Draco Malfoy was sitting under the Sorting Hat. Again.
It hadn't been his fault this time.
He'd done everything right. No revelations about the future, no outbursts about timelines or how many times he'd lived this life. He'd played his role perfectly, the dutiful heir, the obedient son, the ambitious Slytherin.
Well... maybe excelling in all his classes had been a bit much. But could anyone blame him? It wasn't like he could unlearn the things he already knew. Even after the Unspeakables had erased his memories during his second loop, after extracting everything they could. Those memories had come roaring back the moment he looped again. Painful, disjointed fragments at first, but eventually whole, clear, and sharper than before.
So he used them. That wasn't cheating, right? Passed his NEWTs with scores that made even the Ravenclaws jealous, when he was fifteen! As soon as it was allowed. He was hailed as a prodigy. The second coming of Dumbledore, some said. Dumbledore himself even took him under his tutelage.
He was set to start his potions and charms masteries in his fifth year.
And then Voldemort returned.
Draco had nearly forgotten about him. How could he not? It had been years since he'd seen the noseless bastard. By the time Voldemort regained his body at the end of his fourth year, Draco was deep into his studies. Busy with advanced arithmancy formulas, potion innovations, and basking in the admiration of both his professors and peers. He hadn't been prepared for the knock on the door late one night, for his father's hushed whispers of"He is here"or the way his mother's hands trembled as she clasped his shoulders.
The Dark Lord was pleased to see Draco.Pleased.That was the most terrifying part. His father had spoken of Voldemort's fascination with power, with skill, with loyalty, and Draco was all of those things rolled into one. A prodigy. A genius. A bridge between Dumbledore and the Death Eaters.
It didn't take long for Voldemort to notice the cracks. The hesitation when Draco was asked to perform certain spells. The faint, flickering doubts that lingered on the edges of his mind. The Dark Lord's piercing gaze burned through every mask Draco had perfected over the years, and theLegilimencywas like being dragged back into the experiments of his second loop.
At first, Voldemort was searching for rebellion, for betrayal. But then, he stumbled across something far worse:knowledge.Something that didn't belong. Glimpses of events, conversations, and spells no fifteen-year-old should know. The Dark Lord tore through his mind like a scavenger, piecing together fragments of Draco's memories with a sickening curiosity.
Draco had tried to fight. He'd thrown up every mental shield he could muster, clinging desperately to the Occlumency Dumbledore had taught him. But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't just his mind that Voldemort destroyed. Draco's body became a shell, frozen and broken, unable to move or speak. He could only watch as his parents, his proud, desperate parents, were dragged in front of him. Their screams echoed in the halls of Malfoy Manor as Voldemort punished them for their perceived betrayal during Draco's first life.
His ruminations were interrupted by the hat sitting atop his head.
"Interesting... I haven't had one of these yet."
"Yeah, yeah, you told me that the last two times as well," Draco replied in his mind, unable to keep the sharpness out of his tone. "Can we skip the commentary and get to the part where you say 'Slytherin'?"
"Impatient as ever, I see,"the Hat remarked dryly."Though I have to say, you're making this harder for me now. You're more nuanced."
"Nuanced?"Draco shot back, his mental voice sharp."That's just a fancy way of saying I've got baggage. We both know where I belong. Just do your job."
"Oh, I'll sort you, don't worry," the Hat replied with a faintly amused hum. "But you've got more on your mind now, haven't you? All that knowledge, all those memories... it does complicate things."
Draco stiffened."Not for me. Slytherin works. It's the only place I can get things done."
"Yes, yes, your ambition and cunning are still there," the Hat said, its tone almost dismissive. "But there's more now. Hesitation. Doubt. A growing bitterness. You're not the same boy I sorted the first time."
"No one stays the same," Draco muttered, shifting slightly on the stool. He hated how the Hat seemed to dig into his mind like it owned the place. "Slytherin worked for me before. It'll work again."
"If you insist," the Hat replied, almost lazily. "You've certainly made Slytherin your comfort zone, haven't you? But comfort rarely leads to growth, you know."
"Comfort isn't the point,"Draco snapped, his frustration boiling over. He gripped the edge of the stool harder, trying to block out the Hat's words.
"Well, far be it from me to get in your way. Slytherin it is. Again."
Before Draco could retort, the Hat bellowed,"SLYTHERIN!"
Draco slid off the stool, his expression carefully neutral. The applause rose from his housemates, as expected, but Draco barely heard it. His thoughts were already spinning, not on the Sorting Hat's irritating commentary, but on the steps he needed to take in this loop.
The second loop had been a disaster. Panicked, messy, a string of mistakes that led absolutely nowhere. He hadn't understood what was happening, hadn't thought to hide his knowledge of the future. His scattered attempts to warn people about Voldemort's return and the events to come had drawn attention from the Ministry. The Unspeakables had taken him in, eager to uncover what he knew and how he knew it. He still shuddered at the memory of their "experiments." That loop had ended prematurely, cut short in one of their labs when his body couldn't take any more.
The third… that had been the hardest to swallow. He'd learned from the second, keeping quiet about the future and avoiding anything that might draw suspicion. He'd done everythingright. Hidden his knowledge. Played his part. Excelled. By the time he was fifteen, he'd passed his NEWTs and earned praise from even the likes of Dumbledore. For once, he'd thought he might actually win.
But no amount of academic accolades could stop Voldemort's rise, or the Dark Lord's growing interest in him. Voldemort had seen through him as if Draco's carefully crafted facade was made of parchment. A prodigy son of a known Death Eater, close to Dumbledore? The interrogation had been brutal, the Legilimency worse. Voldemort had broken him piece by piece, digging for knowledge Draco couldn't afford to share.
In the end, it hadn't mattered. Draco had been left catatonic, a broken shell, before finally succumbing to one last, merciful curse.
He needed to stop Voldemort from coming back. But how could he do that when he didn't even know how it had happened in the first place? The details were a foggy blur in his memories. He remembered Potter shouting about it to anyone who would listen during their fifth year, "He's back!"but nothing else solid.
Ugh. It all came back to Potter, didn't it? The twat. Everything always revolved around him, didn't it? Even when Draco had tried to steer clear of his orbit, Potter's shadow still loomed large. If anyone had a clue about Voldemort's return, it would bePotterand his insufferable little group of Gryffindors.
Draco grimaced at the thought, his jaw tightening. He'd have to get close to them. Somehow. Not too close, of course, Potter was as thick as a cauldron's bottom, but the Mudblood wasn't, and Weasley… well, Weasley had his own brand of animal cunning when it came to protecting his friends.
He hated the idea of groveling at their feet, playing the part of some reformed Slytherin desperate for acceptance. That would make him a laughingstock in his own house. No, he'd have to be subtle. Ingratiate himself without making it obvious. Find excuses to intersect with their little clique, figure out what they knew, and, more importantly, what they would know before it happened.
This time, Draco would stay ahead of them.
Would he play the part of the prodigy again? It offered many advantages. It explained how he was so far ahead of everyone else and gave him a veneer of credibility. People flocked to brilliance, after all. He'd seen it in his last loop, the way professors practically tripped over themselves to praise him, the way students sought him out for advice or help.
Yes,Draco thought, the idea sharpening into focus.Maybe I could lead some sort of after-class study group.Something small, exclusive enough to make it seem important, but not so formal as to draw suspicion. It would give him a perfect excuse to mix with people outside his house. If it were academic, no one could accuse him of fraternizing with Gryffindors, he'd just be "fostering interhouse collaboration," or whatever nonsense Dumbledore liked to prattle on about.
The Mudblood would jump at the chance. Granger wouldn't be able to resist. She'd probably drag the two morons with her, too. Potter would come out of some misplaced sense of Gryffindor obligation, and Weasley, well, Weasley would follow Potter like the world's most irritating shadow.
Perfect,Draco thought, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. If he made himself indispensable to Granger, he'd have access to everything Potter's little group discussed. She was the brains of the operation, after all. Half the things that idiot Potter did to save the day probably came out of her bloody homework.
Draco's lips curled into a faint smile. Yes, the prodigy angle had worked before, and this time, it would work even better. He'd just need to dial it back. Play it carefully. No more mastering the entire Hogwarts curriculum by fifth year. That had made him a target. He'd stick to excelling in Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just enough to draw admiration.
Yes, it was a solid plan. If he played his cards right, he'd be right in the thick of things when Potter and his little group inevitably stumbled into trouble. And when Voldemort's shadow started looming again, Draco would know about it long before anyone else.