46Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It and any characters from the franchise that may appear in this fanfiction are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made from this story.
Author's note: Eternal thanks to my beta, GeekandProud.
WARNING: Since this is a time travel fanfic, this means there will be an age gap between Draco and Hermione consisting of about 5-6 years. The female lead (Hermione) is not isolated from her friends and family and there is no romantic intent behind the friendship between time-traveling Draco and Hermione in the first years of the story. I try and make it a point that he wants her to have a choice and be independent early on in the fanfic, even though he does change and manipulate a few things in the Harry Potter universe, because, well, they suit where I want to go with the story better. To fix the power imbalance in their relationship, Hermione will at one point in the story (this is a slow burn) discover that he has lived a different past than her. If you have difficulty with reading stories with an age gap, I suggest you stop reading now. In addition, since death eaters are definitely not the nicest people out there, references to torture (such as Bellatrix torturing Hermione at Malfoy Manor), rape, and child abuse can be found in this story. Multiple characters will also be using curse words, so be warned.
This will be a DracoxHermione (Dramione) story. Characters will be OOC to a certain extent. I'd like to think that Draco, having grown up as he did, had some time to reflect during that last year of the war while being a death eater. In the books, he was a bully, no doubt about it. Yet, he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. He didn't want to rat out the golden trio at the Manor, and he even became friendly with Myrtle, who for all intents and purposes was a muggle-born witch/ghost. I wanted to read a story where Draco travels back in time and tries to fix things. I haven't seen many of these, so I thought I would have a go at it. In no way do I think this is the story out there, this is just my interpretation and imagination.
This story is also published on AO3 and Wattpad and is being re-uploaded onto FanFiction now that the website seems to be fixed. Enjoy.
Would there ever be an end to this darkness? Or would every night be filled with despair and screams echoing around in his mind? Would every nightmare end in inexplicable feelings of loneliness and hunger clawing at him from the inside? Or would he one day wake up and feel whole again? Feel like he'd felt before this damned war?
Draco stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, remembering all the pain and suffering he'd seen during the last year. Every night he was haunted by his dreams, but some were worse than others. Children were tortured and killed, death eaters laughing maniacally at their suffering. Some of his female classmates were… He swallowed deeply, trying helplessly to forget what Fenrir Greyback had done to Lavender Brown. Sometimes, he would see her. Granger. Being caught, being brought to the Manor along with Boy Wonder and the Weasel. He never truly understood why it had him so worried to see her in his nightmares, her big brown eyes looking up at him in fear. Perhaps it irked him to think of the golden trio getting caught? Because if Potter got caught, then… There truly would never be an end to Voldemort's reign of terror. There would be no way out of this for any of them. No way but death.
A sigh escaped Draco's lips as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his left arm, wincing when he caught a glimpse of the dark mark on his forearm. It wasn't often he fell asleep during the day, usually he was always aware of his surroundings. But lately, he had felt so tired. So empty. It was as if his magic was being sucked out of him, barely keeping him afloat. Even his mother had noticed he'd started eating more than was usual for him. He didn't know why he was so hungry, or why he was so tired. He didn't know why he felt so drained. All he wanted to do was sleep and maybe finally have some peace.
Another glare at his dark mark made him wonder if perhaps snake face had been sucking him dry. Draco had been little more than a useless follower to the Dark Lord. He barely remembered why he had wanted to become a death eater when he was just a little boy. Had he really been stupid enough to think it would appease his father? To finally be good enough? To show all the mudbloods and blood traitors that he was better than them? Getting that curse ingrained in his flesh after his father had fucked up at the Ministry had brought him to tears. The Dark Lord had enjoyed watching him suffer as the dark parselmagic seeped into his skin. The bloody bastard even took his time magically and cruelly carving that mark into his arm.
The blond shook his head as he cast a quick Scourgify at himself, getting rid of the sweat that was still clinging to him, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. A frown was plastered on his face as he changed his robes. His mind had been the only place where he was protected. He'd become quite adept at occlumency during the Dark Lord's presence. If he wanted to survive, he had to be proficient at mind magic. He was enough of a laughingstock already, refusing to join in on the torture and murder of muggles, witches, and wizards. He didn't want to kill or to torture and rape. He wanted to be free. Alas, freedom was not something that he could achieve. Even if he wasn't currently inhabiting the dungeons like Luna Lovegood was, he too was a prisoner in his own home. The only safe place for him was behind his occlumency walls. He'd built up Malfoy Manor like a fortress in his mind, trying to remember his home as it once had been, without all the intruders.
If only they knew what he'd been thinking over the past few months. What he'd been attempting to do. Hours upon hours in the secret study which was part of the Malfoy Library hadn't helped him in trying to get rid of that damned mark on his arm, he'd need a parselmouth for that. None of the two currently living in magical Britain would be willing to help him. In one of his darker periods, he'd even considered just chopping the damn thing off, fleeing to the continent when he saw his chance. But Draco Malfoy was not born a Gryffindor. He'd never learnt to do the right thing, to sacrifice himself, to be courageous enough to save himself. He'd learnt to survive by being on the winning side, not the right one. No one had seen Potter and his friends in months. Things were starting to look bleak. If he wanted to survive this war, his best chances were to lay low, stay on the dark side. Even if somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming at him that that was not the right side.
"Going to the continent wouldn't help anyone," he murmured to himself as he adjusted his robes, ready to face whatever lay beyond the wards of his bedroom. The smallest gift his mother had been able to give him, was the privacy of his own room. He'd noticed how she too had been displeased with the guests currently living in the Manor. He scowled. Perhaps she too had been thinking about moving to the continent? But what good would that do? Snake face had followers everywhere, especially in Eastern Europe, and the snatchers had become quite skilled at finding any opposition or deserters. A shiver went down his spine when he remembered how a death eater, one even younger than him, had tried to run to Spain, only to be returned to the Dark Lord in bits and pieces.
He almost jumped out of his skin, his wand in hand, when a pop could be heard next to him. Tipsy, the head house elf, had apparated into his room and was almost grovelling at his feet, blabbering that he was urgently needed in the drawing room. The house elf seemed so… Out of it. Fuck. If even the elves were flustered, it must be really bad.
When he left the confines of his room, strengthening his occlumency walls as he did so, he wasn't sure what to expect. The closer he got to the drawing room, however, the more dread filled him. Something was tugging at him. At his magic. Whatever had been draining him, whatever had been filling him with despair, was here. He could feel it. Had it truly been the Dark Lord and whatever curse he'd put upon Draco's flesh the day he gave him the dark mark? Had he done something to displease him? Had his fleeting thoughts of escape finally slipped out in an unguarded moment and was snake face just there to finish what he'd started, finally taking Draco's magic as his own?
The doors to the drawing room opened as he approached, and he almost physically staggered back. He had expected to be tortured. Perhaps he would even be killed because they'd finally gotten enough of him and his behaviour, of his unwillingness to truly join them. The sight that greeted him, however, sent ice rushing through his veins. His Aunt Bellatrix, crouching over Granger. She was grinning down at the witch with a dagger in her hand and Draco looked down into those brown eyes that had been haunting him for almost an entire year now. No. This had to be another nightmare. Right?
He almost jumped when the doors behind him closed. It was then he noticed Potter and Weasley who were struggling against some other lowlife death eaters and snatchers. No, no, no. If all three of them were caught, then all of them were doomed, Draco included. The light would never win if all three of them had been caught. The last hope of wizarding Britain was standing in Draco's home, and he had no fucking clue how to get them out of it.
Keeping up his occlumency, he seemed indifferent, even haughty, when taking note of the teenage boys' silent screams. But on the inside, he was screaming too. Now that he was so close to her, he realised it had been her. The pull to his magic, the thing that had been draining him slowly but surely over these past few months… It had all been her. Taking a look at her twitching form, he could see how thin her face had become, her cheekbones pronouncing how unhealthy she looked. She was nothing but skin and bones, almost as if she'd been starved. She looked exactly like how he'd felt. He raised an eyebrow at her. Had she been the reason why he'd been so hungry? Had his magic tried to sustain her? But… Why?
"Draco," his father began as he walked up behind Draco, distracting him from his thoughts. "It is her right? The mudblood. Which must mean that the others…" Lord Malfoy drifted off and twitched nervously. Draco noticed it was a new habit his father had created while playing host to his precious Dark Lord. If there was one thing snake face didn't appreciate, it was bad news. After falling from grace after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, it was usually Draco's father who ended up as the victim of a well-aimed Cruciatus curse.
As his father grabbed the back of his neck, forcing him to look at the golden trio, Draco only had eyes for Granger. It was her, no doubt about it. He'd recognized her as soon as he walked in, even if she looked so sickly and her frizzy hair had lost most of its usual vibrant colour. Just like in his nightmares, her deep brown eyes were now staring at him, panicking, as Bellatrix taunted the teenage witch. How the fuck had they ended up in this situation?
"The other one is Potter, yes?" his Aunt Bellatrix giggled while waving the dagger toward the dark-haired boy, clearly contemplating taking a chunk out of him as well.
Draco got a better look at the Boy Who Refused To Die. Please. Obviously, that was Potter. There was no mistaking him. However, the blond wizard realised that even though he would recognize the golden trio anywhere, his family seemed to be in doubt. They clearly did not want to make a mistake when it came to giving information to the Dark Lord, and he couldn't blame them for it. They had fallen out of favour a long time ago, even if his Aunt Bella was still one of the Dark Lord's most favoured followers. Draco and his father were definitely not. Ever since sixth year, when he… Well. He blinked a few times trying to forget the headmaster falling down from the astronomy tower, the green light flashing in his eyes. Draco clenched his fists, refusing to remember, refusing to lose his composure now. Thank Merlin that his godfather had taken a vow to protect him. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to live with himself if he'd actually killed the leader of the Light. If he was the reason that Voldemort had so much power now… Wincing inwardly, he realised that he was the reason for all of this suffering. He had been the one to let the death eaters enter the castle, giving them the perfect opportunity to kill the Headmaster. Everything had turned to shit after that.
"I… I can't be sure," Draco said as honestly as he could. Thankfully he was naturally talented at occlumency, else no one would believe him. "It seems like whoever this is, he got hit with a stinging hex." He paused, acting as if he was contemplating what to do next. Bullocks. He knew what to do next. Lying would be their only chance to find a way out of this mess. "Wouldn't it be better to be sure, father? Before concerning the Dark Lord with this information?"
Where had the times gone when he was so easily manipulated by his father? One look at the elder Malfoy and Draco knew that he was nothing more than a shell of the man he once was. If even his son could now plant the seed of doubt, Lucius Malfoy had definitely lost his bearings. All Draco had to do was play it right so they would be unsure. Potter and his friends showing up was not how this was supposed to go.
Ever since he got disillusioned by snake face and his lackeys, ever since he had gotten the dark mark, Draco had been looking for a way out. This could be his chance. He sighed inwardly, remembering how he thought that becoming a death eater after his father's failures would bring power to the Malfoy name again. Ha. Joke's on him. Even someone with the brain capacity of Weasley would have noticed that that would never work out. What he'd dreamt of was political power, standing above all others in society, making up the rules. When reality hit him, and when their opponents were killed mercilessly and cruelly, all his childish dreams had turned into nightmares. Truth was, if this killing spree continued then there would be no one left to lead, no one to have power over.
Even though the Dark Lord praised pureblood supremacy, more and more purebloods died for the cause every week, no matter what side of the war they were on. The neutral families like the Greengrass family had long since left the country. Not only muggle-borns, but purebloods as well were becoming extinct in wizarding Britain. The Malfoy name, or any pureblood name currently seated in the Wizengamot for that matter, was worth nothing. All that mattered was Lord Voldemort. No other name would ever be remembered. Unless… Unless Potter would just avada'd the bastard and get it over with. Alas. Potter was now a prisoner at the manor and Draco had no idea where to begin to get him and his friends out of this. He didn't know if he'd even be able to come up with a plan. Granger lying there, draining his magic, was making it very hard to think. Perhaps, that was the first issue he should solve. Make sure that Granger stopped doing whatever she was doing.
Once more, his thoughts were interrupted by his father ordering some low lives to send the weasel and scar face to the basement. Draco watched with horrified fascination as they were still silently screaming Granger's name. Hermione. He saw her name on their lips, tears coming out of their eyes. His own magic tugged at him as well. Something was very wrong. He remembered being in tune with her magic before, ignoring it to the best of his abilities during all of his Hogwarts years. Perhaps, he should have spent some time figuring out exactly why that had been the case. It was too late now. Things were going sour, and Draco knew for a fact that Potter and Weasley would never survive without the smartest witch of their generation.
Compared to the two boys' silent screams, Granger's screams echoed loudly throughout the drawing room, bouncing around in his brain like a Bludger, making him want to jump out of his skin. Aunt Bella was insane, and her torture methods were ruthless. Just look at the Longbottoms… No. If Granger's brain would end up like mush, the other two-thirds of the golden trio would be devastated. They would be lost without her, making it even more likely that they would lose the war. Perhaps he could have one of the house elves apparate them out of the dungeons once he would be back in his room? The elves were still bound to the Manor, to his family. Not even Voldemort could order them to do anything else. His father was too far gone to ever suspect him of mutiny against the Dark Lord, and his mother wouldn't even consider it… Yes. All he had to do was wait until his aunt had enough of playing with Granger's life, and that she would be sent to the dungeons. Then, perhaps Tipsy could… But what would he do then? If he would be found out, he'd end up dead. If he escaped, his mother might end up dead instead. Fuck.
He was unsure why, but he glanced at Hermione. Perhaps he hoped to get some inspiration from her. But when he looked down at her, all Draco could feel was disgust at his aunt's actions. He had to stop himself from grabbing his wand and blasting her off of the teenage witch. His magic was practically begging him to do something. By now his aunt was carving into Granger's arm with the dagger she'd been holding earlier. That thing was definitely cursed, looking at the black ooze that was running out of the younger witch whenever she was cut by the death eater. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. What excuse could he come up with to make his aunt stop torturing Granger?
Her brown eyes were filled with tears now, and her screaming had made her voice hoarse, fading out even as she was still tortured. With a feeling of regret, he realised that he remembered those tears… He remembered when he'd called her a mudblood for the very first time after she insinuated that he had bought his way onto the Slytherin quidditch team by equipping the Slytherin team with all those new brooms. He'd called her a mudblood many times after that. And yet, as she lay there bleeding on the wooden floor of his ancestral home, her blood was a deep red colour. Just like his.
Another memory tugged at his mind. He remembered finding her, crying in an empty classroom during the Yule Ball, her periwinkle blue dress fawned out around her. At first, he'd wanted to scoff at her, laugh at her, and make her feel even worse than she already did. But seeing her so vulnerable, all he did instead was leave the classroom without saying a word. He shook his head. Was that really what had happened? Honestly, he was so tired that even his memories were starting to become foggy. For a split second, he even remembered an angry Granger yelling at him on the quidditch pitch… Where the hell did that come from? In the past year or so he'd noticed that some memories of his Hogwarts years had felt so dull, unreal even. There were so many memories he could no longer place, almost as if something or someone had tampered with his mind.
He looked away from Granger, trying to come up with something to have her aunt stop torturing her. But then, he suddenly felt someone tugging at his mind. Afraid his aunt was on to him, he immediately threw up his magic, trying to protect his thoughts and memories. To no avail, it seemed. Whatever magical power was coming at him, it had just opened the door to his mind fortress, the mental entrance of Malfoy Manor flying wide open. What was this?
"Draco?"
As he heard the intruder barely whisper his name in his mind, he stumbled backward, holding onto the nearest chair. This was impossible. He wasn't even keeping eye contact with her, yet she had just invited herself into his mind. But how? Was this part of whatever curse she had put on him, the one that had been draining his magic for the past few months? He looked back down at the girl invading his mind, trying to get a glimpse at her thoughts. Yet, all he was met with was emptiness.
His aunt had proceeded to dance in circles around Hermione, proud of her "artwork" on the teenage witch's arm. With a feeling of disgust, he realised that just like himself, Granger was now marked. MUDBLOOD. He could clearly see the letters carved in her arm, dark red blood mixed with foul dark magic blemishing her pale white skin. Another cruciatus made its way to Granger's frail body, but this time she didn't scream. Her foot twitched for a second, but the rest of her body didn't move an inch, even though more and more blood started flowing around her, seeping through the cracks in the wooden floor beneath her. Fuck. He needed to come up with something, fast. At this rate, she would bleed out.
She distracted him once again, whispering to him: "How… How is this possible? The pain… I can't focus… How am I in your mind, Draco?"
"You tell me, Granger, you just waltzed in here without blinking", he mentally scoffed at her, attempting to hide his true thoughts. Even her mental image was battered and bruised. She didn't resemble the Hermione he'd known at Hogwarts at all. His magic tugged even harder, almost physically moving his body. No. One wrong move and Bellatrix would kill them both. He had to think about this.
Confusion filled his head. Filled both their heads, until Granger let out another scream and he physically recoiled. His eyes darted to the exit of the drawing room. He needed to come up with something to get her out of this mess and fast. Else the British wizarding world would be doomed if Potter and his entourage didn't make it out of the manor alive. If she didn't make it out of the manor alive.
"I didn't…" she barely whispered, her consciousness starting to float around his mind, making it even more difficult for him to focus. Finally, she settled at a memory of him standing at the edge of the quidditch pitch. He tried to throw her out, to get some more space to think, but she clung onto that memory of him going out to fly right after it stopped raining. Her confusion was now replaced with a sense of peace, filling his mind. Well, that was fucking weird. "I just followed the voice…" she said. "For a second, I thought the charm had worked and that you remembered…" Her voice drifted off and her mental image flickered out of his mind, finally allowing him to breathe.
Again, his magic tugged at him. What the fuck was wrong with him? He frowned at her words. Remembered what? What charm? Was Bellatrix' torture breaking her mind? Was he witnessing the end of Hermione Granger, watching as she came undone? She felt almost comfortable in his mind, as if she'd been there before… Now that she was gone, he could instead focus on making sure she got out of here alive. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised that might not be an option any longer. There was just so much blood… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A surge of magical energy washed over him, right as Draco registered that Granger was dying. For a second, he felt drunk on raw magical power. Where did that come from? He hadn't felt this good in months. Scratch that, he had never felt this good. A weight settled on his ring finger, and he stared down wide-eyed at the Malfoy lordship ring. "Impossible," he whispered, staring at the ring dumbly, turning his hand around to look at it. Why did the lordship so suddenly transfer from his father to him? And what was this headache he felt coming?
Bellatrix stopped her torturing and taunting of Hermione for a split second, as both she and his parents felt the same magical wave wash over them, Malfoy Manor shaking as if an earthquake had hit it. Fuck. How would he explain this? He didn't even know how it had happened. At least, Granger was getting a small reprieve from Bellatrix's attacks. Dear Merlin, her skin looked so grey. With a sense of foreboding, he understood that he'd fucked up and wasted too much time. She was dying… And it was his fault because he hadn't…
"Draco, what is the meaning of this?" his father hissed at him as he roughly grabbed him by the arm, interrupting his thoughts. "What are you doing?"
He pulled his arm out of his father's grip, finally strong enough again, even if Granger was seeping more and more magic out of him as she struggled to stay alive. What was he doing? What was this magical power? He could feel the manor, feel its… Anger? He could feel every single house elf that was bound to the Malfoy family, every single ward in his ancestral home, every single intruder. Did the manor have feelings? He felt so high on magic that he couldn't keep his thoughts straight. He should prioritise Hermione for now, and get some house elf to come and save her…
"What is going on?!" Bellatrix yelled, pointing her wand at him now instead of the witch lying at her feet. "Is it Potter pulling something funny? Oh, I knew it was him! The Dark Lord will be so pleased," she cackled, already lifting the sleeve of her left arm. No. She was going to call him… They would all be doomed.
"Tipsy," Draco barely whispered, ordering the head house elf to come to his side, hoping that she would be in time, hoping that she'd felt her loyalties shift to him.
He grabbed hold of his wand and silently cast a silver shield between Granger and Bellatrix, hoping no one would notice. He watched his mother carefully and realised she had noticed what he'd done as Narcissa Malfoy shook her head at her sister, grasping her husband's hand. Draco was certain that she would recognize the magic he'd just used anywhere. A mix of Malfoy and Black family magic. In the back of his mind, he could even feel that the wards felt slightly hostile to his mother, and how… Accepting they were of Granger. What the fuck was going on?
"Draco stop this foolishness right now!" his father all but barked at him, now also understanding what he'd done. Tipsy popped up right next to Draco, as his father yelled at the elf: "Get that girl and her muddy blood away from the drawing room. She's bleeding and spreading her filth all over the floor."
Draco's eyes snapped back to Hermione. She was indeed still bleeding profusely, even if Bellatrix couldn't reach her anymore without breaking through the shield. Why did his father want her to be moved now? He didn't seem to have had an issue with the girl bleeding to death earlier… With a start, he realised what had made his father so eager to move her. Every Malfoy born at the Manor knew what was lying under the Drawing Room. The ward stones which were connected to the leylines in Wiltshire were directly underneath the floorboards. The only reason why the Manor's allegiance would have shifted to him as if she… He shook his head. Why would her muggle blood activate the wards? She wasn't a Malfoy. Was she? Unless… The manor recognized her as such?
Before he could even defy his father, Tipsy apparated to stand right in front of Granger. "The mistress of this manor shall not be harmed anymore!" the little elf said, as she snapped her tiny fingers, and everyone but Draco was now in a bodybind. Well, that was certainly unexpected.
"The what?" Narcissa whispered, fear in her eyes as she barely struggled against the bindings. Realisation dawned in her eyes, and for a second, he thought like he could see pride in her eyes. "Oh, Draco… Son, you didn't... You foolish boy. You will be the death of us all."
Before he could answer his mother, or before he could even wrap his mind around this whole bizarre situation, he could feel her presence enter his mind again. She was barely whispering, drifting in and out of his consciousness. "Draco. What is going on? Why is your house elf healing me? And who is that voice?"
"What voice" he grunted out, stumbling his way over to her and Tipsy, still high on the family magic that had been transferred to him so suddenly. Confused as he was at their predicament, he needed to try and heal Granger. She would know what to do. She was the brains behind Potter's whole operation, wasn't she? As he fell down next to her on his knees, he could feel his magic pouring out of him as he started whispering healing spells. He could easily get used to this power. He felt like he could take on the world. Hell, he felt like he could take on snake face himself, even though that probably was a huge overestimation of his current powers. A boy could dream.
"Voice?" his father asked in a panic, distracting Draco from his healing slightly. "Don't tell me that you've heard her, mudblood? That you have heard the spirit of Malfoy Manor?"
As his father said those words, the house finally stopped shaking. The influx of raw magical power Draco was feeling also came to a stop. Hermione kept bleeding even though multiple house elves had now popped up and were trying their best to heal her alongside him. Why wasn't this working? Had his aunt done that much damage to her?
"Lucius Malfoy," a deep ethereal voice suddenly spoke, almost making Draco drop his wand as he turned around and looked for whatever entity was speaking to them now. "You have dishonoured your House. Your family. Your legacy. It is time for the rightful heir to take their place and to stop this foolishness that you and your father Abraxas have brought onto us. You have twisted our House's most ancient rule into something vile and evil. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper was never about being a pureblood. It has been about being of pure conviction. Doing what is right, not what is easy. Your ancestor, Armand Malfoy, and I made a pact. I would protect and serve his family, as long as every Malfoy after him would do what was best for the Malfoy line. Today, you have broken the oath between your ancestor and me, by having one of his heirs be hurt in your own home."
"Impossible," Lucius whispered, his eyes darting around in fear to find whoever had spoken to him. "The spirit was just a tale my grandfather would tell me… Like the tales of Beedle the Bard. Besides, that mudblood is no Malfoy."
To Draco's astonishment, laughter now filled the room. The walls hummed. The manor hummed. "Oh, Lucius. You should know by now that there are no tales when it comes to magic. Only twisted truths. And if you had not forsaken your house duties for playing lackey to a man with a wicked and twisted mind, you would have known how that so-called mudblood is connected to our family. Even if you did not research your ancestors as well as you should, for the past year or so, that girl has been front and centre on the family tapestry. You just never bothered to look close enough, to see through the magical shimmer."
Wait what? Draco had spent multiple days researching in the hidden study that housed the tapestry. He'd stared at that family tapestry for hours, wondering how it could have all gone so wrong… Wondering if his long family legacy had finally come to an end after the past three generations had fucked up royally. He'd definitely never seen Hermione Granger on it. He frowned, as something stabbed at his mind… The shimmer. He hadn't remembered, but now it was clear as day. Something had been hidden on the tapestry, but-
"Master," one of the elves distracted Draco as he clasped one of his tiny hands on Draco's. "Mistress is not well. Tipsy is not sure we can heal mistress. What should we do, master?"
"Mistress?" Draco questioned. Had he heard that right? Did the elf just call Granger Mistress? That could only mean… Oh no. He really had doomed them all to die, hadn't he? But why couldn't he remember?
"Yes, sir," the elf continued, his ears flapping around worriedly. "Mistress Hermione. Your… beloved."
"ENOUGH!" Bellatrix suddenly yelled, making Draco look behind him. Fuck. Her hair was more crazy than usual, and so were her eyes. Somehow, she had managed to release herself from the body-bind and she was now holding her wand, aiming it straight at him. "Enough with this nonsense. I don't bloody care whoever holds the wards or whatever magical spirit lives under the leylines of this manor," she spat. "All I care about is that the mudblood dies and that Potter watches."
As she lifted her sleeve again and pressed her wand onto the dark mark, several things happened at once.
Potter and Weasley came running through the wooden doors of the Drawing Room, wands in hand, followed by none other than Dobby. Draco couldn't help but frown as his personal elf now fought so valiantly at Potter' side. As soon as the three of them saw Hermione bleeding out, Potter threw a cruciatus at Bellatrix, right as Weasley cast a bludgeoning hex at her, causing a huge hole to appear in her abdomen. Loath to admit, Draco was impressed. He didn't know they had it in them. Then, they suddenly pointed their wands at him, as he was still sitting beside her, his wand hovering over her. Oh fuck. This did not look good.
"No."
All it took was a determined no from Granger to stop them in their tracks. "Draco wanted to save me," she said as he lowered the protective shield so that Potter and Weasley could crouch down by her side, house elves still chanting over her body.
Potter almost knocked him out of the way as he took hold of one of her hands and brushed sweaty strands of hair out of her face. "'Mione," he cried out desperately. "Are you alright? We should go now, Dobby can bring us to a safe place, and…"
"Oh Harry," she said sadly as she put her hand on his cheek. There was so much love in her eyes, and Draco almost felt the need to look away. "It's too late for me I'm afraid. The dagger Bellatrix used is eating away at my magic, I can feel it. I'm sure Draco can too."
A deadly silence followed as both Gryffindor boys looked at Draco, frowning. Great. He wasn't the only one left out of the loop then. But what she said was true. Even his additional magical power, and all of the healing they had done, would not be enough to save her. If they did, she would be nothing more than a squib. But the blood she'd lost… He was surprised to find that tears were forming in his eyes, as her magic stopped tugging at him as forcefully as it had been since he'd first entered the drawing room.
"Remember the plan," she whispered in his mind, confusing him even more.
Before he could ask her what she'd meant, she'd started addressing her two best friends. "Take care of each other, will you?" She breathed out. Weasley started wailing at her side as her eyes closed for one last time, and her hand fell down from Potter's cheek. The house elves stopped chanting, their ears drooping down. "Mistress… is gone," Tipsy exclaimed as tears formed in her eyes as well. Draco felt the magic in him shift, it felt… Empty? Was Granger really gone?
"Draco," the voice of the spirit of the manor, whispered in his head sadly. "It is not too late. Your magical reserves are still plentiful to fix this. To do the right thing. As long as you do it within the Manor I can guide you. We are stronger here."
What did she mean? What was the right thing? He had just watched his crazy aunt torture Granger to death. He had watched as she cut into her with that cursed dagger, and watched her bleed to death. Why did she even tell Dumb and Dumber that he had wanted to save her? He'd been too late, had spent too much time contemplating what to do. How did she even know that he was attempting to come up with something, anyway? And why were his house elves calling her "mistress"? He knew why. He just didn't want to admit to himself, because there was no way that he and Granger had…
"Malfoys always protect their own," the spirit seemed to smirk at him. "That's why you've been wanting to get her out of here ever since you laid eyes on her."
"Granger is not one of our own," he defied her. "I don't know why you or the wards ever recognized her as such, but I can assure you that-"
"Have you not been listening, boy? I know you have. I could see it in your mind that you realised something had been hiding on the tapestry. Miss Granger has French ancestry, much like yourself. Armand might have come to Britain more than 900 years ago, but he did not bring his whole family with him. Some of them stayed in their homeland. And they did so for more than 800 years. One of them was his adopted daughter, Celeste. A muggle-born witch, cast out by her family, but taken in by Armand and his wife. If anyone had bothered to do a heritage test, magic would have recognized her as his adopted descendant, making her show up on the tapestry."
The gears started turning in his head. If Granger was a descendant of Armand's adopted daughter, then even if she had no actual Malfoy blood running through her veins, the wards would recognize the magical bond and recognize her as a Malfoy heir. The wards would want to protect her. It would also mean that she'd never been a mudblood at all… He cringed, remembering what he'd called her. It seemed all those years of taunting and bullying were based on nothing. But was that even important anymore? Even if she had been a muggle-born, she… She had always been better than him. Better than any pureblood walking the Hogwarts grounds.
Somehow, his thoughts seemed to be quite entertaining as the spirit's laughter rang inside his mind, Potter and Weasley's crying muted in the background. "You are right, there is no Malfoy blood in her veins. And yes, seeing as one of her original ancestors was born with magic over 900 years ago, she is at most the daughter of squibs rather than a muggle-born. However, even if the wards recognized her as one of the descendants of Armand's adopted daughter, control over the manor would not have shifted to you or to her because of a potential heir being tortured to death. It wasn't her blood that made the manor, made me, want to protect her. It was her magic, which somehow is bound to your blood and your magic. Care to explain, little dragon? It wasn't me who put that shimmer on the tapestry. That has all been your doing."
It was? And her magic was bound to his? Had they truly bonded? Impossible. He barely even knew Granger. Well, he knew she was a swotty little know-it-all with frizzy hair which would make even aunt Bellatrix's hair seem tamed. She was best friends with Potter, his archnemesis. She was nothing more than a stranger to him. Right? But then how… Why did his magic provide for her for so long? None of this made any sense.
"And this… Stranger… Was allowed into your mind so easily?" The spirit asked. "All I had to do was show her the way. But you let her enter straight through the front door to come to you in her time of need. Almost as if you had done so many times before."
How did that happen? He felt like the answer was on the tip of his tongue, an itch in the back of his mind. The more he sought an explanation, the more confounded he became. Honestly, it had all the signs of a well-managed… Oh no. She'd obliviated him. Of course, that would explain why he couldn't remember putting a spell on the family tapestry… Why she told him to remember the plan. Why he couldn't remember how Granger's magic had become so intertwined with his. His mother had immediately seen it once the wards shifted over to him. He'd been the only one blind enough not to accept it.
"Miss Granger seems to be very well-versed in the use of the obliviation spell," the spirit agreed with him. "Let's see if I can do something about that."
Draco felt as if he stepped into an ice-cold shower when the spirit's magic went through him, almost as if he'd walked through one of the Hogwarts ghosts, his headache becoming worse. His body was shivering, and his head was swarming with… Memories. Of him. Of Granger. He and Granger. He and… "Hermione," he said as his eyes snapped open, an ache in his chest for the death of his best friend, of his beloved Hermione. Potter and Weasley were still crying and cradling her in their arms. How could he have forgotten this? How could he have forgotten her?
"I need to fix this," he breathed out, more to himself than to Potter and Weasley. If her plan worked, Potter and Weasley wouldn't even remember any of this. "You will help me, right?" he asked the spirit as the plan started reforming in his mind. A soothing feeling and humming from the manor was all he needed to jump into action.
"Potter!" he yelled, trying to get the Boy Who Lived out of his sad stupor. Draco did his best to ignore his own inner wailing and emptiness at seeing Hermione's corpse. No, he could fix this. He had to fix this. Harry didn't even look up. "Potter!" Draco tried again, shaking him. "Does Hermione still carry that bottomless bag of hers? The beaded bag with the undetectable extension charm? Where is it?"
Potter still didn't reply, but somehow he'd gotten through to Weasley. "What would you care, ferret?" the weasel asked. "You did nothing to save her, you…" he started to grab for his wand. Draco had no time for this nonsense.
"Pertificus totalus," Draco cast at Ron, the redhead falling backwards, taking Hermione's upper body with him. "Dobby, bring Potter, Weasley, and Hermione to the safe place you were talking about earlier, in case all of this fails. You-Know-Who is on his way as we speak" he said to the house elf standing next to him, taking note of the elf's angry face. "Find me her beaded bag immediately, it might be the only way to save her."
Dobby's ears perked up at his former master and with a nod from Tipsy, the elf finally agreed to help him. "Dobby will do anything to protect Harry Potter and his friends," he said with his hand over his heart. He snapped his fingers and Hermione's beaded bag was in his tiny hands.
Draco had to stop himself from snatching it right out of Dobby's hands, shooting a grateful look at Tipsy for coming to his aid. Hermione had told him about her undetectable extension charm one afternoon in the library after she got a strict look from Madam Pince for being too enthusiastic when figuring out the constraints of that particular spell. Once he finally had the bag, he put his whole arm in it, trying to look for the one thing that could save Hermione. That could save all of them. He sighed, as it took him a while to find what he was looking for. How much had she stuffed in here?
Potter seemed to be regaining his senses slowly, even though he was clearly still in mourning, but Dobby was holding the wizard back for now, one of his tiny hands on Potter's shoulder, waiting for Draco to come up with some sort of solution to this desperate predicament they were in.
"Thank Merlin," Draco said as his hand finally grabbed onto the thing he was looking for. As he pulled out his arm, Harry noticed the necklace immediately and gasped.
"You can't be serious, Malfoy?" he asked quietly. "If that is what I think it is, and it definitely is, then… How far?"
Draco held up the time turner in front of his face, studying it, making sure it hadn't been damaged during the past year. Hermione had always said this was only to be used in case of emergency. That this was their contingency plan. Only to be used for a few days at most. Never longer than that. Never further back than that. Anyone who attempted to go further back, had been splinched through time, never to be seen again. At least, that was the theory. He desperately hoped that was all it had proven to be. He had more magical power than he needed with the Spirit by his side. This had to work.
"Hermione was always better with the calculations," Draco said as he shook off his outer robes and put the necklace around his neck. "But for once, trying to best Granger throughout my whole school career has its perks. Without her, I might not have been so driven to get an Outstanding at arithmancy and ancient runes."
A memory tugged at the back of his mind when he mentioned the two Hogwarts classes he and Hermione shared without the overbearing duo with her. How the first time she'd smiled at him was in the restricted section of the library, trying to work on a project that Professor Vector had forced "the top two students in her class" to work on to improve each other's skills. Oh, how he could've killed Vector when she said that in class. How he could kiss her now for forcing them to work together. How strange that the fate of the wizarding world now seemed to be dependent on that one simple project.
"He's here," Draco said to Harry as he started turning the time turner, feeling Voldemort's presence enter the outer wards of the Manor. His aunt had succeeded in summoning him after all.. "I better get to work. Even if I am in control of the wards, they've been violated and changed ever since You-Know-Who and his puny underlings have lived in the manor. I can't keep him out. You should leave with Dobby."
Potter nodded, taking Weasley's stunned hand in one hand and touching Hermione with the other, ready to be apparated. Draco had to make sure he was focused, not lingering on the corpse of his… He couldn't even begin to think it. She would have had to have been his wife. No other way would there magic have been connected. How the bloody hell had that happened? His memories were such a mess, having been tampered with for almost three years of his life. He definitely could use some time figuring everything out.
"If this doesn't work," Draco said as he now felt Voldemort going at the wards with his full power, "then make sure you kill the bastard for everything he has done. And… Hermione mentioned she would want to be buried at Hogwarts if she had no family left. There's a spot on the western side of the Forbidden Forest where little to no trees grow and where you can see the night sky. She said it reminded her of spending time with her grand-mère in France."
Draco swallowed deeply as he kept turning the Time Turner, the spirit of the manor guiding him as he did, seeping in the magic of the leylines to aid him in his quest. He couldn't remember how he knew what to do, but he trusted his gut feeling. He'd thought about this before, of that he was certain.
The doors behind them trembled as Voldemort reached the last set of wards protecting them. "If it does work… Then please for the love of Merlin accept my friendship when I offer it to you in first year."
Harry's eyes went wide as he finally understood what Malfoy had just said. He'd be going back years. He wouldn't just save Hermione's life. He could save all of them. Perhaps he had a little Gryffindor courage in him after all?
As Dobby apparated the golden trio out of Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord burst through the wooden doors to the drawing room, fury in his eyes. He had just seen Potter disappear and the Malfoy brat had just been sitting there in a puddle of blood, staring at them, a time turner around his neck.
"I always knew you were nothing but a worthless minion, just like your father," he spat at Draco. "Avada Kedavra!"
"No!" Narcissa yelled, still struggling against the body binds, crying out for her son. But when the blinding green light had disappeared, so had Draco.