown eyes looking up at him in fear. Perhaps it irked him to think of the golden trio getting caught? Because if Potter got caught, then… There truly would never be an end to Voldemort's reign of terror. There would be no way out of this for any of them. No way but death.

A sigh escaped Draco's lips as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his left arm, wincing when he caught a glimpse of the dark mark on his forearm. It wasn't often he fell asleep during the day, usually he was always aware of his surroundings. But lately, he had felt so tired. So empty. It was as if his magic was being sucked out of him, barely keeping him afloat. Even his mother had noticed he'd started eating more than was usual for him. He didn't know why he was so hungry, or why he was so tired. He didn't know why he felt so drained. All he wanted to do was sleep and maybe finally have some peace.

Another glare at his dark mark made him wonder if perhaps snake face had been sucking him dry. Draco had been little more than a useless follower to the Dark Lord. He barely remembered why he had wanted to become a death eater when he was just a little boy. Had he really been stupid enough to think it would appease his father? To finally be good enough? To show all the mudbloods and blood traitors that he was better than them? Getting that curse ingrained in his flesh after his father had fucked up at the Ministry had brought him to tears. The Dark Lord had enjoyed watching him suffer as the dark parselmagic seeped into his skin. The bloody bastard even took his time magically and cruelly carving that mark into his arm.

The blond shook his head as he cast a quick Scourgify at himself, getting rid of the sweat that was still clinging to him, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. A frown was plastered on his face as he changed his robes. His mind had been the only place where he was protected. He'd become quite adept at occlumency during the Dark Lord's presence. If he wanted to survive, he had to be proficient at mind magic. He was enough of a laughingstock already, refusing to join in on the torture and murder of muggles, witches, and wizards. He didn't want to kill or to torture and rape. He wanted to be free. Alas, freedom was not something that he could achieve. Even if he wasn't currently inhabiting the dungeons like Luna Lovegood was, he too was a prisoner in his own home. The only safe place for him was behind his occlumency walls. He'd built up Malfoy Manor like a fortress in his mind, trying to remember his home as it once had been, without all the intruders.

If only they knew what he'd been thinking over the past few months. What he'd been attempting to do. Hours upon hours in the secret study which was part of the Malfoy Library hadn't helped him in trying to get rid of that damned mark on his arm, he'd need a parselmouth for that. None of the two currently living in magical Britain would be willing to help him. In one of his darker periods, he'd even considered just chopping the damn thing off, fleeing to the continent when he saw his chance. But Draco Malfoy was not born a Gryffindor. He'd never learnt to do the right thing, to sacrifice himself, to be courageous enough to save himself. He'd learnt to survive by being on the winning side, not the right one. No one had seen Potter and his friends in months. Things were starting to look bleak. If he wanted to survive this war, his best chances were to lay low, stay on the dark side. Even if somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming at him that that was not the right side.

"Going to the continent wouldn't help anyone," he murmured to himself as he adjusted his robes, ready to face whatever lay beyond the wards of his bedroom. The smallest gift his mother had been able to give him, was the privacy of his own room. He'd noticed how she too had been displeased with the guests currently living in the Manor. He scowled. Perhaps she too had been thinking about moving to the continent? But what good would that do? Snake face had followers everywhere, especially in Eastern Europe, and the snatchers had become quite skilled at finding any opposition or deserters. A shiver went down his spine when he remembered how a death eater, one even younger than him, had tried to run to Spain, only to be returned to the Dark Lord in bits and pieces.

He almost jumped out of his skin, his wand in hand, when a pop could be heard next to him. Tipsy, the head house elf, had apparated into his room and was almost grovelling at his feet, blabbering that he was urgently needed in the drawing room. The house elf seemed so… Out of it. Fuck. If even the elves were flustered, it must be really bad.

When he left the confines of his room, strengthening his occlumency walls as he did so, he wasn't sure what to expect. The closer he got to the drawing room, however, the more dread filled him. Something was tugging at him. At his magic. Whatever had been draining him, whatever had been filling him with despair, was here. He could feel it. Had it truly been the Dark Lord and whatever curse he'd put upon Draco's flesh the day he gave him the dark mark? Had he done something to displease him? Had his fleeting thoughts of escape finally slipped out in an unguarded moment and was snake face just there to finish what he'd started, finally taking Draco's magic as his own?

The doors to the drawing room opened as he approached, and he almost physically staggered back. He had expected to be tortured. Perhaps he would even be killed because they'd finally gotten enough of him and his behaviour, of his unwillingness to truly join them. The sight that greeted him, however, sent ice rushing through his veins. His Aunt Bellatrix, crouching over Granger. She was grinning down at the witch with a dagger in her hand and Draco looked down into those brown eyes that had been haunting him for almost an entire year now. No. This had to be another nightmare. Right?

He almost jumped when the doors behind him closed. It was then he noticed Potter and Weasley who were struggling against some other lowlife death eaters and snatchers. No, no, no. If all three of them were caught, then all of them were doomed, Draco included. The light would never win if all three of them had been caught. The last hope of wizarding Britain was standing in Draco's home, and he had no fucking clue how to get them out of it.

Keeping up his occlumency, he seemed indifferent, even haughty, when taking note of the teenage boys' silent screams. But on the inside, he was screaming too. Now that he was so close to her, he realised it had been her. The pull to his magic, the thing that had been draining him slowly but surely over these past few months… It had all been her. Taking a look at her twitching form, he could see how thin her face had become, her cheekbones pronouncing how unhealthy she looked. She was nothing but skin and bones, almost as if she'd been starved. She looked exactly like how he'd felt. He raised an eyebrow at her. Had she been the reason why he'd been so hungry? Had his magic tried to sustain her? But… Why?

"Draco," his father began as he walked up behind Draco, distracting him from his thoughts. "It is her right? The mudblood. Which must mean that the others…" Lord Malfoy drifted off and twitched nervously. Draco noticed it was a new habit his father had created while playing host to his precious Dark Lord. If there was one thing snake face didn't appreciate, it was bad news. After falling from grace after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, it was usually Draco's father who ended up as the victim of a well-aimed Cruciatus curse.

As his father grabbed the back of his neck, forcing him to look at the golden trio, Draco only had eyes for Granger. It was her, no doubt about it. He'd recognized her as soon as he walked in, even if she looked so sickly and her frizzy hair had lost most of its usual vibrant colour. Just like in his nightmares, her deep brown eyes were now staring at him, panicking, as Bellatrix taunted the teenage witch. How the fuck had they ended up in this situation?

"The other one is Potter, yes?" his Aunt Bellatrix giggled while waving the dagger toward the dark-haired boy, clearly contemplating to take a chunk out of him as well.

Draco got a better look at the Boy Who Refused To Die. Please. Obviously, that was Potter. There was no mistaking him. However, the blond wizard realised that even though he would recognize the golden trio anywhere, his family seemed to be in doubt. They clearly did not want to make a mistake when it came to giving information to the Dark Lord, and he couldn't blame them for it. They had fallen out of favour a long time ago, even if his Aunt Bella was still one of the Dark Lord's most favoured followers. Draco and his father were definitely not. Ever since sixth year, when he… Well. He blinked a few times trying to forget the headmaster falling down from the astronomy tower, the green light flashing in his eyes. Draco clenched his fists, refusing to remember, refusing to lose his composure now. Thank Merlin that his godfather had taken a vow to protect him. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to live with himself if he'd actually killed the leader of the Light. If he was the reason that Voldemort had so much power now… Wincing inwardly, he realised that he was the reason for all of this suffering. He had been the one to let the death eaters enter the castle, giving them the perfect opportunity to kill the Headmaster. Everything had turned to shit after that.

"I… I can't be sure," Draco said as honestly as he could. Thankfully he was naturally talented at occlumency, else no one would believe him. "It seems like whoever this is, he got hit with a stinging hex." He paused, acting as if he was contemplating what to do next. Bullocks. He knew what to do next. Lying would be their only chance to find a way out of this mess. "Wouldn't it be better to be sure, father? Before concerning the Dark Lord with this information?"

Where had the times gone when he was so easily manipulated by his father? One look at the elder Malfoy and Draco knew that he was nothing more than a shell of the man he once was. If even his son could now plant the seed of doubt, Lucius Malfoy had definitely lost his bearings. All Draco had to do was play it right so they would be unsure. Potter and his friends showing up was not how this was supposed to go.

Ever since he got disillusioned by snake face and his lackeys, ever since he had gotten the dark mark, Draco had been looking for a way out. This could be his chance. He sighed inwardly, remembering how he thought that becoming a death eater after his father's failures would bring power to the Malfoy name again. Ha. Joke's on him. Even someone with the brain capacity of Weasley would have noticed that that would never work out. What he'd dreamt of was political power, standing above all others in society, making up the rules. When reality hit him, and when their opponents were killed mercilessly and cruelly, all his childish dreams had turned into nightmares. Truth was, if this killing spree continued then there would be no one left to lead, no one to have power over.

Even though the Dark Lord praised pureblood supremacy, more and more purebloods died to the cause every week, no matter what side of the war they were on. The neutral families like the Greengrass family had long since left the country. Not only muggle-borns, but purebloods as well were becoming extinct in wizarding Britain. The Malfoy name, or any pureblood name currently seated in the Wizengamot for that matter, was worth nothing. All that mattered was Lord Voldemort. No other name would ever be remembered. Unless… Unless Potter would just avada'd the bastard and get it over with. Alas. Potter was now a prisoner at the manor and Draco had no idea where to begin to get him and his friends out of this. He didn't know if he'd even be able to come up with a plan. Granger lying there, draining his magic, was making it very hard to think. Perhaps, that was the first issue he should solve. Make sure that Granger stopped doing whatever she was doing.

Once more, his thoughts were interrupted by his father ordering some low lives to send the weasel and scar face to the basement. Draco watched with horrified fascination as they were still silently screaming Granger's name. Hermione. He saw her name on their lips, tears coming out of their eyes. His own magic tugged at him as well. Something was very wrong. He remembered being in tune with her magic before, ignoring it to the best of his abilities during all of his Hogwarts years. Perhaps, he should have spent some time on figuring out exactly why that had been the case. It was too late now. Things were going sour, and Draco knew for a fact that Potter and Weasley would never survive without the smartest witch of their generation.

Compared to the two boys' silent screams, Granger's screams echoed loudly throughout the drawing room, bouncing around in his brain like a Bludger, making him want to jump out of his skin. Aunt Bella was insane, and her torture methods were ruthless. Just look at the Longbottoms… No. If Granger's brain would end up like mush, the other two thirds of the golden trio would be devastated. They would be lost without her, making it even more likely that they would lose the war. Perhaps he could have one of the house elves apparate them out of the dungeons once he would be back in his room? The elves were still bound to the Manor, to his family. Not even Voldemort could order them to do anything else. His father was too far gone to ever suspect him of mutiny against the Dark Lord, and his mother wouldn't even consider it… Yes. All he had to do was wait until his aunt had enough of playing with Granger's life, and that she would be sent to the dungeons. Then, perhaps Tipsy could… But what would he do then? If he would be found out, he'd end up dead. If he escaped, his mother might end up dead instead. Fuck.

He was unsure why, but he glanced at Hermione. Perhaps he hoped to get some inspiration from her? But when he looked down at her, all Draco could feel was disgust at his aunt's actions. He had to stop himself from grabbing his wand, blasting her off of the teenage witch. His magic was practically begging him to do something. By now his aunt was carving into Granger's arm with the dagger she'd been holding earlier. That thing was definitely cursed, looking at the black ooze that was running out of the younger witch whenever she was cut by the death eater. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. What excuse could he come up with to make his aunt stop torturing Granger?

Her brown eyes were filled with tears now, and her screaming had made her voice hoarse, fading out even as she was still tortured. With a feeling of regret, he realised that he remembered those tears… He remembered when he'd called her a mudblood for the very first time, after she insinuated that he had bought his way onto the Slytherin quidditch team by equipping the Slytherin team with all those new brooms. He'd called her a mudblood many times after that. And yet, as she lay there bleeding on the wooden floor of his ancestral home, her blood was a deep red colour. Just like his.

Another memory tugged at his mind. He remembered finding her, crying in an empty classroom during the Yule Ball, her periwinkle blue dress fawned out around her. At first, he'd wanted to scoff at her, laugh at her, and make her feel even worse than she already did. But seeing her so vulnerable, all he did instead was leave the classroom without saying a word. He shook his head. Was that really what had happened? Honestly, he was so tired that even his memories were starting to become foggy. For a split second, he even remembered an angry Granger yelling at him on the quidditch pitch… Where the hell did that come from? In the past year or so he'd noticed that some memories of his Hogwarts years had felt so dull, unreal even. There were so many memories he could no longer place, almost as if something or someone had tampered with his mind.

He looked away from Granger, trying to come up with something to have her aunt stop torturing her. But then, he suddenly felt someone tugging at his mind. Afraid his aunt was on to him, he immediately threw up his magic, trying to protect his thoughts and memories. To no avail, it seemed. Whatever magical power was coming at him, it had just opened the door to his mind fortress, the mental entrance of Malfoy Manor flying wide open. What was this?

"Draco?"

As he heard the intruder barely whisper his name in his mind, he stumbled backward, holding onto the nearest chair. This was impossible. He wasn't even keeping eye contact with her, yet she had just invited herself into his mind. But how? Was this part of whatever curse she had put on him, the one that had been draining his magic for the past few months? He looked back down at the girl invading his mind, trying to get a glimpse at her thoughts. Yet, all he was met with was emptiness.

His aunt had proceeded into dancing in circles around Hermione, proud of her "artwork" on the teenage witch's arm. With a feeling of disgust, he realised that just like himself, Granger was now marked. MUDBLOOD. He could clearly see the letters carved in her arm, dark red blood mixed with foul dark magic blemishing her pale white skin. Another cruciatus made its way to Granger's frail body, but this time she didn't scream. Her foot twitched for a second, but the rest of her body didn't move an inch, even though more and more blood started flowing around her, seeping through the cracks in the wooden floor beneath her. Fuck. He needed to come up with something, fast. At this rate, she would bleed out.

She distracted him once again, whispering to him:"How… How is this possible? The pain… I can't focus… How am I in your mind, Draco?"

"You tell me, Granger, you just waltzed in here without blinking", he mentally scoffed at her, attempting to hide his true thoughts. Even her mental image was battered and bruised. She didn't resemble the Hermione he'd known at Hogwarts at all. His magic tugged even harder, almost physically moving his body. No. One wrong move and Bellatrix would kill them both. He had to think about this.

Confusion filled his head. Filled both their heads, until Granger let out another scream and he physically recoiled. His eyes darted to the exit of the drawing room. He needed to come up with something to get her out of this mess and fast. Else the British wizarding world would be doomed if Potter and his entourage didn't make it out of the manor alive. If she didn't make it out of the manor alive.

"I didn't…" she barely whispered, her consciousness starting to float around his mind, making it even more difficult for him to focus. Finally, she settled at a memory of him standing at the edge of the quidditch pitch. He tried to throw her out, to get some more space to think, but she clung onto that memory of him going out to fly right after it stopped raining. Her confusion was now replaced with a sense of peace, filling his mind. Well that was fucking weird. "I just followed the voice…" she said. "For a second, I thought the charm had worked and that you remembered…" Her voice drifted off and her mental image flickered out of his mind, finally allowing him to breathe.

Again, his magic tugged at him. What the fuck was wrong with him? He frowned at her words. Remembered what? What charm? Was Bellatrix' torture breaking her mind? Was he witnessing the end of Hermione Granger, watching as she came undone? She felt almost comfortable in his mind, as if she'd been there before… Now that she was gone, he could instead focus on making sure she got out of here alive. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised that might not be an option any longer. There was just so much blood… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.