Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
He reached into his robes, withdrew a small package, and threw it across the room.
“DAMN HIM!”
Draco’s father had totally ruined his plans to grab a last little bit of quality time with Ginny Weasley before the summer holiday. Since when did Lucius feel the urge to accompany his mother to King’s Cross? Narcissa certainly did not approve of Draco’s attachment to the youngest Weasley, but she and Draco has an unspoken agreement that she would tolerate her son’s liaison with Ginny, and he would take due care to avoid bringing the relationship to the attention of his father.
Neither Narcissa nor Draco wished to see what the elder Malfoy’s reaction would be if he found out that his son was lavishing affection on Arthur Weasley’s daughter – after all, Arthur has almost succeeded in preventing Lucius from buying his way out of Azkaban in the middle of Draco’s sixth year.
Why, why, why, didn’t Mother at least WARN me that he was coming?
“She tried. She had no way of knowing that your father had managed to pay off Magical Transportation just this morning and received his Apparition license back. He almost walked in on her trying to send you an owl.”
Draco spun around at the sound of his own voice – his own voice, but somehow deeper, rougher. He knew, instinctively, as a burst of adrenaline shot through his heart, that he had drawn his wand faster than he ever had before.
It didn’t matter. The stranger in Draco’s bedroom waved his hand – almost absently – and Draco’s wand shot from his grip, until the stranger was gripping it in his left hand.
Defenseless, Draco had no recourse but the obvious.
“Who are you? And how can you read my thoughts?”
Lumos!
As the stranger spoke, light flooded the room, and Draco gave a gasp as he looked at a fuller, more sunken version of his own face.
“You’re a smart boy, Draco, you should be able to figure it out.”
“Polyjuice. Looks like you got the potion a bit wrong, though. I’m much better looking than you are.”
“Good guess, Draco. But wrong. And don’t be so hard about my appearance, the last few years have been rather rough on me.”
“Polyjuice and Legilmancy”
“Wrong and wronger.” The stranger smiled.
“That’s not a word. Draco’s objection sounded whiny, even to his own ears.
The stranger smiled, “No, it’s a very good word, kind of explains while I’m here. Let me put this in terms you can understand, young Draco, think Hermione Granger in third year with the funny necklace. And then think that maybe I’m not reading your thoughts, but rather remembering them.”
Recognition dawned on Draco.
“Time travel? I’m expected to believe you’re from the future? You’re me?”
“Yes.” Draco the Elder didn’t smile this time.
“You look like hell.”
“Yes. You’ll look worse, I’m afraid.”
“Aren’t you afraid of, I don’t know, messing up the future or something? If the Ministry catches you. . .”
The older Draco seemed to ignore his younger self, and picked up the small package that had been thrown against the wall when the youth had come into his bedroom an eternity ago.
“She loved this, you know. But you don’t. You’ll never know. You’ll never going to know how her eyes lit up, and she had this little gift until the end. I lost it in the final evacuation of London. Hmm. Just like last time I threw it, it’s not damaged – but it’s started, I have begun to change things. The course is set.”
Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy’s mind was splitting. Part of him felt detached, almost curious, as if he was a surreal observer of something that didn’t really concern him. He was just interested to see what the story was. The other part of him was terrified to the point where his hands were shaking, and he was fighting some primal urge to run, run away as fast as he could.
Somehow, however, he knew it would be a very, very bad idea to call for help.
“You can’t kill me. You’ll destroy yourself. And if they catch you playing with time. . .”
Draco’s older self laughed. The penalty for willfully altering the timeline was worse than the Dementor’s Kiss. A Dementor sucked your soul and your memory. Horrifying, to be sure.
Those who were caught trying to divert the timeline suffered a similar fate – except instead of having their soul and memories obliterated, they had their memories emptied into a special Penseive in the Department of Mysteries – you did not merely cease to exist; every memory of your life was plowed through with clinical detachment by a team of Unspeakables, dedicated to stripping every secret from you in an attempt to find out how much damage you did and what the effects were. Being Kissed left you like a vegetable, only worse. Messing with the timeline also left you like a vegetable, only worse - but you were left naked as well, your every secret stripped out, discussed, and pondered by uncaring strangers.
It wasn’t a pleasant prospect for a private person, and Draco Malfoy was very private indeed.
The older Draco laughed again. “The Ministry is the least of my concerns. I assure you I am here with the full approval and endorsement of the Ministry of Magic.”
A burst of hope shot through Draco’s heart. “You work for the Minstry?” Perhaps, just maybe, Draco would have a future away from his father – away from Voldemort. And Ginny…
“In a manner of speaking. I was an Auror, one of the best. Now. . .well, you can call me the acting Minister of Magic.”
Suspicion overtook the younger Draco again. “You may look like hell, but even I can see you’re a bit young to be Minister.”
“I said acting. Strictly speaking, there is no Ministry anymore. I have certain authorities granted to me, under the auspices of the Russian Federation, the Americans, and what was left of the British government before it collapsed. In my time, I have authority to, what was the wording?”
Draco pulled a piece of paper from his robe, as his younger self looked on with confusion.
Paper? Why not parchment?
The older Draco scanned the paper until he came to a passage he recognized.
“Ah, yes, here it is - therefore, under the terms of succession set forth, the Provisional Leader of the Resistance shall exercise all duties previously discharged by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and the President of the Russian Federation, and the President of the United States, and Premier of the People’s Republic of China, and any other nations that have chosen to join in this compact, to the extent that such duties are practicable, under the terms of the United Nations Resolution of the twentieth of July, two thousand and six. The Provisional Leader shall have the authority to command any and all remaining civilian and military entities, both Magical and Non-Magical, and to otherwise act as he sees fit to take whatever steps necessary to preserve humanity, and such authority shall persist for the duration of the current emergency, until such time as an orderly return to conventional government shall become possible.”
“What does that mean?” Draco cursed himself for sounding like a child, even as he spoke the words.
“You know what it means.”
“You rule the world.”
“What there is of it. Not much, I’m afraid?”
“Voldemort won?”
“No. We kicked his ass years ago. He was easy compared to what came next.”
“And Ginny?”
The older Draco sighed. “I’m glad you asked that. I needed to know. It’s been ten years, Draco, since I was you. I never could remember exactly when my lust and infatuation turned to love – the type of love that can lead to sacrifice.”
The younger Draco processed that, quickly, and came up with several possibilities. He didn’t like any of them.
“I have to die. She’s dead, and I have to do something that will get me killed to save her.”
“Close. But worse. Dying would be too easy, Draco. What you have to do is worse than suffering death, Draco, although you’ll most likely get killed as well.”
“There is nothing worse than Death, old man.”
Draco was confused as his older self laughed. “Oh! How ironic. Harry once told me that Voldemort – no, no, never mind, it doesn’t matter. Rest assured, Draco, there are things worse than death. I would have died a million times over to save Ginny or my children.”
Draco had been thrown, again, by the casual way the name Harry had rolled off of his future counterpart’s tongue – it had been spoken with the familiarity of long use, the affection of a close friend. Surely, in the future, he couldn’t be friends with Harry “Perfect” Potter, could he?
But there was something more earthshaking. . .
“I have children?”
Draco reached out and touched his younger self, who flinched away.
“Had, Draco, I’m so sorry, but I have to steal everything away from you.”
“Why?”
The older Draco didn’t answer. He showed Draco a picture instead, and the younger man felt his stomach churn as he saw himself, older, smiling, happy – and looking considerably less worn than this stranger in front of him. On his arm, batting his chest with one hand, was a stunning, older, and very pregnant Ginny Weasley. Three children were climbing all over the happy couple.
“That’s Winston. We named him and Arthur after great leaders, strong names for strong Malfoy boys. Winston used to. . .well, he was only five but I’m proud to tell you he could outfly Harry and Luna’s (LOONY LUNA LOVEGOOD?!?! the younger Draco thought madly) little boy on his toy Comet. I like to think he would have made the house team and flown against Harry’s kid at Hogwarts. . .assuming they weren’t in the same house, of course. Doesn’t matter now. . .Arthur, well, we named him well, he’s kind of like his grandfather. And Emily. . .my little girl. . .”
Draco looked at his older self with horror, as the other man began to sob. He stood back, not knowing whether to flee turn around. The thought of comforting the other man never occurred to seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy; he was still ill equipped to deal with emotion.
“My little girl, Draco, our little girl, they tortured her. . .they killed my little girl, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
In a flash, Draco’s older self had sprung to his feet and slammed his younger self against the wall.
“LOOK AT THE PICTURE, DRACO, LOOK AT GINNY! I CAN’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN! YOU CAN’T LET IT HAPPEN! YOU MUST STOP IT!”
“PUT ME DOWN, YOU LUNATIC!”
Draco released his grip on his younger self, and spun around so that he was facing away.
“I’m sorry. Please. Look at the picture. That is your family that you can never have – but you may be able to protect them. All you have to do is sacrifice your soul.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Will you die to save Ginny?”
Draco thought about that question. He was supremely selfish. He had never, ever told Ginny he loved her, although he suspected he did. He certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her, but dying?
The older Draco seemed to read his thoughts. “Now, think of a world without yourself. Now, think of a world without her. Which is worse?”
His answer was low.
“Yes. I don’t want to, but I love her.”
“I know. I did, and do, too. That’s why I’m here.”
A strange peace overcame Draco. The feeling of self-sacrifice was new to him, and he was confused by how it felt so – right.
“What do I have to do?”
“That’s the hard part, I’m afraid. I can’t tell you too much about the future; let’s just say that while I can’t imagine a worse future, I can’t guarantee that your sacrifice will save it, either. All I know is what the Oracle has said, and I can tell you a bit about that.”
Draco’s young voice was a dull monotone, a sulky teenager faced with a task he knows he cannot get out of.
“What do I have to do to save Ginny?”
The Draco that had seen far, far too much in his time took a deep breath before replying.
“You need to leave Ginny and join Voldemort. You must become a Death Eater.”
He reached into his robes, withdrew a small package, and threw it across the room.
“DAMN HIM!”
Draco’s father had totally ruined his plans to grab a last little bit of quality time with Ginny Weasley before the summer holiday. Since when did Lucius feel the urge to accompany his mother to King’s Cross? Narcissa certainly did not approve of Draco’s attachment to the youngest Weasley, but she and Draco has an unspoken agreement that she would tolerate her son’s liaison with Ginny, and he would take due care to avoid bringing the relationship to the attention of his father.
Neither Narcissa nor Draco wished to see what the elder Malfoy’s reaction would be if he found out that his son was lavishing affection on Arthur Weasley’s daughter – after all, Arthur has almost succeeded in preventing Lucius from buying his way out of Azkaban in the middle of Draco’s sixth year.
Why, why, why, didn’t Mother at least WARN me that he was coming?
“She tried. She had no way of knowing that your father had managed to pay off Magical Transportation just this morning and received his Apparition license back. He almost walked in on her trying to send you an owl.”
Draco spun around at the sound of his own voice – his own voice, but somehow deeper, rougher. He knew, instinctively, as a burst of adrenaline shot through his heart, that he had drawn his wand faster than he ever had before.
It didn’t matter. The stranger in Draco’s bedroom waved his hand – almost absently – and Draco’s wand shot from his grip, until the stranger was gripping it in his left hand.
Defenseless, Draco had no recourse but the obvious.
“Who are you? And how can you read my thoughts?”
Lumos!
As the stranger spoke, light flooded the room, and Draco gave a gasp as he looked at a fuller, more sunken version of his own face.
“You’re a smart boy, Draco, you should be able to figure it out.”
“Polyjuice. Looks like you got the potion a bit wrong, though. I’m much better looking than you are.”
“Good guess, Draco. But wrong. And don’t be so hard about my appearance, the last few years have been rather rough on me.”
“Polyjuice and Legilmancy”
“Wrong and wronger.” The stranger smiled.
“That’s not a word. Draco’s objection sounded whiny, even to his own ears.
The stranger smiled, “No, it’s a very good word, kind of explains while I’m here. Let me put this in terms you can understand, young Draco, think Hermione Granger in third year with the funny necklace. And then think that maybe I’m not reading your thoughts, but rather remembering them.”
Recognition dawned on Draco.
“Time travel? I’m expected to believe you’re from the future? You’re me?”
“Yes.” Draco the Elder didn’t smile this time.
“You look like hell.”
“Yes. You’ll look worse, I’m afraid.”
“Aren’t you afraid of, I don’t know, messing up the future or something? If the Ministry catches you. . .”
The older Draco seemed to ignore his younger self, and picked up the small package that had been thrown against the wall when the youth had come into his bedroom an eternity ago.
“She loved this, you know. But you don’t. You’ll never know. You’ll never going to know how her eyes lit up, and she had this little gift until the end. I lost it in the final evacuation of London. Hmm. Just like last time I threw it, it’s not damaged – but it’s started, I have begun to change things. The course is set.”
Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy’s mind was splitting. Part of him felt detached, almost curious, as if he was a surreal observer of something that didn’t really concern him. He was just interested to see what the story was. The other part of him was terrified to the point where his hands were shaking, and he was fighting some primal urge to run, run away as fast as he could.
Somehow, however, he knew it would be a very, very bad idea to call for help.
“You can’t kill me. You’ll destroy yourself. And if they catch you playing with time. . .”
Draco’s older self laughed. The penalty for willfully altering the timeline was worse than the Dementor’s Kiss. A Dementor sucked your soul and your memory. Horrifying, to be sure.
Those who were caught trying to divert the timeline suffered a similar fate – except instead of having their soul and memories obliterated, they had their memories emptied into a special Penseive in the Department of Mysteries – you did not merely cease to exist; every memory of your life was plowed through with clinical detachment by a team of Unspeakables, dedicated to stripping every secret from you in an attempt to find out how much damage you did and what the effects were. Being Kissed left you like a vegetable, only worse. Messing with the timeline also left you like a vegetable, only worse - but you were left naked as well, your every secret stripped out, discussed, and pondered by uncaring strangers.
It wasn’t a pleasant prospect for a private person, and Draco Malfoy was very private indeed.
The older Draco laughed again. “The Ministry is the least of my concerns. I assure you I am here with the full approval and endorsement of the Ministry of Magic.”
A burst of hope shot through Draco’s heart. “You work for the Minstry?” Perhaps, just maybe, Draco would have a future away from his father – away from Voldemort. And Ginny…
“In a manner of speaking. I was an Auror, one of the best. Now. . .well, you can call me the acting Minister of Magic.”
Suspicion overtook the younger Draco again. “You may look like hell, but even I can see you’re a bit young to be Minister.”
“I said acting. Strictly speaking, there is no Ministry anymore. I have certain authorities granted to me, under the auspices of the Russian Federation, the Americans, and what was left of the British government before it collapsed. In my time, I have authority to, what was the wording?”
Draco pulled a piece of paper from his robe, as his younger self looked on with confusion.
Paper? Why not parchment?
The older Draco scanned the paper until he came to a passage he recognized.
“Ah, yes, here it is - therefore, under the terms of succession set forth, the Provisional Leader of the Resistance shall exercise all duties previously discharged by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and the President of the Russian Federation, and the President of the United States, and Premier of the People’s Republic of China, and any other nations that have chosen to join in this compact, to the extent that such duties are practicable, under the terms of the United Nations Resolution of the twentieth of July, two thousand and six. The Provisional Leader shall have the authority to command any and all remaining civilian and military entities, both Magical and Non-Magical, and to otherwise act as he sees fit to take whatever steps necessary to preserve humanity, and such authority shall persist for the duration of the current emergency, until such time as an orderly return to conventional government shall become possible.”
“What does that mean?” Draco cursed himself for sounding like a child, even as he spoke the words.
“You know what it means.”
“You rule the world.”
“What there is of it. Not much, I’m afraid?”
“Voldemort won?”
“No. We kicked his ass years ago. He was easy compared to what came next.”
“And Ginny?”
The older Draco sighed. “I’m glad you asked that. I needed to know. It’s been ten years, Draco, since I was you. I never could remember exactly when my lust and infatuation turned to love – the type of love that can lead to sacrifice.”
The younger Draco processed that, quickly, and came up with several possibilities. He didn’t like any of them.
“I have to die. She’s dead, and I have to do something that will get me killed to save her.”
“Close. But worse. Dying would be too easy, Draco. What you have to do is worse than suffering death, Draco, although you’ll most likely get killed as well.”
“There is nothing worse than Death, old man.”
Draco was confused as his older self laughed. “Oh! How ironic. Harry once told me that Voldemort – no, no, never mind, it doesn’t matter. Rest assured, Draco, there are things worse than death. I would have died a million times over to save Ginny or my children.”
Draco had been thrown, again, by the casual way the name Harry had rolled off of his future counterpart’s tongue – it had been spoken with the familiarity of long use, the affection of a close friend. Surely, in the future, he couldn’t be friends with Harry “Perfect” Potter, could he?
But there was something more earthshaking. . .
“I have children?”
Draco reached out and touched his younger self, who flinched away.
“Had, Draco, I’m so sorry, but I have to steal everything away from you.”
“Why?”
The older Draco didn’t answer. He showed Draco a picture instead, and the younger man felt his stomach churn as he saw himself, older, smiling, happy – and looking considerably less worn than this stranger in front of him. On his arm, batting his chest with one hand, was a stunning, older, and very pregnant Ginny Weasley. Three children were climbing all over the happy couple.
“That’s Winston. We named him and Arthur after great leaders, strong names for strong Malfoy boys. Winston used to. . .well, he was only five but I’m proud to tell you he could outfly Harry and Luna’s (LOONY LUNA LOVEGOOD?!?! the younger Draco thought madly) little boy on his toy Comet. I like to think he would have made the house team and flown against Harry’s kid at Hogwarts. . .assuming they weren’t in the same house, of course. Doesn’t matter now. . .Arthur, well, we named him well, he’s kind of like his grandfather. And Emily. . .my little girl. . .”
Draco looked at his older self with horror, as the other man began to sob. He stood back, not knowing whether to flee turn around. The thought of comforting the other man never occurred to seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy; he was still ill equipped to deal with emotion.
“My little girl, Draco, our little girl, they tortured her. . .they killed my little girl, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
In a flash, Draco’s older self had sprung to his feet and slammed his younger self against the wall.
“LOOK AT THE PICTURE, DRACO, LOOK AT GINNY! I CAN’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN! YOU CAN’T LET IT HAPPEN! YOU MUST STOP IT!”
“PUT ME DOWN, YOU LUNATIC!”
Draco released his grip on his younger self, and spun around so that he was facing away.
“I’m sorry. Please. Look at the picture. That is your family that you can never have – but you may be able to protect them. All you have to do is sacrifice your soul.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Will you die to save Ginny?”
Draco thought about that question. He was supremely selfish. He had never, ever told Ginny he loved her, although he suspected he did. He certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her, but dying?
The older Draco seemed to read his thoughts. “Now, think of a world without yourself. Now, think of a world without her. Which is worse?”
His answer was low.
“Yes. I don’t want to, but I love her.”
“I know. I did, and do, too. That’s why I’m here.”
A strange peace overcame Draco. The feeling of self-sacrifice was new to him, and he was confused by how it felt so – right.
“What do I have to do?”
“That’s the hard part, I’m afraid. I can’t tell you too much about the future; let’s just say that while I can’t imagine a worse future, I can’t guarantee that your sacrifice will save it, either. All I know is what the Oracle has said, and I can tell you a bit about that.”
Draco’s young voice was a dull monotone, a sulky teenager faced with a task he knows he cannot get out of.
“What do I have to do to save Ginny?”
The Draco that had seen far, far too much in his time took a deep breath before replying.
“You need to leave Ginny and join Voldemort. You must become a Death Eater.”
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