Chapter Text
Draco's eyes trailed down to the hand extended in front of him, the owner of said hand looking away. He felt his stomach roll in pulses of anxiety; and yet he finally felt like he could breathe, no longer in the suffocating dark atmosphere of the ministry of magic’s building. He didn't want to turn around, aware of what he had left behind. Aware of part of his history that he could never truly let down.
He slowly reached out to take back what was his - Or… What was his, undeservedly so. It should've gotten snapped when the truth had come out. He shouldn't even be free to take it back. And yet, here was the kid he had pretty much sentenced to death with little guilt, holding out Draco's wand. Draco's hand curled around the Hawthorn wood, his lips pursing.
He didn't deserve this. As Draco let his hand fall back to his side, now holding his wand, the person who returned it stole a glance at Draco. Potter's eyes met his, only for Potter to quickly break the contact. He made a hum of acknowledgment before he turned his back to Draco. He did nothing as Potter slowly walked away, his eyes following the disappearing figure.
Potter had just jailed his father. Draco's dad - Though Draco believed it was warranted - was going to Azkaban because of Harry potter. The boy who lived. Draco was lucky he wasn't following suit, saved from a permanent stay also by Harry potter. Draco didn't understand why Potter had let him off the hook. Draco's mother had approached, the clicking of her black heels announcing her presence. Draco couldn't force himself to turn around and face her.
He had betrayed her for the favor of his father. Narcissa had put her hand on Draco's shoulder comfortingly, a slight pull to her grip. Draco found himself turning around to face her. She removed her hand, giving him a weak smile before walking off in the direction of the Malfoy Manor. Draco felt sick, but his legs had started following her. It wasn't her fault, nothing was. He wanted to reassure her as much as he could.
The walk back to Malfoy Manor had felt as long as his service as a death eater. His mother had quietly explained to him that she needed to drop by somewhere to get her permits back before they reached the Manor. He stood at the threshold of the door, knowing he was now the Lord of this house. His father would've been blasted off that horrible tapestry by now. Tears threatened to spill, gathering large enough drops to blur his vision.
He pushed the door open, choking as memories flooded back to him. His father. Dobby. His mother. Vince and Greg. Blaise- Pansy, Millie . All of the people he had cared for. The reminders of pain inflicted after arguments with his father, his wand getting removed. The humiliation of having wounds on his back for anyone to see. That damn cane his father carried with him. Tears finally found themselves running down his face, Draco's hand reaching the wall to steady himself.
He couldn't hold back anymore. Sobs echoed around the Manor's hauntingly empty main hall. The paintings looked at him as if mocking Draco for being so weak - And they very well could have. Draco felt like the world had gone mute at that moment. His knees gave way, failing him as he fell to the hard floor of the Manor. Draco's hand went to cover his mouth, desperate to stop the pathetic sounds he was making. He didn't deserve to cry. He had done so much to other people, he should be the one in Azkaban with his father.
He hated himself. The disgust finally boiled over, his hatred for Potter and Voldemort turning on himself. He threw his wand, wincing at the audible cracking and splintering. He almost went to grab it and check but… Who cared at this point, that had been the wand to kill dumbledore . He was better off destroying it before he found himself with more blood on his stained hands. He let himself crumble fully onto the ground, gripping at the wooden flooring and his shoulder made a loud thud against the ground. His head rattled, hearing the creaking and moaning the old Manor made idly.
No quicker than Draco falling apart in this Manor, the door flung open. Draco pushed himself up, fear creeping over his back in slow and painful waves. He had glanced at the now open door, before turning to his wand. His breathing sped up, and something in him was screaming for him to get his wand. He crawled forward as quickly as he could, his knees going numb to the pain. He kept his sights on his wand as he heard the intruder approaching.
Their footsteps were heavy, each slow and drawn-out step increasing Draco's heartbeat. He desperately reached out for his wand, stretching his fingers out, until he heard a loud voice speaking, projecting their words across the entirety of the manors hall. He recognized those first few syllables of what they said, and the dread had fully cemented.
“ Avada- “
Green light filled his sights, and he couldn't help but feel like this was a fitting end for such a horrible person. Maybe he even should've gotten worse.
“ Kedavra. ”
They had finished, and everything had gone completely black. He hadn't even felt anything painful. Perhaps Severus was not correct about Sectumsempra being better than Avada Kedavra. It didn't even hurt. His sight had been the first of his senses to fade, followed quicker than he had thought by his other senses. Draco's mind started to slip, the tensing of his muscles lifting. He didn't feel anxious anymore, no fear, no… nothing. In a way, the newfound silence of his mind was comforting, the chill that slowly crept over his body even more so.
Part of his mind was still wailing, shouting about how he didn't deserve this. Crying that it wasn't ever his fault, that he had been manipulated and forced into it. A part of him still wanted someone, anyone to believe him. It wanted and hoped that they would agree, that someone would comfort him. He felt it tugging at him, begging him to just let himself be vulnerable and tell someone. He briefly thought that maybe he should just get swallowed by the feeling of pity and that the irrational thoughts would just be easier.
His last true thought was that he was being so ludicrous, and felt as though his thoughts hadn't even been of any significance.
They had just been words floating around in the skull of a miserable person who backed out last second.
Unfortunately, something in Draco had started stirring. Draco hadn't been aware of when his body and mind had come to, but his whole body had a dull buzzing sensation. He forced himself to peel his eyes open, light stunning him enough to make his whole body flinch away. He moved his arm, a strange feeling of an uncomfortable sort of pain shooting through his bones. He didn't even know how to describe that sort of feeling, nowhere near genuine pain but still nowhere light enough to only be discomfort.
He finally forced himself to move, clenching his teeth at the odd painful discomfort blooming on his muscles and joints, lingering spitefully in the depths of his bones. After moving his body and warming his blood up, he found it in himself to open his eyes and take in the colors and lights. Things he had accepted parting with. He slowly took the room in, a feeling of selfish nostalgia settling itself happily in his stomach.
A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him, whispering the memories as if they were yesterday.
He knew this bloody room.
He felt like he was going to throw up, panic invading his rational thoughts. His body moved on its own, his hands pushing him off of his bed. Draco's feet touched the ground, and he could feel his head pulse at the quick movement. He tried to take a step forward when his legs caved. The sides of his vision were swelling with darkness that soon blinded him as he collapsed. His body hit the ground, reminding him that he shouldn't be alive, let alone have a body . He breathed in deeply, recovering from the short blackout as color returned to his vision.
He stood up, slower this time after learning his lesson. His breathing stayed ragged as he desperately reached for his pocket. He prayed that it was there, that he wasn't where he had thought he was. His heart dropped as he felt for his wand, his pocket despairingly empty. He felt as if his world came crashing down, throwing him on the floor like he were just a speck of dust. He couldn't hold back the whispers of ‘no’, looking around with increasing desperation as he shoved things out of place.
He breathed out a horrified “ Please… No… ” as he finally accepted that it was true. He finally let his mind accept the truth of the place he was, despite the contradictions his mind provided. This was his room in the Malfoy Manor. From seven whole years ago. He had destroyed this room a year ago, or at least that's what his mind insisted. Contradictions piled up when he noticed the wizarding calendar in his room. Bile threatened to rise as the date shown on the calendar announced itself.
The memory of his supposed death returned then, adding to the confusing mix of possible real memories and things he had simply made up. The date on his calendar read loud and clear - Over a week before his first year at Hogwarts. Draco's mind spun; He had finished his sixth year, and he knew he certainly wasn't only just starting. But, then there was the issue of his wand and his literal death. Draco had… felt almost all of it. He couldn't have possibly gone insane since he visited Azkaban, right…?
Draco's breath hitched, a solution begging to be thought over. What if … God, Draco felt crazy even just thinking it could be real. But… It could truly be what happened. What if he went back in time? He was almost certain of all of his memories of his… ‘Past’ life was real. He had felt the pain, he had suffered through it, and the torture he went through couldn't be denied. But here he was, standing in his room that he had destroyed. He remembered the relief at the beginning, only for it to feel like he had been accepting he was a bad person that didn't deserve to even have his childhood room.
Draco wobbled over to his bed, sitting down. He had heard stories of people time traveling, but not dying and getting reborn in their old eleven-year-old body. He put a hand on his forehead, his cold fingers providing some comfort to his burning forehead. It was all he could think of as a solution, which could even cement itself as time goes on. Then a new panic filled Draco’s focus. Would he eventually forget what had happened in his first… run through? Of his life? Before he could truly entertain the thought, a voice called for him. He started at the sound, recognizing Dobbys voice.
“Master Draco, Mister Lucius wants you down for breakfast...”