When he returned to his Present, Draco wanted to scream and sob and laugh all at once. He’d stopped the duel, had stood in that windswept field below Godric’s Hollow and shouted his exultant victory to the heavens when neither boy Apparated in at the appointed time. All of the planning and sacrifice had been redeemed.
He cautiously looked around his pristine study upon his return, noting that he was an hour late in returning to his Present. Despite his victory over Time, the lack of precision irked him.
“Draco? What are you doing in here?”
Astoria’s hesitant tones, so different from the bone-deep confidence his mother’s voice always contained, never failed to grate on his nerves. Still, she’d been a good wife these twenty-odd years, had given him a son and done as she was told. Everything he’d wanted in a spouse. If her mousy, biddable nature occasionally annoyed him, he chalked it up to his mercurial moods. “Where’s Scorpius?” Draco demanded abruptly.
Her shocked, pale face sent his heart freefalling into his shoes. “How could you?” she demanded around a sob. “How could you ask such a thing, Draco?” Not giving him a moment to press further, she turned on a delicately-shod foot and fled.
Chasing after his wife was indecorous in the extreme, but Draco had invested too much time and hope to accept such a vague response. He’d fixed everything, goddammit. Catching her in the hall, he caught her silk-clad sleeve and slammed her into the wall. “Where. Is. My. Son?” he demanded, ice in his voice.
The impact temporarily knocked the air from her lungs, and the sudden violence in her husband’s eyes was as foreign as another galaxy to Astoria. Never in their entire acquaintance had he laid a hand on her in such a manner. It frightened her to the point where she couldn’t draw a breath if she tried.
The fact that her eyes were rolling white didn’t deter Draco in the slightest. “Where is he, Astoria?” he repeated, barely leashing the violence he felt spreading through his veins like fire.
“He’s in Azkaban, awaiting trial,” his mother said in bitterly cold tones as she turned the corner from the front hall. “The same place he’s been for the last week, Draco, and if you insist on Obliviating yourself one more time, I will have you involuntarily committed to St. Mungo’s.” With a casual flick of her wand, she sent him skidding back from the visibly shaking Astoria. “Never lay a hand on a woman in anger, Draco. I raised you better than that.”
Floored by his mother’s revelations, Draco shook his head like a dog. No, it was impossible. He’d stopped the duel. Opening his mouth to ask more, he quickly rethought his position. His mother was not joking- she would have him committed without a second thought should he press further. Instead, he Disapparated with a loud crack.
There was only one place he could go for answers now.
---
Ginny’s sitting room seemed like it had been filled with people every moment since they’d received word about James’ death, and while she knew that her family and friends meant well, all she wanted was to be alone, to wail and lament her son, her precious baby who’d been taken by that murderous Scorpius Malfoy. She wanted vengeance; she wanted blood, and when the crack of another person Apparating uninvited into her back garden filled her ears, Ginny snapped. She charged out the kitchen door, prepared to tell the interloper to sod off before she cursed them into oblivion.
Draco Malfoy stared at her, the frost beneath his glossy shoes mirroring the color of his eyes precisely. Ginny withdrew her wand without warning and fired a curse directly at his face.
It was impossible not to notice the difference, to compare this fire-bright woman to the icy, controlled witch that had murdered her own husband, but Draco supposed that Ginny Potter no longer existed. He’d demolished that timeline and created this bastardized version, another Present that he would not tolerate. A Scorpius imprisoned for murder was no better than a dead one. Shielding against another rapidly-fired curse from her wand, Draco leapt forward, grabbed her sleeve, and Disapparated again with a resounding crack.
---
“Where are we?” Ginny demanded shrilly, looking around in vain. She had no idea of their location; this clearing in a thick forest could be any one of a thousand locations in Wizarding Britain.
The sheer luck that had allowed him to snatch her wand as they’d arrived in the forest was not lost on Draco; he had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny Potter could decimate him in a fair duel, and he didn’t want to test that theory. Backing away to a safe distance from the witch, who looked ready to claw his eyes out with her bare hands, Draco recalled all of his research from Banishment.
As colored string materialized between them, attaching to tree branches and bushes in an intricate web, Ginny glared at her captor. “My husband is going to murder you like your son murdered my baby,” she spat venomously. “And you know what, Malfoy? I’m going to fucking laugh as he does it.”
The irony was appalling, Draco thought with a bitter laugh. “You wouldn’t believe the incongruity of that statement, Potter. To think this is coming from the mouth of a woman that killed her own husband is actually amusing, in a desperately gothic way.”
“I’ve never killed anyone, Malfoy, you cracked pot,” she replied, wrath curling her fingers into claws. “That’s a horrible mockery, even for you.” Ducking beneath a green string wrapped firmly around a low-hanging branch, she began to stalk him around the clearing. “But if that was an invitation, I’ll take it.”
There was nothing for it; Potter was intent on killing him, and he’d either have to Stun her or Immobilize her to prevent it. He went with the option that would afford him some answers. “Look, Potter, I know you think you have the right end of things, but you don’t. I’m not in the correct timeline, and I know you likely won’t believe me, but I’m trying to fix this whole fiasco.” When she eyed him beadily but held her tongue, he continued. “Originally, it was my son who died and yours who murdered him, but your husband and I managed to create a single Time Turner to go back and prevent the duel from ever happening.” He sighed tiredly. “I thought I had stopped it, but apparently they duelled anyway at another time or location. I need answers from you to try again.”
Ginny blinked; her face was the only thing he hadn’t Immobilized. “You’re right,” she flung at him, wishing her words were poisoned darts. “I don’t believe you.”
He produced the Time Turner from beneath his cloak. “Then how do you explain this?”
She gasped. All the Time Turners had been destroyed years ago, when they were just teenagers. “Where did you get that?”
“I told you,” he drawled, his grey eyes droopingly tiredly. “Your husband and I created it in an alternate timeline with the intent of saving both our sons. Wouldn’t you want to help me if it meant bringing back James?” His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to her. “In my timeline, you told me that you wouldn’t change Time, even for your own child. Do you still feel the same?”
If ever Ginny had understood the allure of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, it was now. Draco Malfoy held her enthralled in a forest, all alone, offering the one thing she wanted more desperately than vengeance- a chance to reset the clock. To have James back, to prevent this whole horrible reality… “No,” she whispered. “No, I’d change it if I could.”
He held the innocent-looking hourglass aloft. “I’m offering you the chance,” Draco replied softly, holding her broken brown gaze. “Help me, Potter. Help me re-plot the timeline for the current Present so we can discover what the nexus is. I’ll go back and fix everything, I swear it.”
“No.” Ginny flung her long, still-red hair out of her face, her resolve solidifying in an instant. “If I help you now, if I do this, I want to come. I want to physically come with you to fix this. I want to save James myself.”
Well. This was certainly a conundrum he hadn’t anticipated, and one he wasn’t sure how to deal with. Would bringing a Ginny Potter from a timeline different than his own mess things up irrevocably, or did it not matter, since his Present no longer existed? For that matter, her Present was about to be erased as well. It all made his head hurt, but Draco nodded once, sharply. First, they had to update the timeline for her Present and decide what the event was that they had to prevent. “I accept,” Draco said with a frown, releasing her from the spell.
And hours later, as the sun set, Draco looked at his red-haired companion and nodded. The timeline had increased exponentially, stringing its way for meters in all directions. If he failed this time, he’d need a Quidditch pitch to set the damn thing up in next. “So this is it?” he queried, his fingers plucking gently at a confluence of dozens of brightly-colored strings. He’d thought it had all centered on the duel, on Penny’s decision to date two boys at once, but Ginny’s insistence that they look further out had paid off. Now he could see that he’d been thinking too immediately. He had to prevent Penstemon Parkinson-Morey from ever being born.
And when he flipped the Time Turner over while she was still on the other side of the clearing, the stunned look of rage and betrayal in her brown eyes pulled at a small corner of his heart- not enough to bring her with him, however. Two people trying to influence Time meant twice the chance to fuck up, and Draco was not chancing his son’s fate to Ginny Potter.
---
It was strange, being transported back to the beginning of the twenty-first century. Draco eyed the people around him, wonder tinting the edges of his jaded gaze. He’d forgotten what it had been like, to be young and freshly exonerated in a post-Voldemort world.
Since he’d agreed with Ginny that it would be practically impossible to prevent Pansy from having sex with her new husband, he’d carefully set the Time Turner to three years after Potter had defeated Voldemort, back when Pansy had decided that continuing to date a Malfoy that had no intention of marrying her was a stupidly loyal move with no benefit.
Corralling Pansy at the Ministry Christmas Ball was easy, certainly easier than the Ageing Charm he’d had to reverse engineer to give him the appearance of his twenty year old self. It had been the party where Carnelian Morey, Neeley to his old Housemates, had first asked Pansy to dance, and Draco had a deceptively easy time intercepting her before Neeley had worked up the courage. Sweeping his ex-girlfriend into a practiced waltz, Draco studied Pansy’s calculating face.
“I’m not going to shag you tonight, Draco, no matter what you promise this time,” she laughed up at him, her pug nose twitching with mirth. “Although it’s nice to have a dance partner not intent on smashing my toes into oblivion.”
Draco gave her his best imitation of the amused smirk he’d so favored as a young man. “If I asked, Parkinson, we both know you’d shuck off that meringue of a frock right here on the dance floor.” Noting Neeley’s approach through the crowd of dancers, he spun her along out of his reach. “But all teasing aside, Pans, I have to tell you. Word around the Ministry is that Shacklebolt’s nephew fancies you.” He let his eyes flicker uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, but he’s reported to be quite the rising star.”
If nothing else, Pansy’s mercenary determination to be the wife of an ‘Important Wizard’ could always be counted on. “Really?” she squealed, before modulating her voice with a careful cough. “Well, isn’t that interesting?”
A tap on Draco’s shoulder startled him from his study of Pansy’s face.
“May I cut in?” Neeley Morey asked, his black eyes glittering as he looked at Pansy.
Draco handed her off with aplomb. “By all means,” he drawled, well pleased with himself. Striding for the abandoned hallway, he fingered the Time Turner tucked securely in his robes. All he had to do was lift this Ageing Charm and be on his way.
“You!” a velvety voice accused as a hand grabbed his elbow and hauled him behind a sculpture with surprising strength for such a small woman. “It’s an atrocity they even let scum like you into such an event, Malfoy.”
Draco’s lips quirked. Ginny Potter, now nineteen years old and still a Weasley, the new star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, scowled fiercely at him. It was eerily similar to the expression on her face when he’d left her in the forest at Malfoy Manor in her Present, minus the hurt, of course. “Hullo, Weasley,” he purred, appreciating the irony. “Enjoying the festivities?” He gave an exaggerated look around her. “Potter off playing to his band of lovelies, I presume?”
She dug her nails into his arm in retaliation. Malfoy always was such an obnoxious bastard, and the fact that he took such immense enjoyment out of twisting Harry’s friendly openness with people trying to thank him for finally felling Voldemort made her want to dropkick his sorry blond arse. “You’re despicable,” she hissed, leaning in close to him. “You’re a vile, horrible man, and you belong in Azkaban.”
He’d forgotten that her temper matched her good looks in those days, as well. Many a night had passed in the Slytherin boys’ dorm lamenting the waste of such looks on a blood traitor. “Ah, but your sainted boyfriend testified otherwise,” he replied silkily. “Or don’t you remember? Potter was so very convincing at my trial, after all. Poor Draco Malfoy, caught up in events out of his control, just trying to save his family.” Draco smiled slowly. “It was such a magnanimous gesture on his part, testifying on behalf of the boy he loathed with such passion.”
Ginny wanted to spit, she was so angry. “You didn’t deserve it.”
He nodded. Oh, the purity of belief they’d all had back then. “You’re quite correct, Weasley. No one with the Dark Mark could possibly deserve a second chance.” Just to be perverse, he peeled back his sleeve, flashing the physical reminder of his past at her. He leant in closer in a horrible mockery of intimacy. “After all, you’re Ginny Weasley, the pure little scion meant for our sainted saviour of the Wizarding world. Wouldn’t Potter just hate it if he knew you were hiding in the shadows with a cowardly, shady Malfoy.” A malicious thought took hold of him, and he pushed her back against the wall, crowding her with his body. “Wouldn’t it just burn his sense of entitlement to know that his beautiful intended was marred by a Malfoy.” Before she could protest, he slanted a bruising kiss, a punishment for the scorn and vitriol she had heaped on him back in those days, across her shocked lips. He pulled back before she could gather her wits enough to hit or hex him.
“How dare you!” Ginny breathed, wiping her lips with a venomous glare, yanking her wand from her sleeve.
Draco gave a short bark of malicious laughter. Oh, how he’d forgotten the trials of his youth. It seemed Time healed some wounds, after all. Giving her a final triumphant smirk, he whirled and disappeared into the crowd, intent on finding a quiet corner to undo his Ageing Charm before he returned to the Present.
He never noticed the two sets of narrowed eyes that had observed his self-indulgent attack on Ginny Weasley’s mocking purity.
---
Draco knew the moment he arrived in his Present that he’d fucked up royally. He even knew precisely what had done it- it had to have been the little indulgence of his temper with Ginny Weasley.
The platinum band that had sat heavily on the third finger of his left hand for twenty-four years had melted away, little more than a sparkle out of the corner of his eye as Draco cupped the Time Turner.
No marriage, no Scorpius. The equation was simple enough to work out, and so Draco didn’t bother wasting any time. He simply flipped the Turner counter-clockwise once more, sending himself right back to the Ministry Christmas Ball in 2000.
---
Intercepting himself was harder than he’d anticipated, particularly as Draco was certain he had to keep at least one version of himself unaware of the meeting. The exact reasoning behind the certainty wasn’t clear, but between hazily-remembered school lessons and the odd programme he’d caught on the space-time continuum, Draco knew that two versions of himself meeting would be a very bad thing. Such timey-wimey stuff was best left to the Doctor.
Carefully situating himself behind an ostentatious vase stuffed with peacock feathers, Draco waited until he found his very recent self headed for the hallway, fingers caressing the Time Turner in his robes. Shooting a whip-fast Memory Charm at the shining blond head, he snaked an arm around his other self’s shoulders and led him quietly out the nearest exit.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” a smooth voice demanded from behind him.
Draco froze, his arm stiffening around his thankfully-still oblivious doppelganger. Ginny bloody Weasley. Well, fuck. “Polyjuice potion,” he improvised quickly, slurring his words and giving her a lascivious wink. “Me and my mate here are off for a night of kink and vice.”
“As twin Draco Malfoys,” Ginny replied dubiously. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“Want to join in?” he shot back. “Two blonds and a ginger. Sounds like a winning combination to me.”
Ginny fingered her wand nervously. Something was very wrong here, as wrong as the too-cozy conversation she’d just caught Harry in with a trio of giggling brunette beauties in a secluded alcove. “No thanks.” She’d had enough of wizards in general at the moment. Home sounded like the best proposition, and time to consider exactly how she planned to confront Harry in the morning. She eyed the mirror images of Draco Malfoy closely. On the other hand… perhaps a taste of his own medicine was precisely what Harry deserved.
The sudden change in her demeanor rattled Draco. He wasn’t sure how much longer the Memory Charm on his other self would hold, and Weasley looked like she was plotting something very much certain to be detrimental to his long-term health.
“Actually, Malfoy, that sounds nice.”
He actually did a double-take at her reply. What? “What?” he croaked, backpeddling as the red-haired girl advanced slowly on him.
Hooking a finger in his robes, Ginny sidled close enough to notice the faint, silvery stubble on his jaw. “And I know it’s really you, Malfoy, so drop the Polyjuice bit. I don’t know what you’re planning, and frankly, I don’t care.” Before her courage failed her entirely, Ginny threaded a hand through the silky hair at the back of his head and leaned up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his.
Oh God, Draco thought wildly. Weasley was doing her level best to kiss him into oblivion, and the best he could do was stand there dumbly and let her, his very confused twin standing listlessly at his side. Forcing himself to remove his tongue from her mouth, when he had absolutely no idea how it had gotten there, was far more difficult than he could have ever anticipated. The witch kissed like she was a drug, potent enough to wipe conscious thought from his mind. The only thing that brought him back was the erection suddenly making its presence known as she plastered herself to him. “I, er, I have to… Christ, Weasley, get your hand off of that!” He batted at the hand that had wandered below his belt.
“I thought you wanted to play?” Ginny asked, voice husky and lips a rosy red from his mouth. Oh, she had the perfect idea in mind now.
That was absolutely the last straw. The mere fact that he wanted to Banish his other self and Apparate Weasley to a very secluded location had him disentangling himself from her with all haste. He was not here for Ginny Weasley, no matter how appealing she was with her kiss-swollen lips and thick, warm voice. “Erm, bye,” he blurted out, wincing as he Disapparated.
Christ. How embarrassing, to be done in by a teenage Weasley.
---
When Draco returned to the Present, things were fucked up beyond all hope. He surveyed his surroundings in despair.
“Daddy,” a little red-haired girl pleaded, her large brown eyes nearly undoing him, “just one more story before bed!”
Terrified of what he would find, Draco turned his head. There she was, Ginny Weasley –Potter –Malfoy? Fuck. He again had a wedding band on his finger.
Draco did the only thing he could think of.
He read the goddamn story, kissed his wife, and scrambled madly for the door, pressing his spinning head against the cool wood before upending the Time Turner one last, desperate time. There was only one person now who had any hope of untangling the clusterfuck he’d created.
---
“I’m afraid, Mister Malfoy,” Dumbledore said as he studied him over the top of his spectacles, “that it doesn’t work quite so linearly. Attempting to change a single specific event in history is much like using Spellotape to repair a broken wand- you’ll be able to channel magic through it in some form, but it will be entirely useless in a practical sense. The premise holds true for Time, as well. Every time you go back –although in this timeline, the appropriate term is ‘forward’- and make another attempt at changing things, you make the issue much, much worse.”
Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to ignore the headache that had been pounding between his eyes for what felt like a lifetime. “I came to you for help. You’re the only one I could think of that might be able to fix this mess.”
Dumbledore smiled sympathetically at him. “When I was a young man and the Ministry was trying to enact legislation to ban Time Turners, the Daily Prophet ran a serialized story named ‘The Revisionist.’ Have you ever heard of it? No? Well, to put a point on it, The Revisionist faced a great personal tragedy and took it upon himself to put things right, but no matter what he did, no matter how he acted, he was unable to change the future tragedy. Everything else surrounding the sad event changed and mutated, but his tragedy occurred time and again, like a broken record.”
“And the moral of this little tale?” Draco snapped. Christ, his head hurt. All he wanted was Scorpius back.
The old man smiled sadly. “You’ll never get the result you want. No matter what you do, the very sad loss of your son has occurred, and you cannot undo it. In fact, you’ve now wiped out your son’s existence entirely. Frankly, Mister Malfoy, you’re very lucky you haven’t created a tear in the space-time continuum. Much more meddling and I can say with some certainty that you’ll wipe out your personal timeline entirely.”
He let his head fall back against the hard chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk with a thud. “And if I simply go back to my Present?”
An ugly ring with a cracked black stone sat like a weight on the blackened hand the Headmaster raised to scratch his long, crooked nose. Noticing the direction of Draco’s gaze, Dumbledore smiled. “Ah, that’s a story for another time. And a very good story it is, too, if I do say so myself.” Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he tapped it against his desk. “But we’ve damaged enough timelines simply by having this conversation, Mister Malfoy. I’m afraid it’s time you made a choice: you may choose to return to your new Present, sight unseen. Should you do so, I will be casting a hex on this Time Turner, making it good for one journey only. A one-way trip, if you will. That Present, whatever it may be, will be the timeline you must live out.”
“And my other option?” Draco sighed, stroking the Time Turner dejectedly. How had everything gone so horribly wrong?
The sparkle in the rheumy blue eyes he remembered so vividly from all those years ago returned. “Well now, that’s an interesting question. This is pure conjecture, mind you, as I don’t think anyone has ever muddled Time quite so thoroughly before…” He ignored the young man’s wince. Despite everything, Draco Malfoy appeared to have matured into a solid man. “I believe, if I am correct –and I usually am- that smashing your Time Turner here, in my Present, will render your timeline null and void. Either you will cease to exist in this incarnation and will revert to your teenage self of my Present, or that Draco will vanish, and you will be inserted into his timeline.”
He’d never considered himself anything but exceptionally intelligent, but suddenly, Draco thought he understood how Crabbe and Goyle must have felt. Dull-witted was an understatement. “What?”
“Either this will all vanish and you’ll remember –and regret- nothing, or you will be given a chance for a ‘do over,’ as you students say.” A warning lit his eyes. “That being said, Draco, there are certain… events that must occur in my timeline. I’m certain you’re aware of what I’m referring to.”
So the old man had been aware of Draco’s ‘assignment’ from the Dark Lord from the start. Somehow, Draco wasn’t surprised. “Yes,” he replied simply.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eight times, and a sleepy Fawkes rustled his feathers. Somehow, a moment of this importance felt like it should have come at midnight, not curfew. Somewhere in the castle, at that precise moment, Draco was plotting his glorious ascent through the Death Eater ranks. He snorted at the horrible irony.
“Time runs short, Mister Malfoy. What do you intend to do?”
Hefting the Time Turner, Draco eyed it with regret. His beautiful son, forever erased from Time, and it was all his fault. He’d fucked so much up with this… but there was no do over, no perfectly-wrapped answer, only two very undesirable options. A single tear trickled down his cheek as he handed the Time Turner to the Headmaster. “Here.”
The old man nodded knowingly. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Draco.”
He met the blue eyes and said the words that had been burning a hole in his heart for years. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. For what I’ve done. For what I’ll do.”
When the Time Turner shattered, Draco closed his eyes tightly and prayed, prayed for oblivion, for release from this horrible burden of knowledge.
---
“Weasley, for fuck’s sake! Put that down!” Draco eyed the witch that had walked into his family’s offices that morning.
She frowned over her shoulder at him. “Jesus, Draco, it’s just an hourglass! You don’t have to get your knickers in such a knot over it. I was just looking at it!”
Draco eyed the C.V. she’d handed him with a cursory glance. He needed an Acquisitions Manager, and the former business manager of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was considered quite a catch. Several of his competitors would be gnashing their teeth when they found out he’d swept her out from under their noses, he thought gleefully. “Yes, well, we look with our eyes, not our hands,” he replied snippily. He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten the dusty old hourglass, but he thought perhaps it had been his father’s. It was the only reason he could think of for his strange attachment to the thing.
Ginny folded her arms under her breasts and leaned impertinently against his chair as he continued to stare blank-eyed at the parchment in his hand. “Oh, give over!” she finally burst out huffily. “There’s no one more qualified for this job and you know it, Malfoy.”
Blinking, Draco laid the parchment on his pristine desk and swivelled his chair to face her, snaking a hand around her waist. “Fine, Weasley, if you insist on hearing it- yes, you’re the most qualified, a fact I intend to spread far and wide when people accuse me of only hiring you for your arse.”
“And fabulous tits,” she added with a wiggle. “Don’t forget those.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Why Potter ever let you get away is beyond me, but I’m not one to lament something that is clearly in my favour.”
Ginny pressed a hard, hot kiss to his mouth. “And never forget it, Malfoy.”
---
FIN
He cautiously looked around his pristine study upon his return, noting that he was an hour late in returning to his Present. Despite his victory over Time, the lack of precision irked him.
“Draco? What are you doing in here?”
Astoria’s hesitant tones, so different from the bone-deep confidence his mother’s voice always contained, never failed to grate on his nerves. Still, she’d been a good wife these twenty-odd years, had given him a son and done as she was told. Everything he’d wanted in a spouse. If her mousy, biddable nature occasionally annoyed him, he chalked it up to his mercurial moods. “Where’s Scorpius?” Draco demanded abruptly.
Her shocked, pale face sent his heart freefalling into his shoes. “How could you?” she demanded around a sob. “How could you ask such a thing, Draco?” Not giving him a moment to press further, she turned on a delicately-shod foot and fled.
Chasing after his wife was indecorous in the extreme, but Draco had invested too much time and hope to accept such a vague response. He’d fixed everything, goddammit. Catching her in the hall, he caught her silk-clad sleeve and slammed her into the wall. “Where. Is. My. Son?” he demanded, ice in his voice.
The impact temporarily knocked the air from her lungs, and the sudden violence in her husband’s eyes was as foreign as another galaxy to Astoria. Never in their entire acquaintance had he laid a hand on her in such a manner. It frightened her to the point where she couldn’t draw a breath if she tried.
The fact that her eyes were rolling white didn’t deter Draco in the slightest. “Where is he, Astoria?” he repeated, barely leashing the violence he felt spreading through his veins like fire.
“He’s in Azkaban, awaiting trial,” his mother said in bitterly cold tones as she turned the corner from the front hall. “The same place he’s been for the last week, Draco, and if you insist on Obliviating yourself one more time, I will have you involuntarily committed to St. Mungo’s.” With a casual flick of her wand, she sent him skidding back from the visibly shaking Astoria. “Never lay a hand on a woman in anger, Draco. I raised you better than that.”
Floored by his mother’s revelations, Draco shook his head like a dog. No, it was impossible. He’d stopped the duel. Opening his mouth to ask more, he quickly rethought his position. His mother was not joking- she would have him committed without a second thought should he press further. Instead, he Disapparated with a loud crack.
There was only one place he could go for answers now.
---
Ginny’s sitting room seemed like it had been filled with people every moment since they’d received word about James’ death, and while she knew that her family and friends meant well, all she wanted was to be alone, to wail and lament her son, her precious baby who’d been taken by that murderous Scorpius Malfoy. She wanted vengeance; she wanted blood, and when the crack of another person Apparating uninvited into her back garden filled her ears, Ginny snapped. She charged out the kitchen door, prepared to tell the interloper to sod off before she cursed them into oblivion.
Draco Malfoy stared at her, the frost beneath his glossy shoes mirroring the color of his eyes precisely. Ginny withdrew her wand without warning and fired a curse directly at his face.
It was impossible not to notice the difference, to compare this fire-bright woman to the icy, controlled witch that had murdered her own husband, but Draco supposed that Ginny Potter no longer existed. He’d demolished that timeline and created this bastardized version, another Present that he would not tolerate. A Scorpius imprisoned for murder was no better than a dead one. Shielding against another rapidly-fired curse from her wand, Draco leapt forward, grabbed her sleeve, and Disapparated again with a resounding crack.
---
“Where are we?” Ginny demanded shrilly, looking around in vain. She had no idea of their location; this clearing in a thick forest could be any one of a thousand locations in Wizarding Britain.
The sheer luck that had allowed him to snatch her wand as they’d arrived in the forest was not lost on Draco; he had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny Potter could decimate him in a fair duel, and he didn’t want to test that theory. Backing away to a safe distance from the witch, who looked ready to claw his eyes out with her bare hands, Draco recalled all of his research from Banishment.
As colored string materialized between them, attaching to tree branches and bushes in an intricate web, Ginny glared at her captor. “My husband is going to murder you like your son murdered my baby,” she spat venomously. “And you know what, Malfoy? I’m going to fucking laugh as he does it.”
The irony was appalling, Draco thought with a bitter laugh. “You wouldn’t believe the incongruity of that statement, Potter. To think this is coming from the mouth of a woman that killed her own husband is actually amusing, in a desperately gothic way.”
“I’ve never killed anyone, Malfoy, you cracked pot,” she replied, wrath curling her fingers into claws. “That’s a horrible mockery, even for you.” Ducking beneath a green string wrapped firmly around a low-hanging branch, she began to stalk him around the clearing. “But if that was an invitation, I’ll take it.”
There was nothing for it; Potter was intent on killing him, and he’d either have to Stun her or Immobilize her to prevent it. He went with the option that would afford him some answers. “Look, Potter, I know you think you have the right end of things, but you don’t. I’m not in the correct timeline, and I know you likely won’t believe me, but I’m trying to fix this whole fiasco.” When she eyed him beadily but held her tongue, he continued. “Originally, it was my son who died and yours who murdered him, but your husband and I managed to create a single Time Turner to go back and prevent the duel from ever happening.” He sighed tiredly. “I thought I had stopped it, but apparently they duelled anyway at another time or location. I need answers from you to try again.”
Ginny blinked; her face was the only thing he hadn’t Immobilized. “You’re right,” she flung at him, wishing her words were poisoned darts. “I don’t believe you.”
He produced the Time Turner from beneath his cloak. “Then how do you explain this?”
She gasped. All the Time Turners had been destroyed years ago, when they were just teenagers. “Where did you get that?”
“I told you,” he drawled, his grey eyes droopingly tiredly. “Your husband and I created it in an alternate timeline with the intent of saving both our sons. Wouldn’t you want to help me if it meant bringing back James?” His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to her. “In my timeline, you told me that you wouldn’t change Time, even for your own child. Do you still feel the same?”
If ever Ginny had understood the allure of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, it was now. Draco Malfoy held her enthralled in a forest, all alone, offering the one thing she wanted more desperately than vengeance- a chance to reset the clock. To have James back, to prevent this whole horrible reality… “No,” she whispered. “No, I’d change it if I could.”
He held the innocent-looking hourglass aloft. “I’m offering you the chance,” Draco replied softly, holding her broken brown gaze. “Help me, Potter. Help me re-plot the timeline for the current Present so we can discover what the nexus is. I’ll go back and fix everything, I swear it.”
“No.” Ginny flung her long, still-red hair out of her face, her resolve solidifying in an instant. “If I help you now, if I do this, I want to come. I want to physically come with you to fix this. I want to save James myself.”
Well. This was certainly a conundrum he hadn’t anticipated, and one he wasn’t sure how to deal with. Would bringing a Ginny Potter from a timeline different than his own mess things up irrevocably, or did it not matter, since his Present no longer existed? For that matter, her Present was about to be erased as well. It all made his head hurt, but Draco nodded once, sharply. First, they had to update the timeline for her Present and decide what the event was that they had to prevent. “I accept,” Draco said with a frown, releasing her from the spell.
And hours later, as the sun set, Draco looked at his red-haired companion and nodded. The timeline had increased exponentially, stringing its way for meters in all directions. If he failed this time, he’d need a Quidditch pitch to set the damn thing up in next. “So this is it?” he queried, his fingers plucking gently at a confluence of dozens of brightly-colored strings. He’d thought it had all centered on the duel, on Penny’s decision to date two boys at once, but Ginny’s insistence that they look further out had paid off. Now he could see that he’d been thinking too immediately. He had to prevent Penstemon Parkinson-Morey from ever being born.
And when he flipped the Time Turner over while she was still on the other side of the clearing, the stunned look of rage and betrayal in her brown eyes pulled at a small corner of his heart- not enough to bring her with him, however. Two people trying to influence Time meant twice the chance to fuck up, and Draco was not chancing his son’s fate to Ginny Potter.
---
It was strange, being transported back to the beginning of the twenty-first century. Draco eyed the people around him, wonder tinting the edges of his jaded gaze. He’d forgotten what it had been like, to be young and freshly exonerated in a post-Voldemort world.
Since he’d agreed with Ginny that it would be practically impossible to prevent Pansy from having sex with her new husband, he’d carefully set the Time Turner to three years after Potter had defeated Voldemort, back when Pansy had decided that continuing to date a Malfoy that had no intention of marrying her was a stupidly loyal move with no benefit.
Corralling Pansy at the Ministry Christmas Ball was easy, certainly easier than the Ageing Charm he’d had to reverse engineer to give him the appearance of his twenty year old self. It had been the party where Carnelian Morey, Neeley to his old Housemates, had first asked Pansy to dance, and Draco had a deceptively easy time intercepting her before Neeley had worked up the courage. Sweeping his ex-girlfriend into a practiced waltz, Draco studied Pansy’s calculating face.
“I’m not going to shag you tonight, Draco, no matter what you promise this time,” she laughed up at him, her pug nose twitching with mirth. “Although it’s nice to have a dance partner not intent on smashing my toes into oblivion.”
Draco gave her his best imitation of the amused smirk he’d so favored as a young man. “If I asked, Parkinson, we both know you’d shuck off that meringue of a frock right here on the dance floor.” Noting Neeley’s approach through the crowd of dancers, he spun her along out of his reach. “But all teasing aside, Pans, I have to tell you. Word around the Ministry is that Shacklebolt’s nephew fancies you.” He let his eyes flicker uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, but he’s reported to be quite the rising star.”
If nothing else, Pansy’s mercenary determination to be the wife of an ‘Important Wizard’ could always be counted on. “Really?” she squealed, before modulating her voice with a careful cough. “Well, isn’t that interesting?”
A tap on Draco’s shoulder startled him from his study of Pansy’s face.
“May I cut in?” Neeley Morey asked, his black eyes glittering as he looked at Pansy.
Draco handed her off with aplomb. “By all means,” he drawled, well pleased with himself. Striding for the abandoned hallway, he fingered the Time Turner tucked securely in his robes. All he had to do was lift this Ageing Charm and be on his way.
“You!” a velvety voice accused as a hand grabbed his elbow and hauled him behind a sculpture with surprising strength for such a small woman. “It’s an atrocity they even let scum like you into such an event, Malfoy.”
Draco’s lips quirked. Ginny Potter, now nineteen years old and still a Weasley, the new star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, scowled fiercely at him. It was eerily similar to the expression on her face when he’d left her in the forest at Malfoy Manor in her Present, minus the hurt, of course. “Hullo, Weasley,” he purred, appreciating the irony. “Enjoying the festivities?” He gave an exaggerated look around her. “Potter off playing to his band of lovelies, I presume?”
She dug her nails into his arm in retaliation. Malfoy always was such an obnoxious bastard, and the fact that he took such immense enjoyment out of twisting Harry’s friendly openness with people trying to thank him for finally felling Voldemort made her want to dropkick his sorry blond arse. “You’re despicable,” she hissed, leaning in close to him. “You’re a vile, horrible man, and you belong in Azkaban.”
He’d forgotten that her temper matched her good looks in those days, as well. Many a night had passed in the Slytherin boys’ dorm lamenting the waste of such looks on a blood traitor. “Ah, but your sainted boyfriend testified otherwise,” he replied silkily. “Or don’t you remember? Potter was so very convincing at my trial, after all. Poor Draco Malfoy, caught up in events out of his control, just trying to save his family.” Draco smiled slowly. “It was such a magnanimous gesture on his part, testifying on behalf of the boy he loathed with such passion.”
Ginny wanted to spit, she was so angry. “You didn’t deserve it.”
He nodded. Oh, the purity of belief they’d all had back then. “You’re quite correct, Weasley. No one with the Dark Mark could possibly deserve a second chance.” Just to be perverse, he peeled back his sleeve, flashing the physical reminder of his past at her. He leant in closer in a horrible mockery of intimacy. “After all, you’re Ginny Weasley, the pure little scion meant for our sainted saviour of the Wizarding world. Wouldn’t Potter just hate it if he knew you were hiding in the shadows with a cowardly, shady Malfoy.” A malicious thought took hold of him, and he pushed her back against the wall, crowding her with his body. “Wouldn’t it just burn his sense of entitlement to know that his beautiful intended was marred by a Malfoy.” Before she could protest, he slanted a bruising kiss, a punishment for the scorn and vitriol she had heaped on him back in those days, across her shocked lips. He pulled back before she could gather her wits enough to hit or hex him.
“How dare you!” Ginny breathed, wiping her lips with a venomous glare, yanking her wand from her sleeve.
Draco gave a short bark of malicious laughter. Oh, how he’d forgotten the trials of his youth. It seemed Time healed some wounds, after all. Giving her a final triumphant smirk, he whirled and disappeared into the crowd, intent on finding a quiet corner to undo his Ageing Charm before he returned to the Present.
He never noticed the two sets of narrowed eyes that had observed his self-indulgent attack on Ginny Weasley’s mocking purity.
---
Draco knew the moment he arrived in his Present that he’d fucked up royally. He even knew precisely what had done it- it had to have been the little indulgence of his temper with Ginny Weasley.
The platinum band that had sat heavily on the third finger of his left hand for twenty-four years had melted away, little more than a sparkle out of the corner of his eye as Draco cupped the Time Turner.
No marriage, no Scorpius. The equation was simple enough to work out, and so Draco didn’t bother wasting any time. He simply flipped the Turner counter-clockwise once more, sending himself right back to the Ministry Christmas Ball in 2000.
---
Intercepting himself was harder than he’d anticipated, particularly as Draco was certain he had to keep at least one version of himself unaware of the meeting. The exact reasoning behind the certainty wasn’t clear, but between hazily-remembered school lessons and the odd programme he’d caught on the space-time continuum, Draco knew that two versions of himself meeting would be a very bad thing. Such timey-wimey stuff was best left to the Doctor.
Carefully situating himself behind an ostentatious vase stuffed with peacock feathers, Draco waited until he found his very recent self headed for the hallway, fingers caressing the Time Turner in his robes. Shooting a whip-fast Memory Charm at the shining blond head, he snaked an arm around his other self’s shoulders and led him quietly out the nearest exit.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” a smooth voice demanded from behind him.
Draco froze, his arm stiffening around his thankfully-still oblivious doppelganger. Ginny bloody Weasley. Well, fuck. “Polyjuice potion,” he improvised quickly, slurring his words and giving her a lascivious wink. “Me and my mate here are off for a night of kink and vice.”
“As twin Draco Malfoys,” Ginny replied dubiously. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“Want to join in?” he shot back. “Two blonds and a ginger. Sounds like a winning combination to me.”
Ginny fingered her wand nervously. Something was very wrong here, as wrong as the too-cozy conversation she’d just caught Harry in with a trio of giggling brunette beauties in a secluded alcove. “No thanks.” She’d had enough of wizards in general at the moment. Home sounded like the best proposition, and time to consider exactly how she planned to confront Harry in the morning. She eyed the mirror images of Draco Malfoy closely. On the other hand… perhaps a taste of his own medicine was precisely what Harry deserved.
The sudden change in her demeanor rattled Draco. He wasn’t sure how much longer the Memory Charm on his other self would hold, and Weasley looked like she was plotting something very much certain to be detrimental to his long-term health.
“Actually, Malfoy, that sounds nice.”
He actually did a double-take at her reply. What? “What?” he croaked, backpeddling as the red-haired girl advanced slowly on him.
Hooking a finger in his robes, Ginny sidled close enough to notice the faint, silvery stubble on his jaw. “And I know it’s really you, Malfoy, so drop the Polyjuice bit. I don’t know what you’re planning, and frankly, I don’t care.” Before her courage failed her entirely, Ginny threaded a hand through the silky hair at the back of his head and leaned up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his.
Oh God, Draco thought wildly. Weasley was doing her level best to kiss him into oblivion, and the best he could do was stand there dumbly and let her, his very confused twin standing listlessly at his side. Forcing himself to remove his tongue from her mouth, when he had absolutely no idea how it had gotten there, was far more difficult than he could have ever anticipated. The witch kissed like she was a drug, potent enough to wipe conscious thought from his mind. The only thing that brought him back was the erection suddenly making its presence known as she plastered herself to him. “I, er, I have to… Christ, Weasley, get your hand off of that!” He batted at the hand that had wandered below his belt.
“I thought you wanted to play?” Ginny asked, voice husky and lips a rosy red from his mouth. Oh, she had the perfect idea in mind now.
That was absolutely the last straw. The mere fact that he wanted to Banish his other self and Apparate Weasley to a very secluded location had him disentangling himself from her with all haste. He was not here for Ginny Weasley, no matter how appealing she was with her kiss-swollen lips and thick, warm voice. “Erm, bye,” he blurted out, wincing as he Disapparated.
Christ. How embarrassing, to be done in by a teenage Weasley.
---
When Draco returned to the Present, things were fucked up beyond all hope. He surveyed his surroundings in despair.
“Daddy,” a little red-haired girl pleaded, her large brown eyes nearly undoing him, “just one more story before bed!”
Terrified of what he would find, Draco turned his head. There she was, Ginny Weasley –Potter –Malfoy? Fuck. He again had a wedding band on his finger.
Draco did the only thing he could think of.
He read the goddamn story, kissed his wife, and scrambled madly for the door, pressing his spinning head against the cool wood before upending the Time Turner one last, desperate time. There was only one person now who had any hope of untangling the clusterfuck he’d created.
---
“I’m afraid, Mister Malfoy,” Dumbledore said as he studied him over the top of his spectacles, “that it doesn’t work quite so linearly. Attempting to change a single specific event in history is much like using Spellotape to repair a broken wand- you’ll be able to channel magic through it in some form, but it will be entirely useless in a practical sense. The premise holds true for Time, as well. Every time you go back –although in this timeline, the appropriate term is ‘forward’- and make another attempt at changing things, you make the issue much, much worse.”
Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to ignore the headache that had been pounding between his eyes for what felt like a lifetime. “I came to you for help. You’re the only one I could think of that might be able to fix this mess.”
Dumbledore smiled sympathetically at him. “When I was a young man and the Ministry was trying to enact legislation to ban Time Turners, the Daily Prophet ran a serialized story named ‘The Revisionist.’ Have you ever heard of it? No? Well, to put a point on it, The Revisionist faced a great personal tragedy and took it upon himself to put things right, but no matter what he did, no matter how he acted, he was unable to change the future tragedy. Everything else surrounding the sad event changed and mutated, but his tragedy occurred time and again, like a broken record.”
“And the moral of this little tale?” Draco snapped. Christ, his head hurt. All he wanted was Scorpius back.
The old man smiled sadly. “You’ll never get the result you want. No matter what you do, the very sad loss of your son has occurred, and you cannot undo it. In fact, you’ve now wiped out your son’s existence entirely. Frankly, Mister Malfoy, you’re very lucky you haven’t created a tear in the space-time continuum. Much more meddling and I can say with some certainty that you’ll wipe out your personal timeline entirely.”
He let his head fall back against the hard chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk with a thud. “And if I simply go back to my Present?”
An ugly ring with a cracked black stone sat like a weight on the blackened hand the Headmaster raised to scratch his long, crooked nose. Noticing the direction of Draco’s gaze, Dumbledore smiled. “Ah, that’s a story for another time. And a very good story it is, too, if I do say so myself.” Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he tapped it against his desk. “But we’ve damaged enough timelines simply by having this conversation, Mister Malfoy. I’m afraid it’s time you made a choice: you may choose to return to your new Present, sight unseen. Should you do so, I will be casting a hex on this Time Turner, making it good for one journey only. A one-way trip, if you will. That Present, whatever it may be, will be the timeline you must live out.”
“And my other option?” Draco sighed, stroking the Time Turner dejectedly. How had everything gone so horribly wrong?
The sparkle in the rheumy blue eyes he remembered so vividly from all those years ago returned. “Well now, that’s an interesting question. This is pure conjecture, mind you, as I don’t think anyone has ever muddled Time quite so thoroughly before…” He ignored the young man’s wince. Despite everything, Draco Malfoy appeared to have matured into a solid man. “I believe, if I am correct –and I usually am- that smashing your Time Turner here, in my Present, will render your timeline null and void. Either you will cease to exist in this incarnation and will revert to your teenage self of my Present, or that Draco will vanish, and you will be inserted into his timeline.”
He’d never considered himself anything but exceptionally intelligent, but suddenly, Draco thought he understood how Crabbe and Goyle must have felt. Dull-witted was an understatement. “What?”
“Either this will all vanish and you’ll remember –and regret- nothing, or you will be given a chance for a ‘do over,’ as you students say.” A warning lit his eyes. “That being said, Draco, there are certain… events that must occur in my timeline. I’m certain you’re aware of what I’m referring to.”
So the old man had been aware of Draco’s ‘assignment’ from the Dark Lord from the start. Somehow, Draco wasn’t surprised. “Yes,” he replied simply.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eight times, and a sleepy Fawkes rustled his feathers. Somehow, a moment of this importance felt like it should have come at midnight, not curfew. Somewhere in the castle, at that precise moment, Draco was plotting his glorious ascent through the Death Eater ranks. He snorted at the horrible irony.
“Time runs short, Mister Malfoy. What do you intend to do?”
Hefting the Time Turner, Draco eyed it with regret. His beautiful son, forever erased from Time, and it was all his fault. He’d fucked so much up with this… but there was no do over, no perfectly-wrapped answer, only two very undesirable options. A single tear trickled down his cheek as he handed the Time Turner to the Headmaster. “Here.”
The old man nodded knowingly. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Draco.”
He met the blue eyes and said the words that had been burning a hole in his heart for years. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. For what I’ve done. For what I’ll do.”
When the Time Turner shattered, Draco closed his eyes tightly and prayed, prayed for oblivion, for release from this horrible burden of knowledge.
---
“Weasley, for fuck’s sake! Put that down!” Draco eyed the witch that had walked into his family’s offices that morning.
She frowned over her shoulder at him. “Jesus, Draco, it’s just an hourglass! You don’t have to get your knickers in such a knot over it. I was just looking at it!”
Draco eyed the C.V. she’d handed him with a cursory glance. He needed an Acquisitions Manager, and the former business manager of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was considered quite a catch. Several of his competitors would be gnashing their teeth when they found out he’d swept her out from under their noses, he thought gleefully. “Yes, well, we look with our eyes, not our hands,” he replied snippily. He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten the dusty old hourglass, but he thought perhaps it had been his father’s. It was the only reason he could think of for his strange attachment to the thing.
Ginny folded her arms under her breasts and leaned impertinently against his chair as he continued to stare blank-eyed at the parchment in his hand. “Oh, give over!” she finally burst out huffily. “There’s no one more qualified for this job and you know it, Malfoy.”
Blinking, Draco laid the parchment on his pristine desk and swivelled his chair to face her, snaking a hand around her waist. “Fine, Weasley, if you insist on hearing it- yes, you’re the most qualified, a fact I intend to spread far and wide when people accuse me of only hiring you for your arse.”
“And fabulous tits,” she added with a wiggle. “Don’t forget those.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Why Potter ever let you get away is beyond me, but I’m not one to lament something that is clearly in my favour.”
Ginny pressed a hard, hot kiss to his mouth. “And never forget it, Malfoy.”
---
FIN
Author notes: Yay, Dumbledore! I hadn't planned to put him in this fic, but it evolved quickly to the point where he was the only one with even a smidge of a chance of unraveling the whole mess. I always love a chance to write the old man- he's a blast.
So, MBA's 'sad face' time. Four hundred reads and seven reviews. Yes, I'm a shameless review whore, but aren't we all? I'd be ever-so-happy if you liked the fic enough to leave a quick review, please. :)
The End.
Mourning Broken Angel is the author of 14 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 15 members. Members who liked The Revisionist also liked 822 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 15 members. Members who liked The Revisionist also liked 822 other stories.
Leave a Review