Chapter Text
The Ministry gave Draco Malfoy two options.
The first, was to plead guilty to charges for the murder of Dumbledore, and to not only go to Azkaban life, but to share a closet of a cell with his beloved (read:abhorred) father.
The second was much more complex. Due to perfect Potter testifying on his behalf, the ministry felt that if Draco was given the chance to re-evaluate some of his *cough* hasty *cough* decisions, he’d likely choose the ‘correct’ path, saving many more innocent bystanders from Voldemort earlier on in the war.
Draco was fairly sure that the supposed guilt he felt was a bullshit line that Potter had fed Shacklebolt, but the unlikely had happened, and Draco was gifted with his second choice for the future, or past.
Presented in front of the Wizengamot, Draco had worn his best pressed slacks and a button down shirt, standing tall as he’d been taught as a child, absently fiddling with one of his cufflinks. The tiredness and achy muscles that he’d accumulated from three months in a Ministry holding facility slipped down behind the aristocratic, carefree mask he’d smoothed out during his time in Slytherin.
“Miss Hermione Granger’s invention will allow you to travel, by pensieve to another dimension, that runs parallel to our own. You may stop at any point in time, but will only be able to travel forward from that moment. A representative from the Ministry will supervise your use of the device remotely, recording wrongs that you put right, lives you may save, and any other positive influence that you have on this dimension.”
Shacklebolt paused, surveying the blank looks from both Draco himself and other members of the Wizengamot.
“Think of it as doing community service in another dimension by helping with their war effort.”
In public, Draco had sneered at the suggestion. Back in his cell however, his mind looped anxiously through possibility after possibility. He was smart. He knew this was his only option, but knowing that the things he was doing would affect another world was big. He thought of all the mistakes he could undo and all the things he could put right. Of course, being the respectable young gentleman he was, he couldn’t let Potter’s testimony go unreciprocated, lest he be left in that speccy git’s debt.
But where to start?
Shacklebolt had made it very clear that the time he started would be the earliest point in the world’s history that he could go. Clearly, they didn’t mean for him to first go sightseeing in ancient wizarding Egypt first, though that did appeal more than launching head first into a battle with the Dark Lord and also carried less risk of immanent death.
One of the other things made clear to Draco was that, should he be hurt or even killed in the alternate dimension, the wounds would appear on his person in real time.
He shook himself mentally. Azkaban with Lucius was as good as death anyway. He could change the outcome of the war. He could provide a divergent universe, one where war-heroes like Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks and even that werewolf mutt Lupin survived.
Where to start though?
Repaying Potter, that was where.
A little rumour around Hogwarts during his first few years there, was that Potter hadn’t liked living with his relatives very much. That was something Draco could definitely relate to.
That gave him a starting place at least.
When the aurors came to unlock his cell later on that day, he’d made his decision. On his way to the supervised pensieve room, a few well placed requests earned him two keys and plastic card with four numbers scribbled hastily on the back.
He was ready.