KEYnote: Bit of a comedy of errors, sprinkling of crack, lots of fluff, and some very dark undertones. I don't typically like Draco as a character but this fic is admittedly self-indulgent. Character-driven drama hurt/comfort with hand-wavey plot, enjoy :D
Thank you, Muffin!
Pride and Humility
Draco Malfoy: You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.
Harry Potter: Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git.
–Draco & Harry's 'Friendship', Order of the Pheonix
"I think you have to make a choice — at a certain point — of the man you want to be. And I tell you that at that time you need a parent or a friend. And if you've learned to hate your parent by then and you have no friends … then you're all alone. And being alone — that's so hard. I was alone. And it sent me to a truly dark place. For a long time."
–Draco Malfoy, The Cursed Child
Prologue
As a widower, Draco Malfoy didn't have all that much patience for Perfect Potter's marital woes.
Regrettably, the Saviour of the Wizarding World–or at least of the United Kingdom–was impossible to work with when he got all broody about his hotshot wife soaring off with his reputation.
There were always rumours about the redhead star quidditch player, but Draco had never put much stock in the gossip rags until–as some sort of sick cosmic joke–Shacklebolt had him share an office with the best Auror the Ministry had ever seen.
Potter wasn't a chatty person, not unless it was with Granger. But when he brooded? He was a steel trap.
He wasn't getting anywhere trying to broach the topic of various cold cases they had been assigned so he went right for the personal one. As personal as this tiny office, they were huddled in opposing corners.
"Your wife shagging the Netherlands isn't a reflection on you, you know," Draco said with a sigh. "Just her poor judgment."
Green eyes looked up at him with exasperation. "You don't have kids."
Draco glowered, "No, Potter. I don't. Because my wife is dead."
Potter held his gaze, "Astoria has been gone for nearly ten years. I'm not saying you should be over losing the love of your life but you didn't have to cut yourself off from everyone else either."
As if he had chosen to be alone, as if their world hadn't shunned him completely.
"And you could have divorced the ginger."
Potter shrugged, "We have kids, she will never be less present in my life than she already is. Besides, being married gives me leeway to be impolite to certain advances."
Draco snorted, "Poor Potter."
Potter looked down at his desk, his words were soft but still breached the gap between them, "We all make mistakes."
"And getting married at nineteen was yours?" Draco asked, unable to keep the venom from his words.
"One of them," Potter agreed.
"Don't expect pity from me, Mr. Perfect."
Potter rolled his eyes and set down his quill, finally giving Draco his full attention.
"I never asked for your opinion, much less your pity."
"You didn't have to, Potter. Not when you're sulking in the corner about your whore of–"
"The mother of my children," Potter snapped. "And Gin's infidelity doesn't matter, except when it affects the twins. And it is affecting the twins. As of yet, I don't know what to do about it."
"Divorce her."
Potter raised a brow, "Her brother is my best friend. I can't divorce the Weasleys."
"I hope you hear how pathetic that is. Divorce her.
"You realise that would just confirm the rumours, right? Sort of like your father being an unconfirmed terrorist until he was left in prison to rot for being a terrorist."
Draco gritted his teeth, "Don't bring him into this."
Potter smirked, "Why not? He's all that used to matter to you. 'Wait till my father hears about this?' Do you even speak to him anymore?"
"No," Draco said shortly.
Draco had been tried as a minor but his father had been blamed for it all. Even saying he had coerced both his wife and son, forced them to abide by the Dark Lord's commands.
It was true, but it hadn't been the whole truth.
"Nice chat," Potter said bitingly. "Can I get back to work now? Or shall we talk about your mother, and my Lilianna's latest potion's marks?"
"You have no idea what it was like for me," Draco said. "What my father and mother expected of me."
"Poor, poor Malfoy," Potter crooned. "A silver spoon shoved so far up your arse so high, you lost sight of morality. We were in the same year, git. I know who you are."
"You don't know," Draco snapped. "Mr. Talented at Everything. Paragon of Light, Dumbledore's favourite–"
Potter scoffed, "I know green is your favourite colour, but maybe you should stow some of that envy for something that isn't being raised as a lamb for slaughter."
Draco blinked, "Excuse me?"
"In the Forbidden Forest, moron."
"When you survived the killing curse, again, because you're the Chosen One," Draco said, nose twisting. "I saw."
Potter smiled mirthlessly, "I wasn't supposed to survive, ferret. All those years, the bending of the rules, the favouritism, Dumbledore knew all along that I would need to die in order for Voldemort to be defeated. He raised me to be the sacrifice, the martyr. He kept me ignorant and loyal. And I came like a dog to heel."
There was sorrow and a quiet fury in his voice.
Draco couldn't believe it though, "You got back up, he had to have known."
"He didn't," Potter said, voice going flat. "He told Snape as much. And do you know what Dumbledore had the gall to tell me? When he explained why he hadn't been honest from the beginning about the reason my parents were dead and I the object of Voldemort's obsession?"
Draco shook his head.
"He said his mistake was loving me. He didn't want to hurt me," Potter said, gaze distant.
"Like I said," Draco said, much less certain than he had been a minute before. "He never meant for you to die."
Potter's gaze snapped to his, "Oh, Malfoy. Surely your family taught you all about manipulation. He was lying."
"Anyone with eyes knew the Headmaster adored you," he countered.
"And I'm not sure that doesn't make it worse. At least your family had your actual best interests at heart, or at least, what they believed to be. I was nothing to Dumbledore but a piece on his board, he only ever cared about the 'Greater Good.' And like a fool, I trusted him anyway. That's something you and I share in common, loving people who are no good for us."
Draco flinched, not liking all the implications of that statement. Especially not the causal drop of Grindelwald's rally call.
"Your relatives, the Dursleys, must have been proud–"
Potter burst out laughing, nearly falling out of his chair.
Draco realized it was the first time he had seen the man laugh since… sixth year, maybe. Not that he made it a point to spend much time around the other wizard.
No, he made it a point to avoid Potter.
"You done?"
Potter had legitimate tears beneath his eyes, "Oh, I needed that. Thank you." He stood, stretching his arms high above his head. He grabbed a folder off his desk. "And with that. I'm going home."
"We have work–"
"Malfoy, between you and I, Knockturn Alley is about as safe as Hogsmeade. London still sucks but most of our criminals have fled the country. We have done our jobs. According to Hermione, the only thing we haven't managed is being less of a headache for Kingsley."
"You sound proud of that."
"Oh, I am. Competing with you for top Auror is way more fun than whatever we were doing at Hogwarts."
"You don't say. Was it the slicing me up part that bothered you?"
Potter shrugged, "After what you did to Katie, frankly, practicing Snape's spell on you was basically karmic."
"There is no karmic balance in the world, Chosen One."
Potter grinned, as if Draco had just said a grand joke. He slapped the file on his desk, "Here, if you're so eager to work, you can have this one. It's 'time-sensitive.'"
Draco looked down at the cold file that was indeed marked with a red flag. Then he noted the date.
1986.
Draco turned up to glare at his coworker but the man was already pulling on his coat to leave, still chuckling to himself about how 'Dudders will have a good laugh' as he waved goodbye.
The click of the door shutting seemed to engulf Draco in the quiet.
The type of quiet that can be defined by the oppressive nature of the silence, and the intrusion of your own breath and pulse to disrupt it.
Draco used to think his worst fear was disappointing his father and his greatest challenge in life would be boredom.
Kids were stupid.
Now he knew how to fear regret, to fear other people making his choices for him, and most of all, the fear of being alone.
Utterly alone.
He would never admit it, but he missed Potter when he wasn't around. His childhood nemesis was the closest thing he had to a friend, the person who probably knew him best.
And yes, he was bloody well aware of how pathetic that made him. But life seemed set on humbling him.
He refused to dignify his own stupidity and opened the folder. Going back to his manor would not resolve his circumstance at any rate.
The folder was marked by the Unspeakables who had thrown it back to the Auror's office because nothing had come of their investigation.
Their investigation that involved a lot of fucking maps, charts, and calendars.
It was frustrating until he realized it was an equation, a puzzle to be solved.
Draco adored puzzles. It's why he liked Potions so much, though he had been too restless after the war to pursue a Mastery in the subject. It was something to fall back on.
By dawn, Draco had solved it, he grabbed his broom and his bag—the one Granger may or may not have given him for Christmas— as he headed out into the bitter January streets. The lamp lights were still on as he disillusioned himself.
There was a magical disturbance found in Scotland's countryside that no one had figured out what it was or what it did, partially because one had to be travelling at a certain speed to see it and at a specific sustained speed to access it.
Over two decades ago, they couldn't have managed it, but today?
Today Quidditch was a lot more entertaining than it ever had been before. As long as you had the ability to see a slowed-down vision of what was happening.
He would show Potter up by solving a case he had so blithely dismissed.
Perfect Potter would have to eat his pride.
Chapter 1 - Irony
In hindsight, solving a puzzle was not the same thing as solving a mystery.
Draco found the rippling portal in the Scottish countryside, he also figured out how to go through it.
His mother was going to kill him for his own Gryffindorish actions. Because entering the portal was perhaps the stupidest thing he had ever done. The portal disappeared in a flare of extinguished energy. Which just wasn't great.
What was on the other side of the portal? One might ask.
Well, on the one hand, winter in the Scottish Highlands and on the other end?
Green.
It was apparently late spring and everything was green. When he backtracked to London, he found the date.
The fourth of May, 1986.
Draco didn't need this.
No one needed this.
What he did need was a drink and to get back into his office. Only it wasn't his office and figure out how to find a new ripple that hopefully took him back to his own time and not another time. He couldn't even ask the authorities for help, because time travel was illegal and the current Draco Malfoy was a six-year-old, not a seasoned Auror, second best in the country.
Merlin, he couldn't even avoid being second best in his own head.
With no idea what else to do, Draco decided to be petty.
Because, truly, what did he have left to lose?
oOo
Harry Potter, age six, knew a few things about the world.
He knew that there was something wrong with him. He knew that he wasn't like other boys, that he didn't deserve good things like Dudley, and the same things wrong with him had been wrong with his parents.
His parents; who had killed themselves on purpose.
Death wasn't something his cousin understood, but Harry did. He knew that death was like pain.
Death hurt.
It was scary.
And like a broken plate, it couldn't be fixed.
Harry had nightmares about it. About his parents being broken inside a broken car.
Even though he didn't really remember anything but the green light and his mother calling his name.
He missed them, even if they were bad people, bad people like him.
Harry knew too, that because he was wrong, he could never do anything right.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much better he got at cooking, and cleaning, and plants.
It was never enough.
It made him angry. It made him sad.
But he wasn't allowed to feel those things, because it was just true, that he was a freak.
No one loved freaks.
No one cared about freaks when they were sad.
And all that getting mad achieved was getting Harry hurt.
Today was no different.
Today his hand hurt from pulling weeds, unlike Aunt Pa'Tuna he wasn't allowed to have gloves.
Not that there were gloves to fit him, nothing ever did.
Due to his hands hurting, he dropped the skillet. What followed hurt worse than his hands.
oOo
Finding Potter's childhood home wasn't difficult, it had been added to the history books after all. Additionally, in this time period at least, it was the only magical region in the suburb of identical houses.
Who chose to live like this?
Draco, under a disillusionment charm, was able to walk right up to the back of the house.
Dumbledore maybe had been a bit of a hack.
What Draco expected to see were two little boys playing some muggle game and making messes.
What he actually saw was… horrific.
Baby Potter was completely dwarfed in his oversized clothes, and he was smaller than he knew a six-year-old should be.
Illustrated by what had to be his cousin who seemed much larger than a boy his age should be. Goyle nor Crabbe were ever like that.
But that wasn't the horrific part, at least not in comparrison.
No, what struck Draco were the details. Potter had always had a physical endurance that was… unmatchable. He could take a hit and just keep going and going, and going. Even as an Auror in his thirties, there wasn't a single person in the ministry that could keep up with his distance and pain endurance in training.
Draco saw where he had learned that now. Not from Quidditch nor running from Death Eaters in the second war, but from standing up as a child when he was clearly dehydrated and hungry from spending all day beneath the sun. The child was worryingly pale for someone who tanned as darkly as he sometimes did.
His hands were shaking so badly, Draco wouldn't have trusted him to hold a pillow, much less a frying pan.
A thousand more details swam through his head as he watched the boy carefully climb onto the stool before the stove. Swaying from exhaustion, the child caught the rim of the pan with both hands (which ow) to keep from falling back, only the pan with the hot oil fell back on top of him as he crashed.
Draco froze as an impossible reality unfolded before his eyes.
Potter gasped out, but didn't cry as he scrambled to his feet, spewing apologies like a fucking house elf.
The cousin started to laugh as the woman, Potter's aunt, began to screech. The horse-faced woman didn't spare a thought for her injured ward but the spilled pan on her precious floor.
Potter looked up at her with those devastating green eyes and the monster backhanded him, sending the small form careening across the floor.
It was awful. Draco tried imagining his mother treating him like that… He decided that she would probably skin alive anyone who dared.
It should have been enough. Potter was six and shaking like a leaf caught in a gale when the largest walrus of a person he had ever seen trundled into the kitchen. The man hardly deserved to be called a man, he was a beast. All whiskers and malice. His beefy hand picked Potter up by the scruff and shook him, almost like a hound subduing a duck.
His roar of rage was audible but incomprehensible as he carried Potter from sight, yelling about how freaks weren't allowed to eat people food.
Draco remained frozen as the Dursleys went about their business as if they hadn't almost killed the Boy Who Lived.
It was like everything he knew about the world had been turned upside down.
Merlin, no wonder he laughed.
Draco thought about apologizing to Potter, the adult one. Thought about going back to face him after witnessing this type of humiliation. And then wondered what would be the point of going back? Could he really walk away from Potter, knowing that he was innocent, being tortured by muggles for the crime of having been born with magic?
Even if he could find another frisson, if he could steal into the Ministry and find a similar file, could he really go back?
Was it worth the effort?
No one would miss Draco Malfoy save for his mother.
But if he left baby Potter to this life, would he be any better than Dumbledore?
He raised me to be the sacrifice, the martyr.
Draco was pretty bloody certain that this Potter had sacrificed too much already. So, not for the first time, Draco decided to follow his heart as planned to kidnap the saviour of the wizarding world. He imagined any plan he could formulate would be much easier without the renewed burning on his forearm.
Yeah, he couldn't imagine being a nameless Death Eater kidnapping the Boy Who Lived for the child's own good would go down well in court.
But as his mother always told him, it is only a crime if you get caught.
oOo
AN: My head is burnt toast, so if you would like more of this fic, please comment with either thoughts, clouded leopards, or feedback, pretty please?
