Chapter Text
"Draco!"
Alarm roared through him and Draco jerked into consciousness at the shrill voice. Pansy was supposed to be at Hogwarts, she couldn't be here. It's not safe here.
But when Draco finally wrestled his eyes open he fully realized just how discombobulated he was. The magic ceiling in the great hall met his eyes, starry and wonderfully familiar. Ragged stone pressed into his back, never laying quite flat enough for Draco's taste and always tripping him up when his steps weren't tall enough. Madam Pomfrey entered his line of sight, waving a wand around while she asked him inane questions with a tense upper lip.
"-Mr. Malfoy, I need you to answer me now."
Draco coughed and sat up quickly, only to lower himself back down when the stars above him refused to keep their shape.
"Listen to Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Malfoy."
That was Snape, also next to him and wrangling a struggling Pansy away from his side.
Pansy was sobbing.
"What's wrong," Draco demanded, shoving feet under him but standing up slowly. He moved towards Pansy but the matron quickly bullied him into sitting on the bench next to him, shooing students sat down at the table to give him space.
Madam Pomfrey seemed to purse her lips harder. "Memory loss I suppose."
Memory loss?
Oh.
Draco doubled over gasping, pressing a hand to his mouth as exhilaration turned his stomach. Pomfrey crowded him, concern writ on her face where there should only be disgust.
Pansy's voice did seem a bit pitchier than usual.
Draco jerked his head up and surveyed the great hall, flushing when he saw the crowd that watched him in turn.
A much larger crowd than Hogwarts usually was.
Fourth year.
The blending of uniforms could attest to that, if not the added members that sit at the head table.
Dumbledore is alive.
Draco ducked his head.
"Sorry," he said, hoping to wave away the eyes that continued to stare at him, "did I faint?"
Pomfrey, if possible, frowned harder. It was Pansy who answered.
"Draco," she whispered, voice hoarse, "you were screaming."
Well, that shouldn't have been a side effect.
"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to answer me. How do you feel?"
How I feel?
"I'm okay."
"You were screaming for almost a full minute, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape cut in, "we're going to need more information than that."
A full minute? That shouldn't have happened.
Draco shrugged at Snape who scowled at his non-answer.
"Madam Pomfrey, what can you tell us?"
The mediwitch straightened her back. "When he was convulsing the diagnostic spell said that every nerve in his body was active. It's my belief that..." Pomfrey faltered, mouth turned down so far it must be painful, "it looks like the cruciatus curse."
Ah. She was horrified.
That was not supposed to happen.
Whispers buzzed to life through the hall. Draco swallowed.
"Right," Snape said, remarkably ineloquent. "He should go to the hospital wing."
Pomfrey gained some life in her at the words and started to move her wand in a familiar motion.
"I can walk!" Draco yelled, ducking out of the levitation spell.
His balance was shot, as he quickly found out, and he had to steady himself on the table. Pansy made a wounded sound and his eyes met hers.
He had to look up to do so.
I'm shorter?
That's why my balance is off.
Lucidity slammed into him like an offended hippogriff. He's shorter because he's younger. Pansy is shrill and sobbing at his hurt like she used to before Draco snapped their bond in a bid to keep her away. Snape is at his side where he should be at the head table, and Pomfrey is fussing where she should be killing.
He had known this only vaguely, where now he knew it true.
His head snapped up and he let himself stare into corpses.
The mudbloods were all there, whispering or gawking at him but there. There, too, were kids he met under the service of the Dark Lord, Durmstang students still not yet old enough to apparate mingled in with the rest of Hogwart's students. He saw people who would cast vile curses that would have blood drench his ancestral home, or others who's blood had been victims. The Beauxbatons students largely stayed quiet and away from the war but those from rich families had seen themselves used as bargaining chips, their mere existence as leverage to force the wealthy french purebloods to fund the Dark Lord's war. Most of them Draco never saw, but a few others were forced to make appearances at certain gatherings, dressed as their stature commanded while consorting with people who could kill them at any moment. The gatherings were dreadful, pureblood poise holding as steady as children could manage when they were threatened, dehumanised, and humiliated by wizards beyond mad.
Draco had been one of them, he knew all too well what it felt like to be poked and prodded and played with for the amusement of death eaters. Just to watch their family squirm.
They looked at him now, wide-eyed and hungry for gossip. So unbelievably young, for all that some of them were older than Draco.
A shivering started in his chest but Draco forced himself not to show it. Instead he turned his gaze to the piercing eyes of the man he'd tried to kill, and instead saw killed.
Albus Dumbledore was frowning at him, but not overly concerned. It still shook Draco so completely he was surprised his legs stayed under him.
Draco couldn't control the instinct to wrap his arms around himself then, desperately trying to keep himself together in the face of a reality that should be long dead. He was the one who decided time reversal was the only feasible escape, he was the one who slaved over the ruins and arithmacy and scattered timeturners until his cheekbones carved sharply in his face and dark circles found companionship above them.
He did this, but he didn't actually consider what he would do if it worked.
The pressure of his self-embrace irritated a long forgotten pain on his arm and Draco hissed and pulled away, shocked at the sting.
His Dark Mark had ached for weeks after his joining, but beyond that it only ached when his master called. It hurt now, like it had just been freshly carved and Draco itched to check if it really was there or if it was some kind of phantom pain. Fortunately for him, he had the wherewithal not to rip off his sleeve in the exact place a Dark Mark would show in the middle of the great hall full of potentially vengeful corpses.
Madam Pomfrey huffed. "Mr. Malfoy-"
"Yes. Hospital wing. I'm on it."
Draco staggered out of the great hall, having a terrible time with balance but refusing the helping hand the matron kept trying to lend him only to have his shoulder grabbed and steadied when Snape's patience ran out. The two marched him down endless corridors that Draco thought he would never see again, or never want to see again seeing as they might be strewn with bodies. Or blood. Though that did happen in second year anyways...
"Please sit down, Mr. Malfoy," the matron said and Draco startled as he realised they'd already arrived at the wing.
Snape didn't let him make the decision for himself and soon he was seated, fiddling with his sleeve and trying to look as unsuspicious as possible.
"Have a sip, dear," Pomfrey said much too close to his ear. Draco startled and jumped, knocking the goblet of water she'd been giving him to the floor.
Draco sucked in a breath at the loud crash. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as both Pomfrey and Snape snapped to stare at him, the matron pressing a hand to head to check for fever.
"What is it?" Draco asked.
Snape turned to look at Pomfrey but she just shook her head, casting a spell to conjure a new goblet of clean water.
"Here you go, dear. Please tell me if anything starts hurting again."
Draco nodded. "Thank you."
The twin stares returned and Draco choked on his water in realisation.
I wasn't polite in fourth year.
To be fair, he'd never been polite to Madam Pomfrey but it had grown quite instinctual to be courteous in the last few months when a careless tongue could mean a lost hand.
Or head.
Choosing to shut his mouth until he could actually think his situation through (to the very end Draco, for once) he sipped the goblet and watched Professor Snape confer with Pomfrey just a step away.
In the end it was decided that Draco would sleep there tonight, as he predicted seeing as it's Pomfrey's usual treatment, and that they would talk about the incident in the morning.
Then, thank Merlin, he was alone.
He'd done it. Draco Malfoy had magicked his way to safety in the most ridiculous and contrived plot to ever exist but by Salazar he was here, and he was whole.
Well, almost whole.
Draco bit his lip and grabbed his wand, casting lumos. With an extreme amount of hesitation even for Draco, he ripped the sleeve of his left arm down to the elbow and was simultaneously panicked and unsurprised at what he saw.
His mark. Raw and red at the edges but familiar all the same.