Chapter 2
It was odd after his mother had comforted him. He felt a sense of shame after crying into her arms like a child but he attempted his best to convince himself it made sense since he was technically still a child again. It was still difficult to fight the blush on his cheeks, feeling abhorrently embarrassed that he’d cried that way and had his mother even carefully carry him out of his bed to walk into the dining room with him in her arms.
He struggled to get out of his mother’s hold, insisting that he was fine as she chuckled, allowing him to walk on his own to his seat. He could see his father shake his head disapprovingly at the exchange, but he was able to avoid any real scolding with the way his mother had recounted fondly at how Draco practically couldn’t let go of her when he was crying. Lucius backed down as his mother kept teasing him, even helplessly smiling at his wife. Draco could only hang his head low, but instead of the feeling of shame accompanying him, it looked more to be of a child feeling embarrassed for acting childish. After all, even at a young age, Draco always had the penchant for attempting to be with the adults and acting as though he was more mature than his peers. A thought that was quite easily squashed to be a stupid endeavour since Draco could admit that he’d hardly matured to what he expected himself to be.
Breakfast was an odd affair. It felt familiar; horridly, horridly familiar and wrong. It was the same as he’d always remembered but he couldn’t help but feel out of place. He kept fidgeting, biting on his lip more often than actually chewing on his food. He was wracked with nerves and perhaps allowing himself to be carried out of the safety of his room had been a mistake when he hadn’t even been able to properly comprehend everything that led up to… this whole debacle. A part of him was afraid of the thought that the image of his parents looking happy was just a part of his hallucinations. He was rather close to those, staying in a cell as miserable as he had. The only thing that kept him sane from dropping into the depths of his mind was ironically the way he’d constantly vomited and broke down his own voice enough that he couldn’t even speak.
It was difficult to stomach the food. As delicious as it smelled, it tasted like garbage in his mouth. Still, he ate all of it, feeling no need to waste any food regardless of how his stomach clenched in response to his reaction to the food. But it was different from the way he’d eaten then. It only felt weird, but not to the same instinct that he had before of vomiting whatever he was able to eat. It made him all the more aware of how he was in a different time; a time when his body still wasn’t marked. A time when he was still healthy, and happy. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy. It felt wrong. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps he simply didn’t deem himself to be worthy of this sort of… normality anymore.
All of the Malfoy family are criminals, including him. But that isn’t the case now. The dichotomy of it hurt his head, his mind still caught up within what he lived and what he was actively feeling. He was more alive than he could have ever remembered, the lively blood of a youth running through his veins just bumbling to get out into the world. But he felt dead. Inwardly dead and empty. It was akin to that story he’d stumbled upon on Granger’s desk in the library. The man had dreamt he was a butterfly, and waking up as a man, he was confused about the state of his being. Whether he was a butterfly dreaming that he was a man or that he was a man that had merely dreamed of being a butterfly.
But he was here. It was a familiar sight as it was unnerving to see his parents again. Together. Carefree. Surprisingly, he didn’t find it odd to see them so happy. They always held a sense of silent happiness in the company of the other regardless of how the war fared. Even when it seemed as though the tides of everything was going to push them away from each other, they somehow found the smallest moments to be enough to indulge with their hands held tightly together, leaning against the other as they allowed the silent strain of fate to simply be at ease, undeterred to the dark as long as they were able to hold each other.
Draco had always wondered when he was younger why people commended their matrimony, deeming it to be the perfect exchange. He’d once believed that they’d seen just how much love was within their eyes, though they were much more reserved around other people. But he was quickly washed with cold water at the knowledge that not all marriages were to be the same. It was dreadful to see how unhappy his aunt was in her marriage, and he’d once vowed to himself at a young age that he wouldn’t allow himself into that kind of union. Perhaps he’d feared he’d fail in that as well. Being shown such a difference between his parents and his aunt’s. Being shown what would happen if he were to fail in that kind of thing in life, it added to his fears long enough that it became a pitfall of failure.
He ate all of his food, feeling a discomfort in his stomach but he willed it down as he kept to himself. He didn’t know how he was supposed to interact with them in this kind of setting. It’s been years and it’s felt longer. He licked his lips as he downed some water, ignoring the glass of juice just nearby. It seemed to surprise his mother, her eyes drifting to focus on him with a worried tone.
“Dragon, are you alright?” She looked at his plate, looking even more incredulous.
He shifted under her gaze, a spark of a memory in his mind remembering how there was a time in his childhood that he was particularly picky. He didn’t think of it. He’d become less picky over the years, and being picky isn’t exactly a trait he’d be able to have in a prison like Azkaban. He fidgeted more, holding onto the fabric of the tablecloth. He nodded slowly, “Mother, can I go back to my room…?”
Lucius frowned, pausing from his meal. The look that Draco was given made him wince, looking back down to his plate as he attempted to straighten back his shoulders. He was familiar with that look, disapproving of his small mistakes. Just enough of a warning look, but not to the same severity that he would receive when he would really find himself messing up. He’d learned to avoid the small mistakes early on, but receiving it now made him feel even more like a child. He muttered an apology, staying put and taking another sip of his water to keep himself occupied. He did his best to remain within a proper posture despite the weight on his shoulders. His father had been insistent before on never allowing them to leave in the middle of a meal. Why, Draco wasn’t quite sure. But his father heavily disapproved of it.
Narcissa’s features softened, but she remained silent and moved on with breakfast. She gave her husband a sidelong glance, a raise of her brow unnoticed by Draco as he focused on avoiding curling into himself and contemplating everything. She sighed, shaking her head. If she finished her meal faster than usual, Lucius didn’t say anything about it, forgoing the rest of his meal and ordering a house elf to take away breakfast.
Lucius’ eyes closed, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back on his seat. “Have you thought of what you wanted?”
Draco stiffened, unable to understand his father’s real intentions behind that question. He hasn’t even fully grasped the full extent of what being back in this moment in time meant. He couldn’t even start to think of what he’d want to do with it. He tugged at his pants, shaking his head.
Lucius looked just as incredulous as his mother had been when he’d eaten his plate without any complaints. He straightened himself, sharing a look with his wife. He hesitated for a moment, frowning. “You’re turning ten soon. I would think that you’ve put more thought into what you want as it will only be another year until you will be leaving for Durmstrang.”
Narcissa frowned. “Lucius.” Her voice remained level, but Draco could sense that she was upset. “Draco is not going to Durmstrang.”
“Must we speak of this now?” Lucius massaged his nose bridge, sighing. Despite how displeased he seemed to be, he didn’t allow any anger to bleed into his voice. “Cissy, please. We’ve talked about this before.”
“And I’m not changing what I’ve said. Draco is not going to Durmstrang. He can go to Hogwarts instead, just like we did before.”
“Draco would require a school like Durmstrang. They hold a sensible way of teaching, especially with the Dark Arts. You understand how ridiculous the education within Hogwarts will be with Albus heading it.” Lucius sneered, his voice lowering. “Durmstrang only allows purebloods and half-bloods. I do not wish for Draco to have to accompany himself around muggle-borns.”
Narcissa seemed to weaken at the last few words. Draco blinked as soon as he was able to catch that momentary lapse, watching carefully as his heart palpitated again with possibilities of his travel through time being true. Narcissa’s face tightened, taking a few moments too long to answer. “I understand.”
Draco bit at his lip, “Mother…”
“Dragon, what’s wrong?” Narcissa pushed away her thoughts, giving all her attention to her son.
“Is… is Durmstrang far away?” Draco fidgeted.
Narcissa softened, moving from her seat to walk to Draco’s side. She hugged him gently, running her hand through his hair. “It’s a bit far, yes. Why? What’s wrong? You’ve been off all morning.”
Draco wanted to cry feeling her embrace. “I, I don’t want to be away from you…” he looked through the corner of his eyes, seeing his father as impassive and unimpressed as ever. He gulped, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “and… and father. I don’t want to be away from both of you.”
He could see his father stiffen, his expression as unreadable as before, only showing a slight displeasure as he stood up. “Do not fuss. It is unbecoming.”
Narcissa sighed, watching her husband walk away with no more than a huff. She comforted him, soothing away his troubles. She gave a grimace when he asked whether he’d really be going to Durmstrang when the time comes for his schooling. She knew very much so of how stubborn her husband was when it came to decisions in regards to Draco specifically. She knew that Lucius had an odd way of showing it, but he wanted the best for Draco just as much as her. Though it was obvious to say that Lucius simply had different ideas for what was best for Draco, it didn’t mean any less for the fact that Lucius cared.
Lucius held his beliefs close to heart and although he couldn’t always overlook them with how stubborn he was, Narcissa knew he still thought over them as long as it concerned his family. The decision for Durmstrang was somewhat due to his own bias against muggle-borns and Albus himself, since the man did spearhead most of the education within Hogwarts, but Lucius held the strong belief that Voldemort would return. Lucius wanted a better world in what he saw to be for the better. And he wanted his son to be given every chance to fend for himself in that new world.
She soothed her son, offering ideas for what he could ask for when his birthday comes. But Draco held no interest within those things at the moment, shaking his head as he sadly moved out of his mother’s embrace. “Mother… can I stay in my room for the rest of the day?”
Narcissa’s brows furrowed, much more worried now. It seemed that Draco really felt horrible about having to go to Durmstrang. She understood that Lucius was set with the decision, but she’ll have to have some harsh words with her husband. She’ll kick him off to the kitchens with the elves if she has to. “Dragon, I’ll talk to your father, okay?”
Draco shook his head, “I just want to be alone for a while.” he fidgeted, his stomach turning into knots even thinking about asking for a request. He laughed inwardly, feeling as though the years have really kicked over his immediate orders to have whatever he wished for. “Could you let a house elf just send my meals to my room for me?”
Narcissa looked reluctant, “That’s…” she trailed off. “Why don’t we go somewhere fun instead? We can take your mind off of this for now and we can think of what we should do for your birthday.”
Draco shook his head and ran off without any further words. He couldn’t stand another second of it any longer. He loved being able to feel his mother’s embrace once again, but knowing that this version of his mother was different from the one that saw all of his mistakes made him feel difficult. It was odd. A relief seemed to wash over him knowing his mother didn’t know of all his mistakes yet—didn’t see her only child become a criminal and a coward. But it made him feel like he was undeserving of it. He felt like a fraud. The love his mother was giving him was love for a younger Draco. A youth that hadn’t caused deaths and tears.
He spent the entire day at the corner of his bed. Sitting by his childhood bed but not actually partaking within the soft comfort of it. He stared off into space the entire time, his mind trying to rationalize everything given to him. Trying, being the key word. After all his time in prison, he could stand to allow his mind to be free, but the cries all around him and the miserable setting also caused a tendency of overthinking. He kept thinking about why he was back. Was it to punish him? Or as his mother had said, giving him a chance to live a life he wouldn’t regret?
He didn’t regret his life.
Well, that would be a lie. But he didn’t regret it. He spent enough time spiralling and ending up alone to feel enough resignation to give up. He didn’t feel regret because he gave up feeling anything more. But most of all, remembering how ruefully his mother held him made him only feel that he should’ve stayed as who he had become. He’s made his bed, he should’ve lied in it.
But now he had to be back here. Back to being a nine-year-old.
Draco blinked, running to look at the date. It was near the end of May. May 1990. In another year, he’ll be going to Hogwarts. In another year, he’s going to meet… meet Potter. And after that… fuck. Fuck.
This must be a punishment. A heavy punishment for all his sins. Being back in this time, being back in this body... he’s going to live out those days again. He’s going to see people die again. He’s going to be back in that damn cell again.
He couldn’t even bring himself to pace around in his room, only curling up deeper into himself. His heart hurt beating out of his chest and he almost hoped it’d fail once and for all. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, staring off into space as if he was back in his cell. He couldn’t even touch the food given to him, ordering the house elf to put it away despite how his heart ached at having to waste the food.
He shut himself off for days. But he couldn’t stay that way for so long, mustering whatever energy he had to at least go out during meal times by the third day. He still stayed quiet, but it eased his mother’s worries somewhat. When he’d gone out of the dining room, he could hear his mother arguing with his father as the latter tried to placate her.
Draco wanted to go back, not wishing to place any harm on his parents in this time. It was ridiculous, perhaps even a masochistic endeavour when he’d begged the damned locket to let him go back to his mother. But he’d prefer scorn and fallen disgrace rather than having to hurt so many people in his life again. His father had admonished him before for being so… so weak when it came to taking lives. But schoolyard bullying was easy enough with the pride he had as a child, but having to hear the screams and cries of the people doomed into the casualties of the war was unbearable to hear of.
Even more, he didn’t want to see Potter again. He didn’t think he had the strength to see him, let alone terrorize his school life once again. Draco hid away the locket, finding no more need to plead any longer when it gave no results whatsoever. His birthday was nearing and the reminder of his age made bile lurch into his throat.
The door to his bedroom opened with no more than a short knock, a soft clack of his drawer shutting close as he looked back to the light filtering inside to see… a house elf. He blinked, still finding an unsettling feeling just looking at the small creature. It bowed to him quickly in greeting. “Master Draco… Madam Narcissa is asking for your presence.”
Draco frowns, the unsettled feeling doubling itself at the recognition of who the house elf was. Dobby. The last time Draco had ever seen of the house elf, he’d been fired. And from what little else he’d heard of in Azkaban, Dobby was dead. Bile seemed to lurch into his throat once again. The sight of someone who was supposed to be dead upset his stomach in a way that food never could have. After days of managing to control himself from his habits, he finally broke, lurching over and vomiting onto the floor as Dobby jumped from the spot he stood. The food he was able to stomach was out of his system, an almost familiar burn running itself over his throat with acid staining his teeth. He coughed, feeling disgusting. It was different than before. His stomach was younger, much less stronger than when he’d been an adult. And he’d actually eaten proper meals, so it felt all the more disgusting to watch every bit of food come out.
“Master… master Draco…?” Dobby panicked, unable to move.
Draco felt ashamed. Vomiting disgustingly in front of a bloody house elf. He must look horrendous. Bloody pathetic, even. He coughed, wiping away the bile left on his lips. He spat on the floor. He glared at Dobby, thanking the way his eyes were unfocused and unable to clearly see what should’ve been dead in front of him. “Clean this. Not a bloody word of this is to reach my father or my mother’s ears. I will personally see to your end if you divulge anything of this.” Draco’s teeth were bared in anger, bred from humiliation. Even if he’d fallen as far as he had, he would never allow himself to be looked down upon, especially by something as lowly as a house elf.
He moved to his bathroom, cleaning off the bile in his mouth. He spat into the sink, brushing his teeth out. He gritted his teeth, still feeling the bile. He took the bar of soap, ignoring how he gagged as he cleaned out his mouth with soap. He was used to having to clean his mouth with it, but it seemed his younger body was still rejecting it despite how his mind was perfectly at ease. He coughed as soap bubbled on his lips, quickly washing it all away. He wished he could use his wand to clean himself, but he didn’t have access to that.
He sighed, walking out of his room without looking at Dobby lest his stomach punched itself again at the sight. He walked a bit faster until his steps started to slow, realizing he didn’t know where his mother was. It’s been a long time, and he was mostly away in Hogwarts for a lot of the year, so he couldn’t remember where his mother would be at this time anymore. He looked around, finding the halls barren. He wracked through his head, walking around to find his mother’s study.
He knocked gently, opening the door. His brows furrowed, a slight fear cooling his veins. He could see his father sitting at his desk, his quill in hand paused mid-air away from writing on his scroll, his wand on his right. It felt as though his father was more menacing than he’d remembered. Perhaps it was due to the sudden return to his shorter height. When he’d grown older, he was able to manage being slightly taller than his father. It didn’t make him fear his father’s disappointment any less, but the sudden difference in perspective still allowed his nerves to jitter uncontrollably. He looked around, his heart hurting at the sight of his father’s pristine study. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it like this.
“Draco.” Lucius narrowed his eyes, and for a split second, Draco felt as if there was something akin to suspicion in his father’s eyes as he looked back down to his scroll.
Draco nodded, standing up straighter without meaning to. “Father.”
Lucius’ face remained impassive, only the sound of ink against paper echoing with the drumming of his heart. “Did you hurt your foot?” Lucius asked.
Draco blinked, unable to comprehend the sudden question. He slowly shook his head, “No. I didn’t. I haven’t been out in a while.”
Lucius’ brows furrowed, a change in his demeanour cracking through. He seemed more confused than Draco himself, wanting to speak but avoiding doing so. He shook his head, “Go to your mother. Do not stay in your room the entire day. It’s unbecoming.”
Draco wanted to ask of the strange question, but he only nodded, walking out of the room. He allowed a breath to leave him as he closed the door. The bile from before still burned at his throat along with the soap. It seems he’d mistaken the room. He felt like an idiot for it, but it’s been a while since he’d been home. Narcissa had often stayed in Lucius’ office when he’d been in prison before Voldemort had broken out all of the Death Eaters from Azkaban before the height of the war. In a way, Draco had almost expected to see her there.
He could only walk away from the strange question given by his father, his nerves more aware of his feet as he walked around to find his mother. He found her soon enough sitting in the parlour with a… a brochure in hand. She noticed him as soon as he was in sight, gently beckoning him to her side as she put away the brochure. She smiled genially, not coddling him and allowing him to sit on his own.
“You haven’t been out of your room for a while.” Narcissa started, “Aren’t you lonely, dragon?”
Draco shook his head, “I’m fine, mother.” He smiled, assuring his mother in a voice much gentler than he could have remembered ever having as a child. Evidently, his behaviour was becoming far too different as his mother only looked more worried for him. She ran a hand through his hair, smiling difficultly.
“There’s something wrong, isn’t there, Draco?” She was unused to the way Draco seemed so subdued. Usually the child would be demanding of whatever he wished for, acting haughty and full of energy (Narcissa still found him to be her sweet little boy, and Lucius spoiled the child rotten with whatever he wished). In contrast, her Draco looked… tired. Like a soldier thrown into the height of war returning home where peace seemed so foreign all of a sudden.
Draco hesitated, lying felt so much more difficult than it used to. He’d never felt the need to lie to his mother before, even more after the war when family was the only thing he had left. “I’m fine. I just don’t find the thought of… my birthday to be as enjoyable as it was.” They really did stop feeling all that enjoyable in the recent years. His mother had still done her best to keep his birthday a special occasion. It didn’t make it any less painful to see her keep herself together despite everything. She was always a strong woman that way, and it made it more bearable to see himself age.
“Do you want anything for your birthday? It’s supposed to be special.” Narcissa supplied, her voice much more softer at her next words. “You’ll have to go to Hogwarts next year, after all.”
“Father… agreed?” Draco blinked. His father had never cared for his younger outbursts when it came to his absolute decisions. Though he only really had short bursts of tantrums even as a child, never really quite doing the same sort of reaction as staying in his room all day as was evident recently. He knew his father sent him to Hogwarts in his time, but his frigid insistence on Durmstrang had Draco confused.
Narcissa scoffed, “Your father’s a dolt. He didn’t even make any other argument against me when I insisted on your attendance at Hogwarts.” She shook her head helplessly, a fond smile finding its way on her lips as she continued to stroke Draco’s head. “Your father cares, dragon.”
Draco remained silent. The last he’d seen of his father had been a difficult sight. He was a shell of the man he once was. Draco nodded slowly, fidgeting as he relaxed under his mother’s care.
“With that, what do you want for your birthday? We can do whatever you want.” Narcissa said.
Draco looked at the travel brochure tucked away by his mother’s side. He blinked, pointing at it. “What’s that?”
Narcissa’s smile tightened, her hand reaching for the travel brochure and seeming to hesitate between showing it or hiding it. “It’s nothing, dragon. Let’s just talk about your birthday, alright?”
“Mother… Can I please see it?”
Narcissa sighed, passing on the brochure to her son. She could never deny him of anything, especially something so simple. Draco read the page, finding that it wasn’t a brochure at all, but rather a page torn off of a book that was folded similarly, talking of a county in England. It would be as simple as that, only it seemed to be something… muggle. His eyes widened as he read on. This was from a muggle book. A complete lack of any indication of knowledge of any magic was obvious with how simply the page described the county, focusing on things that only muggles would be interested in.
“What is this…?”
Narcissa’s smile turned melancholic. “I find some enjoyment in reading of these places. I wanted to travel a lot in my youth,” Narcissa laughed gently, “I just don’t find the same desire for it now.”
Draco could see the way her demeanour turned to a slight heavy sadness, breathing in as if to let go of whatever she was thinking before giving all her attention to Draco instead. Draco looked back at the page, his finger rubbing on the paper. He looked closely at the picture of the place, seeing an expanse of woodland and a particular vineyard that seemed to be renowned in the county.
He lowered the page, smiling at Narcissa. “Mother, can I ask for what I want for my birthday?”
Narcissa smiled, thinking that he’d foregone any thought of the page. She nodded, patting his head. “Of course, dragon. What do you want?”
“I want to go here.” Draco pointed at the page, “I want to go to Surrey.”