Draco would have recognised the dark mahogany interior of Borgin & Burke's anywhere. He cheered inwardly. It had not been an easy undertaking, but after several attempts it had worked.

He was about to raise his arms in victory pose when he asked himself why the place was so tidy. There was no layer of dust, the paperwork behind the counter was sorted. The windows were cleaned so that one could see through them without any problems. But what was that shop across the street? Where had Moribund gone?

And why was the young, dark-haired man looking at him so angrily? He had stood up in front of Draco, his hands at his sides and his face contorted into a grimace.

"Where is Borgin?" gasped Draco.

"He is on leave, with his mistress," growled the stranger.

Even under these circumstances, Draco had to admit to himself that he had exceptionally handsome features, sharply cut with a pointed nose, high cheekbones and thin lips. When he saw the beautiful face, he had to grin involuntarily. He strained to pull the corners of his mouth into a straight line, but they kept jumping up.

"Impossible!" it escaped him.

"You seem to know him well."

Draco shook his head, causing the stranger to narrow his eyes even more suspiciously. "Why didn't you take the way through the shop door like everyone else? Were you trying to steal from us?"

"Of course not! I just wanted to let you know that..." He had to pause because the stranger snorted contemptuously. "I fixed it."

"That's a good thing! I also just finished!"

"With what?"

"Fixing the vanishing cabinet." He pointed to the black cabinet behind him. "No sooner had I finished than you stumbled out."

"But then why didn't Borgin say anything? After all, I can say the spell for a thousand times, if the counterpart is also broken, then it won't work." That's why it took him so long!

"I also thought the counterpart was functional."

"Strange..." That was all Draco could think of.

"Burke?" the stranger called into the back room.

In came a man who bore only a slight resemblance to the Burke Draco knew. He had full blond hair, no receding hairline yet and an athletic build. "Tom?" He frowned when he saw the two of them standing, then grinned. "You're still not finished? Not as talented as you claim, are you?"

"It had just been restored to its former glory and then he came and broke it."

Draco was about to protest when his eyes fell on the cupboard. One side wall was still hanging a bit in its nails - a piece had been torn off the bottom corner - but the other had been completely blown away. A total loss. "That..." wasn't me, he wanted to say, but who else could it have been? Draco remained silent, but Tom saw himself confirmed.

"I had it made, but he's worse than a hippogriff in a china shop."

Burke raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Who is he anyway?"

"Draco Malfoy!" Incredibly, how much Draco's voice croaked. Now he was looked at in wonder by both of them.

Tom shook his head. "I know the Malfoys, there is no Draco."

Burke snorted. "Everyone knows the Malfoys, don't flatter yourself, boy." Then he gave Draco a grim look. "And no one's ever heard of you, I don't know why you act like I should know you."

"My father..." muttered Draco, but the rest of his sentence stuck in his throat. "Lucius Malfoy, ever heard of him?"

Again they shook their heads.

Something had gone badly wrong. Make no mistake, it echoed through his head. He had believed he could not make mistakes when repairing a cupboard. It was a cupboard, it too obeyed the first law of physics and the thirteenth of magic.

"You're a bad liar, lad. Trying to break in here, steal something, I suppose?" Burke raised his voice and Draco winced.

"N-no," he stammered.

"You squirm like an eel. I know young people like you, only fluff in the head. You're not the first to think it's a good idea to take a sneaky look around Borgin & Burke's. But I've got my things in order. The fact that you tried to steal from me, I take it personally."

Draco didn't know how to stop the tirade. He could yell back, but that would only fuel the spiral of violence. Instead, he decided to become smaller and smaller, hoping Burke would then not perceive him as such a threat.

"Burke, I invited him to check out the vanishing cabinet," Tom lied. What an unexpected turnaround. Draco had to stop himself from looking at him with wide eyes or he would betray them both. "Unfortunately, our arrangement didn't work out and he...came too soon. Now we have to start all over again." Sighing, he looked at the demolished piece of furniture.

"You have to discuss something like that with me first!" growled Burke. "Borgin will get into trouble so that he no longer knows which way is up and which way is down..."

"When I came into the shop the last few days, you had already called it a day, a premature day, it must be said."

"This is none of your business, friend." Threateningly, Burke took a step towards Tom and raised his wand.

Casually, Tom's hand also wandered to his wand, which lay beside him on a sideboard. But it remained there while he said a touch more quietly than usual: "Not me, but Borgin will be interested."

"Do your job!" Panting, Burke turned and left the salesroom.

With a smug grin that was infectious - Draco grinned immediately and insanely stupidly - Tom turned to Draco. The latter nodded gratefully at him. It was not a matter of course that Tom had bailed him out. Perhaps Tom could help him in other ways too. Before Draco could say anything, Burke stepped back inside.

"Where have you been for the last few days anyway?" he asked and Draco heard the lurking undertone in his voice.

Tom also understood the implied accusation, his eyes narrowed to slits, but his voice remained calm. "I was with customers."

"I realise that, with which clients?"

"With Hepzibah Smith, mainly," Tom hissed, as if he would prefer not to reveal that at all.

Humming something unintelligible, which sounded like "I guess he's into old broads", Burke retreated back to the back room, but Draco didn't hear any more of it. Hepzibah Smith, the last known heiress of Helga Hufflepuff. A notorious old lady...but hadn't she been...well...dead for fifty years? Killed by her own house elf? The murder case still made his mother's hair stand on end decades later.

"You owe me," Tom told him, rubbing his hands together, but he paused when Draco didn't respond either. "Do you hear me? You're really in a trance."

He shook his head. "Oops?"

"There you are."

"Where did I go?" Tom was a capricious codger, Draco couldn't help but look at him dumbly questioning.

"In your mind. What were you thinking?" asked Tom, his tone making it clear that he demanded an answer and would not settle for a lukewarm excuse.

Draco felt hot and cold. The new-looking furniture, which he only knew to be outdated. Young Burke. The living Hepzibah Smith. The vanishing cabinet had transported him not only through space, but also through time…

He never thought he would be in such an exceptional situation. He couldn't say anything wrong now, if he didn't want to ruin his timeline. That included, as he had learned in class, not letting anyone know he was from the future. Tom looked at him impatiently, but Draco told himself that it wouldn't be so difficult with him. After all, who was he?

Tom grunted angrily and leaned forward so that his hot breath brushed Draco's cheek. Draco would have liked to prance from one leg to the other. His heart leapt in the same three-quarter beat.

"Now listen, kid," Tom growled throatily, "I'm warning you not to lie to me. I have an extraordinary nose for the truth. Tell me where you came from and what you're doing here."

Draco swallowed. Now came an all-important moment. "I had an assignment...to fix the vanishing cabinet...when I did it, I wanted to test it."

"On yourself?"

He nodded.

"Have you got a hole in the kettle? You could have been locked in a crawlspace forever!"

"Oh!"

"Yes, 'oh' sums it up well. You understand why I don't believe you, don't you? No one is that stupid!"

Draco shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of an annoying insect. But Tom really was like a shithouse fly...only more dangerous. His eyes flashed predator-like as he fixed him with his gaze and Draco truly believed for a moment that he was about to open his mouth and devour him. "In my defence..." he muttered desolately, "my report card last year was...atrocious."

Actually, he had always thought of his poor grades in shame. A shame that was only trumped by his father in Azkaban. But at the moment it seemed most appropriate to him to simply go along with the dumb blonde stereotype.

The doorbell rang.

"I'm not done with you yet," Tom hissed and moved forward to the counter. "Take care of the vanishing cabinet, but refrain from testing it unless you crave to be stuck in a windowless room."

Draco let his gaze wander over the fractures in the wood, but in the corner of his eye the new arrivals caught his attention. They were two men, tall, in noble cloaks and with platinum blond hair. One obviously older than the other, but they weren't just any father-and-son pairing. The son Draco could have picked out of any crowd in seconds. Blond hair, an aristocratic appearance and a pock-marked face.

Abraxas Malfoy. His grandfather.

The man next to him had to be his great-grandfather, whom Draco had never met. Armand Malfoy. The latter wrinkled his nose when his gaze fell on Tom. Abraxas, however, turned even paler than he already was and his legs began to tremble. His hands searched for a foothold but found nothing. He almost toppled over, then he was held by Armand.

Abraxas looked ill. The pockmarks on his face had not faded, but red and glowing. The illness must have been only a few weeks ago, which also explained his attack of weakness.

With a casual wave of his hand, Tom let a chair float over, on which Abraxas dropped with relief, but he obviously avoided looking Tom in the eye. To observe the situation better, Draco took a few steps closer, but he was not eager to be the centre of attention now.

Armand looked at his son angrily. "You've been lying down too much, your muscles have completely atrophied. If you rest, it won't get better."

Abraxas was struggling to lift himself up when Tom flicked his wand and he was pulled back onto the chair.

"Stay out of this!" growled Armand. "You're lucky I didn't report you."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "What do you want to report me for?"

Armand bit his lips.

"That's what I thought," Tom said with a winning smile. Draco shook himself as he thought about what a kiss with such narrow lips must feel like. Where did he get these stupid thoughts from? It wasn't that Tom was ugly, no, he was beautiful, in the classical sense. The narrow lips matched the fine-cut face and the tall, yet delicate body.

"And Abraxas stays seated. His recovery won't be helped if he overloads himself again so soon," Tom said.

"Tom...", Abraxas pleaded, but continued to avoid his intense stare.

"You don't know anything about real work!" scolded Armand. "Burke!"

"Ah, my esteemed guests." With open arms, Burke stepped through the beaded curtain. He had quickly tied on a bow tie and thrown on a more expensive cloak than the one he had on just now. "Nice to welcome you back."

"The joy would also be on my side if you hadn't left us alone with your employee. Am I just another one of your ordinary customers?"

"Of course not, Monsieur Malfoy," Burke placated him in fake French. "I was only in the back room for a moment, organisation is half the battle, and I didn't notice your entrance. Tom, you're supposed to inform me of such important matters, you incorrigible fellow!"

"Next time, sir," Tom growled.

Burke absentmindedly let his gaze wander around the shop. "Ah, the other boy is here too. Tom's new friend. He claimed to be a Malfoy. Imagine that." The shopkeeper laughed in a put-upon way and waved Draco over. "Come over here, youngster."

He swayed as he joined the others in the front of the shop. By Salazar, why had he had to give his real name so rashly? He thought heatedly about how he was going to get out of this.

"He said Manthey, not Malfoy," Tom said, and Draco saw him for the first time as a knight on a white steed. "You heard wrong."

Burke raised his eyebrows again in disbelief, but Draco nodded vehemently, which took the wind out of his sails. Then it ran ice-cold down Draco's spine: Why was Tom helping him?

As he pondered, he could see Armand pulling a stack of envelopes out of his coat pocket and handing them to Burke. The latter seemed to have forgotten his embarrassment immediately. He beamed all over his face and said with a broad grin, "Oh, it's finally time! Tomorrow's the big day."

Armand nodded, standing coolly, while Abraxas sat frozen in his chair. "At last," Armand let it be known, "I am convinced we have made a good choice. She'll take him as he is. And he is, after all, already 24."

His grandfather was born in 1925. If he was now 24, then Draco had to be in 1949. A cold shiver ran down his spine. It had almost thrown him back fifty years into the past. By one stupid mistake.

"It certainly won't have been easy," Burke agreed with him.

Armand made no effort to hide his grief. His face was as red as a watermelon and contorted into a grimace. "You were there, I suppose?"

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to offend you," Burke said sheepishly. To emphasise his humility, he took a step back and so had to extend his arm fully to fish for the invitations he had left on the counter. "Who's the third one for?"

"An envelope is for you, of course. It's the cheque you asked me for the other day. And the other for Mr Borgin, a small present for him too. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, as good friends of the family you must not miss." Everyone in the room, without exception, knew this was a lie, including Armand, who blurted out such blasphemies to the world. Rather, he doubled his bet. He leaned forward so that his hair fell in his face, coupled with a conspiratorial grin. "As for the third envelope, I would like to take a more unconventional route. It's for one of your clients."

"As friends, we are always happy to be of service," Burke enthused. "Who are you..."

"I understand that you often visit the lady and what would a party be without Hepzibah Smith? Strangely enough, she's been keeping to herself lately, and she won't send my owls back to me either. She didn't RSVP to the wedding, can you imagine?"

"We have a good rapport with her and are happy to do some research on this matter." Burke nodded vigorously. "But you understand that we can't force her?"

Contrary to expectations, Armand did not raise an eyebrow; on the contrary, he seemed downright amused. "Of course. It's going to be a phenomenal wedding, Abraxas already can't sleep at night."

"Because he doesn't want to get married," Tom interjected.

Armand made a disdainful sound. Abraxas seemed to freeze in his chair. Draco didn't know his grandfather like that.

"Who is the unfortunate one, anyway?" Tom didn't understand why old Malfoy wanted him to keep quiet. Draco wondered at so much impudence.

"I very much want to get married," Abraxas said coolly. "Ariana Avery, if you must know."

"He doesn't have to," Armand interjected. "It's going to be a phenomenal wedding. Everyone with a name will be there. So insignificant employees must please stay at home." He glowered bitterly at Tom. "I've already ordered security."

"I have better things to do anyway," Tom pressed out, his lips pressed together as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Have a nice day," Armand grumbled and Abraxas nodded. Without much further ado, they left the shop.

Burke shook his head in disbelief and then, as a matter of course, handed Tom the invitation with Hepzibah Smith's name on it. "When are you going to see her again?"

"Today."

"That's a good thing."

Offended, Tom put the invitation away.

"Don't be like that. It's just the Malfoys. What did you expect?" With these words Burke went back into the back room and no longer bothered about Tom. Only once more did he call out, "And fix the vanishing cabinet yet."

Shoveling, Tom went to the broken cupboard and on the way he pulled Draco with him.

"What are you doing?" he cried excitedly. "Burke gave you the job. You get money for it!"

"Far too little. You broke it, you can fix it. Polluter pays principle." Tom's voice made it clear he would brook no argument. "Otherwise I'll report you, I have some powerful friends in Auror Central."

Draco was almost certain that this was a bluff. He had often said similar things. However, should it correspond to reality, then it was his turn. Besides, he had already done it once. "Harmonia Nectere Passus!" ... "Harmonia Nectere Passus!" ... "Harmonia Nectere Passus!" ...

Nothing happened. A stupid mistake.

"You've done it before. You do it!" demanded Draco, out of breath.

Tom was leaning against the sideboard, far too relaxed. "No, thanks."

"He's going to fire you."

"He can't do that without Borgin."

"Then he fires you when Borgin is back."

"Borgin loves me."

Draco gave a long drawn-out sigh. He tried the spell three more times, but again not a single spark of magic leapt through the air. Whatever had actually worked that one time had evaporated. Up and away. "Can you do it again?" he asked, defeated.

"Depends on how much it's worth to you."

Tom also had the audacity to smile sweetly.

1949. He had to return to his time, to 1996, before he made a hopeless mess of the timeline. "What do you want?"

"That you do something for me."

"What?"

"You'll find out then."

Draco swayed his head back and forth. "I don't give a blank cheque."

"Don't worry, you're perfect for it. Much better than I would be."

He swallowed. Looking at the alternative, he had no choice. Draco had to return to his own time, or Sodom and Gomorrah loomed. "Agreed," he muttered with a richly bad feeling. "What do I have to do now?" Tom would already have his ideas.

"First you have to get an invitation to Abraxas' wedding," Tom instructed him, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "I'll take care of mine in the meantime."