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bottom_dracoTitle: When Yesterday Becomes Tomorrow
Summary: Harry comes back from going abroad to find that things aren't as he left them. When it appears that Draco Malfoy is making a more permanent move into his life, Harry can't help but thing there is some insidious plot behind it and he means to change it... by any means possible.
Prompt: 158
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snugglemint
Beta:xchubbycheeks
Word Count: 10,745
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Starts with Neville/Draco
Author's Notes: There isn't any actual copulation in this story, but there are bits and pieces that reference Harry's dominance and talk of how Draco's had a bit of Gryffindor in him. ^ ~ - This story has not been an easy one for me, personally, but nevertheless I hope that my prompter can find something in it they enjoy.
Ron gagged with no amount of real sincerity, Hermione shot the redhead a warning look, and Harry stood watching in abject horror.
Harry felt his vision tunneling in on the sight that should only be featured in nightmares. He was only dimly aware of the fact that his mouth had been open because Ginny kindly reached over and pushed his jaw up so that his mouth shut with a snap.
How the hell had this happened? How could it? When? What devious and quite delirious plot was unfolding that involved something so disgusting and sinister?
It was Twilight Zone without the annoying music and all too serious narrator. In fact, he was waiting for someone to shout “Gotcha!” obnoxiously any moment now. Then he could death glare and know that the world had not flipped a 180 on its axis and perhaps begrudgingly agree that it was a good joke. Horrid, vile, disgusting, but good as far as outlandish pranks go.
For the last two years he had been spending time abroad. He’d seen all kinds of places and reveled in the fact that outside of the UK people knew little of him if anything at all, and they certainly saw no reason to fawn over him. It was nice for once in his life to be just Harry. He suspected that this was what it would have been like if he hadn’t been marked by not only a madman, but a prophecy as well.
He wasn’t the orphan, the freak, the Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World, or Defeater of Voldemort while he was gone. And surprising to most he had not given Ginny the title of Mrs. Potter.
He was done with titles, giving and receiving. He would not answer to them, nor would he force them on other people. Why couldn’t they all just be themselves? Why cou-
“Scarhead, just take a picture if you’re so interested in the view.”
Why couldn’t some foul-mouthed gits just disappear off the face of the Earth and stop pushing their luck?
He’d kept up with his friends through owls, but no one had told him about this little development, or perhaps not so little. His welcome home party had been jointed with an engagement party, which he was now standing in the middle of looking, for all intents and purposes, like a fish out of water.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” he grit out, his fists balling at his side.
Draco, for his part, seemed comfortable and quite pleased with himself with his arm slung around Neville’s waist. Neville looked sheepish and embarrassed, but it didn’t escape his attention that Neville was leaning into Draco instead of away. It was almost like he was trying to gain comfort from Draco because of Harry.
How had he become the outsider on his own turf? How had he become the big bad wolf and they the sheep?
“Aren’t you going to congratulate us, Potter?” The snide, proud voice grated on every nerve in his body, making him twitch. “Nev and I are getting married.”
Harry gave a loud strangled noise in the back of his throat. Hearing it that way, voiced so plainly with such finality made it all slam repeatedly against his face, forcing him to accept that this might not be some cruel joke. No, it was just Hell.
“Oh dear, I do hope this isn’t the part where you burst out with some hidden, undying love confession for Neville…” His face pulled into elegant disgust, if there was such a thing, as he added, “Or myself.”
That strangled noise got louder in Harry’s throat and Draco seemed incredibly pleased with himself. That is, until Neville admonished the Slytherin ponce. That was quite satisfying. He got the mental image of Neville standing up with valor and defending him. This fantasy went so far as Neville pulling the ring from his finger and shouting that they were through. There was only the soft admonishment though, and then Draco gave Neville a cute pout. No, not cute. He tried for cute.
The whole thing put Harry off his dinner when Neville visibly softened and leaned in to kiss those pouting lips.
Harry fled the room like a bat out of Hell, and this was most definitely Hell.
He had to forcefully be hauled away from the fire by Ron and Blaise so that he didn’t jump into the flames to get away.
He hadn’t put any floo powder in the fireplace, so he wouldn’t have escaped, he would have just started burning. Draco was in a fit of hysterics behind him and Neville frowned in… disappointment?
Harry would have felt a flare of victory that Neville was upset with Draco, only that he wasn’t. He was frowning at Harry. He was upset with Harry.
What had Harry done? He was being visually and mentally assaulted! They were testing his sanity! This could not be his fault in such way! Still, he felt just the slightest bit of disappointment in himself for causing Neville to be upset with him. Sure, the slimy git was obviously doing something to Neville and his friends, but they didn’t seem to be aware of that so to them he was being unreasonable.
Except, when he looked around, he only saw sympathy and understanding on his friends’ faces. They knew that it was hard to swallow because they’d had to swallow it down too. So maybe it was just Neville who was being… manipulated.
“I realize that this is a shock for you, and I’m not asking you to just accept it. I know it’s not easy to understand with the past as it is.” Neville wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, his hands clenched in his lap with his head turned away from everyone, especially Draco who was no longer laughing and instead watching Neville with concern and… and… and love?
He blanched visibly at the thought. Never, never in a million years. The only person that Draco loved was the one that he saw in the mirror every morning.
“I am asking you to act like an adult and realize that this isn’t the schoolyard. I’m asking you to be supportive as my friend and to at least not have a petulant fit in the middle of my engagement party.” Harry felt like he was being smacked in the face as he watched his friend. He knew that Neville had a backbone and a strong sense of self, but he usually hid it away, and to use it against Harry… It felt like lead was dropping into his stomach.
“If you can’t at least pretend for my sake then it might be best if you just leave.”
Grey eyes lifted toward Harry and he felt as if he was going to burn alive under that scalding glare. Draco was angry with him, incredibly so, but he held his tongue as he turned his attentions to Neville, holding his hand, stroking his arm, and whispering softly to him. He couldn’t hear the words, and he wondered what the blond was saying. Perhaps he was strengthening the spell he had on Neville.
Harry stared at the scene, his eyes swiveling too fast to really see what was going on, but committing as much of it to memory as he could. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment, disbelief, and thinly-veiled rage that he could feel thrumming thickly through his veins. If his hands hadn't been clenched he would have been shaking.
In the end there was only one thing he could do that wouldn't make it better, but would diffuse the situation as it was. He hated leaving his friends with Malfoy alone, but he obviously had bigger plans that required them to be alive for now. He could risk letting them alone to deal with his adverse reaction.
He also left because he felt like he might lash out without any magical control and that was something he wanted no one to see. A lack of control on one's magic was a sign of things much greater playing upon the mind. He nodded tersely, his jaw set in a hard line as he scooped enough floo powder from the pot on the mantle. This time when he headed for the fireplace the flames were dancing in emerald green.
When Harry got home he threw a spectacular fit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. He wasn’t mad enough to murder like Voldemort incited, but he was mad enough to act like he was fifteen again. No one ever made him mad like Draco did. That blond seemed to have a direct connection to his nerve endings that set his teeth to grind mode.
It wasn’t just Malfoy though. Malfoy he could handle, it was the fact that all of his friends seemed to be on the Malfoy train, so intent to ride along blissfully into the clutches of evil. He could guarantee that after the first blacked out tunnel someone would come out of it dead.
Draco seemed to have everyone on his side. Neville had stood up to him and told him to leave and Hermione had acted affronted, but her angry gaze was at him as she patted Neville’s knee. Ron had simply looked uncomfortable trying to send apologetic looks that meant nothing because of the fact that he was trying to be covert about it. Ginny seemed torn, two emotions warring on her face, one of anger and the other of piteous disappointment.
There were more people gathered, so he was sure that there were far more emotive expressions of exasperation and disdain thrown at him, but the ones he noticed were the only ones that he cared about.
He set to pacing, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he leaned forward to watch his feet. If he had a hat, monocle and pipe he would be the classic stereotype for an old fashioned Muggle detective.
Ten steps each way were counted out until he started to take ten steps unconsciously, slipping into a mode of planning that rivaled the times of Voldemort’s Era. There was something going on here and he’d figure it out and then he’d fix it. Hell, he didn’t even care to know what was going on; he just wanted the world to right itself.
Apparently Harry Potter moving on with his life, no, in fact having a life for once was cause for the Earth to turn upside down on its axis.
So was that the problem? He couldn’t try and sabotage the wedding, he would need help and cause. No one, it seemed, was willing to help him, and with the way his closest friends acted he was afraid to make enemies of the others by asking. Not that it would matter, he was sure that story was spreading like wild fire through the old Hogwarts grapevine. And really, what cause did he have? What would he say when he was asked if there was any reason why the two should not be wed? He had many reasons, but none of them had proof.
When you accused one of the grooms of using mind control on their spouse of choice you tended to need evidence. Which he was sure he could get, but not in time.
He ignored the little voice that told him that there might not be anything to find. He refused to believe that this was genuine. There were some things in the world that never changed, even if the World turned upside down, and that was that Malfoys did not change.
Well, there was that one time during the war, but that was just a means of survival, of self-preservation. He didn’t do it because he’d changed. He did it because he knew he was on the losing side.
So what had been the buffer back then? What had changed that let this happen? He already knew, he’d thought it earlier, but it was a little hard to swallow that this had all been his fault.
When Harry had left he had stopped being a punching bag to Malfoy, so the blond had had to broaden his sights, but how had it turned into vows of matrimony? Did Draco discover that Neville had a crush on him? And he knew the boy did, during a DA meeting he was trying to slowly teach them Occlumency and Neville had been incredibly bad at it, even with Harry as his partner who was a no better Legilimens.
It would be easy for Malfoy to manipulate Neville by praying on a deep rooted secret, and if he played to the tune of bad boy turned good by the err of his ways and new found love, then he knew his friends would eat it up eventually.
Harry couldn’t change leaving though, could he? He wouldn’t want to change that time. It wasn’t the most amazing because of incredibly bad choices in bed partners and substance abuse, but it had its good points that he didn’t want to forget. Mostly the sights. Seeing the places in person was nothing like looking at pictures on postcards or from other people’s trips.
When he thought of a place it was like seeing it in a panoramic view, something you didn’t get with a single picture. He could also associate some places with things like taste and smell. Like when he’d gone to the Leaning Tower of Pisa he’d been eating gelato, and when he’d gone to see the Statue of Liberty, his first glimpse had been on a crowded street with the smell of hot dogs permeating the street from a Hotdog Vendor.
Whether or not his personal choices had been the best, he’d truly had the experience of a lifetime. It probably wasn’t that big of a deal to a Wizard because transportation was near instantaneous and cost nothing if you didn’t have to buy a portkey. He knew, though, that for a Muggle it would be categorized as “The Dream.”
It had been his dream once, hidden away in his cupboard. He often wished that he could meld into the shadows that cradled him and that they would whisk him away to a better place. His fantasies ranged from his shadow friends popping him up in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower to putting him in the shade of a home that housed two people that would love him fiercely and treat him right.
He sighed and carded his fingers through his unruly hair not for the first time in his pacing, his hair was started to embody Albert Einstein.
There was a clear cut choice. He would have to find a way to go back in time and… not go abroad, but some part of him felt selfish because he didn’t want to give up the life he’d lead. He’d love to forget the regrets, but weren’t those important for building character?
Maybe they were only good at making him suspicious and reducing him to nefarious plotting such as he was. No, that wasn’t true. It was his lot in life that made him paranoid, and it was the fact that Draco Malfoy was the reincarnation of his father that sealed it.
He had to save the life he once knew because he could see no future in this. A life with Draco Malfoy constantly in the picture was not a life he could live with.
It wouldn’t be so bad, not really. He would go back and he would do his years over with Ginny. They would get married and he’d keep a firm eye on Neville, if he even remembered any of this, and maybe he’d even have a few kids.
He wasn’t partial to the female form, but Ginny really wasn’t so bad and, it wasn’t something she’d want to hear but, she was built rather like her brother’s. She was firm from Quidditch training, soft in her angling, but her hips were narrow, which might be bad for child bearing, and her breasts were small. In a way she was effeminately mannish. Whatever that mean, he could deal with that.
He could do what the world envisioned he would do right from the start. He would recreate James and Lily Potter, and he would live out the life that they should have had.
When his feet finally stuttered to a stop he nearly toppled forward because it was so sudden. With his mind made up he set out to the library in Diagon Alley. If it hadn’t been for Hermione he would have never known that it was there, but it was, tucked away down a side alley that opened out into a large clearing where the library stood in its massive glory.
He entered the large building and pulled in a deep breath, reveling in the smell of aging books. He may not have liked studying and researching for school, but he did enjoy the smell of books and the occasional read that didn’t involve a Hogwarts subject.
His eyes skimmed the hundreds of rows of books, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of the first floor and tried not to think of the four floors above that likely looked like this. He almost wished that Hermione wasn’t mad at him and that he could ask her where to look, she would surely have a clue, but she was, and he couldn’t.
Not to mention she would have a right fit if she ever figured out what he was doing.
In the end he decided that it was probably best to start with what he knew. The only device that he knew of that could turn back time were Time-Turners, they seemed like the obvious choice, but he’d already dismissed the idea.
It would be easy enough to avoid himself since he was off flouncing about from country to country, but if he were here parading about as himself while his past self was running all over sending owls to his friends… well it would be hard to explain.
He needed something effortless, seamless. Maybe a book on Time-Turners would clue him in to other devices or potions. He couldn’t imagine that this would be easy; otherwise everyone would be doing it. It was either a rare artifact, or a Potion that required an extinct ingredient.
He sighed heavily and set out on his assignment and before he knew it he had a dozen books open and littered around him. The books on Time-Turners had proved useful. It didn’t seem that there was any device powerful enough to turn back as much time as he wanted. Most of the potions that were listed weren’t helpful because they were listed as Dark Magic, and for good reason. They banished people to a time before magic as punishment for their crimes, or for simply trespassing into unwanted area. It was a fairly free form potion back in the day. It had caused a lot stir until it was banned in 1758 by a wizard named Grimbleding Hazzleworth.
Harry rather thought the man should have banished himself with a name like that.
The rest of the potions were proving rather fruitless. One called for House Elf ears which were banned only a hundred years ago. More for the fact that Wizards and Witches would have the House Elves punish themselves by cutting off their ears instead of other things and were then proved useless when they couldn’t hear their orders. He was sure he wouldn’t find any now, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it himself.
Another potion called for a full Unicorn Horn and after the time in the Forbidden Forest where he’d watched Voldemort feed from a Unicorn he couldn’t fathom the idea.
The few potions he had listed were slowly dwindling to nothing as he kept dismissing the use of a vital ingredient for one reason or another. He was desperate, but he wasn’t immoral. Well, in the sense of mutilating magical creatures. It could be seen as immoral to break the union of two people, but he told himself it was for the greater good.
It was completely unselfish!
He stopped when he came to a potion that had some promise. It required the use of a Time-Turner, which he now had. Dumbledore had left it, among a few things, to him after his death. He’d always thought it odd that Dumbledore had given him something like that, but perhaps the batty old codger had known. Albus always had a way of knowing things and giving Harry exactly what he needed without telling him why he needed it. The note pinned to the device made a bit more sense now, but not much.
He looked over the ingredients and was pleased to note that it didn’t require any vital parts from a magical creature, just ones that would likely get him killed. No big deal. Only that it seemed borderline impossible.
He needed the blood of a dragon, and apparently Horntail was best, a feather of a Veela, a hair from a Centaur, and the scale of a Merperson. Apparently it had something to do with the elements. Dragons represented Fire, Veelas represented Air, Centaurs for Earth, and Merpeople for Water.
There was something about Spirit, but it had no magical ingredient listed for it, only something about thoughts. He figured that it meant he would have to represent Spirit and give his memories up until the time he went back to. He had anticipated this, but it settled like a lead weight in his stomach to have it reinforced.
He would have to go back and start all over again, but what would keep him from going abroad and starting it all over again. It seemed like one of those vicious cycles that starts a time loop and dooms a choice timeline to repeat itself over and over again.
Then again, this was magic; if he screwed up again there would likely be no reset button. Like he wouldn’t be able to find this book next time or he wouldn’t be able to find the Time-Turner. It was all subjective.
He’d just have to get it right.
Maybe he could write a journal and take it with him, or maybe find a way to send himself a sign. He could put it in a time activated box with wards designed to his specific signature. It was done all the time, mostly with wizarding assets of the deceased. It was how he had received his items from both Sirius and Albus. Sirius’ had come after the declaration of his Death, while Albus’ didn’t come to him until six months ago in his lowest point.
In fact, it was half the reason he came home. It was timed so perfectly that Harry just had to wonder, not for the first time, is Dumbledore had been a Seer of some sort.
He sighed and forcefully propped his fist against his cheek. The problem with that was that he was sure he couldn’t tailor the magic to activate in the past; he would have to set it for the future. So at the earliest his past self wouldn’t get the box until tomorrow.
That would be entirely too late.
His hand slipped from his cheek and he allowed himself to thud his head against the table. Magic was always subjective. The most complex did what you wanted in its own way. For instance, he could go back, but he couldn’t remember this time and he couldn’t warn himself, so he would have to make the decision to stay and without the push to stay then he likely wouldn’t.
He made a sound reminiscent of a Zombie that seemed to echo around him and acquired a few hisses of “Shh!” in his direction.
Well, in for a Knut in for a Galleon.
He grabbed the books he wanted to check out and headed up to the front desk where a hawk-like woman sat looking oddly like Madame Pince. Perhaps they were related, though who wasn’t in the Wizarding World?
He felt mildly uncomfortable checking out these books knowing that he wouldn’t be turning them back in. His only comfort was that they would find themselves back to their spots two years prior and then it was out of his hands.
On his way home he stopped by Knockturn Alley to see what he could turn up, but being Harry Potter he didn’t get many results. Only the Dragon’s Blood and Centaur Hair were banned, but Veelas were moving to get the use of Veelas as potions ingredients banned, and the only known Merpopulation known in the UK was at Hogwarts. Getting underwater and besting a Merperson was hard and would bring complications that were fairly unrelated to getting into Hogwarts; which was a whole other issue.
Dragon’s Blood used to be common practice, but it was after Dumbledore found the twelfth use for the substance that he himself moved to ban it. None of the twelve seemed to be worth banning, but if Harry had to wager a guess, he thought that there might be a thirteenth use as well that was not made common knowledge.
With that overhead, he went home empty-handed and started to send out letters to the few shady people he knew, including Mundungus Fletcher, despite the fact that he would bleed him dry in costs. He also sent letter to Charlie asking for the blood under false pretenses of study.
It wasn’t entirely false to say that he wanted to compare it to the American Horntail, because he did have a sample of the blood for just this reason. But, he did leave out the part where he would likely never be able to compare the biological differences because he was using the blood to go back in time and thus erasing his memory of ever seeing the dragon.
He thought about sending a missive to Bill in regards to Fleur, but he wasn’t sure that she had enough Veela blood in her to matter, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask Fleur to point him in the right direction. Beak or no beak she’d still rip him to pieces.
He wanted to ask Fred and George about what they could get their hands on, but Ginny had gone in on their business about a year back and would likely have her nose in everything.
Firenze was an option if he didn’t mind hoof prints on his face. The Centaur was extremely laid back as far as they got, but even he wouldn’t take kindly to being an ingredient for a potion.
It seemed that he would have to write to Mundungus about the feather, hair, and scale. He hoped that Charlie could come through for him because he had the idea that Dung was going to ask for half of his Gringott’s.
His only comfort in sealing the letter and sending it off with Hedwig was that he was using the ingredients to turn back time so he would have his money back, but it still made him squeamish. Especially if Karma had a say in it and had that money disappear for compensation in a mysterious way when he got back to this time.
He rather hoped not.
He watched Hedwig and a nondescript barn owl that had adopted him fly away with the two letters. The barn owl ended up with the letter to Dung, that way it couldn’t easily be traced back to him, and Hedwig flew off to Charlie.
When both specks vanished from sight he visibly sagged with the effort of it all. He’d spent all day pouring over books and scheming. He was more than ready for bed.
With his fate sealed one way or the other Harry dragged himself into the shower where he stood under the spray more than actually washed himself and then fell into bed without even putting on a pair of boxers.
As he curled up under the sheets, his muscles aching, he couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. Tomorrow he would start up a journal and recount the horrible memory of seeing Draco and Neville engaged and kissing; he’d catalogue all his steps in making the potion, but he also felt it important to tell his past self a little about what he was missing. He’d tell himself how gorgeous it was in Japan during the Cherry Blossom Festival as well as warning him against the use of a potion called “Shadragora.” It was made up of Mandragora and Deadly Nightshade, both highly deadly, but apparently it was cut with something that neutralized the poison and just left the feelings of floating.
He decided not go into detail on that, he did not need to live two lifetimes of regrets. His past self would be curious, but at least he would never know the things that Harry yearned to forget.
By the time sleep took him he had it all planned out. He would write the journal, make the potion, and put the journal in a time locked box to be sent the next day. By that time he would be Harry Potter of two years prior, none the wiser until tomorrow.
With the reassuring pep talk that he was doing the right thing, Harry drifted to sleep.
Several hours later he pouted as light stole across his face in the most intrusive of manners. He could have sworn that he’d pulled the shade down, but he had let the owls out, so perhaps he’d left the blinds up.
He sighed, still mostly asleep and turned over, smiling slightly when he was met with a warm body that he instinctively nestled into. His smile widened when he felt an arm wrap around his waist and pull his body closer.
The smell of vanilla and peppermint filled his senses and the image of Draco danced across his mind. For a moment he panicked, his body stiffening as his eyes snapped open, but when his green eyes met grey all he could do was stare.
It felt as if something was stealing away from him, like he was supposed to be remembering something, but no matter how hard he tried the thought remained a smoky wisp that slipped through his fingers.
When Draco smiled lazily at him Harry couldn’t help the grin that broke across his lips.
“Morning.”
“Mmm, and a good one it is.”
Harry laughed and stole a kiss from the blond’s lips, reveling in the silky feel of those slightly damp lips against his own.
“You need chapstick,” Draco muttered into the kiss, causing Harry to laugh and smack lightly at the blond’s chest. “And toothpaste.”
Harry rolled his eyes and nuzzled his face into the crook of Draco’s warm neck, giving small nips every so often.
“I think yesterday went well.”
He shivered a little at the slide of long fingers carding through his hair.
“Yes, I would say that your gaggle of Gryffindors would have made Godric rather proud with how well they took the news of our engagement.”
Harry tamped down the urge to giggle like a school girl; he was a man, gay as a three dollar bill, but still a man. It didn’t stop him from playing lightly with his ring or wondering where he’d heard that phrase. He knew it was Muggle and he got the impression that it was American, but he’d never been to America, or spoken to anyone from there.
Maybe Hermione had said it. She just came back from a two year stint at Harvard; it was likely that she had reiterated the saying at some point in the last few days.
“Yeah, they all took it really well. Hopefully your parents will show a little Gryffindorism and follow suit?” Harry asked airily. He had no problem with Narcissa, she was a woman of few emotions, but kindness was one of them, even though it rarely showed itself and never in public. His problem was Lucius. They got on cordially, but there was still that whole stint where Lucius had tried to kill him several times over and Harry had put him in Azkaban twice.
It’s hardly the foundation for calling him father, but he doubted he’d ever be able to put those titles with Draco’s parents. As long as they were all pleasant on Holidays then Harry was happy.
Draco sniffed with disdain. “My parents have no inch of Gryffindor in them-“
“But you do, fairly often,” Harry cut in with what he hoped was his best bedroom voice.
“- and they will… they will not… fuck.”
Harry grinned, if there was one thing he was ever proud of it was being able to make Draco lose his train of thought. To put that mouth on pause for even a minute spoke volumes for their relationship, besides, there was far better uses for a sharp tongue like Draco’s.
“Mmm, I sure hope they don’t, but that shouldn’t keep us from having a go at it.”
Draco gave as soft whimper as Harry pushed him on to his back and straddled his hips. When he sat up he shivered a little in the chilly air. It was much warmer under the blanket, but he knew a way that would have them sweating in no time.
Once again Harry was thankful for that fact that they’d both given up on the idea of wearing boxers or pajama pants to bed. They only ended up in the floor later that night or some time in the morning. It was so much easier not to have to wrestle material off the Slytherin. Besides, why shouldn’t he enjoy the view that was exclusively his?
He rocked his hips against Draco, the brush of their naked cocks eliciting a hiss of pleasure from the both of them.
It had been two years since they’d started sleeping together and he still felt like a virginal school boy fighting for control with Draco. It was amazing to have found someone that made him feel so wanted, so needed, and so deserving.
At one time Draco had seen himself above Harry while Harry saw him below, but things had changed between them and they now stood on even ground. Ground that was blissfully wreaked from several sessions of angry or frenzied sex.
“Harry,” Draco nearly whined, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine, “We have to meet the wedding planner in an hour.”
“Then won’t we seem the very happy couple showing up late and rumpled.”
Draco tried to hide his laugh with an indignant whine and didn’t quite manage it.
“Mother will take over the preparations if we give her the opening,” he warned.
Harry inwardly cringed and covered Draco’s mouth with his own and reached down to grab both of their cocks in his hand and began to stroke them lazily. Narcissa should be nowhere in the conversation when sex was involved.
Draco seemed content to let Harry lead the conversation and all speaking halted, giving way to moans and whimpers as Draco rocked up into Harry’s hand. Harry rocked back every so often, but he found it more erotic to watch Draco. Draco with his sleep rumpled hair, pink cheeks flushed with arousal, eyes bright with need, and lips parted in silent pleasure.
It was sinful, but Draco had never looked more an angel to him than right at that moment, and it was overwhelming to know that this man was his and his alone.
“I love you.”
Draco looked at Harry much like a cat to a mouse, his lips curving into a slight smirk.
“Of course you do, who doesn’t?” He asked, his voice low and breathy. “What’s amazing is that I love you back.”
Harry leaned in and kissed Draco’s lips, slightly amazed that those words could still set his heart to fluttering in his chest like a snitch caught in a cage.
“Yes, that is rather amazing; who knew you could love anyone other than yourself.”
Draco gave a strained laugh, more a moan than anything as Harry’s hand never slowed in pace.
“You talk too much,” he accused as he gave an exaggerated buck of his hips.
Harry tried to smirk, but it didn’t quite come across as his lips parted in a silent moan. He continued to work his hand on the both of them silently, letting the room fill with the sounds of moans and the slide of skin.
It didn’t take long for Harry to bring Draco off, and with the way that Draco’s cock was twitching against his in the most erotic of ways; it didn’t take much longer to follow him into bliss.
He gave one more languid buck of his hips before climbing off of Draco and reaching for his wand to spell them both clean.
When they were clean Harry lay back down and sighed, curling into Draco’s side. This right here was the moment he longed for when he was younger, the moment he fought for in the war. Of course he never dreamt that it would be with Draco Malfoy of all people, but in hindsight he couldn’t see it with anyone else.
He had always hoped that there was someone out there for him that was perfectly suited and Draco was. He was callous, snarky, and a bit pompous, but he saw Harry for who he was even when he was misguided by his father’s tutelage. He’d always seen him as more (and often time less) than a simple name.
It was funny, actually, how easily this all was nearly taken from him. He could have gone abroad and visited all the places he dreamed of in his cupboard, he could have been gone and Draco could have been engaged to someone else by now. There was something though, something that gave him pause and made him wait. Something that he knew had to do with Draco.
When didn’t have anything to do with Draco though?
The night before he was supposed to leave he had seen Draco at the Three Broomsticks when he was out with Neville, and instead of following his first instinct to disregard the blond or to simply leave he had done the opposite.
He couldn’t say what drove him to walk over to Malfoy and offer to buy him a drink, but that’s what happened. Draco, of course, declined with some snide remark about Harry’s hair and some Gryffindor chivalry or something, but he accepted the drink anyways when it was handed to him.
Harry definitely wouldn’t call the conversation pleasant, or even nice in any regard, but it was… eye opening. And it made Harry realize that he still had a lot of unfinished business that he needed to take care of here.
The press was still a force to be reckoned with, but Harry found things to keep him busy. He had feared that he might not have anything to do and would just be some figurehead to the press and nothing more. That was untrue though.
He was done with fighting the baddies of the world, but he did find a particular interest in healing. He wasn’t a big well-to-do healer, but he did find that he could relate to people when they allowed him to, and it seemed that sick people had bigger problems to deal with than what celebrity was sitting next to their bed.
Mostly he acted as a therapist, but every so often he assisted in mind healing. What he did was assist with the emotion healing that followed after the magical reinforcements.
That was enough to keep him here in the UK, but Draco became another. They talked with each other more often after the initial time and had increased the frequency and duration of those talks. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for them to form a friendship, and more surprisingly they had quite a bit in common when Draco let his prestigious, holier-than-thou image fall away.
If anyone had told him back in school that he would one day be not only happily with Draco Malfoy, content to not smash his face in, but was also well on his way to tying the knot with him... Well, he couldn't say for certain how he would have reacted. He may well have laughed, gotten sick, or hit the poor soul that dared to utter such blasphemy, but here he was, happily in the arms of the man that used to live to make his life Hell.
It had not been so easy to simply forgive him of his transgressions, but at the heart of it Harry had never really taken him seriously in later years. When he had a hoard of Dark Wizards, one trying to rival that of Merlin, he couldn't really give much tune to the ugly song that Draco was trying to play.
It wasn't until Draco had become something of a major player in the war that Harry even really started to give him real merit. That, above all, was what was hardest to get past, but it was easy to see now that Draco was not the person he had been then, and while it had taken his stubborn self a while to fully accept that, he now did.
He stifled a yawn and pushed himself up with a stretch. Three years ago he very nearly made the mistake of his life. He almost left the country on a dreamboat vacation. It seemed like the perfect thing to do, but Harry knew now why it had felt wrong to leave. It was because what he was looking for he wouldn't find anywhere but in his own town.
With a nudge of his elbow into Draco's side and a smacking retaliation to his arm, Harry pushed himself out of bed and walked, naked, out of the door and to the bathroom. When he came back he sifted through the clothes that seemed to forever litter their floor for reasons other than laziness and found his pajama pants. He stepped into them before leaving the room again where he padded down the stairs of the once dreaded Grimmauld Place and started breakfast.
It started like any other day, any weekend day anyway. Harry woke up, fooled around with Draco, made breakfast, fooled around some more... And the list went on and on interspersed with a lot of fooling around with his fiance. So when he walked into his room to freshen up for dinner, which they would be having at one of Draco's favorite snobby rich places, Harry was entirely thrown by the box sitting as pretty as it pleased in the middle of the bed.
He recognized it immediately, but it didn't make him any less skittish. He immediately called for Draco and pulled his wand. All the diagnostic spells came back negative, but he still didn't step toward it.
Draco had been silent the whole time that Harry had been casting, but when it was done and Harry still didn't move he asked the question that Harry had been wondering himself.
"Who died?"
The box bore the insignia of Gringotts, so he should have known that it was safe, but it did little to soothe him now. Gringotts had gotten into the business of Wills about two-hundred years ago. The goblins themselves had imparted the knowledge of time activated boxes.
Should the participant die and the artifacts in wills not already safely in the box would appear there. It wasn't uncommon to open up a box and find a bloodied dagger that had been the heirloom to a family, but also the murder weapon.
It was a flawed system, but it was one that made sure that everyone got what they were entitled justly.
There were many times in the Muggle world that what rightly belonged to someone by the departed was taken by another relative. This ensured that the dead's wishes were respected and that the items were left with the intended.
Harry had received three boxes like this in his life, and he feared what this one might hold. He got three the night of his seventeenth birthday and it had not been a pretty week for him.
Most times the boxes were given to a child, if they were underage, under the eyes of a guardian. Only the intended could open the safe, so until such time that it was opened, all was safe, but Harry had had no such guardians. His family had been Muggles and they weren't fit to be in the care of not only one, but three magical items.
The first had been larger than the other two because it had been from two people, his parents. Gringotts all the financing, but this box... Harry suspected it had been his mother's personal box back in the day. Inside Harry found things like old pictures, his first booties dipped in gold, journals from his mother's Hogwarts days, and dozens of love letters between the two. Even one that had been marked on by McGonagall where she scolded James for his horrible grammar and noted at the top that he'd do nothing but scare the poor girl away if he didn't sharpen up his mind as well as his tongue.
Perhaps the most precious were the family photos. There were pictures of his mother round with pregnancy, pictures of himself between them, and dozens of pictures with him being held by countless people, including his grandparents. Grandparents he'd never known anything about, but was now seeing.
The last thing in the box had been the Potter Signet Ring.
The second had been Sirius'. Unlike his parents, it was rather void, a man can't really fill a box if he's stuck in a cell where all his most precious memories are taken from him, after all. The first thing had been the Black Signet Ring, both rings he wore on separate hands. The Black ring had since moved to his middle finger now that there was a band representing Draco on his ring finger.
There were some photos, ones of him and Sirius that had not been in his parents' box, but that was it. Sirius was his Godfather, but he had been a year old when he was taken from him. He suspected that someone else got the bulk of his memories. Someone he shared them with and held very dear.
If he had to place bets, he would guess that the rest ended up with Remus.
The last was, surprisingly, from Albus. Inside there were no rings, no photographs, nothing of an intense personal nature except for a letter written to him.
The letter imparted upon him that he knew about Draco and to not be angry because this was simply how things had to be for now. At the time it had been hard to take, but he'd learned to accept it as it was.
Inside his box he received several different artifacts. The most notable were the vial of Phoenix Tears and the Time-Turner. There were a few tomes, and a personal journal that recounted the last year of Albus' life, following the events that centered around Draco and Voldemort that year.
For some reason he could no longer find the Time-Turner and though it pained him to have lost something of a personal nature, he decided that it was likely for the best. The Time-Turner was not a device he ever thought of using lightly, but there were a few circumstances that he would have given anything to change.
With careful steps he moved toward the box and tried to open it. It opened with a soft snick and Draco let out a breath he'd been holding. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Draco might fear it was for him.
Harry sat on the bed and pushed the box open. What was inside was sparse and he frowned. It was just a single journal and a vial of a deep, rich liquid. Carefully, he reached in and pulled it free, flipping it open to see if he could figure out who it was from and nearly dropped it when he recognized his own handwriting penned across the pages.
Quickly he flipped through, his frown deepening as his eyes skimmed without taking anything in.
"It's... from me, but... I never... I never did this."
Draco came over and sat down by him, looking over his shoulder and reading a few of the lines.
"It's something about a potion."
Harry pulled in a deep breath and flipped back to the beginning, reading it from the start. After several pages Draco pushed himself up, ran a hand through Harry's hair and went down to start dinner. "We'll stay in tonight, you just keep reading."
Draco ended up eating alone, but for once he allowed food in the bedroom. So while he ate, Harry read, and when he was done he had to tear the book away from Harry to make him eat. The only way he'd be appeased though was if Draco promised to read aloud, and read aloud he did.
It was near three in the morning before Harry turned the final page and looked up at Draco with an unreadable emotion. He'd filled in Draco along the way and now he was feeling a rather surreal moment settling down on him.
He'd lived two lives. In one life he had gone and he had traipsed about just the way he thought he would, but not with any of the results that he imagined. He'd seen amazing things that he hoped to "re"see with Draco, but had done some things he was rather glad to have forgotten.
He'd learned that he'd spent almost a year of his life trying to get ingredients for this potion just so that he could change a single thing. Draco had turned an odd shade of green when he told him that Draco had been engaged to Neville and had demanded spells to be done to make sure this whole journal was done in truth and was in no way fraudulent.
Harry felt a little ill over the idea of Draco with being with anyone else, but he was comforted by the knowledge that Neville was very happy to work at Hogwarts where he had a rather torrid affair going on with the new Charms Professor, Mr. Davenry.
As for himself, he felt that he had been an angry person then, and somewhat deluded. What did it matter that Neville and Draco had been an item? What kind of "dark purpose" would that have served? He wondered idly if there had been something wrong with him then.
The letters that he'd sent out to Dung and Charlie had both come back with denials. Dung simply couldn't get ahold of the things that Harry needed and while Charlie was loathe to help him in the first place, he couldn't anyway because they didn't have a Hungarian Horntail on their Reserve, but would still appreciate if Harry sent him the blood of the American Horntail for analysis.
After reading that, the vial that they'd both determined to be blood, made more sense. At the time it weirded Harry to be in possession of blood that his slightly off-kilter, once was self, had given him.
He wasn't sure how he'd explain the blood, which was preserved through Charms, to Charlie, but he did have intentions of sending it to him to look over.
So when Harry had no help he'd set out to do it all on his own. He started with the Dragon's blood and actually had to go to Hungary and try to barter it off a Reserve. Unfortunately, that had been the easiest to do.
The Veela feather came next and was perhaps the hardest to get. He couldn't get any information off Fleur when he tried to lift information discreetly off her and in the end had to research it. The Veelas would not simply hand over the feather to him and he doubted his ability to take down a flock, but through black market information he'd learned where there was a whole community of Veelas.
He stayed on the outskirts of the town and bid his time until one came through alone. It would have been easier if he could have just stunned the girl and left, but he had to get her to change first or it would be rather useless.
It was no problem to get her to change, but it was a big problem to then try and get her stunned. The girl had been vicious and before the end of it he had several gashes that bled profusely and nearly cost him his life, but he also came away with a feather.
It was about this time that the tone of the writing started to change and Harry began to feel like the person who was writing it was starting to become bitter. He'd written of several occasions where Harry and Draco had been put together, but because of Harry they could not reconcile. Harry did not want to acknowledge Draco and he thought that the text sounded a little... well, jealous when it spoke of Draco and Neville.
The trip for the Centaur hair and Merperson scale was one that required a Hogwarts trip. He had fully intended to go back down to the Merpeople and snatch a scale, but it was easier written than done.
He'd had to go through several Potions dealers to find Gillyweed, and then he'd had to figure out how he was supposed to commune with the Merpeople. He thought he might be able to use a translating spell and simply ask for the scale, but there were no spells that translated to Mermish.
In the end he took his luck and went down, but when he came up it was with a large spearhead in his side and a week in the infirmary.
Ironically, it had been Moaning Myrtle who helped him. She had taken to following him around all she could, and he rather felt that McGonagall probably put her up to it as punishment for going into the lake in the first place, not that she knew why he had to begin with.
She talked until he thought his ears would fall off and his brain would melt to goo. He'd yelled at her and told her that unless she had anything useful to tell him about Merpeople then to sod the bloody fuck off and leave him in peace.
She'd goaded him into telling her what he was after and she'd gone into fit of giggles that lifted her through the ceiling. When she eased back down Harry smacked his palm against his forehead. Hard.
"They shed their scales, you know. The bottom of the lake near their section is rather littered in them."
And so with another dose of Gillyweed, a wary swim down to the bottom undetected by the Merpeople, Harry resurfaced with the scale.
The Centaur hair had been challenging only because it found him headbutting with a very angry sort of species. It took several trips into the Forest that left him battered and bruised, but thankfully one such visit had been fruitful. Well, in any way that a broken arm could be.
It would seem that magic is not exactly stealthy even from a secret vantage point and Centaurs are far more keen of their surroundings than one would think. He never actually spoke to one, nor did he intend to after the run in with the other Centaurs back in grade school. They were keen on only themselves, Firenze being the rarity of the group.
So he highly doubted that he could just waltz in, ask for a spot of tea and then explain what he needed calmly and rationally. The first two times he'd been nearly caught and if not for the sanction of apparition he'd have been worse for wear.
This time, however, was quite different. He'd taken all chances by going ahead with his plan to Accio a hair, and Accio one he did... by pulling it out by hand when the Centaur had immediately turned around, arrow fixed inside the bow and then pinning his shirt to the tree allowing the centaur to charge at him.
Had he not moved and used the Centaur's own momentum against it he probably would have been headbutted square in the chest which would have surely broken his ribs. Instead it caught him in the arm and during the blow his other hand, which originally intended to come to the aid of his broken arm, caught a few long strands of hair and ripped them free.
It had taken some time to struggle away enough to apparate, but soon enough he was on the edge of Hogwarts and it seemed sooner than that he was getting a lecture from Madame Pomfrey.
He did not make it a point to plan on visiting Hogwarts again anytime soon.
When he was released he went straight home and set about making the potion which required the four items and a few fresh herbs that he was able to get by visiting the local apothecary.
Potions making had never been his strong suit, but he checked and rechecked the instructions and his ingredients as well as their measurements several times before he started the potion. He often went back to them and rather had them committed to memory by the end of it.
It was justly rewarded though when the potion turned a mercurial silver, one that Harry's other self compared to Draco's eyes. That had given him pause and made him frown. Why, if he was trying to get rid of the bond between the blond and his friend, was he comparing his eyes to a potion in a kindly way?
The writing had been getting more and more... crazed with each entry, and it seemed that Draco was featured in some way in every single one.
Even from the beginning he had had mention, but it was usually with some less than gentlemanly curse attached to it, but as the entries moved on it moved less and less from hatred and more into what seemed like envy.
Harry had no choice to believe that this... parallel person had... not loved Draco, there was no way that someone so warped, and he knew it to be true, his past self had issues that no one seemed to be aware of, could love another. It seemed more like lust... in the form of coveting.
Harry no longer made the potion to save Neville, instead he made it to take from Neville. His other self didn't want anyone else to have the young Malfoy.
It was disturbing and it made him wonder the circumstances. What had happened that he was turned out this way? Why had his friends not noticed? Surely they'd have intervened? He couldn't be certain though. Journal-Harry never spoke of anyone except for Neville and Draco. He never mentioned anything but the potion and what he saw in the relationship.
He sighed as he read the last bit. It was fairly simple. He needed only dip the Time-Turner in the liquid, turning the golden device silver to imbibe it with the elemental beings it was made from. Then he needed to make a magical circle bearing all four elements.
In the appropriate corners stood a candle, a bowl of water, a bowl of salt, and lastly a burning stick of incense. He dipped the Time-turner into the bowl of water, incanting ancient words he did not know the meaning of, then rolled it into the salt. Once it was coated he passed it through the flame, making it spark a little before he let it swing through the incense.
When he did these things, he placed it about his neck and chanted the last few words that sealed his fate.
He couldn't be sure if this was exactly what happened as it was written before it had actually happened. It was written in the tense that he was going to do these things instead of the tone the rest of the journal had.
At the back of the book there was only one line left, scrawled in haste.
"May this find you in peace."
It was enough to confirm that there were likely issues that Harry could not imagine for himself, but that scared him to wonder about. It almost made him feel that by the end of it he'd used this spell as an out, not just for Draco and Neville, but for himself.
Perhaps he needed to start over. Few ever got that chance, and anyone else would think it unfair that these allowances were made for Harry, but he was grateful for them.
He could imagine no life more worth living than the one he was in. He was wealthy in things that mattered. He had his friends, and while he had no family, he had a lover that doted upon him and truly loved him.
He had things that it seemed this Harry had not.
Draco took the book from him and slipped it back in the box, snapping it shut and pulling Harry down to bed with them both still clothed. His eyes were itchy and his mind was racing with questions that had no answers and thoughts that had no evidence to seat them.
He could not guess what this other Harry had been thinking. He did not know what transpired in his time away from home, nor did he know the inbetweens of the journal entries, only that they seemed to get darker as time went on.
It had taken Harry a full year, if the journal dates were correct, to finish his potion, and he couldn't imagine what that must have been like. He spoke of outings, and a wedding he watched from underneath an invisibility cloak, he spoke of thoughts, and comparisons of inanimate things to Draco.
"Be at peace now, Harry. It's a lot to take in, but you still have a baby to watch tomorrow and if you fall asleep on the couch again and let that Weasley runt destroy our house again then I'll tear you limb from limb."
Harry laughed a little and pressed more into Draco, sighing a little as he idly twisted his ring on his finger. He couldn't imagine these things that other Harry felt because unlike that Harry, he had what he wanted.
He stifled a yawn and sighed, once more letting sleep take him to another place, only this time it didn't take him into a new chance of yesterday. This sleep would lead him into the future of tomorrow where he would have to follow a two-year-old around the house like a puppy cleaning up after it, but it would also bring him another day of happiness.
If each morning started and ended with Draco, then he could be at peace just as the other Harry had wanted. He would one day learn to understand the journal for what it was, a warning, and he would take that warning to heart and live this new chance on life to the fullest with Draco. He would never look back or want for yesterday, not when tomorrow held such promise.
Summary: Harry comes back from going abroad to find that things aren't as he left them. When it appears that Draco Malfoy is making a more permanent move into his life, Harry can't help but thing there is some insidious plot behind it and he means to change it... by any means possible.
Prompt: 158
Author:
snugglemintBeta:
xchubbycheeks Word Count: 10,745
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Starts with Neville/Draco
Author's Notes: There isn't any actual copulation in this story, but there are bits and pieces that reference Harry's dominance and talk of how Draco's had a bit of Gryffindor in him. ^ ~ - This story has not been an easy one for me, personally, but nevertheless I hope that my prompter can find something in it they enjoy.
Ron gagged with no amount of real sincerity, Hermione shot the redhead a warning look, and Harry stood watching in abject horror.
Harry felt his vision tunneling in on the sight that should only be featured in nightmares. He was only dimly aware of the fact that his mouth had been open because Ginny kindly reached over and pushed his jaw up so that his mouth shut with a snap.
How the hell had this happened? How could it? When? What devious and quite delirious plot was unfolding that involved something so disgusting and sinister?
It was Twilight Zone without the annoying music and all too serious narrator. In fact, he was waiting for someone to shout “Gotcha!” obnoxiously any moment now. Then he could death glare and know that the world had not flipped a 180 on its axis and perhaps begrudgingly agree that it was a good joke. Horrid, vile, disgusting, but good as far as outlandish pranks go.
For the last two years he had been spending time abroad. He’d seen all kinds of places and reveled in the fact that outside of the UK people knew little of him if anything at all, and they certainly saw no reason to fawn over him. It was nice for once in his life to be just Harry. He suspected that this was what it would have been like if he hadn’t been marked by not only a madman, but a prophecy as well.
He wasn’t the orphan, the freak, the Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World, or Defeater of Voldemort while he was gone. And surprising to most he had not given Ginny the title of Mrs. Potter.
He was done with titles, giving and receiving. He would not answer to them, nor would he force them on other people. Why couldn’t they all just be themselves? Why cou-
“Scarhead, just take a picture if you’re so interested in the view.”
Why couldn’t some foul-mouthed gits just disappear off the face of the Earth and stop pushing their luck?
He’d kept up with his friends through owls, but no one had told him about this little development, or perhaps not so little. His welcome home party had been jointed with an engagement party, which he was now standing in the middle of looking, for all intents and purposes, like a fish out of water.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” he grit out, his fists balling at his side.
Draco, for his part, seemed comfortable and quite pleased with himself with his arm slung around Neville’s waist. Neville looked sheepish and embarrassed, but it didn’t escape his attention that Neville was leaning into Draco instead of away. It was almost like he was trying to gain comfort from Draco because of Harry.
How had he become the outsider on his own turf? How had he become the big bad wolf and they the sheep?
“Aren’t you going to congratulate us, Potter?” The snide, proud voice grated on every nerve in his body, making him twitch. “Nev and I are getting married.”
Harry gave a loud strangled noise in the back of his throat. Hearing it that way, voiced so plainly with such finality made it all slam repeatedly against his face, forcing him to accept that this might not be some cruel joke. No, it was just Hell.
“Oh dear, I do hope this isn’t the part where you burst out with some hidden, undying love confession for Neville…” His face pulled into elegant disgust, if there was such a thing, as he added, “Or myself.”
That strangled noise got louder in Harry’s throat and Draco seemed incredibly pleased with himself. That is, until Neville admonished the Slytherin ponce. That was quite satisfying. He got the mental image of Neville standing up with valor and defending him. This fantasy went so far as Neville pulling the ring from his finger and shouting that they were through. There was only the soft admonishment though, and then Draco gave Neville a cute pout. No, not cute. He tried for cute.
The whole thing put Harry off his dinner when Neville visibly softened and leaned in to kiss those pouting lips.
Harry fled the room like a bat out of Hell, and this was most definitely Hell.
He had to forcefully be hauled away from the fire by Ron and Blaise so that he didn’t jump into the flames to get away.
He hadn’t put any floo powder in the fireplace, so he wouldn’t have escaped, he would have just started burning. Draco was in a fit of hysterics behind him and Neville frowned in… disappointment?
Harry would have felt a flare of victory that Neville was upset with Draco, only that he wasn’t. He was frowning at Harry. He was upset with Harry.
What had Harry done? He was being visually and mentally assaulted! They were testing his sanity! This could not be his fault in such way! Still, he felt just the slightest bit of disappointment in himself for causing Neville to be upset with him. Sure, the slimy git was obviously doing something to Neville and his friends, but they didn’t seem to be aware of that so to them he was being unreasonable.
Except, when he looked around, he only saw sympathy and understanding on his friends’ faces. They knew that it was hard to swallow because they’d had to swallow it down too. So maybe it was just Neville who was being… manipulated.
“I realize that this is a shock for you, and I’m not asking you to just accept it. I know it’s not easy to understand with the past as it is.” Neville wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, his hands clenched in his lap with his head turned away from everyone, especially Draco who was no longer laughing and instead watching Neville with concern and… and… and love?
He blanched visibly at the thought. Never, never in a million years. The only person that Draco loved was the one that he saw in the mirror every morning.
“I am asking you to act like an adult and realize that this isn’t the schoolyard. I’m asking you to be supportive as my friend and to at least not have a petulant fit in the middle of my engagement party.” Harry felt like he was being smacked in the face as he watched his friend. He knew that Neville had a backbone and a strong sense of self, but he usually hid it away, and to use it against Harry… It felt like lead was dropping into his stomach.
“If you can’t at least pretend for my sake then it might be best if you just leave.”
Grey eyes lifted toward Harry and he felt as if he was going to burn alive under that scalding glare. Draco was angry with him, incredibly so, but he held his tongue as he turned his attentions to Neville, holding his hand, stroking his arm, and whispering softly to him. He couldn’t hear the words, and he wondered what the blond was saying. Perhaps he was strengthening the spell he had on Neville.
Harry stared at the scene, his eyes swiveling too fast to really see what was going on, but committing as much of it to memory as he could. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment, disbelief, and thinly-veiled rage that he could feel thrumming thickly through his veins. If his hands hadn't been clenched he would have been shaking.
In the end there was only one thing he could do that wouldn't make it better, but would diffuse the situation as it was. He hated leaving his friends with Malfoy alone, but he obviously had bigger plans that required them to be alive for now. He could risk letting them alone to deal with his adverse reaction.
He also left because he felt like he might lash out without any magical control and that was something he wanted no one to see. A lack of control on one's magic was a sign of things much greater playing upon the mind. He nodded tersely, his jaw set in a hard line as he scooped enough floo powder from the pot on the mantle. This time when he headed for the fireplace the flames were dancing in emerald green.
When Harry got home he threw a spectacular fit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. He wasn’t mad enough to murder like Voldemort incited, but he was mad enough to act like he was fifteen again. No one ever made him mad like Draco did. That blond seemed to have a direct connection to his nerve endings that set his teeth to grind mode.
It wasn’t just Malfoy though. Malfoy he could handle, it was the fact that all of his friends seemed to be on the Malfoy train, so intent to ride along blissfully into the clutches of evil. He could guarantee that after the first blacked out tunnel someone would come out of it dead.
Draco seemed to have everyone on his side. Neville had stood up to him and told him to leave and Hermione had acted affronted, but her angry gaze was at him as she patted Neville’s knee. Ron had simply looked uncomfortable trying to send apologetic looks that meant nothing because of the fact that he was trying to be covert about it. Ginny seemed torn, two emotions warring on her face, one of anger and the other of piteous disappointment.
There were more people gathered, so he was sure that there were far more emotive expressions of exasperation and disdain thrown at him, but the ones he noticed were the only ones that he cared about.
He set to pacing, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he leaned forward to watch his feet. If he had a hat, monocle and pipe he would be the classic stereotype for an old fashioned Muggle detective.
Ten steps each way were counted out until he started to take ten steps unconsciously, slipping into a mode of planning that rivaled the times of Voldemort’s Era. There was something going on here and he’d figure it out and then he’d fix it. Hell, he didn’t even care to know what was going on; he just wanted the world to right itself.
Apparently Harry Potter moving on with his life, no, in fact having a life for once was cause for the Earth to turn upside down on its axis.
So was that the problem? He couldn’t try and sabotage the wedding, he would need help and cause. No one, it seemed, was willing to help him, and with the way his closest friends acted he was afraid to make enemies of the others by asking. Not that it would matter, he was sure that story was spreading like wild fire through the old Hogwarts grapevine. And really, what cause did he have? What would he say when he was asked if there was any reason why the two should not be wed? He had many reasons, but none of them had proof.
When you accused one of the grooms of using mind control on their spouse of choice you tended to need evidence. Which he was sure he could get, but not in time.
He ignored the little voice that told him that there might not be anything to find. He refused to believe that this was genuine. There were some things in the world that never changed, even if the World turned upside down, and that was that Malfoys did not change.
Well, there was that one time during the war, but that was just a means of survival, of self-preservation. He didn’t do it because he’d changed. He did it because he knew he was on the losing side.
So what had been the buffer back then? What had changed that let this happen? He already knew, he’d thought it earlier, but it was a little hard to swallow that this had all been his fault.
When Harry had left he had stopped being a punching bag to Malfoy, so the blond had had to broaden his sights, but how had it turned into vows of matrimony? Did Draco discover that Neville had a crush on him? And he knew the boy did, during a DA meeting he was trying to slowly teach them Occlumency and Neville had been incredibly bad at it, even with Harry as his partner who was a no better Legilimens.
It would be easy for Malfoy to manipulate Neville by praying on a deep rooted secret, and if he played to the tune of bad boy turned good by the err of his ways and new found love, then he knew his friends would eat it up eventually.
Harry couldn’t change leaving though, could he? He wouldn’t want to change that time. It wasn’t the most amazing because of incredibly bad choices in bed partners and substance abuse, but it had its good points that he didn’t want to forget. Mostly the sights. Seeing the places in person was nothing like looking at pictures on postcards or from other people’s trips.
When he thought of a place it was like seeing it in a panoramic view, something you didn’t get with a single picture. He could also associate some places with things like taste and smell. Like when he’d gone to the Leaning Tower of Pisa he’d been eating gelato, and when he’d gone to see the Statue of Liberty, his first glimpse had been on a crowded street with the smell of hot dogs permeating the street from a Hotdog Vendor.
Whether or not his personal choices had been the best, he’d truly had the experience of a lifetime. It probably wasn’t that big of a deal to a Wizard because transportation was near instantaneous and cost nothing if you didn’t have to buy a portkey. He knew, though, that for a Muggle it would be categorized as “The Dream.”
It had been his dream once, hidden away in his cupboard. He often wished that he could meld into the shadows that cradled him and that they would whisk him away to a better place. His fantasies ranged from his shadow friends popping him up in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower to putting him in the shade of a home that housed two people that would love him fiercely and treat him right.
He sighed and carded his fingers through his unruly hair not for the first time in his pacing, his hair was started to embody Albert Einstein.
There was a clear cut choice. He would have to find a way to go back in time and… not go abroad, but some part of him felt selfish because he didn’t want to give up the life he’d lead. He’d love to forget the regrets, but weren’t those important for building character?
Maybe they were only good at making him suspicious and reducing him to nefarious plotting such as he was. No, that wasn’t true. It was his lot in life that made him paranoid, and it was the fact that Draco Malfoy was the reincarnation of his father that sealed it.
He had to save the life he once knew because he could see no future in this. A life with Draco Malfoy constantly in the picture was not a life he could live with.
It wouldn’t be so bad, not really. He would go back and he would do his years over with Ginny. They would get married and he’d keep a firm eye on Neville, if he even remembered any of this, and maybe he’d even have a few kids.
He wasn’t partial to the female form, but Ginny really wasn’t so bad and, it wasn’t something she’d want to hear but, she was built rather like her brother’s. She was firm from Quidditch training, soft in her angling, but her hips were narrow, which might be bad for child bearing, and her breasts were small. In a way she was effeminately mannish. Whatever that mean, he could deal with that.
He could do what the world envisioned he would do right from the start. He would recreate James and Lily Potter, and he would live out the life that they should have had.
When his feet finally stuttered to a stop he nearly toppled forward because it was so sudden. With his mind made up he set out to the library in Diagon Alley. If it hadn’t been for Hermione he would have never known that it was there, but it was, tucked away down a side alley that opened out into a large clearing where the library stood in its massive glory.
He entered the large building and pulled in a deep breath, reveling in the smell of aging books. He may not have liked studying and researching for school, but he did enjoy the smell of books and the occasional read that didn’t involve a Hogwarts subject.
His eyes skimmed the hundreds of rows of books, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of the first floor and tried not to think of the four floors above that likely looked like this. He almost wished that Hermione wasn’t mad at him and that he could ask her where to look, she would surely have a clue, but she was, and he couldn’t.
Not to mention she would have a right fit if she ever figured out what he was doing.
In the end he decided that it was probably best to start with what he knew. The only device that he knew of that could turn back time were Time-Turners, they seemed like the obvious choice, but he’d already dismissed the idea.
It would be easy enough to avoid himself since he was off flouncing about from country to country, but if he were here parading about as himself while his past self was running all over sending owls to his friends… well it would be hard to explain.
He needed something effortless, seamless. Maybe a book on Time-Turners would clue him in to other devices or potions. He couldn’t imagine that this would be easy; otherwise everyone would be doing it. It was either a rare artifact, or a Potion that required an extinct ingredient.
He sighed heavily and set out on his assignment and before he knew it he had a dozen books open and littered around him. The books on Time-Turners had proved useful. It didn’t seem that there was any device powerful enough to turn back as much time as he wanted. Most of the potions that were listed weren’t helpful because they were listed as Dark Magic, and for good reason. They banished people to a time before magic as punishment for their crimes, or for simply trespassing into unwanted area. It was a fairly free form potion back in the day. It had caused a lot stir until it was banned in 1758 by a wizard named Grimbleding Hazzleworth.
Harry rather thought the man should have banished himself with a name like that.
The rest of the potions were proving rather fruitless. One called for House Elf ears which were banned only a hundred years ago. More for the fact that Wizards and Witches would have the House Elves punish themselves by cutting off their ears instead of other things and were then proved useless when they couldn’t hear their orders. He was sure he wouldn’t find any now, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it himself.
Another potion called for a full Unicorn Horn and after the time in the Forbidden Forest where he’d watched Voldemort feed from a Unicorn he couldn’t fathom the idea.
The few potions he had listed were slowly dwindling to nothing as he kept dismissing the use of a vital ingredient for one reason or another. He was desperate, but he wasn’t immoral. Well, in the sense of mutilating magical creatures. It could be seen as immoral to break the union of two people, but he told himself it was for the greater good.
It was completely unselfish!
He stopped when he came to a potion that had some promise. It required the use of a Time-Turner, which he now had. Dumbledore had left it, among a few things, to him after his death. He’d always thought it odd that Dumbledore had given him something like that, but perhaps the batty old codger had known. Albus always had a way of knowing things and giving Harry exactly what he needed without telling him why he needed it. The note pinned to the device made a bit more sense now, but not much.
He looked over the ingredients and was pleased to note that it didn’t require any vital parts from a magical creature, just ones that would likely get him killed. No big deal. Only that it seemed borderline impossible.
He needed the blood of a dragon, and apparently Horntail was best, a feather of a Veela, a hair from a Centaur, and the scale of a Merperson. Apparently it had something to do with the elements. Dragons represented Fire, Veelas represented Air, Centaurs for Earth, and Merpeople for Water.
There was something about Spirit, but it had no magical ingredient listed for it, only something about thoughts. He figured that it meant he would have to represent Spirit and give his memories up until the time he went back to. He had anticipated this, but it settled like a lead weight in his stomach to have it reinforced.
He would have to go back and start all over again, but what would keep him from going abroad and starting it all over again. It seemed like one of those vicious cycles that starts a time loop and dooms a choice timeline to repeat itself over and over again.
Then again, this was magic; if he screwed up again there would likely be no reset button. Like he wouldn’t be able to find this book next time or he wouldn’t be able to find the Time-Turner. It was all subjective.
He’d just have to get it right.
Maybe he could write a journal and take it with him, or maybe find a way to send himself a sign. He could put it in a time activated box with wards designed to his specific signature. It was done all the time, mostly with wizarding assets of the deceased. It was how he had received his items from both Sirius and Albus. Sirius’ had come after the declaration of his Death, while Albus’ didn’t come to him until six months ago in his lowest point.
In fact, it was half the reason he came home. It was timed so perfectly that Harry just had to wonder, not for the first time, is Dumbledore had been a Seer of some sort.
He sighed and forcefully propped his fist against his cheek. The problem with that was that he was sure he couldn’t tailor the magic to activate in the past; he would have to set it for the future. So at the earliest his past self wouldn’t get the box until tomorrow.
That would be entirely too late.
His hand slipped from his cheek and he allowed himself to thud his head against the table. Magic was always subjective. The most complex did what you wanted in its own way. For instance, he could go back, but he couldn’t remember this time and he couldn’t warn himself, so he would have to make the decision to stay and without the push to stay then he likely wouldn’t.
He made a sound reminiscent of a Zombie that seemed to echo around him and acquired a few hisses of “Shh!” in his direction.
Well, in for a Knut in for a Galleon.
He grabbed the books he wanted to check out and headed up to the front desk where a hawk-like woman sat looking oddly like Madame Pince. Perhaps they were related, though who wasn’t in the Wizarding World?
He felt mildly uncomfortable checking out these books knowing that he wouldn’t be turning them back in. His only comfort was that they would find themselves back to their spots two years prior and then it was out of his hands.
On his way home he stopped by Knockturn Alley to see what he could turn up, but being Harry Potter he didn’t get many results. Only the Dragon’s Blood and Centaur Hair were banned, but Veelas were moving to get the use of Veelas as potions ingredients banned, and the only known Merpopulation known in the UK was at Hogwarts. Getting underwater and besting a Merperson was hard and would bring complications that were fairly unrelated to getting into Hogwarts; which was a whole other issue.
Dragon’s Blood used to be common practice, but it was after Dumbledore found the twelfth use for the substance that he himself moved to ban it. None of the twelve seemed to be worth banning, but if Harry had to wager a guess, he thought that there might be a thirteenth use as well that was not made common knowledge.
With that overhead, he went home empty-handed and started to send out letters to the few shady people he knew, including Mundungus Fletcher, despite the fact that he would bleed him dry in costs. He also sent letter to Charlie asking for the blood under false pretenses of study.
It wasn’t entirely false to say that he wanted to compare it to the American Horntail, because he did have a sample of the blood for just this reason. But, he did leave out the part where he would likely never be able to compare the biological differences because he was using the blood to go back in time and thus erasing his memory of ever seeing the dragon.
He thought about sending a missive to Bill in regards to Fleur, but he wasn’t sure that she had enough Veela blood in her to matter, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask Fleur to point him in the right direction. Beak or no beak she’d still rip him to pieces.
He wanted to ask Fred and George about what they could get their hands on, but Ginny had gone in on their business about a year back and would likely have her nose in everything.
Firenze was an option if he didn’t mind hoof prints on his face. The Centaur was extremely laid back as far as they got, but even he wouldn’t take kindly to being an ingredient for a potion.
It seemed that he would have to write to Mundungus about the feather, hair, and scale. He hoped that Charlie could come through for him because he had the idea that Dung was going to ask for half of his Gringott’s.
His only comfort in sealing the letter and sending it off with Hedwig was that he was using the ingredients to turn back time so he would have his money back, but it still made him squeamish. Especially if Karma had a say in it and had that money disappear for compensation in a mysterious way when he got back to this time.
He rather hoped not.
He watched Hedwig and a nondescript barn owl that had adopted him fly away with the two letters. The barn owl ended up with the letter to Dung, that way it couldn’t easily be traced back to him, and Hedwig flew off to Charlie.
When both specks vanished from sight he visibly sagged with the effort of it all. He’d spent all day pouring over books and scheming. He was more than ready for bed.
With his fate sealed one way or the other Harry dragged himself into the shower where he stood under the spray more than actually washed himself and then fell into bed without even putting on a pair of boxers.
As he curled up under the sheets, his muscles aching, he couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. Tomorrow he would start up a journal and recount the horrible memory of seeing Draco and Neville engaged and kissing; he’d catalogue all his steps in making the potion, but he also felt it important to tell his past self a little about what he was missing. He’d tell himself how gorgeous it was in Japan during the Cherry Blossom Festival as well as warning him against the use of a potion called “Shadragora.” It was made up of Mandragora and Deadly Nightshade, both highly deadly, but apparently it was cut with something that neutralized the poison and just left the feelings of floating.
He decided not go into detail on that, he did not need to live two lifetimes of regrets. His past self would be curious, but at least he would never know the things that Harry yearned to forget.
By the time sleep took him he had it all planned out. He would write the journal, make the potion, and put the journal in a time locked box to be sent the next day. By that time he would be Harry Potter of two years prior, none the wiser until tomorrow.
With the reassuring pep talk that he was doing the right thing, Harry drifted to sleep.
Several hours later he pouted as light stole across his face in the most intrusive of manners. He could have sworn that he’d pulled the shade down, but he had let the owls out, so perhaps he’d left the blinds up.
He sighed, still mostly asleep and turned over, smiling slightly when he was met with a warm body that he instinctively nestled into. His smile widened when he felt an arm wrap around his waist and pull his body closer.
The smell of vanilla and peppermint filled his senses and the image of Draco danced across his mind. For a moment he panicked, his body stiffening as his eyes snapped open, but when his green eyes met grey all he could do was stare.
It felt as if something was stealing away from him, like he was supposed to be remembering something, but no matter how hard he tried the thought remained a smoky wisp that slipped through his fingers.
When Draco smiled lazily at him Harry couldn’t help the grin that broke across his lips.
“Morning.”
“Mmm, and a good one it is.”
Harry laughed and stole a kiss from the blond’s lips, reveling in the silky feel of those slightly damp lips against his own.
“You need chapstick,” Draco muttered into the kiss, causing Harry to laugh and smack lightly at the blond’s chest. “And toothpaste.”
Harry rolled his eyes and nuzzled his face into the crook of Draco’s warm neck, giving small nips every so often.
“I think yesterday went well.”
He shivered a little at the slide of long fingers carding through his hair.
“Yes, I would say that your gaggle of Gryffindors would have made Godric rather proud with how well they took the news of our engagement.”
Harry tamped down the urge to giggle like a school girl; he was a man, gay as a three dollar bill, but still a man. It didn’t stop him from playing lightly with his ring or wondering where he’d heard that phrase. He knew it was Muggle and he got the impression that it was American, but he’d never been to America, or spoken to anyone from there.
Maybe Hermione had said it. She just came back from a two year stint at Harvard; it was likely that she had reiterated the saying at some point in the last few days.
“Yeah, they all took it really well. Hopefully your parents will show a little Gryffindorism and follow suit?” Harry asked airily. He had no problem with Narcissa, she was a woman of few emotions, but kindness was one of them, even though it rarely showed itself and never in public. His problem was Lucius. They got on cordially, but there was still that whole stint where Lucius had tried to kill him several times over and Harry had put him in Azkaban twice.
It’s hardly the foundation for calling him father, but he doubted he’d ever be able to put those titles with Draco’s parents. As long as they were all pleasant on Holidays then Harry was happy.
Draco sniffed with disdain. “My parents have no inch of Gryffindor in them-“
“But you do, fairly often,” Harry cut in with what he hoped was his best bedroom voice.
“- and they will… they will not… fuck.”
Harry grinned, if there was one thing he was ever proud of it was being able to make Draco lose his train of thought. To put that mouth on pause for even a minute spoke volumes for their relationship, besides, there was far better uses for a sharp tongue like Draco’s.
“Mmm, I sure hope they don’t, but that shouldn’t keep us from having a go at it.”
Draco gave as soft whimper as Harry pushed him on to his back and straddled his hips. When he sat up he shivered a little in the chilly air. It was much warmer under the blanket, but he knew a way that would have them sweating in no time.
Once again Harry was thankful for that fact that they’d both given up on the idea of wearing boxers or pajama pants to bed. They only ended up in the floor later that night or some time in the morning. It was so much easier not to have to wrestle material off the Slytherin. Besides, why shouldn’t he enjoy the view that was exclusively his?
He rocked his hips against Draco, the brush of their naked cocks eliciting a hiss of pleasure from the both of them.
It had been two years since they’d started sleeping together and he still felt like a virginal school boy fighting for control with Draco. It was amazing to have found someone that made him feel so wanted, so needed, and so deserving.
At one time Draco had seen himself above Harry while Harry saw him below, but things had changed between them and they now stood on even ground. Ground that was blissfully wreaked from several sessions of angry or frenzied sex.
“Harry,” Draco nearly whined, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine, “We have to meet the wedding planner in an hour.”
“Then won’t we seem the very happy couple showing up late and rumpled.”
Draco tried to hide his laugh with an indignant whine and didn’t quite manage it.
“Mother will take over the preparations if we give her the opening,” he warned.
Harry inwardly cringed and covered Draco’s mouth with his own and reached down to grab both of their cocks in his hand and began to stroke them lazily. Narcissa should be nowhere in the conversation when sex was involved.
Draco seemed content to let Harry lead the conversation and all speaking halted, giving way to moans and whimpers as Draco rocked up into Harry’s hand. Harry rocked back every so often, but he found it more erotic to watch Draco. Draco with his sleep rumpled hair, pink cheeks flushed with arousal, eyes bright with need, and lips parted in silent pleasure.
It was sinful, but Draco had never looked more an angel to him than right at that moment, and it was overwhelming to know that this man was his and his alone.
“I love you.”
Draco looked at Harry much like a cat to a mouse, his lips curving into a slight smirk.
“Of course you do, who doesn’t?” He asked, his voice low and breathy. “What’s amazing is that I love you back.”
Harry leaned in and kissed Draco’s lips, slightly amazed that those words could still set his heart to fluttering in his chest like a snitch caught in a cage.
“Yes, that is rather amazing; who knew you could love anyone other than yourself.”
Draco gave a strained laugh, more a moan than anything as Harry’s hand never slowed in pace.
“You talk too much,” he accused as he gave an exaggerated buck of his hips.
Harry tried to smirk, but it didn’t quite come across as his lips parted in a silent moan. He continued to work his hand on the both of them silently, letting the room fill with the sounds of moans and the slide of skin.
It didn’t take long for Harry to bring Draco off, and with the way that Draco’s cock was twitching against his in the most erotic of ways; it didn’t take much longer to follow him into bliss.
He gave one more languid buck of his hips before climbing off of Draco and reaching for his wand to spell them both clean.
When they were clean Harry lay back down and sighed, curling into Draco’s side. This right here was the moment he longed for when he was younger, the moment he fought for in the war. Of course he never dreamt that it would be with Draco Malfoy of all people, but in hindsight he couldn’t see it with anyone else.
He had always hoped that there was someone out there for him that was perfectly suited and Draco was. He was callous, snarky, and a bit pompous, but he saw Harry for who he was even when he was misguided by his father’s tutelage. He’d always seen him as more (and often time less) than a simple name.
It was funny, actually, how easily this all was nearly taken from him. He could have gone abroad and visited all the places he dreamed of in his cupboard, he could have been gone and Draco could have been engaged to someone else by now. There was something though, something that gave him pause and made him wait. Something that he knew had to do with Draco.
When didn’t have anything to do with Draco though?
The night before he was supposed to leave he had seen Draco at the Three Broomsticks when he was out with Neville, and instead of following his first instinct to disregard the blond or to simply leave he had done the opposite.
He couldn’t say what drove him to walk over to Malfoy and offer to buy him a drink, but that’s what happened. Draco, of course, declined with some snide remark about Harry’s hair and some Gryffindor chivalry or something, but he accepted the drink anyways when it was handed to him.
Harry definitely wouldn’t call the conversation pleasant, or even nice in any regard, but it was… eye opening. And it made Harry realize that he still had a lot of unfinished business that he needed to take care of here.
The press was still a force to be reckoned with, but Harry found things to keep him busy. He had feared that he might not have anything to do and would just be some figurehead to the press and nothing more. That was untrue though.
He was done with fighting the baddies of the world, but he did find a particular interest in healing. He wasn’t a big well-to-do healer, but he did find that he could relate to people when they allowed him to, and it seemed that sick people had bigger problems to deal with than what celebrity was sitting next to their bed.
Mostly he acted as a therapist, but every so often he assisted in mind healing. What he did was assist with the emotion healing that followed after the magical reinforcements.
That was enough to keep him here in the UK, but Draco became another. They talked with each other more often after the initial time and had increased the frequency and duration of those talks. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for them to form a friendship, and more surprisingly they had quite a bit in common when Draco let his prestigious, holier-than-thou image fall away.
If anyone had told him back in school that he would one day be not only happily with Draco Malfoy, content to not smash his face in, but was also well on his way to tying the knot with him... Well, he couldn't say for certain how he would have reacted. He may well have laughed, gotten sick, or hit the poor soul that dared to utter such blasphemy, but here he was, happily in the arms of the man that used to live to make his life Hell.
It had not been so easy to simply forgive him of his transgressions, but at the heart of it Harry had never really taken him seriously in later years. When he had a hoard of Dark Wizards, one trying to rival that of Merlin, he couldn't really give much tune to the ugly song that Draco was trying to play.
It wasn't until Draco had become something of a major player in the war that Harry even really started to give him real merit. That, above all, was what was hardest to get past, but it was easy to see now that Draco was not the person he had been then, and while it had taken his stubborn self a while to fully accept that, he now did.
He stifled a yawn and pushed himself up with a stretch. Three years ago he very nearly made the mistake of his life. He almost left the country on a dreamboat vacation. It seemed like the perfect thing to do, but Harry knew now why it had felt wrong to leave. It was because what he was looking for he wouldn't find anywhere but in his own town.
With a nudge of his elbow into Draco's side and a smacking retaliation to his arm, Harry pushed himself out of bed and walked, naked, out of the door and to the bathroom. When he came back he sifted through the clothes that seemed to forever litter their floor for reasons other than laziness and found his pajama pants. He stepped into them before leaving the room again where he padded down the stairs of the once dreaded Grimmauld Place and started breakfast.
It started like any other day, any weekend day anyway. Harry woke up, fooled around with Draco, made breakfast, fooled around some more... And the list went on and on interspersed with a lot of fooling around with his fiance. So when he walked into his room to freshen up for dinner, which they would be having at one of Draco's favorite snobby rich places, Harry was entirely thrown by the box sitting as pretty as it pleased in the middle of the bed.
He recognized it immediately, but it didn't make him any less skittish. He immediately called for Draco and pulled his wand. All the diagnostic spells came back negative, but he still didn't step toward it.
Draco had been silent the whole time that Harry had been casting, but when it was done and Harry still didn't move he asked the question that Harry had been wondering himself.
"Who died?"
The box bore the insignia of Gringotts, so he should have known that it was safe, but it did little to soothe him now. Gringotts had gotten into the business of Wills about two-hundred years ago. The goblins themselves had imparted the knowledge of time activated boxes.
Should the participant die and the artifacts in wills not already safely in the box would appear there. It wasn't uncommon to open up a box and find a bloodied dagger that had been the heirloom to a family, but also the murder weapon.
It was a flawed system, but it was one that made sure that everyone got what they were entitled justly.
There were many times in the Muggle world that what rightly belonged to someone by the departed was taken by another relative. This ensured that the dead's wishes were respected and that the items were left with the intended.
Harry had received three boxes like this in his life, and he feared what this one might hold. He got three the night of his seventeenth birthday and it had not been a pretty week for him.
Most times the boxes were given to a child, if they were underage, under the eyes of a guardian. Only the intended could open the safe, so until such time that it was opened, all was safe, but Harry had had no such guardians. His family had been Muggles and they weren't fit to be in the care of not only one, but three magical items.
The first had been larger than the other two because it had been from two people, his parents. Gringotts all the financing, but this box... Harry suspected it had been his mother's personal box back in the day. Inside Harry found things like old pictures, his first booties dipped in gold, journals from his mother's Hogwarts days, and dozens of love letters between the two. Even one that had been marked on by McGonagall where she scolded James for his horrible grammar and noted at the top that he'd do nothing but scare the poor girl away if he didn't sharpen up his mind as well as his tongue.
Perhaps the most precious were the family photos. There were pictures of his mother round with pregnancy, pictures of himself between them, and dozens of pictures with him being held by countless people, including his grandparents. Grandparents he'd never known anything about, but was now seeing.
The last thing in the box had been the Potter Signet Ring.
The second had been Sirius'. Unlike his parents, it was rather void, a man can't really fill a box if he's stuck in a cell where all his most precious memories are taken from him, after all. The first thing had been the Black Signet Ring, both rings he wore on separate hands. The Black ring had since moved to his middle finger now that there was a band representing Draco on his ring finger.
There were some photos, ones of him and Sirius that had not been in his parents' box, but that was it. Sirius was his Godfather, but he had been a year old when he was taken from him. He suspected that someone else got the bulk of his memories. Someone he shared them with and held very dear.
If he had to place bets, he would guess that the rest ended up with Remus.
The last was, surprisingly, from Albus. Inside there were no rings, no photographs, nothing of an intense personal nature except for a letter written to him.
The letter imparted upon him that he knew about Draco and to not be angry because this was simply how things had to be for now. At the time it had been hard to take, but he'd learned to accept it as it was.
Inside his box he received several different artifacts. The most notable were the vial of Phoenix Tears and the Time-Turner. There were a few tomes, and a personal journal that recounted the last year of Albus' life, following the events that centered around Draco and Voldemort that year.
For some reason he could no longer find the Time-Turner and though it pained him to have lost something of a personal nature, he decided that it was likely for the best. The Time-Turner was not a device he ever thought of using lightly, but there were a few circumstances that he would have given anything to change.
With careful steps he moved toward the box and tried to open it. It opened with a soft snick and Draco let out a breath he'd been holding. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Draco might fear it was for him.
Harry sat on the bed and pushed the box open. What was inside was sparse and he frowned. It was just a single journal and a vial of a deep, rich liquid. Carefully, he reached in and pulled it free, flipping it open to see if he could figure out who it was from and nearly dropped it when he recognized his own handwriting penned across the pages.
Quickly he flipped through, his frown deepening as his eyes skimmed without taking anything in.
"It's... from me, but... I never... I never did this."
Draco came over and sat down by him, looking over his shoulder and reading a few of the lines.
"It's something about a potion."
Harry pulled in a deep breath and flipped back to the beginning, reading it from the start. After several pages Draco pushed himself up, ran a hand through Harry's hair and went down to start dinner. "We'll stay in tonight, you just keep reading."
Draco ended up eating alone, but for once he allowed food in the bedroom. So while he ate, Harry read, and when he was done he had to tear the book away from Harry to make him eat. The only way he'd be appeased though was if Draco promised to read aloud, and read aloud he did.
It was near three in the morning before Harry turned the final page and looked up at Draco with an unreadable emotion. He'd filled in Draco along the way and now he was feeling a rather surreal moment settling down on him.
He'd lived two lives. In one life he had gone and he had traipsed about just the way he thought he would, but not with any of the results that he imagined. He'd seen amazing things that he hoped to "re"see with Draco, but had done some things he was rather glad to have forgotten.
He'd learned that he'd spent almost a year of his life trying to get ingredients for this potion just so that he could change a single thing. Draco had turned an odd shade of green when he told him that Draco had been engaged to Neville and had demanded spells to be done to make sure this whole journal was done in truth and was in no way fraudulent.
Harry felt a little ill over the idea of Draco with being with anyone else, but he was comforted by the knowledge that Neville was very happy to work at Hogwarts where he had a rather torrid affair going on with the new Charms Professor, Mr. Davenry.
As for himself, he felt that he had been an angry person then, and somewhat deluded. What did it matter that Neville and Draco had been an item? What kind of "dark purpose" would that have served? He wondered idly if there had been something wrong with him then.
The letters that he'd sent out to Dung and Charlie had both come back with denials. Dung simply couldn't get ahold of the things that Harry needed and while Charlie was loathe to help him in the first place, he couldn't anyway because they didn't have a Hungarian Horntail on their Reserve, but would still appreciate if Harry sent him the blood of the American Horntail for analysis.
After reading that, the vial that they'd both determined to be blood, made more sense. At the time it weirded Harry to be in possession of blood that his slightly off-kilter, once was self, had given him.
He wasn't sure how he'd explain the blood, which was preserved through Charms, to Charlie, but he did have intentions of sending it to him to look over.
So when Harry had no help he'd set out to do it all on his own. He started with the Dragon's blood and actually had to go to Hungary and try to barter it off a Reserve. Unfortunately, that had been the easiest to do.
The Veela feather came next and was perhaps the hardest to get. He couldn't get any information off Fleur when he tried to lift information discreetly off her and in the end had to research it. The Veelas would not simply hand over the feather to him and he doubted his ability to take down a flock, but through black market information he'd learned where there was a whole community of Veelas.
He stayed on the outskirts of the town and bid his time until one came through alone. It would have been easier if he could have just stunned the girl and left, but he had to get her to change first or it would be rather useless.
It was no problem to get her to change, but it was a big problem to then try and get her stunned. The girl had been vicious and before the end of it he had several gashes that bled profusely and nearly cost him his life, but he also came away with a feather.
It was about this time that the tone of the writing started to change and Harry began to feel like the person who was writing it was starting to become bitter. He'd written of several occasions where Harry and Draco had been put together, but because of Harry they could not reconcile. Harry did not want to acknowledge Draco and he thought that the text sounded a little... well, jealous when it spoke of Draco and Neville.
The trip for the Centaur hair and Merperson scale was one that required a Hogwarts trip. He had fully intended to go back down to the Merpeople and snatch a scale, but it was easier written than done.
He'd had to go through several Potions dealers to find Gillyweed, and then he'd had to figure out how he was supposed to commune with the Merpeople. He thought he might be able to use a translating spell and simply ask for the scale, but there were no spells that translated to Mermish.
In the end he took his luck and went down, but when he came up it was with a large spearhead in his side and a week in the infirmary.
Ironically, it had been Moaning Myrtle who helped him. She had taken to following him around all she could, and he rather felt that McGonagall probably put her up to it as punishment for going into the lake in the first place, not that she knew why he had to begin with.
She talked until he thought his ears would fall off and his brain would melt to goo. He'd yelled at her and told her that unless she had anything useful to tell him about Merpeople then to sod the bloody fuck off and leave him in peace.
She'd goaded him into telling her what he was after and she'd gone into fit of giggles that lifted her through the ceiling. When she eased back down Harry smacked his palm against his forehead. Hard.
"They shed their scales, you know. The bottom of the lake near their section is rather littered in them."
And so with another dose of Gillyweed, a wary swim down to the bottom undetected by the Merpeople, Harry resurfaced with the scale.
The Centaur hair had been challenging only because it found him headbutting with a very angry sort of species. It took several trips into the Forest that left him battered and bruised, but thankfully one such visit had been fruitful. Well, in any way that a broken arm could be.
It would seem that magic is not exactly stealthy even from a secret vantage point and Centaurs are far more keen of their surroundings than one would think. He never actually spoke to one, nor did he intend to after the run in with the other Centaurs back in grade school. They were keen on only themselves, Firenze being the rarity of the group.
So he highly doubted that he could just waltz in, ask for a spot of tea and then explain what he needed calmly and rationally. The first two times he'd been nearly caught and if not for the sanction of apparition he'd have been worse for wear.
This time, however, was quite different. He'd taken all chances by going ahead with his plan to Accio a hair, and Accio one he did... by pulling it out by hand when the Centaur had immediately turned around, arrow fixed inside the bow and then pinning his shirt to the tree allowing the centaur to charge at him.
Had he not moved and used the Centaur's own momentum against it he probably would have been headbutted square in the chest which would have surely broken his ribs. Instead it caught him in the arm and during the blow his other hand, which originally intended to come to the aid of his broken arm, caught a few long strands of hair and ripped them free.
It had taken some time to struggle away enough to apparate, but soon enough he was on the edge of Hogwarts and it seemed sooner than that he was getting a lecture from Madame Pomfrey.
He did not make it a point to plan on visiting Hogwarts again anytime soon.
When he was released he went straight home and set about making the potion which required the four items and a few fresh herbs that he was able to get by visiting the local apothecary.
Potions making had never been his strong suit, but he checked and rechecked the instructions and his ingredients as well as their measurements several times before he started the potion. He often went back to them and rather had them committed to memory by the end of it.
It was justly rewarded though when the potion turned a mercurial silver, one that Harry's other self compared to Draco's eyes. That had given him pause and made him frown. Why, if he was trying to get rid of the bond between the blond and his friend, was he comparing his eyes to a potion in a kindly way?
The writing had been getting more and more... crazed with each entry, and it seemed that Draco was featured in some way in every single one.
Even from the beginning he had had mention, but it was usually with some less than gentlemanly curse attached to it, but as the entries moved on it moved less and less from hatred and more into what seemed like envy.
Harry had no choice to believe that this... parallel person had... not loved Draco, there was no way that someone so warped, and he knew it to be true, his past self had issues that no one seemed to be aware of, could love another. It seemed more like lust... in the form of coveting.
Harry no longer made the potion to save Neville, instead he made it to take from Neville. His other self didn't want anyone else to have the young Malfoy.
It was disturbing and it made him wonder the circumstances. What had happened that he was turned out this way? Why had his friends not noticed? Surely they'd have intervened? He couldn't be certain though. Journal-Harry never spoke of anyone except for Neville and Draco. He never mentioned anything but the potion and what he saw in the relationship.
He sighed as he read the last bit. It was fairly simple. He needed only dip the Time-Turner in the liquid, turning the golden device silver to imbibe it with the elemental beings it was made from. Then he needed to make a magical circle bearing all four elements.
In the appropriate corners stood a candle, a bowl of water, a bowl of salt, and lastly a burning stick of incense. He dipped the Time-turner into the bowl of water, incanting ancient words he did not know the meaning of, then rolled it into the salt. Once it was coated he passed it through the flame, making it spark a little before he let it swing through the incense.
When he did these things, he placed it about his neck and chanted the last few words that sealed his fate.
He couldn't be sure if this was exactly what happened as it was written before it had actually happened. It was written in the tense that he was going to do these things instead of the tone the rest of the journal had.
At the back of the book there was only one line left, scrawled in haste.
"May this find you in peace."
It was enough to confirm that there were likely issues that Harry could not imagine for himself, but that scared him to wonder about. It almost made him feel that by the end of it he'd used this spell as an out, not just for Draco and Neville, but for himself.
Perhaps he needed to start over. Few ever got that chance, and anyone else would think it unfair that these allowances were made for Harry, but he was grateful for them.
He could imagine no life more worth living than the one he was in. He was wealthy in things that mattered. He had his friends, and while he had no family, he had a lover that doted upon him and truly loved him.
He had things that it seemed this Harry had not.
Draco took the book from him and slipped it back in the box, snapping it shut and pulling Harry down to bed with them both still clothed. His eyes were itchy and his mind was racing with questions that had no answers and thoughts that had no evidence to seat them.
He could not guess what this other Harry had been thinking. He did not know what transpired in his time away from home, nor did he know the inbetweens of the journal entries, only that they seemed to get darker as time went on.
It had taken Harry a full year, if the journal dates were correct, to finish his potion, and he couldn't imagine what that must have been like. He spoke of outings, and a wedding he watched from underneath an invisibility cloak, he spoke of thoughts, and comparisons of inanimate things to Draco.
"Be at peace now, Harry. It's a lot to take in, but you still have a baby to watch tomorrow and if you fall asleep on the couch again and let that Weasley runt destroy our house again then I'll tear you limb from limb."
Harry laughed a little and pressed more into Draco, sighing a little as he idly twisted his ring on his finger. He couldn't imagine these things that other Harry felt because unlike that Harry, he had what he wanted.
He stifled a yawn and sighed, once more letting sleep take him to another place, only this time it didn't take him into a new chance of yesterday. This sleep would lead him into the future of tomorrow where he would have to follow a two-year-old around the house like a puppy cleaning up after it, but it would also bring him another day of happiness.
If each morning started and ended with Draco, then he could be at peace just as the other Harry had wanted. He would one day learn to understand the journal for what it was, a warning, and he would take that warning to heart and live this new chance on life to the fullest with Draco. He would never look back or want for yesterday, not when tomorrow held such promise.
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