Chapter Text
Honestly, what could be said about Draco Malfoy? He is the pure blood heir of the Malfoy family, Slytherin, prefect, and brilliant in all his ways. So much so that, despite his age, the Dark Lord appointed him as a Death Eater and requested that he complete one simple mission:
Kill Albus Dumbledore.
Easier said than done.
Over the summer, Bellatrix trained him in Occlumency, something he easily mastered. During this time, he had become much more powerful, but even with his new-found skills, his future action still weighed heavily. Instead, he turned his attention to getting the rest of the Death Eater into Hogwarts. After Potter's defamation of Lucius Malfoy caused him to get arrested, his father's duties were now given to him. His family's life and legacy are in his hands. His father will hear about his deeds. He would restore Malfoy's name. Draco won't fail.
A new school year arrives. His sixth year. In the dead of night, Draco "patrols" through the walls of Hogwarts. He intends to go into the Room of Requirements to ensure the gateway for the Death Eaters. But his mind is wrapped with spinning threads; each attempt to unravel a single emotion sent him spiraling into a knotted headache. It's beneficial to obey the Dark Lord; he has all the power; to stay by his side ensures that their future will be secure! But a small part of him wonders if it was truly worth it. If his family were to oppose-- no! What was he thinking? There is no way to rewrite what has been done. He is committed; no one could stop the Dark Lord besides himself.
A light wish passes Draco, sending a brief chill to his side. Now, that's odd; no one is there. Draco blinks, opting to return to the Slytherin's dorm, but with less than two steps forward, he pivots his heels and walks further down. He knew that "uneasy feeling" could mean one thing, or rather, one person.
"Potter."
Draco whispers a disillusionment charm and glares down the halls, waiting for the slightest tell--a mishap revealing the Gryffindor's whereabouts. Whether it be his intuition or Potter's sloppiness, Draco didn't wait long to see him pull the Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders. As the Slytherin's prefect, he did have the power docking points from the Gryffindor's house for breaking curfew. Now, honestly, he could use a pick-up. Draco's grins fall as the Boy Who Lived whispers several words, and a door appears. Potter looks around, then waltzes inside.
Draco clicks his tongue. Why did he also need Room of Requirements? Did Potter know of his plans? If he does, it'll ruin everything! Perhaps he should tell Professor Snape, and he'd see to it that Potter would be punished. No, after the situation with his father, there's no doubt a rat like Snape is looking for a way up to the Dark Lord's inner circle. Draco couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers. At this point, he doesn't care if Potter knows his presence. He runs to the doors before they shut. Unbeknownst to Draco, he steps inside the rune circle, and a burst of power covers his vision. The runes of old circle him. Then the impact shoots him down, rendering him unconscious.
"Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Pott-- Oh? Another?" One voice echoes.
"Well, look, it's a Malfoy," the other muses.
"Not any, it's Draco Malfoy. How amusing." Both voices chuckle through a sea of emptiness.
Draco jolts awake. The sun's bright rays beam into his eyes. Despite blinking, everything in the room is still disoriented and blurry. His vision adjusts slightly, grounding the room and light. How is it morning already? Did Potter play some sort of trick on him? Draco groans, rubbing his arms off the ground. He grabs his wand and waves it. "Tempus." His silver eyes widen. Quickly as he can, he smoothes out his hair, fixes his robes, straightens his Prefect pin, and rushes out of the room.
It's unheard of for a Slytherin's prefect, a Malfoy, to be tardy to his classes. He sprints down the hall into the DADAS. Luckily, a duel is taking place, so Draco easily slips past his classmates to get a sideline view of the commencing battle. Draco rolls his eyes; he could identify that unruly dark brown hair anywhere. Potter is up, and of course, he would bask in the glory of the battle. Perhaps he kept a close eye; he would be about to deduct house points for a technicality.
"He'll counter left," Draco huffs underneath his breath. Just then, the spell directly hits Potter, sending him flying back.
Draco's eyebrows rise. That's odd... He could have easily countered the spell with a deflection, a shield, or simply dodged it. Why did he lean into the attack? Draco squints slightly.
Is Potter wearing green with his robe?
Potter hits the floor, and the rest of the student body cheers for the winner. Chatter and chanting fill the room. But not one of the voices is familiar. What? Potter slowly gets up; his bangs cover his eyes. Potter never breaks eye contact with the ground while he shakes his opponent's hand. The student with...
Slytherin robes...
Platinum blonde hair...
And silver eyes...
A Malfoy?
"What is the meaning of this?!" Draco yells, pushing students aside, gunning for Potter.
Potter finally turns to him. Where are his glasses? And why are his eyes dirt brown? Potter's mouth gapes open.
"Young man, how dare you interrupt my lesson?" The older lady professor scolds.
"Who are you?" The "Malfoy" quizzically eyes him.
Draco growls, "What? 'Who am I?' How prosperous! You dare not know my name?! It's Draco, Draco Mal--"
"McClure!" Potter shouts and grabs hold of Draco's robes. Awkwardly clinging to his chest.
"What?! Unhand me this instant! Pot--" Draco's mouth squeezes shut, and no noise leaves his lips. His voice lingers in the depths of his throat, and he glares at Potter, who glares back.
"Wasn't part of the plan," Potter mumbles.
"Speak up, Evans," The professor orders.
Potter's eyes snap back into focus, and his gaze returns to the ground.
"I'm sorry, Professor Merrythought..." he steps away from Draco.
'Merrythought?' Draco thinks as Potter says that line is a bit too quiet and pathetic.
"You see, we lived nearby, in the same neighborhood. When Grindelwald..." Draco squints. Potter shakes his head. "Since we are both new, I was supposed to bring him to the Headmaster with me, but this class... I'll bring him now."
Professor Merrythought sighs somewhat sympathetically and nods, "Well, the Head Boy will--"
"With all due respect, ma'am, we have disrupted too much of your time. We'll go," Potter adds.
'Of course he is, Dumbledore's golden boy.' Draco scoffs inside his mind.
"Well, Headmaster Dippet, you should be in. Off you two go," she shoos the two new students away, refocusing her attention on her class.
'What?'
Potter tightly grips Draco's arm and drags him out of the room. They walk past the door frame and into the hallway. Draco's lips are shut tight as he begrudgingly follows behind stupid Potter. The Gryffindor pauses slightly and pushes him into an empty classroom.
"Colloportus!" He mutters, and the door shuts, locked behind them.
Finally, he unseals Draco's mouth. A swift spell strikes him to the ground. Draco hovers above Potter and points his wand at his neck.
"What the bloody hell is going on? Who are those people? Why does no one remember me? If this is your idea of a prank, I'll let you know when my father gets out; he'll be hearing this," he spits with venom.
Potter's eye twitches, and he swings out from underneath. He flips back, whacking Draco's face with a bundle of rolled-up paper. Draco growls at the muggle action and prepares his wand to strike back, but the headline halts his movement.
"That's... No, that's impossible..."
"Dark Lord Grindelwald Strikes Again; The War Continues. Plans for future attacks are in motion. Summer issue 1942."
1942.
Potter glares back. "Yeah, your father won't be hearing this anytime soon."