A/N - This story is fully the result of me reading too many isekai webcomics and watching too many isekai animes. The rating for this story may change at some point, but I'll give an update should that happen. Enjoy!
The Laws Have Changed - Chapter 1
He was dead.
One of many lifeless corpses strewn across a bloodied field, but still dead.
It was odd, he thought in his last moments, that he should die out here. Not yet eighteen, with a future that should have been ahead of him. But there he was — dead at seventeen and he didn't even know who killed him.
He only saw that typical flash of light as he ran, like a coward, before that green flash hit him squarely in the chest when he turned to look for someone, anyone.
He couldn't even hear his mother's wail as she scooped his pallid body to her chest. His father, for once in his life, was inconsolable. Their only child was gone thanks to a stray Killing Curse.
"No!" he cried out, springing up in his bed. He felt clammy and ran a shaky hand through his hair to find it damp from sweat. He looked down, his naked torso glistening in the dim lighting as he tried to steady his breathing. He inadvertently gripped his left forearm, waiting for a jolt of pain that never came.
An obscured light appeared from his right and the curtain opened to show Blaise Zabini, his dark skin almost glowing blue from the brightness now coming from the end of his wand. His normally aloof friend allowed his concern to show in the private moment between them.
"Draco? Are you okay? You're lucky I was the only one who woke up."
He numbly nodded, then thought better of it and shook his head. "I dreamt that I had died." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I could see my parents mourning, but it happened during the Dark Lord's attack on Hogwarts." He turned to see his friend's eyes had gone wide. "What?"
"What attack? Do you know something that even your father doesn't know?"
He furrowed his brows, knowing that it was impossible for him to be more prescient than his domineering father. "The Dark Lord finally attacked the school." He stated it plainly, as though it was an event that everyone obviously knew about.
Blaise chuckled, his normally low voice sounding deeper as his vocal chords tried to warm up. "Maybe you're turning into Trelawney." He snickered again at his friend's scowl. "Alright, fine; you're not. But nothing like that's planned to happened yet, especially after the whole mess at the Ministry last year. You even said so yourself."
It was his turn to stare with wide eyes. He grabbed the leather-bound notebook he knew to be under his pillow and started flipping through it. His expression shifted from shock to horror when he saw the last dated entry: 15 October 1996.
But that's impossible! he thought, flipping through the remaining blank pages, willing there to be more. It couldn't be 1996. He had vivid memories of the next year and a half: helplessly watching Severus kill Dumbledore because he couldn't, the Dark Lord torturing and killing Hogwarts' Muggle Studies teacher before Nagini feasted on her corpse, Potter getting captured then escaping. None of those could simply be dreams. He could recall them too easily, as though each moment had just happened.
"Draco?" Blaise asked, concern taking over yet again.
"I died," he whispered, his skin almost white at the realization. "I died." He felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. He couldn't cry in front of Blaise. He hadn't been dreaming. He had died, running, trying to escape everything like the coward Potter said he was.
He felt a large hand on his shoulder, trying to push him back down.
"It was just a dream, mate. You've been under a lot of pressure from your parents, but don't close yourself off. You know Pansy and I are here for you."
He furrowed his brows and nodded, allowing himself to be forced back to sleep. He glanced at his friend.
Blaise snorted softly, his lips turning up into a small smile. "I already know. My lips are sealed." A whispered Nox and his friend closed the curtain to the four-post bed, silently returning to his own.
He placed his notebook under his pillow and laid on his back, eyes gazing up at the fabric hovering over his bed. The images in his head still felt too real to be merely dreams. Which meant he really had died and, through some miracle, went back to a time when he was still alive.
He found a sense of relief in this knowledge, but a new thought crept upon him, lulling him into a fitful sleep.
Was he doomed to repeat his past?
It had been a week since his "dream" and each passing day made him realize that it wasn't a mere dream. He had a looming sense of deja vu since that first night — conversations he'd already had, classes he already experienced. He was going through the motions at that point, dejected at knowing that even with this second chance at life, he was still on the path to his early demise.
Even his current project was still just as frustrating as it had been the first time around.
He stood in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, knowing that he would eventually fix it, but irritated with the realization that he couldn't expedite the process. It wasn't a matter of not knowing how this time, but a matter of how long his patience would last. Every day, repeating the same spell over and over to stir the latent magic within the object until it grew strong enough to allow people to pass through it. It had been the bane of his existence the first time around, but now that he knew how it worked, he was simply bored.
He initially contemplated not working on it to see if that would make any drastic changes to his current timeline, but the letters from his mother, pestering him about his "homework," told him otherwise.
So he pulled up a chair in desperate need of reupholstering and lazily waved his wand at the damned thing.
After about five minutes of sitting there, he heard a gasp. He wasn't alone.
He stalked through the aisle of lost valuables and unwanted tchotchkes until he saw it. Or, more specifically, saw her.
Her hair whipped around a corner, like a flag in the wind. His eyes darted in either direction, but had a hard time telling which direction she ran in. He stood there for a moment, his body tense and ready to strike. There were no footsteps to be heard, so he relaxed, exhaling the breath he knew he was holding.
He walked back over to his chair and plopped down, placing his right ankle on his left knee as he stared down that stupid cabinet. His guard had been lowered and that was all she needed.
"What are you doing here?"
He felt her wand tip between his shoulder blades and he let his head back fall back to look at her.
Her head was tilted to the right, but her face was, curiously, a blank slate of emotion. There was no venom or malice in her question; simply an evenness that implied a lack of surprise. Her hair was pulled back and away from her face and, for a moment, he almost forgot who she was. Her brown eyes looked almost hazel in their glassiness as he noted the pink tint near the waterline. Her face was paler than he was expecting, making the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out even more than normal. Her lips were plump and a muted red, softly set together in what might be a small frown.
He wasn't used to her in a calmed state. She was easy to handle when she was incensed — eyes narrowed in barely contained fury, her mouth shouting a hex that was sure to do more damage than anticipated. He was used to that. But she was eerily calm as she stood behind him and he really didn't need her blowing up his project.
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him, waiting for his response. It suited her, he absently thought, still trying to come up with a plausible excuse.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, finding that in the absence of a reason, he could try to turn it back on her. Especially considering the fact that no one should've been able to disturb him. Crabbe and Goyle certainly had much to answer for.
He felt her wand pull away from his back, followed by the scraping of another chair being brought over. He watched her push it with some effort, noting that she had chosen a much nicer, plush arm chair. She stood to her full height once she was satisfied with its placement. She was taller than he remembered and reckoned that she was maybe about three to four inches shorter than him. She draped herself across the armchair, sinking in lower to give better comfort to her long legs.
"What are you doing?" He could feel the irritation creeping into his voice at not only having to repeat his question, but also at the ease with which she lounged there.
"I'm getting comfortable, Malfoy. I thought that much was obvious."
He could hear the amused smirk in her words before he saw it and it irked him to think that she looked good — sitting there without a care in the world, wearing the same damn smirk he normally wore, finding that he liked the picture she presented.
Was this an after-effect of coming back from the dead? Suddenly finding a bitter rival nominally pleasant?
The base of her skull was now resting on the arm of her chair and she pulled the elastic of her ponytail out; a wave of soft auburn curls cascading down, nearly touching the floor. She sighed as she did so and he felt like he was further descending into madness.
"You didn't answer my question, so I'm getting comfortable as I wait for a response," she stated, lazily waving her wand about.
"I came here to be alone." It was close enough to the truth.
"How interesting. Looks like we had the same idea." She turned her head to face him and he noticed her eyes were darker as their glassiness had faded.
He sighed, suddenly feeling tired of her and her blasé presence, tired of nearly living out the same experiences for a second time. She was a new element thrown in and he wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with the consequences.
"Something happen to you?" Her voice was calm and even again.
He snorted and allowed himself a smile, unable to look at her. "You don't even know the half of it, Weasley."
"So tell me the half of it."
His head whipped around to look at her. She had shifted positions as he spoke. Instead of resting her legs across an arm, they were tucked under her. Her upper body was leaning against the other chair arm, with her arms resting on top. She had laid her head on her arms, as though she were ready to take a nap. With her limbs mostly hidden now, she looked like a cat curled up to sunbathe.
"Why?" He knew his incredulity was written all over his face and was very much present in his tone, but he didn't care.
She shrugged her shoulders, causing hair to topple over them. "I came here because I was in a shitty mood, so I thought you might be feeling the same way."
"I figured that much, but I guess a better clarifying question would be, why do you care?"
She let her gaze drift toward the ceiling as she thought. "Now that I see you here, I'm reminded of my first year at school. Whether you want to admit it to me or not is your choice, but I know something happened to you."
"How can you tell?" he whispered, eyes cast down.
"Your clothing and the way you carry yourself are different. And you're on your own a lot more now than you normally are."
"Have also you taken to stalking me, Weasley?" He tried to muster up as much disgust as he could. She didn't need to know how right she was.
She laughed and the sound echoed throughout the room, reverberating in his ears. "You wish, but it doesn't take a genius to notice that something's off about you this year. Even Harry's noticed and we both know he's not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer."
He chuckled at her casual insult of Potter, feeling a strange warmth at her commiseration. "I never thought I'd hear you badmouth your precious speccy git."
"I've had to result to diversionary tactics to get his attention, with varying results. He's too fixated on your activities, as it were, and his newfound brilliance at potions to even care about me."
"Have you ever thought about giving up on him?" While her obsession with Potter was a solid way to get her riled up, he couldn't help but admire the single-mindedness she had about the whole thing.
She sighed, finally sitting up properly, her feet solidly on the ground. "It's complicated," she began, her brows briefly furrowing. She placed an elbow on one of the arms and rested her cheek against two of her fingers, letting the remaining ones float just under her nose. He realized no one had thought to ask her that question before. She seemed to be used to the sympathetic looks and the pity; something she probably loathed, even if she wouldn't outright admit it. He knew he would. It was like they forgot she wasn't a spinster, but a 15-year-old still figuring things out. "I think the easiest explanation is that it would make my family happy. Another one could be that I haven't found anyone else interesting enough to take his place." Her eyes were diverted down as she spoke.
"But would it make you happy?" The question was asked before he knew he was asking it. His previous life was spent doing things that made others happy and it ended in ruin for him.
She made eye contact with him then; a wry smile gracing her lips. Another question he thought she would know the immediate answer to. He supposed part of her was so used to pining after the unattainable that she became elated at any perceived acknowledgement from Potter.
"You know, I'm not sure, but it's definitely food for thought." She stood up then, brushing off her hand-me-down jeans. He noticed she had to wear them higher up on her waist for them to actually fit properly. They were fraying at the bottom hem and a hole was torn at the right knee, exposing pale skin. He was curious to see what she would look like with clothing that actually fit her. "I was worried that the Room of Requirement wasn't working properly when it gave me this room, but I guess I was wrong."
He stood as well, knowing that he wasn't going to get any further work done after his conversation with her. "What do you mean?"
She took a step toward him and he realized he was right about her new height — she was maybe four inches shorter than six feet and she barely had to look up to make eye contact with him. "I initially thought I needed a place to be alone, but subconsciously, I guess I needed someone to talk to. I was given this room since it knew you were already here." She gave him a warm smile and turned to walk away. She paused at the end of the row to look back at him. "I guess I'll see you in here again next time I need a good conversation."
He could only stare and wave as she disappeared into the clutter once more.
As soon as she was gone, he heard a voice inside his head. It was flat and formal sounding; like the ones that announced each floor at the Ministry. Its statement was clear and a new wave of panic settled over him.
"Congratulations. The first prerequisite has been completed."
A/N - Thank you for reading! I hope y'all end up enjoying this new chaptered story of mine! It's really been pushing me out of my comfort zone and I'm excited to start posting it now.