Chapter Text
The sun's golden rays danced on familiar blonde hair, casting a radiant glow as it swayed with each step. Harry couldn't help but be drawn to the grey eyes that seemed to reflect him, just Harry, with a soft smile gracing his lips, bringing a sense of relief and contentment that made him exhale deeply. As the blonde boy continued to walk, he kept stealing glances back at Harry, almost like a siren beckoning him to follow. And Harry, caught in the spell of those captivating eyes, found himself trailing along, confident that as long as those eyes remained fixed on him, everything would be alright.
But like all nightmares, this dream began to unravel. They walked, but the distance between them never diminished. Harry pursued, but there was no urgency in his steps. The true chase only commenced when those grey eyes ceased looking back, leaving Harry to sprint after him, the distance between them remaining constant, just out of reach despite his desperate attempts to bridge the gap.
Then, abruptly, everything halted. Harry and Draco—yes, Draco, not Malfoy, for Malfoy never smiled at him like that—faced each other. Harry anticipated the dream's typical conclusion, but this time was different. Draco, clad in a snug white button-up shirt that strained against his midsection, sneered and advanced, shortening the distance between them until he screamed in Harry's face, clutching his stomach with anguish. Harry staggered backward, colliding with the floor and jolting awake with a groan.
"—you alright, mate?" Ron's voice cut through the haze of pain, prompting Harry to blink away the remnants of his dream. Ron stood in the doorway of Harry's office, concern etched on his features, reminiscent of their days at Hogwarts when such grunts signaled trouble with Voldemort's mind link.
"Just a nightmare, I reckon," Harry muttered, accepting Ron's outstretched hand as he clambered to his feet, his chair upturned behind him.
"Blimey, Harry, sleeping here again? You know you're always welcome at ours," Ron chided, running a hand through his cropped fiery hair. Harry grimaced and righted his chair. "Thanks, Ron, but I'll manage," he replied, a trace of tension evident in his voice.
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in, Kingsley," Harry called out, a hint of resolve mingling with his lingering trepidation. Ron's eyes widened; he wasn't accustomed to Harry recognizing people solely through their magic.
Former Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, now the Minister of Magic, entered the room with Harry's wandless magic.
Ron observed how only he, Hermione, and a select few of their closest friends could enter the office without knocking or announcing themselves. The door would always open for them, but ever since witnessing someone being forcefully repelled by the magic guarding Harry's door, Ron understood that those not explicitly part of Harry's trusted circle needed to knock and announce themselves. This protocol remained in place, even though Harry was already aware of anyone outside the door.
"Ah, Weasley, you're here too!" Shacklebolt greeted, his voice booming as he entered.
Ron felt a shiver run down his spine as he stood in Harry's office, surrounded by the lingering traces of magic. It crackled in the air, like tiny electric shocks dancing around them. Hermione had once compared it to the buzz of Muggle gadgets, a comparison that always puzzled Ron. He couldn't quite grasp the concept, but he couldn't deny the strange energy that filled the room after Harry used his wandless magic.
"What brings you here, Minister?" Harry inquired as Kingsley settled into a chair, his expression grave.
"It's a matter of utmost secrecy, Harry. I need your expertise," Shacklebolt replied, his voice low and serious.
Harry and Ron shared a knowing glance, their expressions saying it all, here we go again. Internally, they both sighed at the familiar routine, but externally, they maintained a composed nod, acknowledging the seriousness of the situation. After all, Kingsley wouldn't personally seek out Harry in his former office unless it was something significant. It couldn't just be another routine problem like Lockhart escaping the Janus Thickey Ward for the umpteenth time that week. This felt different, heavier somehow.
Harry flicked his hand with a swift motion, casting a silencing charm that enveloped the room. With a sense of assurance, he settled into his desk chair, the wood creaking slightly. Ron opted for the nearby sofa, its cushions offering a plush comfort, while Kingsley took the chair in front of Harry's desk, its sturdy frame providing a sense of stability amidst the uncertainty of their conversation.
Shacklebolt started with a serious tone, catching Harry's attention. "You won't believe what the Unspeakables have found," he said, his voice grave.
Harry's curiosity was instantly piqued, his brow furrowing with concern. "What's going on now?" he asked, remembering the chaos caused by the last mishap involving love potions in the cafeteria, most of which seemed to have been aimed at him—an incident he'd rather forget.
Shacklebolt leaned in, his expression grave. "It's disturbances in time," he said, letting out a long sigh. "Harry, Ron, listen carefully. We've stumbled upon something big. It seems like there's a force out there messing with time itself, and it's causing all sorts of unexpected problems."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their confusion evident. "But how does that tie into what we're doing?" Ron asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
Shacklebolt's brows furrowed with worry. "The effects of these disturbances might not manifest themselves right away," he explained, his voice heavy. "But mark my words, if we don't handle this with the utmost care and precision, the consequences could extend far beyond what we can comprehend." He glanced around the room, meeting Harry and Ron's gaze with solemn intensity.
Shacklebolt sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Think of it like ripples in a pond," he began, searching for the right words. "At first, they may seem insignificant, hardly noticeable. But as they spread, they have the potential to disrupt everything in their path, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. These disturbances in time are starting small, but their impact could grow exponentially."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Shacklebolt's words echoed in their minds, leaving a trail of uncertainty in their thoughts. Harry's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of what Shacklebolt was saying with recent events. He thought of the neo-Death Eaters' seeming foresight and the emerging patterns in their actions. His eyes sparked with understanding.
"Wait a minute," Harry said slowly, his thoughts coalescing. "If there's a force out there manipulating time, it must be controlled by someone. Someone who's been pulling the strings from the shadows."
Ron and Harry exchanged wide-eyed glances as the gravity of the situation hit them. "So, you mean to tell us that someone's tampering with time, and this betrayer could be lurking in the Department of Mysteries?" Ron's voice quivered with disbelief.
Shacklebolt nodded gravely. "Precisely," he confirmed. "And if we don't put an end to it soon, the consequences could be catastrophic."
Harry's mind raced, connecting the dots between the disturbances in time and their ongoing mission. Recently, there had been a decrease in the number of neo-Death Eaters being apprehended, almost as if they were anticipating the Aurors' next moves. Additionally, there seemed to be a pattern emerging from their actions, hinting at a larger plan at play. However, the thought of them manipulating time to bring Voldemort back from the past was too unsettling to contemplate.
"But how do we put a stop to it?" Harry questioned urgently.
Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "That's what we're here to discuss," he began. "We need to find the source of these disturbances and put a stop to them before it's too late."
Ron's jaw clenched, his determination palpable. "And what about the traitor?" he pressed.
Shacklebolt's gaze hardened. "We'll deal with them accordingly," he stated firmly.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. They knew the task ahead would be daunting, but they were ready to face whatever challenges came their way.
"That's why we require assistance from someone," Shacklebolt declared.
The door creaked open, and there stood the blonde man Harry had seen in his dreams countless times.
Shacklebolt nodded towards him, saying, "He's the one who tipped us off." Harry couldn't help but mutter the blonde man's name under his breath.
"Draco," Harry murmured, causing both Ron and Draco to flinch. Ron's eyebrow raised at Harry's casual way of addressing Malfoy.
Draco's cheeks burned as a wave of heat swept over him, unsure whether it was due to annoyance from waiting outside for what seemed like an eternity, the embarrassment from the fact that everyone passing by could see him standing in front of Harry Potter's office door adorned with a gleaming gold nameplate proudly displaying the words 'HEAD AUROR', or the unexpected familiarity with which Potter addressed him by his first name, making Draco feel foolish and out of place, as if they were close friends, which they definitely were not.
Draco, true to his Slytherin instincts, shrugged off his brief discomfort, his irritation returning swiftly. As he stood there, a palpable tension filled the room, his mere presence seeming to ignite it. "Minister Shacklebolt, as I've already stated, there's no need for Auror intervention," Draco asserted sharply.
Ron, his brow furrowed in confusion, rose from the sofa and walked over to Harry's side. He couldn't contain his bewilderment any longer. "Why is the ferret here?" Ron blurted out, though what he really wanted to ask was, 'How did he get in?' He didn’t dare to voice it, unwilling to open that can of worms.
"I have no idea, but something's off," Harry replied, his expression darkens. Ron's hands shook as he looked at Harry's face, which mirrored the haunted expression he'd worn back in their sixth year, covered in blood and bearing the weight of unspoken horrors in his eyes.
Shacklebolt interjected, his tone diplomatic yet firm. "I see your point, Malfoy, but we can't ignore the bigger picture."
"The thing is, it's not just the Department of Mysteries facing problems like this," Shacklebolt continued, sighing.
Harry and Ron exchanged another concerned glance, realizing the severity of the situation. "But why involve the ferret in this?" Ron questioned, his skepticism evident. Malfoy clicked his tongue in annoyance and muttered, "Weasel."
Ron's jaw clenched, his temper flaring at the remark. Harry laid a hand on Ron's arm, silently urging him to stay calm. Despite the insult, they couldn't afford to let emotions cloud their judgment, especially not now. And Harry couldn’t help but find the irony in how often he used his emotions over logic.
Shacklebolt sighed. "We need all the help we can get, Ron. And despite his past, Mr. Malfoy may hold valuable insights into these matters."
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. The former Minister knew how much the older Malfoy had done in the ministry, and with his son working here and being a huge contributor for this case, Harry couldn't help but ask, "Do you trust Draco that much, Minister?" unable to conceal his surprise.
Shacklebolt paused, momentarily caught off guard by Harry's casual mention of Malfoy's name. He knew they all attended the same school and were in the same year, but he assumed there was some longstanding rivalry between them. He noticed Ron and Draco avoiding each other's gaze, their expressions tense with barely concealed animosity.
"Yes, Harry. I do," Kingsley replied earnestly, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes, fearing Harry might have another idea.
"Got it," Harry nodded, and Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows again at the casual response. "So, you need us to hunt down the time meddlers and stop whatever the Neo-Death Eaters are up to, and you want Draco to help us." Draco tensed as Potter mentioned his name.
"Enough, Potter!" Draco suddenly exclaimed, rising from his seat, his irritation evident as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Quit calling me that."
Ron's frustration reached a boiling point. "We can't trust a bloke like him, former Death Eater or not!" Ron burst out, his voice full of both frustration and distrust. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling spreading inside him, especially with Harry behaving strangely lately. Ron just had this gut feeling that something bad would happen to his best mate if they let this snake stay here.
In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Harry seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to Ron's outburst. Confusion creased his brow as he tilted his head slightly. "Hmm?" he murmured, his attention finally catching up.
"Narcissa insisted I address you as such, you see," he explained, his gaze fixed on Draco's bewildered grey eyes. The silence stretched, prompting widened eyes from Ron and a desire to facepalm.
Shacklebolt, sensing the need to regain control of the situation, cleared his throat. "Quite right, let's focus on the matter at hand," he interjected, redirecting their attention to the task ahead. "Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat. Let's proceed with the plan and discuss our potential suspects."
As the conversation continued, the lingering animosity between Ron and Draco, and the tension emanating from Harry, added an extra layer to the air, thick with unease. Despite the discomfort, Shacklebolt remained resolute in his determination to keep the discussion on track, refusing to let personal grievances derail their mission.
At the end of the meeting, they all stood up, preparing to leave the room. However, Draco seemed to twitch, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Harry noticed this subtle movement. "What is it?" he asked, drawing Shacklebolt and Ron's attention towards them.
Draco's eyes widened momentarily. "Nothing of your concern, Potter!" he sneered in his usual manner, the soft smile from Harry's dream nowhere to be seen. But Harry wasn't fooled. "Your left eye is twitching, and you're facing me instead of the door. That suggests you still have something to say," he pointed out calmly.
The other three men gasped in surprise. "H-how?" Draco's confusion mirrored Ron's, who exclaimed, "What in Merlin's beard was that, Harry?" Shacklebolt's eyebrows raised in anticipation.
Harry experienced a peculiar blend of emotions—confidence, nervousness, and excitement—as Draco stood there, unannounced. It puzzled Harry how Draco gained access without his explicit permission, but an inexplicable sense tingled within him, as if his magic seemed to know something he didn't.
Draco let out a heavy sigh and then met Harry's gaze with a determination that caught Harry off guard, stirring a feeling in his chest reminiscent of the flutter of the Golden Snitch they once chased on the Quidditch pitch. "Can we speak in private?" Draco quietly requested.
Ron started to protest, but Kingsley intervened, swiftly guiding Ron out of the room. As Ron's muffled protests faded into the distance, Harry and Draco were left alone, the tension between them palpable.
"So?" Harry prompted, curiosity and concern battling within him.
Draco hesitated for a moment before summoning his resolve. Harry and Draco settled into a conversation about what could only be described as the most perplexing case they had ever encountered.