CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER IV
It was silent in the library. Rows of shelves filled with ancient tomes and unorthodox magical charms stood gloomily around the room. The only light source was from the lit candle beside a small figure. He was seated at a desk much broader than his lithe body, piled messily with books and yellowing scrolls that rumpled with use. The quill in his hand made frantic scratches across a white parchment filled with black ink.
Draco dropped the quill to flex his hands. His back was stiff while his eyes burned from the exertion. He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to relax his furrowed brows and aching mind. A silent apparition snapped beside him, the sound prominent in the stillness of the suffocating room. Draco said nothing.
“Master Draco, Dobby has come to remind him of time.” The intruder had spoken quietly, aware of the headache Draco has right now.
“Good, thank you, Dobby.” He finally opened his eyes.
The elf beamed at his approval. Looking down, Draco noticed the tray the elf was holding. White mist rose from the flowery porcelain, accompanied by the inviting fragrance of grey earl. At the side was a small plate of tangy cookies.
He let out a small sigh, “You know me well, Dobby.” He picked up the cup.
“Of course, master Draco. Dobby is grateful.” Draco knows what the elf is grateful for.
Some days after his return, Draco made sure to have Dobby as his personal elf. Obviously, his father was against it, saying the elf was disobedient and defective, but Draco insisted. And since then, Dobby has become one of his responsibilities.
Perhaps Lucius had thought after handling the troublesome elf, Draco would learn to give up. But that is not what happened. Instead, Draco had been patient. He had treated Dobby with decency and taught him the proper way of speaking. He would give rewards and disciplines duly, but Draco never abused his position of power. And Dobby, in return, did not disappoint him. He showed favorable results from Draco's careful supervision and had become more sensible; Draco had corrected his habit of self-punishments. He no longer sees Lucius as his master but him, though that isn't a particular change from the last time. Dobby will be set free by Harry Potter eventually. Draco looked back at the elf with stormy eyes.
It was beneficial, in the end.
Dobby noticed his gaze, “May Dobby ask what master Draco is doing for the whole night?”
He remained silent for a moment before answering, “I'm preparing…plans for the future.” He looked back at all the scrolls and parchments littering the desk.
He felt like drowning.
He was paranoid and restless ever since the day he woke up again in his room. Trembling in an unfamiliar body, small and frail, gaunt and pale. Filled to the brim with horrors and despair, he had no one to go to with his burden. He could only focus on the dread that his future would bring and dive headfirst into the fevered dream of preparation that was his two years before Hogwarts. And that is where Dobby had surprisingly come to be of use. For the past two years, Dobby had helped him in multiple duties, big and small, official or confidential. Draco never told him anything too explicit or anything more than necessary, but it was enough.
“The future will be very different from what we know…and you will help me, Dobby.” You will help Potter.
“Yes, Master Draco.”
He stared at the tea in his hand, delicate flakes of dark colorings swirled together, a reflection stared back at him. He sipped it.
The room slowly lit up with a rosy hue as his wistful gaze landed at the soft light coming through the window; a watery light broke through the distant horizon. Dawn is breaking.
_________________________
1991, September 1st
Draco stood on platform nine and three-quarters with his parents, a distinct ring clear of passengers formed around the three Malfoys; A rather peculiar sight amongst the bustle of ambling figures. Draco looked up at the big red train in front of him, shining dazzlingly as the light shined down from the sky window while a burst of the train's whistle echoed above their heads as steam gushed out through the chimney. A glorious passage indeed to a place full of magic and extraordinary.
He’s here again, standing in the sea of students saying farewell to their parents, excited for their adventures full of magic. All the people who had lost the sparks in their eyes, laying lifeless on the ground staring up at him, blaming him, cursing him.
“Draco.” A voice brought him back.
He looked up to his mother, who smiled down gently at him. “Are you ready?”
“…”
Is he ready? It’s a good question. Is he prepared for the long years he'd already gone through and regretted? Is he up for the task to change everything that had happened? Will the preparations for the last two years be enough for the next seven? Is he ready?
"Yes, mother." He is not.
He will never be ready. No preparation will ever be enough for a war. A war that was supposed to have stopped a generation before; It should have been resolved years ago, but now it will be their problem. Students, young children will fight in a war that adults should have finished.
Draco had cursed, begged for the world to stop, even if for a second. That was his mistake; he was too young to understand. The world isn’t going to wait for him; surely no one would wait for him. The sands of time are dripping rapidly, threatening to bury him alive. He had read every book his family library had to offer and practiced every spell he had learned, both from this life and the previous. He’d extended his knowledge, then proceeded to write down everything in his memories and burn them into his retinas. No, he had already done all that and more. He had spent all his available time collecting resources that could help, business connections with the Ministry, Gringotts, even in the muggle world. Draco had made a secret network under a pseudonym with the help of Dobby.
He had observed everything around him, changing small things here and there to see what might affect the timeline. He noticed during the years that the littlest thing can change everything; Muggles called it the butterfly effect. The first change in the timeline had been Draco. Being much different than before, people around him had changed slowly along with him. Narcissa no longer puts herself at a distance; He'd thought back to the new memories he made with his mother. Mom, he had called her, for the first time, on his second tenth birthday. She wasn't just a faraway figure in his life. Pansy had become more open to muggle ideas. He had brought Pansy to muggle fashion shows and showed her the cultural differences and similarities. Although she wouldn't acknowledge them, Pansy had told him once, "Maybe muggles aren't as bad as I've thought."
She had found respect for their fashion and ingenuity. He had changed her outlook ever so slightly, and it had been a colossal headway for Draco. He had changed something. Whether the change would affect the timeline in any noticeable way is yet to be seen. But that was when he realized that he needed to start early, as early as possible, when they're still eleven-year-olds. That’s when he still had the chance, or it would have been too late.
Narcissa looked down at her son, who seemed to be in one of his moments when he was deep in thoughts. He would often be this way, eyes staring into the distance. Mouth turned down unnoticeably as if looking at a complicated puzzle without any viable answer. Occasionally, she would notice Draco mumble to himself; he would shake his head as if disapproving of an idea, his brows interlocked in a tight frown.
There were other moments. Most of them were short and sparse in time, but Narcissa was terrified of it. Akin to moments where he would descend into the deep end of his mind, the difference here was the gleam in his eyes. It differed from time to time; his eyes showed a mad luster when he was writing away and pacing around his room. This had happened the most. The moments that worried her most were when he would stare into the distance or nothing at all with dulled eyes like an endless void. His silver irises were no longer bright with their usual sharpness. They are nothing but dark and empty. She hated when it happened; But whenever she tried to ask, Draco would deflect her questions. So she tried to be there for him when he needed her.
Ever since the day when Narcissa had found Draco in his room, eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with dried tears. Draco had changed. More mature, more reserved. Gone was the child who would run to her for praise when he did something even remotely credible. She is no longer the one he would go to for refuge and comfort. He had holed himself in their family library, searching and reading every book in a crazed frenzy, as if being chased. It is a silent struggle, only shown through the ferocity in his eyes. Bags under tired eyes had become a prominent feature on his face. She and Lucius had tried everything to make their son calm down from that frantic hysteria. Reassure him that he is still young, telling him that they are here, that he can depend on them as well. It never worked. But Draco would smile at them and say thank you. It had shattered her heart every time because she could tell that he meant it wholeheartedly.
They tried to ban him from the library, but that only drove him into a corner. If on his ninth birthday was the last time Narcissa had seen him cry, that was the first time Narcissa had seen him bleed.
"Draco, we had to. You never sleep!" Narcissa looked pleadingly at her son.
"I was fine."
"Please, Draco. When was the last time you went back to your room?"
"I was just there last night." His voice was clipped. His body swayed ever so slightly.
"Your father had to force you!"
"I am fine!" Draco had had enough.
The room was silent for one brief moment. Narcissa was about to open her mouth, but something caught her eyes. Draco was shaking, and his eyes were misty. A streak of red peeked from under his nose, and it dropped. Draco had raised his hand to his face, but it never touched the blood.
"Draco!" He had fainted.
Now, he will be on his way to Hogwarts, and she hoped he would find solace in the place where she found a home.
“Alright, it’s time for you to be on the train." Narcissa said while caressing Draco’s snowy locks.
“Make us proud, son.” Lucius added. He never was the closest to his son, but he had seen the changes his son has gone through as Narcissa did and was just as worried.
Draco turned to look at them somberly, “I will.”
A pang went through her heart; she caressed his cheek reassuringly, “I know you will, my dragon.”
Suddenly, a train of students ran through the brick wall that served as the connection from the muggle world; it was a group with flaming red hair and freckled faces. Narcissa frowned at the disruption. Draco looked at the Weasley family, and for a quick second, Narcissa saw a flash of something akin to guilt in his silver eyes before they closed.
"I'll be going now. Pansy will be waiting for me.” Draco said as if sensing her gaze.
“Of course. Goodbye, Draco.” nodding, Narcissa looked as he walked away and disappeared into the train.
“It’s time to go.” Lucius gave his arm to her. She looked back one last time at the train and held on to him before they disappeared from the sea of bustling people.
Draco was walking through the train. From an outsider's view, his face was a mask of quiet composure deserving of a Pureblood. But it was an entirely different story inside. Panic flooded his chest at all the strange yet familiar faces around him. He hated how tiny he felt, how overwhelming everything suddenly became. The corridor twisted and turned as the ground shook uncontrollably. But it was just him in his mind. Everyone is laughing; it’s too loud. Draco was trembling as he continued to tread through the corridor.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. It wouldn’t do any good if he started panicking over nothing; it would be a waste of all his efforts for the past two years. He had walked down the whole length of the train when it had started moving. He decided to give an old friend a visit.
He walked down the aisle; he could still remember when everything started. A petty rivalry between two children, what an embarrassing childhood story. Except, now, he is back to being a child once more. But he was no longer the naïve child whose only concern was to see the famous Harry Potter. Even though he is back in the past, he couldn’t bring himself to be a child anymore. The memories wouldn’t let him, and the skeletons in his closet will always haunt him. There are just too many to count.
Maybe that is why he chose to torment himself. With the reminders of his past life, he could never see this life as a second chance. He knows he doesn’t deserve it; this is his penance. But he is greedy, and he selfishly yearned for things he did not deserve. But his mother did. Other people, good people, deserve a second chance. Maybe that was why he stayed. Why he had started and continued his plan and didn’t just...
His footsteps halted at a particular opaque door; it is the compartment where Harry Potter will be in. As he stared at the glass for a moment, a sense of déjà vu washed over him. The last time, Vincent and Goyle had been here with him. Last time, he had been convinced that Harry Potter would be his friend. Last time…
He walked up and pulled the door open. The voices inside stopped abruptly.
“I didn’t think I’d meet you again so soon!” Draco looked into the compartment. Greeting the savior of the Wizarding World, the great Harry Potter, for the second time. His face hurts.
Potter stared at him with eyes the size of saucers and mouth hanging open speechlessly. His face stiffened as a formless pressure set heavily.
“Well, that’s not nice. I thought you would have greeted me back at least.”
“Uhh…” He coughed, eyes drifting away from his face. Draco raised a brow. How awkward...where did all of Potter's snark go?
“You wouldn’t mind if I sit here, would you?” Draco asked, moving to sit beside him when another voice chimed in.
“Yes, he would, actually.” He stopped, hovering awkwardly between the door and the seat. It was the Weasley. Ron Weasley.
He was not expecting the boy to be so repulsed of him. Really, he hadn’t even met him once, let alone had the chance to do anything to him to garner his dislike. But he found comfort in the familiarity of his hatred.
“Would you really?” He turned to Potter.
Potter immediately stammered and coughed out a no, albeit dubiously. Draco will take that. He sat down despite the squawking protest of the redheaded boy.
“I don't think I've introduced myself last time. Draco Malfoy, glad to make your acquaintance.” He offered his hand, the hand that Potter once rejected.
He is not nervous.
Potter shook it hesitantly and was about to say his name when Weasley interrupted once again.
“I know who you are, Malfoy. Your father is a blood purist. He looks down on people like us.” He said defensively.
Draco looked at him blankly.
Huh.
Does he have an inferiority complex? He hadn’t even insulted the boy yet.
“…Is that what you think?” Draco asked him, face still blank. That seemed to make Weasley uneasy. Draco looked at the girl beside Weasley, who looked back at him curiously, Granger. Was she here last time?
“Your father always insults my father and looks down on how poor we are!” Weasley said, finally gathering enough of his courage.
A pause.
“I see…then I apologize for my father’s actions. Though I couldn’t excuse him, I do not look down on your…financial situation.” Weasley appeared surprised at his response. Although confused, he seemed to find Draco sincere in his apology.
They have never met in their entire lives until Hogwarts. How did weasel come to have the idea that Draco would be a git immediately upon their first meeting? He supposed he was a git the first time around. Draco looked at him. How much did the Weasley patriarch talk that pushed his son into thinking him of that way? He guessed it would be the same amount as his own father had talked to have made him just as prejudiced the first time. He looked at the boy as acid sank down his chest.
“Oh. Uhh…oh.” He looked down, face as red as his hair.
Draco didn't say anything. Luckily, it seemed that Granger had some semblance of social skill and decided to introduce herself.
“Hermione Granger.” She extended her hand. Weasley’s eyes widened, turning to him skeptically. Draco ignored him to look at the offered hand instead.
“Pleasure.” He shook her hand without pause. “Are you new to the Wizarding world?”
“Yes! Was I really that obvious?" He scoffed secretly at the question, no. "Everything here is so mesmerizing! I have read all our school books, and I must say, this isn’t like anything I’ve seen before!” She said animatedly. Glad to see her enthusiasm didn't change either.
Weasley’s mouth was gaping like a fish. In the background, Draco could see Potter telling Weasley to close his mouth. Draco ignored them.
“Of course, it’s magic.” He agreed readily. “I see you’ll make a good student at Hogwarts.”
“You really think so?” She asked shyly. Draco scoffed once more. I know so.
“If you reading all the books for the school year is any indication, I don’t see why you wouldn’t make it to the top of our year.” He reassured her. It is true, after all, she had always been the Smartest Witch of the Year. The know-it-all.
He turned to Potter, “I don’t think I’ve heard your name?” He inquired again.
“Uhh…my name is Harry Potter.” He said timidly. Alright, this is the time to show off his skill. Be a bumbling fool.
“Harry Potter.” It came out flat. He realized his face didn’t move in the slightest.
“It’s true! He is Harry Potter!” Weasley exclaimed as if trying to convince him of the fact, which he didn’t even need to. He knows that this stuttering and awkward child is the Harry Potter who will, one day, save their sorry arses. “Harry, show him your scar!”
“No, it’s alright. You don’t have to, I believe you.” He stopped the boy from showing his forehead by peer pressuring from a redheaded beanstalk. He looked surprised as if he couldn’t fathom that someone didn’t want to see his famous lightning scar. Draco breathed out a sigh.
“Are you guys excited for school?” Draco changed the topic.
Weasley scrunched his face, “If you put it that way, it doesn't seem so exciting anymore.”
“Oh please, why wouldn’t you be excited? It’s magic!” Granger exclaimed, which Weasley rolled his eyes at. How interesting, it seemed that Weasley and Granger didn’t start their friendship all sappily. Oh good, he’s about to witness the seven-year-long romance between these two, Draco thought blandly.
Then the door opened, showing the trolley witch, “Sweets?” She asked.
At the appearance of a cart full of sweets, Potter and Weasley’s eyes had lit up like Lumos charms. It was…childlike… Draco felt out of place as he observed the two boys buy all the chocolates and candies in the cart. So that was where all the sweets went. Draco looked at the two children munching happily on their chocolates. Granger got herself a sugar quill, which Draco approved silently.
If he didn’t have seven years of grim history with them, he would’ve thought this scene to be…cute, but the thought itself is offensive to him. Granger would’ve been adorable for her love of books. If not for that, though rightfully deserved, punch to his nose, he might've talked to her about academics. That and the fact she was a muggle.
He looked at the clueless girl, oblivious of all the craziness that would transpire in her future. He couldn’t remember exactly why he had hated her so much. She was just a girl who happened to receive a letter that told her she could make sparks out of a stick. And decided to attend a school that he also happened to be enrolled in. Is it because she had stolen first place from him consecutively, thus, stopped Draco from achieving his father’s satisfaction? His shoulder slumped slightly in defeat. He bought a sugar quill from the trolley, but he did not eat. Instead, he started fiddling with it.
“You shouldn’t play with your food, Draco” He looked up.
Screams. Loud, high-pitched screams erupted in Draco's head. The girl he saw was no longer the young Granger a moment ago. Instead, Granger was lying on the marble floor of Malfoy Manor, newly captured by death eaters. Aunt Bellatrix hovered over her body, a crazed smile on her ashen face, the screams wailed even louder——
“Draco?” He blinked.
Granger is young again. Draco had dropped his sugar quill. “Are you alright?” Granger asked, concerned. He took a shaky breath. The visions are becoming more frequent, that’s not good.
“I’m alright, just…shaky hands.” He reassured. Granger moved to grab his hands. It was, indeed, shaking. But Draco flinched at the sudden warmth. And she took back her hands instantly as if burned. The atmosphere in the compartment quickly became heavy. He smiled weakly.
“I’m fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.” He tried again. The three children looked at each other, unsure, but eventually nodded. He sighed. What is he doing, showing his vulnerability to these children? He waved his hand halfheartedly, and the sugar quill on the floor was whisked away and disappeared.
Granger’s eyes lit up in surprise, “Was that wandless and wordless magic?” She asked, ecstasy clear in her voice. Draco looked down at his hand. “Uh…yes, it is.” And just like that, the discomforting silence was forgotten, and Granger started asking him questions on how he did his magic. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that...but it would do the two idiots beside him better if their future friend learned some wandless magic. Draco prepared himself for the onslaught of questions.
The compartment is now silent, other than the sound of Weasley teaching Potter how to play Exploding Snap. As well as the occasional flutter of a page as Granger read her book. Draco looked out the window at the rolling plains and lone scarecrows, ignoring the quiet chatter of the three future Gryffindors. Hogwarts is near, and the game is just starting…great.