- Malfoy Manor, 22nd of December 1995 –

How many years had it been since he had felt this kind of despair? That he'd woken up in the middle of the night, his mind filled with screams from the death eaters' victims. But the true horrors that kept him up at night had always been the torturous reminders of his own victims, whispering his name, pleading for him to stop. To be kind. To be better.

Draco.

His eyes flashed open and he panted heavily, looking up at his bedroom ceiling. A shiver ran down his spine, the thought of the Gryffindor girl whispering his name lingering in the back of his mind. Five years he had tried to do better. Tried to do good. But no matter what he did, some things were always meant to happen, weren't they?

He stumbled to his ensuite bathroom, not having slept properly in a week. His friends were worried about him. Not even his occlumency skills could hide the darkness hiding within him. Perhaps, that darkness too, was something he would not be able to escape.

The scalding hot water running through his hair and down his limbs did nothing to snap him out of it. He knew now, there was no running away from this. After Mr. Weasley had been found at the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry had been on lockdown. No one, not even he himself, could enter the Hall of Prophecy. He should have gone to the Ministry right after Deandra had told him about its existence. It had always been there, a shimmer in the distance when he first visited the Hall with his friends to learn of Harry's prophecy. He'd protected his best friend by destroying the prophecy pertaining to him and Voldemort, but apparently, that didn't mean that the crisis was averted.

When Draco returned from Hogwarts, he talked to his mother and Deandra in private. Narcissa had not read between the lines like he had and had only connected the dots concerning the Boy Who Lived.

Whispering, he recited the prophecy to himself:

In twilight's embrace, as day greets night's face, your sister's blade seals your son and his beloved's fate.

That part of the prophecy had happened nearly five years ago, when Bellatrix Lestrange had carved that curse into his wife's skin and slowly but surely killed her. Their fates had been sealed.

A dragon, now free from darkness, will become destiny's slave. Time's fabric shall tear and will be his to repair.

His mother had always assumed the dragon was referring to his name only, but now he knew, it was only reaffirming his animagus form much like Deandra's prophecy had done thousands of years ago. Tumbling through time, he had done his best to repair everything, but perhaps it was true. He was nothing more than destiny's slave.

Angrily, he smacked his fist into the cold black tiles in front of him and he hung his head. Had all he'd done truly been worthless? Had every change been so insignificant that he would not be able to save her either way?

He will be the one to lead the Boy Who Lived to the power he knows not, but it will guide your son to be in his family's web, intricately caught.

At this point, he was still unsure what power he had been leading Harry towards exactly. Perhaps, his animagus form would be the thing that would save him in his battle with Voldemort, considering thestrals were invisible to most. He wouldn't be to Voldemort, though, as the Dark Lord had killed more people than Draco could even imagine. A second possibility was Harry's increased magical core and power, far exceeding anyone else their age. Lastly, it could be the Hallows. Harry already owned two, and Mione was doing her utmost best to find the owner of the third object: the elder wand. She'd been hiding in the Malfoy library the whole Yule Holiday. Draco had been distant to her, not wanting her to see him like this. Not wanting her to suffer along with him again. He was being selfish, and he knew it. She had a right to know what he felt. But he wanted to protect her from it, for as long as he could.

With a deep sigh, he turned off the shower, his skin angrily red. What bothered him the most, was the last part of the prophecy.

If his power is increased, he shall break his shackles and free the beast. But should darkness seduce, and his heart it encases, naught but ash remains, lost to time's embraces.

He was a beast. That much was certain after being able to turn into a giant dragon. But there was also a warning there. If the darkness overtook him again, everything he'd done and worked for these past few years would be in vain. The only issue was, what would end up in ashes? He himself? Mione? The whole of bloody Britain?

Draco got dressed and put on the first black sweatpants and t-shirt he could find. He towel-dried his hair and opened the doors to his balcony, hissing when the cold air breezed along his sensitive skin.

A knock on the door made him grasp his wand instantly and Mione's eyes widened when she stuck her head through the gap.

"Draco-" she began, her eyes softening as he pocketed his wand again. She closed the door behind her quietly and walked over to him, cupping his cheeks with her hands.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, regretful that he'd pointed his wand at her. He glanced down at her and noticed her eyes were watery. Merlin, she'd been crying. And all because he was such a mess.

"We're in this together," she reminded him.

He brushed her cheek softly, wiping away one of her tears. "I don't want you to have to live through this war again," he admitted to her finally. "I would keep you from it if I could. Send you and your parents to Australia. Hide you, so Voldemort and his band of baboons could never reach you."

"I would never leave you. I don't want you to go through this again either. I can see what it's doing to you," she whispered, still holding onto him. "It's not fair that you're the only one who remembers. If I could just get my memories back, then I could help you. I would be wiser. Stronger. I'd have an arsenal of spells at my disposal, I'd-"

Draco grabbed her hands and held them in his, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly to soothe her. "I don't need you to remember anything, love. You have always been by my side, and I could never wish for anything more than that. I just wish you would not need to see me go through this again. You were always on the side of the Light and even if the war was cruel to you, at least you were spared of being cruel to others yourself. I would never want a kindhearted soul like you, to feel the darkness that I do. To feel your own inhumane actions turning you into a monster." He could feel the darkness eating away at him just like it had in the first time-line. It was indeed a gluttonous monster, living in the pit of his stomach, unable to be satisfied no matter how often Hermione and Deandra soothed him and praised him for saving the girl. He knew who he was. Who he'd always been.

Hermione closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead softly. "You keep telling me you are a monster. But you're not. And you never will be one to me," she whispered.

If only he could believe her. If only, he was certain he would not turn out to be a death eater again.

He fumbled with the necklace he still kept close to him, and offered the time-turner to Hermione. "I've been wanting to give this to you," he said quietly. "It's always been yours, in some way or another. And considering she put a spell on it to find and communicate with you, I think she would have liked you to have it."

Hermione took the time-turner and studied it closely. "Are you certain? It's the last thing you have of her."

Draco ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "I have you. You're her. I don't need the time-turner to remind me of that."

The witch smiled and hugged him close to her, nuzzling her head into his chest. Draco enveloped her in his arms, resting his chin on top of her head.

"Promise me, you won't shut me out anymore," she mumbled.

Draco sighed. "I promise."

- St Mungos, 25th of December 1995 –

Before the silver trio left for St Mungos to visit Mr. Weasley, Narcissa had reminded them to invite their friends over in the upcoming week and to extend the invitation to Molly and Arthur. Considering the recent events and the upcoming war, Draco's mother had decided not to hold a Yule Ball at the Manor this year. Instead, she was planning what she liked to call a small gathering. The blond had rolled his eyes at that statement. What his darling mother defined as 'small' was probably still a party big enough that they needed to extend their dining room to twice its size.

Hermione had barely left his side since she found him in his bedroom that morning.

"It's not your fault, Draco," his girlfriend told him for the umpteenth time as they sat outside of Mr. Weasley's hospital room at St. Mungo's. Harry had been keen on visiting, the Boy Who Lived himself needing some assurance that he was not the one responsible for the current state of Mr. Weasley. Giving Harry and Ginny some more time to talk with Arthur and Molly, Draco and Hermione decided to wait outside.

"Let me get you some hot chocolate milk," Hermione smiled encouragingly, patting his hand before she left to find them something to drink. Draco hated that he was doing this to her. He wished he could go back to being her supportive best friend and doting boyfriend.

He needed a plan. Something to get him out of the mindset he was currently in. He felt so bloody useless, and brooding would not do them any good. At least, the toad was magically bound to him. That was something he could work with, he supposed.

Neville and his grandmother showed up a few minutes later, finding the Slytherin deep in thought, his head in his hands. Lady Longbottom invited Draco and Hermione to visit with Neville's parents, claiming it might do her son and daughter-in-law good to see some of their son's friends.

Draco nodded and confirmed that he, Hermione, and Harry would come over shortly. Right as the pair strolled away and were about to round the corner, the blond wizard blurted out, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, Lord Malfoy?" Augusta Longbottom raised her eyebrow at him questioningly.

"My aunt." Draco swallowed deeply. There was much he and his family had to pay for. Even if he'd done his best to save lives in this timeline, some things even he could not undo. "She's the one who did this to your family. I'm sorry."

The elderly lady gave her grandson a grave look, sighed and walked back, putting a tentative hand on Draco's shoulder. "It is not your responsibility to apologise for all that is evil in this world, young man. All we can do is try to be better and prepared. So the horrors we have lived through during the war will never happen again." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Isn't that right, Neville?" Augusta addressed her grandson who'd approached them.

The Gryffindor nodded. "Indeed, Grandmother. You should not be apologising for what happened during the war, Draco. It's not your fault." Neville took his grandmother by the elbow and led her away, leaving the Slytherin alone with his thoughts once again.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Perhaps, Lady Longbottom was right. All he could do was prepare and-

"Draco?"

His head whipped around to the voice. Her voice sounded so soft and childlike, nothing like it did in his nightmares. So different than the screams he associated that voice with. A girl with long red hair and crooked teeth smiled at him. The girl.

Panic clawed at his chest as what Draco assumed to be the girl's mother pushed her daughter and her wheelchair towards him, clearly intrigued that her child knew who he was. If only she knew what he'd done to her.

"Hi," he barely whispered, giving her a small wave as he broke out in a sweat. Did she remember? Oh Merlin, if she-

"Lord Malfoy. Lucy Henley, a pleasure to meet you," the mother greeted him, extending her hand to shake his. "I've heard much about you. Amelia always speaks fondly of you and your friends."

It pained him to smile at this woman and shake her hand politely, but he did so anyway. What was it Umbridge had said? That the girl's mother had killed one of the death eaters? She must be an auror then. It explained how she knew the Director of the D.M.L.E. at least. "I'm happy to hear Lady Black is spreading the good word, Mrs. Henley."

Lucy's smile brightened and she looked down at her daughter. "I'll go and grab a cup of tea. Would you like anything, dear?"

The girl shook her head. "I'll stay here with Draco. Don't worry about me, Mum. There's no monsters out to get me here."

Draco stiffened. It was as if the girl had heard his inner thoughts by referring to monsters.

The auror's smile wavered and she checked the hallway around them carefully, as if trying to identify any potential threats. But it was empty except for the three of them. "If Lord Malfoy doesn't mind then-"

"He doesn't. We're friends, him and I," the little Gryffindor stated boldly, making her mother chuckle.

Mrs. Henley walked off in the same direction Hermione had gone a few minutes earlier, and Draco desperately wished Mione would be by his side right now. She would know what to say, what to do, what to-

"My name is Sophie," the girl said, interrupting his thoughts as she started swinging her legs back and forth. "I understand why you did what you did. I've told everyone I don't remember, but I do. I heard you in my mind. You were trying to protect me. It barely even hurt, it was more like an uncomfortable itch, really." Her head tilted to the left and her nose scrunched as if she suddenly remembered too much. "Until-"

Sophie's legs stopped swinging and her hands started shaking. Tears formed in her eyes. "Until Professor Umbridge, she-"

Draco leaned forward and took her hands in his. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed, not caring if anyone would see Lord Malfoy break down in a bloody corridor at St Mungos. "I should have gotten you out immediately. If I had known what she was planning to do to you, I would have never- I'm so sorry, Sophie."

"I know," Sophie cried. "I heard what you told me as you held me in the Forbidden Forest. If you hadn't been there to heal me, to make sure I was found, then-"

Hermione came upon them a few minutes later, both of them crying in the middle of the hallway while the little girl seemed to cling onto Draco in desperation, the trauma of what had happened getting the better of her. The brunette placed a privacy bubble around them, secretly glad no one else had found them in this state. How would they explain that Draco was having a mental breakdown over a first-year Gryffindor he wasn't supposed to know? Walking over, she crouched down next to Sophie and offered her one of the two cups of chocolate she'd brought with her. "Drink this, dear. It will make you feel better."

The first-year nodded gratefully and hiccuped before taking a careful sip. Hermione handed Draco the other cup and frowned at him when he wanted to wave it away. She would have none of it and urged him to drink it.

"Mum has always warned me about the war," Sophie whispered to the both of them. "My uncle was an auror during the first war. He was killed by death eaters while Mum was still in Hogwarts. I think she knows that something isn't right. She knows I would never wander into the Forbidden Forest on my own. She's thinking of sending me to Ilvermorny, until all of this is over. Dad has been looking for a job overseas as well."

"If you need anything," Draco insisted as he conjured a tissue for Sophie so she could wipe her face, "let us know. I have more money than I need. If your parents want to move to the United States with you, I will make sure you have a place to live."

"You're too kind," Sophie sniffled before snorting into the tissue loudly. "Thank you for saving me. And thank you for wanting to help us."

Her words had taken Draco aback. Even if he had done something cruel, this girl was telling him that he was kind . That she'd realised he was trying to save her, and that none of this had been his fault. She was absolving him of his guilt, and he felt slightly lighter from her words. Now that he thought about it, there was someone who should be feeling as guilty and regretful as he was. Who was more of a monster than he could ever be. But the pink toad would never regret anything she'd done. She enjoyed spreading darkness and despair nearly as much as his psychotic aunt did. Not unless he made her regret it.

Determined, Draco took a steadying breath as he knelt in front of the young girl, offering her his hand. "I will make her pay for what she has done to you, Sophie," he vowed. "I don't know how yet. But I will take Umbridge down and give her what she deserves."

"You will try and get her sent to Azkaban?" Sophie wondered.

The blond shook his head. "Azkaban would be too generous for a monster like her."