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Chapter Text

Draco was startled out of his reverie when the door slammed open and a stack of papers landed on Harry Potter’s desk. He didn’t show his startledness, of course not, merely peering around his propped-up feet to eye Potter. He sighed, glancing down at the pile in front of him, and, with a tight grimace of a smile, thanked the secretary and dismissed them.  

“Anything of importance in there?” Draco asked, leaning back contentedly in his chair.  

“If you offered your help, maybe you’d find out sooner,” Potter grit out. 

“Mmm...no. Too busy at the moment, you see.” 

“What would that be? Napping?” 

“Yes, actually, and I’d rather like to get back to it.” 

Potter leaned over his desk and swiped Draco’s legs off. “Go sleep at your desk then.” 

“And dirty it? Absolutely not.” 

“What if I didn’t want my desk to have your boots on it?” 

“Unfortunate, isn’t it?” Potter tilted his head, straight-faced. Draco almost wanted to laugh. He huffed, “Fine, fine. I’ll do something for once.” 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” And half the stack of papers was promptly dropped into his lap. 

Around two hours later, when most of the papers had been slogged through, Draco gasped.  

“I got one.” Potter merely hummed in response. His chin was propped up on one hand, and his eyes were drooping closed. “I got a case to look into.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Potter.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Wake up.” 

“ ’m wake.” Draco sent a stinging hex, and Potter startled to an upright sitting position. “What the fuck was that for?”  

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Look through this, yeah?” 

The case was nothing special, a young woman complaining to the Muggle police about strange noises in her neighbor’s house. The Muggle police, once inside the home, found nothing particularly out of place. An older gentleman, fast asleep in his bedroom, unaware of the police presence, and a bunch of odd knick-knacks around his house. Nothing else to note. No strange sounds, the man, once awoken, was well and had heard nothing suspicious himself.  

And thus, once the Ministry of Magic heard about this, and gathered the name of the old man, Cornelius Betterworth, a wizard, the report fell onto their lead Auror’s desk.  

“Alright, let’s go,” said Potter as he threw on his outer robes. Draco, as his partner, followed suit. 

The house was empty when they Apparated outside the front door. Alohomora didn’t work to unlock the door, but it did open the windows. Atrocious spell work, if Draco had any say about it. “You don’t” was Potter’s favorite response when Draco said it allowed. 

A search around the house drew up definite dark magic, and there was, in fact, a strange noise coming from the drawing room. The room was beautifully furnished, with burgundy and dark grey filling most of the space, and a touch of green from leafy plants. A bookshelf sat against the far wall of the entryway, its contents arranged in artfully placed positions. Other pieces sat along the mantle, and others on shelves around the room.  

“All of these are cursed, right? I’m not misplacing that feeling?” Potter asked.  

“One hundred percent,” Draco replied.  

They got to work removing all the artifacts, placing them in a secure bag with an expansion charm to fit them all. Some artifacts could be levitated into the bag, but others were resistant to the charm and had to be handled with thick, dragonhide gloves.  

It was as Potter was picking up the last item, an opaque glass orb like that prophecies are contained inside, that the front door burst open. A spell was flung at Draco, red light shattering a picture on the wall.  

“Get out of my house!” Cried an old man – Cornelius. “Get out! Get out!” 

He continued to fling hexes and curses at them. Draco tried his best to deflect most of them. He was an excellent dueler, one of the best in his class in Auror training, but the old man in front of him, despite his age, was exceptional in his own right.  

One stray curse flew past Draco before he could react to deflect it and hit the wall above Potter’s head, causing the wall to explode. The blast knocked Potter forward, dropping the glass orb in front of him into the space between them. The impact caused the orb to shatter, but instead of mist or words from a prophecy like Draco had expected, a bright white light enshrouded the room, and Draco’s vision began to get fuzzy around the edges before going black.  

Chapter Text

When Draco awoke, his first sensation was the feeling of a soft blanket, and similarly soothing sheets and pillow. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in a bed since he’d left the Manor five years ago. The thought struck Draco as odd, but he didn’t think about it too much. Perhaps St. Mungo’s had upgraded its beds and blankets to be more pleasant for the patients.  

As he opened his eyes, however, Draco quickly noticed this one was not, in fact, St. Mungo’s. Far from it. Because sitting above his bed, just within eyesight, was his Cleansweep Six, and to the right of that was a poster of his favorite Manchester Pixies chaser, to the left a replica jersey.  

There wasn’t much else hung up on his walls, a tad too dark to really be considered white. He was never particularly decorative, and his father wasn’t a fan of cluttering the space; however, he would begin pinning up pictures of his friends on the wall across from his bed as his fifth year was starting, so that he could see them every day. A bookshelf sat next to his large wardrobe. The former wouldn’t be fully filled until the end of his third year, but the latter was already stocked with all sorts of robes and clothes for different occasions.  

This was his childhood bedroom, the same one he had vowed never to visit again. And what was worse, it appeared different from how he’d last left it. The photographs of his friends were not there, and his bookshelf was not full, and his wardrobe: full of clothes far too small for him. And everything appeared bigger. His wardrobe, which he was nearly as tall as when he’d left for the final time, was now about thirty centimeters taller than him. His chest, which sat on the foot of his bed, appeared significantly larger than he remembered. And Draco could distinctly remember placing both the Cleansweep Six and his newer Nimbus Two Thousand and One in a shed out in the backyard once sixth year came about.  

Nothing was right. Everything, all of this, was as it was when he was a child, ten or eleven years old.  

He made his way out of his bedroom, towards the bathroom. He would not have a mirror in his room until a couple more years if he was right about what had happened to him.  

Draco grasped the doorknob to the bathroom and braced himself for what he would see. It was simply impossible. If he was right, he didn’t even know what to think about what it could mean if he was right.  

He threw the door open, and with just enough force, it hit the wall a little too loudly.  

“Draco?” That was his mother’s voice. Calm and unwavering. Her voice could easily carry up to the second floor. “Are you okay, darling?”  

“Yeah -” he cleared his throat. Louder: “Yeah, I’m - I’m good.”  

His voice was so high-pitched. It hadn’t lowered drastically with puberty, but it sounded considerably more piercing than he recalled.  

Stepping into the bathroom, he closed his eyes and once he was sure he was in front of the mirror, opened them slowly, peeking through the bottom lashes.  

Fuck me.  

There he was in all his prepubescent glory. His hair, still unbrushed, lay across his forehead in a style he wouldn’t fully adopt until he was thirteen. His teeth were still a little crooked. They would be fixed by the time he started first year, which it appeared he would within a matter of months, if less. Summer heat was already creeping through the house despite its weather-proofing spell. He brushed his fingers through his hair, so it looked at least a modicum of maintained.  

Draco stared at himself in the mirror. He was in his eleven-year-old body, and if his mother’s voice was to go by, back to the summer of 1991, the summer before first year.  

Okay. This is fine. He thought. I just have to act normal. I can act normal. Reenact everything until I get back to my time...And figure out how to get back to my time.  

His mother’s voice floated back up to him. “Draco? Breakfast is ready!”  

Draco quickly scrubbed his face with water and rushed down the stairs, settling himself in his normal seat to the left of the head of the table, to the left of his father.  

“Good morning, Draco,” Mother greeted with a kind smile. She looked younger, too. Fewer grey hairs and wrinkles. Her face, still naturally pale, was less grey than it had been during the last couple of years of the war and after until her death.  

He choked out his own greeting, grief for his no longer living mother taking over. Seeing her again was like a shock to the heart. “Good morning, mother.”  

“Dragon.” Her eyebrows pinched, and Draco had to refrain from grabbing her hand. She was always worried, concerned, and stressed over Draco’s well-being before her death just two months into their house arrest. “Are you sure you’re okay? I heard the door slam upstairs.”  

“Yes, mother. I’m alright. Just nervous about starting Hogwarts.” A complete shot in the dark, but he was certain that he’d be going to school soon.  

“You seemed so excited when your letter arrived last week. Do you still want to go to Diagon Alley today, or wait until next week?”  

Diagon Alley. If Draco remembered correctly, and he did, he thought about that day way too much; this would be the day he met Potter for the first time. Although, and Draco kicked himself every time he thought about it, they didn’t do much, meeting more than Draco talking about himself, and Potter staying relatively silent until Draco insulted his half-giant friend.  

If he must keep things the same as they happened previously, he had to go to Diagon Alley today.  

“Of course, I still want to go today. Just worried about starting school. I’ve never been gone from home that long before.”  

Mother smiled at him warmly, “And you have every right to be worried about that. Just remember that your father and I will be just an owl away, and you won’t be going in alone. Gregory and Vincent will be there with you. And Pansy and Theodore.”  

Draco smiled as she went on, albeit a bit forced. Vincent’s death would forever haunt him. “Thank you, mother.”  

“Of course, dragon. Now come on, eat up. I was thinking of leaving at ten o’clock.”  

Diagon Alley was just as he remembered it from the first half of his Hogwarts career. Lively, full of people, and no buildings reduced to rubble. Post-war, the alley was coming back around to its original energy, but there was an air about it. Some buildings had not been repaired yet, and cracks lined the main walkway in a way that it doesn’t right now. Gringotts, tall and imposing white stone, still holds a status of never having been broken into, if only for the rest of the day.  

“Come, Draco,” his mother said, pulling him through the throng of people. His father, who had only accompanied him to Diagon Alley before his first and second years, was with them this time around as well. He led them to Gringotts first, withdrawing a large sum of money for his school supplies. They made their way swiftly to the apothecary, a shop that had been blown up early during the war. They bypassed the animal emporium; Draco would utilize the family owl, Apus. They browsed Quality Quidditch Supplies, only buying a new foot mount as his was becoming loose. He could only faintly remember getting it the first time around. Perhaps he had been too busy staring at the new Nimbus Two Thousand?  

They eventually found themselves at Madam Malkin’s, mother and father excusing themselves to get the rest of his supplies while he got fitted. This was it. Every choice he made, he had tried to reflect perfectly so as to appear here, exactly three minutes before Potter would arrive.  

And sure enough, just as he was getting measured, he saw the boy enter through the mirror before him. Small, scrawny, and lost, Draco couldn’t understand how he hadn’t realized this was Harry Potter. Now, he’d never met Potter before this encounter. Had never seen him in pictures, even. He had simply vanquished the Dark Lord and disappeared for a decade, reappearing as a slight eleven-year-old boy, actively learning about the world he had once saved. As Potter was led to the box next to him, he got the other’s eye and noticed the far too knowing look in his eyes. Draco had prepared himself to act just as he had during this first encounter, to not change anything, but it appeared Potter also remembered everything.  

Draco tried anyway. “Hogwarts, too?” He said, a bit too hesitantly. It felt odd. This morning could have gone however, as long as he ended up in Diagon Alley. This meeting, along with the time on the train, determined their relationship in the future. Potter had told him once, after the war, that he rejected his handshake entirely because Draco had been a pompous jerk in the robe shop, had reminded him of his cousin, and then insulted his first friend on the train.  

So, now, he had to replicate it. Potter’s face pinched in confusion. They both knew the other knew what had happened. Both knew they were repeating this day. However, Potter still replied with a prompt, “Yes,” nearly identical to the first time.  

Draco stumbled through, “My mother and father are out getting the rest of my supplies.” That hadn’t felt right, and Potter’s confusion lessened, but he remained silent. Young Draco had continued. “Once I’m done here, I think I’ll drag them to see the racing brooms. I think I’ll-” What had he said after this? “Bully father into buying me one and smuggle it in somehow.”  

Potter remained silent still. “Have you got your own broom?”  

“No,” he replied.  

“Play Quidditch at all?”  

“No.”  

“I do. Father says it’s a crime if I don’t get picked for the House team. Know what House you’ll be in?” Draco felt as though he was reciting lines for a play he hadn’t memorised.  

Again, Potter replied, “No.” How had young Draco not realised that the boy he was conversing with did not care about the conversation at all?  

“No one really does until they’re picked. I do know I’ll be in Slytherin. All my family has. Imagine being sorted into Hufflepuff? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”  

Potter just hummed noncommittally. It was silent for a couple of moments before they made eye contact in the mirror again. It felt as though they were daring the other to bring up the elephant in the room first. Potter caved, obviously. Draco never conceded in their staring contests. He said softly, so that Malkin couldn’t hear them from across the room. “Draco?”  

“Yes, Potter?”  

Potter released a relieved sigh but tensed back up. “So, you remember everything?”  

“Wish I didn’t,” he muttered back.  

“Why do you think we do? I don’t think anyone else does. My relatives and Hagrid don’t, at least.”  

Draco shrugged. “No idea. You’re not supposed to change the future, right? That’s cardinal rule number one of time travel.”  

“The only time travel ever recorded is of time turners, which creates two of you in the same moment. As far as I can tell, we’re the only ones of us here.”  

“Okay.” Draco sighed. “Okay, so we just keep the timeline as similar as possible.”  

Potter looked down at the floor. “What if we could change it?”  

“Potter,” Draco warned.  

“No, listen. What if we could stop things before they happen? Like...” He paused and didn’t continue. His eyes got a faraway look. He did that sometimes. They both did. Remembering the war.  

“Like...?” Draco prompted.  

Potter blinked rapidly. “Like Pettigrew’s escape. Or stopping Quirrell from getting to the Stone. Or the Chamber of Secrets before any of the petrifications.”  

“And how are we going to stop that, Potter? Are you telling me you were there for all three of those things?” Potter’s face was that same straight face he gives when Draco says something obvious. “You’ve been to the Chamber of Secrets?” The boy nodded. “And you didn’t tell me? Potter, we have been partners for five years, and you didn’t think to tell me this?”  

Potter shrugged. “Didn’t come up, I guess.”  

Draco just huffed. He stepped down from his box, the tape measure having finished its job. “We’ll talk more. On the train.”  

“But Ron-”  

“We can work around that. Meet at the last compartment at the end of the train.”  

Potter just nodded, and Draco left him in the shop. He eyed Hagrid standing outside the shop with two ice cream cones. Draco smiled at him hesitantly. He could mend some of his relationships before they even soured. He and Potter could change the future.

Chapter Text

A month passed, and September first was upon him. Draco had packed soon after they arrived back home from Diagon Alley. He usually read through his new books to get acquainted with the coursework and what he would be learning for the year, but, as it happened, this was all old, beginner-level material. He used most of the things he learned in this class for everyday use as an adult.  

The Malfoy family Apparated to the platform together fifteen minutes before the train was set to leave. He glanced around the platform, trying to locate Potter or any of his other school friends. At the moment, he wasn’t sure how he would shake them off if they managed to find him before Potter. He hadn’t gone to Potter’s compartment until just after lunch, and the trolley had gone through the entire train. But that would change this time, no? They would be in the last compartment. Draco and his friends usually commandeered a compartment in the middle of the train; the first one is in the seventh car. Potter had been further down, somewhere in the tenth.  

Mother kissed him atop the head, and Father grabbed his shoulder in what was supposed to be encouragement but felt like expectations. Mother hugged him tightly one last time, “Good-bye, dragon. Be safe, okay. Write us every day. We love you.”  

“I love you, too.” He pulled away and made his way to the end of the train, dragging his trunk with him. He waved one last time before turning his back on them.  

The compartment was still empty when he finally got inside. He hoisted the trunk up onto the overhead storage rack with a lot of difficulty. He couldn’t remember it being this difficult.  

Potter arrived only a couple of minutes after. Destined for Draco to be the first anywhere, and Potter always second.  

“Sorry,” he huffed as he hoisted his own trunk, with a bit of Draco’s help, onto the storage rack. His owl, the same one he had throughout school, sat next to him in its cage. Draco cast a silencing spell.  

“No Weasleys?” Draco asked as they settled into the seats, sitting opposite each other.  

“No Weasleys. I didn’t know how to get on the platform last time, and they were coming through like five minutes before the train left. Helped me out.”  

Draco frowned. Something felt off. “How’d you know they were wizards?”  

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley mentioned something about Muggles.”  

Draco stared, mouth agape. It took some seconds before he recovered himself. “Out on the Muggle side of the station?”  

Potter shrugged. “Yeah?”  

“And you never found it odd? Or the fact that a pureblood wizarding family would come through the Muggle side and not just Apparate onto the platform?”  

“I...guess I never really thought about it?”  

“Never thought about it? I always knew you were thick, Potter, but come off it.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Really?”  

“Yes, Malfoy. It never crossed my mind how weird it was. Hagrid didn’t tell me how to get on the platform when he took me to Diagon Alley, and my relatives had just left me at the station. I was a little strung out of options. Besides, Ron and the rest of his family became my friends because of it.”  

“Okay, well...” Draco trailed off, thinking. “Did Ron know who you were when he introduced himself to you?”  

“Umm...yeah. I think so? Fred and George helped me get my trunk on the storage rack. They saw my scar, and I think they told the others where I was.”  

“And you still don’t find that odd?”  

“Why? What’s wrong with that?”  

“Weasley only introduced himself to you because you’re Harry Potter! Had you been some other random bloke, he wouldn’t have even bothered!” Draco’s voice continued to rise until he was practically yelling.  

“Even so! If I remember correctly, you did the same thing!”  

“Yeah, and I bloody prick about it! Of course, I wanted to be friends with you because of your name! Malfoy and Potter are two of the biggest names in Wizarding Britain! Do you understand how much power we would have if we had become friends?”  

“I don’t even know what that means.”  

“It means, Potter, that your name – your  last name - carries a lot of weight in the Wizengamot. More than most families. On top of the fact that you’re also heir to the Black family seats, you’re basically royalty in the council.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Draco couldn’t understand what was so difficult about this. Hadn’t anyone taught him? “The Potter family holds sixteen seats in the Wizengamot.” He paused so Potter could nod his understanding. He couldn’t believe he was giving Potter a political history lesson. “The Black family – well, right now it doesn’t matter, you’re not the heir yet – is worth twenty-four seats. The Malfoy family only holds eight seats. Some hold more, like the Abbotts, others less, like the Longbottoms. Some only hold one seat, like the Weasleys. Following?”  

Potter nodded again with a frown. “What do you mean I’m ‘the heir’ of the Black family seats?”  

“When my uncle died, you inherited his seats. You’re the Lord of the Black family seats in our time.”  

“No, I’m not.”  

“Yes, you are. It's just that you never show up for meetings, so those seats aren’t used in a vote.”  

Potter spluttered, “Well, how was I supposed to know I was a council member?”  

“I assumed Dumbledore told you. He was in control of the seats you inherited until you accepted the Lordship.”  

“Dumbledore never told me anything about any of this.”  

“That’s because he’s a cunt.” Potter gaped at him. He should be used to Draco’s insults of the old man, but it always seemed to shock him.  

“Malfoy! He was a good man. He’s dead. If you can’t respect him, at least don’t insult him.”  

“See, Potter, Dumbledore is not dead. Technically.”  

“Yeah, well, we both watched him die, so he’s dead to us.”  

Draco remained silent for a beat. “I won’t be able to care about him the second time around either.” Potter made an exasperated noise in his throat but made no further comment.  

It was silent in the compartment for a few minutes while they digested their conversation. That is, until Potter asked:  

“How much do you think we should keep the same?”  

Draco shrugged. “Most of it? I'm not going to be able to convince the hat to put me into Gryffindor, nor you to Slytherin. That affects who we hang out with much of the time. Actually, I should be trying to find my friends right now. I hung out with them on the train. And you should find Weasley and Granger.”  

Potter sighed. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to convince the hat to put me in Gryffindor again.”  

“What the hell do you mean? Like you already did?”  

He nodded. Voice quiet, he muttered, “First time around, the hat couldn’t decide where it wanted me to go. I only asked for anywhere but Slytherin because, up to that point, I’d only heard that Slytherin was evil. And you were already sorted, and I didn’t like you. The hat decided on Gryffindor even though it favored Slytherin.”  

“Holy fuck, Potter. Well, best of luck to you, but you've got to do it again.”  

Potter glared at him. “And weren’t you the one saying Ron just wanted to be friends with me because of who I was?”  

“That I did. And I’m encouraging you to get close to him again.” Potter glared. “Look, if you don’t want to, don’t. If you do, go for it. All I’m trying to say.”  

He nodded consideringly, replying shortly after, “Should we try to be friends this time around. I don’t want to have to pretend to hate each other and then try to find times to meet with each other secretly.”  

“Pretend to hate me? Oh, Potter, you do care!”  

“Fuck off.”  

“Yes. It’s for the best, really. The interhouse rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin fed the war. If we can be, at least, on good terms, maybe others will follow.”  

They shook hands, reminiscent of the one denied fifteen years earlier.  

“See you at Hogwarts, Potter.”  

“See you at Hogwarts, Malfoy.”  

Chapter Text

The train arrived in Hogsmeade Station just after nightfall. Draco was dressed in his uniform, unadorned with any house motif, flanked by his friends: Vince, Greg, Pansy, and Theo. They wouldn’t make friends with Blaise until after the Sorting, during the Welcome Feast. Some things would have to stay the same. Theo parted from them as they gathered into the small boats that would take them across the Black Lake. He could barely see him, but Draco spotted Potter in a boat with Granger, Longbottom, and Finch-Fletchley. Guess he never found Weasley.  

The ride there was as enchanting as he remembered. Just as magical. He often wished they could make the trip up to Hogwarts like this every year, but he had resigned himself to never seeing the castle from this view ever again. He soaked up every last bit of it.  

They were escorted to the same offshoot room of the Great Hall as before, and the ghosts came through and greeted them. Draco pretended to be just as properly terrified as the others around him. Professor McGonagall spoke to them briefly before leading them into the Great Hall. Draco was used to the spectacle that is the Great Hall. However, after the Battle of Hogwarts, seeing it fully intact and full of life was strange. He remembered sitting over to the side just over there, huddled with his mother and father. Father would be sentenced to life in Azkaban for his role in the war, Draco and his mother to house arrest for one and two years, respectively.  

Other children around him stared up at the ceiling. He could hear Granger telling someone about it being enchanted. Some marveled at the architecture of the room and the candles floating overhead. The rest seemed to be muttering to one another about how they were to be Sorted.  

The Sorting Hat promptly broke out into song when they came to a halt before it.  

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty. But don’t judge on what you see.” It seemed to be the same song as the last time around, too. Perhaps they were right to assume only he and Potter were affected. It had to be because of that orb.  

“When I call your name,” Professor McGonagall called over the dying applause. “You will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!”  

And the Sorting began. Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Slytherin. It was the first time he had been properly shocked since July 31 st at the thought of seeing people he knew to be dead in just a few short years. He had gotten around to seeing her every day. But these kids, kids he had spent his teenage years with, kids he had seen die during the war, were an entirely different level. If his glance at Potter proved anything, he wasn’t doing much better either currently.  

MacDougal, Morag, was sorted into Ravenclaw right before Draco’s name was called. He swaggered to the stool with as much confidence as he could muster. What if he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin? What if the war had changed him so dramatically that he no longer belonged to his House?  

He needn’t have worried. Truly. Despite the Sorting taking longer than before, a simple, quick conversation with the hat ( “And what is this? I’ve peered into this mind before. Briefly, but no matter. The mind, who has experienced far more than it should have, still holds the same ideals. It will be...” ) “SLYTHERIN!”  

Draco smirked out to the crowd of students before him, sauntering over to the Slytherin table and placing himself across from Greg and Vince. Millicent sat next to him, and Daphne next to her. Theo, if he recalled correctly, would sit next to Vince, allowing Pansy to place herself next to Draco. Blaise would be the last person sorted and would sit next to Pansy.  

And sure enough, Nott, Theodore was sorted into Slytherin and sat next to Vince, and Pansy followed soon after and sat next to him. Then the Patil twins were sorted into different Houses, and then:  

“Potter, Harry!”  

The room quieted dramatically before picking up again as people began muttering, “What did she say?” “Harry Potter?” “Like the Harry Potter?” “I heard that right, right?”  

Potter appeared just as nervous as the first Sorting, but instead of closing in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath as he walked up to the stool.  

It was some time later, longer than his first but nowhere near Longbottom’s, that the hat announced, “GRYFFINDOR!”  

Draco released a relieved sigh. They were still kind of on track. Some things fucked up; they being acquaintances and Weasley apparently not being friends with Potter yet, but they could get over that hurdle.  

The Sorting continued, and Weasley landed himself in Gryffindor to raucous applause from the Weasley twins, and Blaise was with them in Slytherin, and finally, they could eat. Dinner appeared before them, and Draco was all too comfortable not to join in the feast.  

Class started early the next day. Their times tables were passed out by Severus while they were eating breakfast, and the first year Slytherins soon found themselves outside the Charms classroom.  

Draco tried to pretend like he didn’t know where he was going, feigning he was just really good at reading a map, but he wasn’t sure how well he pulled it off.  

“How do you understand this thing?” Pansy asked, crumpling her parchment and shoving it into her book bag. “It makes no sense. It doesn’t show any of the trip staircases or tapestry shortcuts you seem to just know.”  

The lie fell from his tongue easily. “My mother drew me a pretty extensive map when I was younger, so I could remember everything before I arrived. She didn’t want me to get lost like she had her first year. Didn’t want me to be late to class on my first day.”  

Pansy hummed. She didn’t mention it anymore and simply let Draco lead her from classroom to classroom.  

He hadn’t met up with Potter since the train. They were still reacquainting themselves with the runnings of Hogwarts and school life. And although the course load was much smaller than it had been during the rest of his years, they had to appear as though it was as difficult for them as everyone else. They couldn’t interact in public either until it was a certain thing that they actually knew of each other. The only classes Gryffindors and Slytherins had together were Double Potions, Astronomy (that all Houses took together), and Flying lessons. The rest were either with Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.  

Friday revealed Double Potions, and Severus’s lessons had always held the same structure. A lecture and then the practical. This time, he started the same as all the professors had: roll call. He paused at Potter’s name, a slow drawl and the corner of his mouth ticking up into the barest hint of a smirk.  

“Harry Potter. Our newest – celebrity .” Potter didn’t respond to the dig, just stared him down. He didn’t look awkward. The look in his eyes seemed to dare the professor to say more. He didn’t. As roll call came to a close, he continued onto the lecture. He made a speech and asked questions that they wouldn’t need the answers for until third year.  

Draco knew Severus was a harsh teacher. He didn’t like children, and he wasn’t good at teaching if you needed a gentler hand, but the school provided him a safe space as an ex-Death Eater. Draco had begun brewing potions under Severus’s tutelage when he was just seven years old. Severus was no less strict on him than the other students, but in the face of Gryffindors, he aggressively showed favoritism. Draco had asked him more than once why he hated the Gryffindors so passionately. The only answer he got was a grunt, and the door slammed in his face as he was shoved out of the office.  

Draco was perched on a stool next to Potter’s group, the only way they could begin to “form a friendship” without seeming too obvious. The class was more interspersed than it would become in later years, as the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry picked up in their year, but many were partnered up with people from the other House.  

Draco remained outside the group intermingling, choosing to partner with Theo, who would become his favorite Potions partner. Greg and Vince were atrocious at Potions and only ever got passing grades with Draco’s help, but he never let them partner with him for fear of his potions ending like Longbottom’s: exploding and all over his hands.  

Severus barked orders and demeaned Granger and Potter, mostly Potter, for not helping and trying to make themselves look better if Longbottom messed up.  

“How was that his fault, Professor?” Draco asked from his seat. Potter whipped his head over to him. “He’s working on his own potion. Why should he care how others are doing?”  

“I just explained why,” Severus huffed. He sneered over to Potter, “Point from Gryffindor.”  

“On a power trip, are you?” Draco goaded. He could see Theo looking at him with apprehension, a bit of fear.  

“Point from Slytherin for cheek.” The professor growled out. Draco smiled. Pansy made a noise of complaint up towards the front of the room, but she held her tongue when Severus made to look over at her.  

“You can’t just talk to a professor like that, Draco,” Pansy admonished as they left the classroom.  

“Sure can and did.” Draco hoisted his book bag more securely on his shoulder.  

“He’s a professor - our Head of House. You should at least attempt a...maybe not friendly, but you know, not an animosity kind of relationship. Besides, why stand up for Potter anyway? He’s not our friend.”  

“Because he wasn’t going to stand up for himself, and he didn’t deserve it. Besides, you know I’m close to Severus. He wouldn’t do anything serious to me.” Draco replied. He could spy Potter and Granger ahead of him. Weasley was talking to Thomas behind. Pansy hummed but otherwise remained quiet until they reached their next class, Transfiguration.  

Days began to fly by. He and Potter met up secretly to talk about how their lives were faring. It felt like an undercover mission. He was never let in on one because of the...well...but Potter talked to him just as easily as before their little time jump. Some bantering that bordered on all-out arguing and could quickly result in either a duel or a fistfight. They weren’t opposed to either option.  

“Ron and I aren’t as close as the last time around,” Potter muttered in one of their meetings. They were holed up in the Room of Requirement, undamaged and in pristine conditions. Their current space was a pile of blankets and pillows in front of a fireplace. It reminded Draco of a slumber party. He wouldn’t have his first one until Halloween, when all Houses were escorted out of the Great Hall because a troll had somehow gotten into the castle. The girls had followed the boys to their dorm, and they’d piled the blankets on the plush rug in search of comfort from one another.  

“What happened differently this time?”  

“Our conversation on the train. I couldn’t find him. Found Hermione and Neville. Neville still lost Trevor, though.”  

“Who’s Trevor?”  

“His toad.”  

The conversations lulled sometimes. Draco felt uncomfortable sometimes. He was back in time, and yet still managed to hang out with Harry Potter like he didn’t hate him anymore. Draco wasn’t sure if he ever truly hated Potter, but he didn’t think too much on that theory. He wasn’t sure where it could lead.  

Potter finally spoke again, breaking the silence. “The troll, on Halloween.” Draco hums in acknowledgment. “It gets out of the dungeons by the time everyone’s out of the Great Hall. Last time, Ron and I went looking for Hermione because she had been crying in a bathroom. We found the troll first and accidentally locked it inside with her.”  

“Were you a part of all the big drama during first year?”  

Potter only gave a small smile in response. “Anyway, we take it down, and the three of us officially become best friends.”  

“So, if you want to be best friends again, you have to make Granger cry and convince Weasley to go with you to save her?”  

“That’s not gonna be able to happen this time. Hermione and I are friends, and the whole reason she was crying was because Ron said that if she didn’t act the way she did, she would. Ron only went with me to get her because we were friends, and he wanted to apologise.”  

Draco looked down at the rumpled blankets beneath him, picking at a loose thread. “So, what do we do with the troll?”  

“We have to find it, and no one should be in the girls’ loo, just lock it in there.”  

“Us?”  

“Yeah. Then get the professors. Quirrell tries to get to the Stone, but Snape stops him. After that, we have to go after the Stone ourselves. Before June because that’s when he almost succeeds.”  

“Okay...okay.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Yes.”  

Chapter Text

Draco didn’t despise flying lessons; he’d been flying for his whole life, and readjusted his form after the first admonition from Madam Hooch during their initial lesson. P otter posed a different anxiety.  

He approached him and pulled him into an alcove behind a tapestry between classes, the day before the first flying lesson. “If we’re friends now, you have no reason to pick on Neville and throw the Remembrall. I don’t get on the Quidditch team if you don’t do that.”  

Draco frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. The lesson had been so early into the school year, it hardly seemed as though Potter had gotten on the team through an actual tryout.  

“I could convince Greg to do it? He’s thick enough.”  

It was Potter’s turn to frown. “Will that work?”  

“Should. Hopefully.”  

“‘Should. Hopefully.'” Potter mocked as Draco slipped out from behind the tapestry. Potter waited nearly a minute before he slipped out, too.  

The next day, Longbottom did in fact bring his Remembrall, fell off his broom, and left the object in the grass. Draco leaned over to Greg and whispered about how Longbottom couldn’t even remember his Remembrall. Greg had laughed and picked up the small orb. It reminded Draco distinctly of the orb from Cornelius’s house.  

“Longbottom doesn’t need this, does he? Forgetful as he is, he’d forget what he’s forgotten,” said Greg. Vince laughed next to him. Draco didn’t even have to force out a chuckle. It will always be easy to pick on Longbottom at this age. Sixth and seventh years were different. He didn’t have time to or was too busy trying not to get himself killed by the Carrows.  

Potter stepped forward. “Give it here, Goyle.”  

Greg smirked, mounted his broom, and took off, Potter following close behind, ignoring Granger’s urges not to. Greg wasn’t nearly as comfortable on the broom as Potter. An instinct that Greg simply didn’t have. However, Potter played like Goyle was better than he actually was. To a bunch of eleven-year-olds, it could be pulled off. The Slytherins below the two heckled Potter. The Gryffindors demanded that Greg return the Remembrall.  

“You want it that badly, Potter? Then go get it.” Greg tossed the ball, just as Draco had once, towards the castle. There was more force on it, but they were further from the nearest tower that it needn’t have mattered. Potter caught it with ease, the twigs of his room just barely brushing the stone of the tower.  

It was only minutes after both boys had lowered to the ground, and Potter was celebrated for his feat, that Professor McGonagall rushed over to them.  

“Harry Potter!” She grabbed Potter by the arm and swiftly pulled him from the group of children. Muttering something along the lines of, “ Never – in all my time at Hogwarts – how dare you – might have broken your neck –”  

Gryffindors rushed to his defense, but the professor hushed them and pulled him back to the castle.  

“So?” Draco asked once they were alone together again.  

“McGonagall introduced me to Wood. I made the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”  

“Great. So, when do we go after the Stone?” Draco didn’t like trusting Potter, letting him take the lead, but he’d already lived through this once. And he was better at hiding his fear than Draco, a natural leader.  

“After Christmas, I think. Will you stay for the holidays?”  

“No.” Draco shook his head. “What makes after Christmas good? Don’t we want the Stone now?”  

“I get a present from Hagrid. We need it to get past Fluffy unless you have an instrument on you that you can play?”  

“I do not, nor am I bringing a full-sized piano into the school.”  

“Okay, so after Christmas it is.”  

“After Christmas.”  

Draco was dreading Halloween. He’d dealt with trolls before as an Auror, and yet he still hated it. The smell.  Some were still rampaging over Europe after the war ended and needed to be rounded up. Draco only pitched in at the tail end, but he figured that that was enough trolls for him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the end.  

He and Potter were crouched behind a suit of armor. He could smell the ghastly thing before he could see it. Or hear for that matter, which was astonishing because its grunts seemed to reverberate down the corridor as it approached them.  

It passed them with little fanfare and into the open girls’ bathroom. They had checked to make sure no one was inside. They pulled the door shut and raced down separate corridors to locate a professor. They were to make it seem as though they had spotted the troll on the way out of the Great Hall. Draco wasn’t sure how well the plan would work, but it was better than admitting they had gone looking for the troll.  

Draco was just turning into the dungeons corridor when he spotted a group huddled in the entryway: Sinistra, Trelawny, and Flitwick.  

“Professors!” Draco shouted. “The troll – it's – it's in the girls’ loo on the first floor – I shut it –” He gasped out. Superb acting, Draco.  

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor Flitwick. “Now get back to your House, please. We can handle the rest.”  

Fall bled away as the storms picked up in November. The first Quidditch game would be held at the end of the month, and Potter was getting exceedingly nervous.

“You know it’s not your actual first game, right?”  

“I know that!” Potter snapped.  

“Not acting like it.”  

“Well, maybe I’m nervous about the fact that I’m going to get almost thrown off my broom.”  

“We have a plan, remember? I’ll stick to my end; you just hang on for dear life.”  

He was giving Draco that look again. The straight face. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”  

Teachers were piling on more homework to prepare students for midterms. Unfortunately for them, students were becoming more lethargic as the cold and rain became more insistent. Draco could barely keep his head as he slogged through his history essay. That was a class that didn’t get easier as a repeat.  

The day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game was on an oddly clear day. The smell of rain was still fresh in the air, and the grass was mushy underfoot. It was going rather well. Draco cheered along with his House despite already knowing the result. Although most of the game was spent with his eyes on Professor Quirrell in the staff’s section.  

Just as Potter’s broom began to buck, Draco was off like a flash. His friends didn’t even notice him slip off. He made it to the staff section in record time, taking the crowd into account. There was Professor Quirrell, eyes not leaving Potter, muttering under his breath. Severus was doing the same, although Potter mentioned that it truly was Quirrell jinxing his broom, and Severus was doing the counter-jinx.  

He got underneath Professor Quirrell’s seat in the stand. Uttering a quick incendio and taking off without a glance at the section behind him, he could hear the chaos unfold in his wake, and a cheer rise in the crowd. Potter had gotten back on his broom. Just as he was making it back to his seat, he could see Potter fly forward and nearly swallow the Snitch.  

Another cheer rose among the non-Slytherin fans, and angry jeers from those in green, as Potter held the Snitch high in the air. Draco eased his face into one of disappointment and anger. The pride desperately wanted to take over.  

Chapter Text

Winter was fully upon them. Snow began to fall, blanketing the Lawn, and ice began to freeze the Lake. Midterms came and went, and soon, students were leaving for the holidays. They had one last meeting, the night before Draco was set to leave the castle for a fortnight. They were laying on the blankets, staring up at the ceiling.  

“What do your friends think you’re doing when you come up here?” Potter asked.  

“With Severus in extra lessons.” Draco could hear Potter’s scowl. 

“And you made fun of me for taking remedial lessons.” 

“Yes, because mine are extras. To advance further. Yours were to re-do lessons we had already covered.”  

Potter huffed and heard some shuffling just out of eyesight. He grumbled, “Weren’t actually remedial lessons anyway.”  

“Mmm? Then what were they? Can’t imagine you wanting to be near Severus any longer than necessary.”  

“No. He was trying to teach me Occlumency.”  

“Severus? Professor Snape?” He could feel the blanket beneath him shift as Potter nodded. A pause. “Were you successful with him?” 

“No. I still can’t do it. Not really.” 

Draco shot up to his elbows, twisting at the torso to look at Potter. “What?” Potter only shrugged. “It’s essential to get through Auror training.”  

“I didn’t go through the training. Apparently, being a war hero gets you some perks.”  

Draco almost regretted what he said next. “I can teach you.”  

“Huh? Why?”  

“Well, you need it anyway, right? As an Auror...and just being you, I guess.”  

Potter narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch?” 

“You have to teach me how to produce a corporeal Patronus.” 

“You can’t produce a Patronus? Isn’t that essential in Auror training?” 

“Yes, but unfortunately for me, I couldn’t do it in time for my exam. They let me get by without because I could produce a non-corporeal and knew everything else.”  

Potter thought about it for a second before reaching out into the space between them. “Okay. Deal.”  

Draco shook. “Deal.”  

Potter wrote once during the holidays. A simple, Happy Christmas. From Potter. Draco felt like a bit of dick not sending anything for the day, but once alone in his room, after the early morning festivities jotted a similar note for him. They didn’t really do gift-giving with each other. 

“My presence the entire year is a gift, Potter,” Draco had replied when Potter had asked where his Christmas present was when they first became partners. 

“More like a curse. You’re always here. Stuck to me. Like glue.” Draco smiled back. A wide, closed lip smile. Prideful in his vanity.  

The holidays seemed to drag. Mother was pleasant as ever to be around. She showered him with affection and made sure he knew how loved he was on the special day. Father was cold as ever. Just as distant. It felt off-limits to show love for his father. Draco simply didn’t know how.  

There was a ball on Boxing Day, hosted by the Greengrasses, that Draco had to attend. Most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was there. Even those with long lineages in other Hogwarts Houses than Slytherin, and revoked the use of Dark Magic, attended these balls. Susan Bones was flanked by her mother and father in beautiful purple robes. The Selwyns were there, all in dark greys. Pansy was a beauty in ice blue. Draco himself was adorned in dark blue, nearly black dress robes. It pronounced his pale complexion rather than washed him out like other colors so often did. Looking at you, brown.  

The ball was boring. Draco spent most of it chatting shit with Pansy and Theo. Vince and Greg seemed to be competing for who could stuff as much food in their faces as possible. Draco would’ve reprimanded them if he weren’t currently doing the same anytime his mouth wasn’t used for speaking. The Malfoys may not be struggling financially, but he had come to appreciate the phrase “Free food is free food.” 

“Ugh, what a horrendous color.” Pansy grimaced as she eyed Alecto Carrow. “Some people just do not have the Eye.” 

“No need for the Eye,” Theo said around a truffle. “All you need are working eyes. That color never looks good on anyone.”  

“Perhaps she wanted to make a statement?” Draco suggested. “You know, like she has terrible fashion sense?” 

“Well, it’s not a new one. Remember the one from two years ago?” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

Draco returned to Hogwarts a few days before classes were set to start again. He met with Potter one night, offering an excuse of having to go to the library to his friends left behind in the Common Room.  

“The new term hasn’t even started yet, Draco. Why do you need the library already?”  

“Need a book to cite in the Transfiguration essay.” 

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” Pansy asked. 

“No. I’ll be back before curfew.”  

“Got the flute for Christmas.” Potter held it up. It was just a wooden flute. Nothing special about it. 

“And you know how to play it?”  

“Yeah. Only remember bits from the last time around, but I usually played it when I was bored. I think I’ll find time to pick it up again soon.” 

“Just enough to put the dog to sleep and get through the trap door.”  

“Easy enough, right?” 

“Right.” Draco fell silent for a second. Potter lounged beside him, head propped up with a pillow. “Can we do Patronus lessons today?” 

Potter looked over at him. “Yeah. Sure.”  

The room was small, comfy in an overcrowded way, but they made do with their space, not willing to change it.  

“It’s easier without a dementor present, but the more you practice, the easier it comes, and you should be able to do it in the presence of a dementor eventually.”  

The lesson yielded no results, and Draco was definitely pushing past the allotted time a trip to the library would take.  

“You’ll get it,” Potter assured as they left the room. 

“I know.” 

The first couple of weeks after the holidays always seemed to drag to Draco. It was usually devoted to recapping what they had learned right before break. So, to Draco, they were recapping something he’d already recapped twice over.  

Draco spent most of his time in the Slytherin common room, shoved into a corner, reading. He’d read most of the books in the library already, primarily from his past life, but he’d made good headway into just about reading them all a second time. The current book was The Divinity of the Divine Arts. He’d always found Divination a useless subject. He’d considered taking it out of interest, but upon learning it was pointless unless you could See, he took Ancient Runes instead.  

His friends were at a nearby table. Vince and Greg were poring over a Potions essay that was due the next day, Blaise was attempting the color-changing spell for Thursday’s Transfiguration class, and Pansy and Theo were embroiled in a very intense game of chess. Draco was shocked to notice it was fairly even. Theo always won at chess, only losing sometimes to Draco.  

Draco was settled in the Room of Requirement, book propped open in his lap, when Potter came charging in, door slamming shut behind him. “Hermione knows!” 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, setting the book to the side. “What does Granger know?” 

“Everything,” he said it breathily.  

Draco fell onto his back, running his hands over his face. He asked, “What? Did you tell her?” 

Potter took a seat next to him, throwing his book bag to the floor. “No...No she figured it out herself. Well – not really. I told her a lot, but she was getting suspicious. She knew something was up that I wasn’t telling her, and I’ve never been able to lie to her.” 

“So...she knows everything? All of it? From the orb thing to us reliving our school years...?”  

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck, Potter.”  

“Yeah, okay. I know, but I thought if anyone could help, it’d be Hermione. She’s never told anyone my secrets before and she’s always done the most to get us out of an awful situation.” 

Draco let the silence settle while he gathered his thoughts. Speaking slowly, he said, “So, she’s willing to help us get the Stone, close the Chamber of Secrets, and prevent a war?” 

“Well, she only knows about the Stone right now. I didn’t want to say too much in my dorm room when anyone could walk in.” 

“Fair enough. You are planning on telling her soon, though, right?”  

Potter bit his lip. “I was thinking she could come up here with us. You know...join our meetings.”  

Draco sighed, carding his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Okay...fine.”  

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, Potter.” 

Granger was staring at him the next morning at breakfast. It didn’t seem malicious, more...calculating. She seemed to be dissecting everything she had been told the night before. Draco titled his head surreptitiously, attempting discretion. She did the same and turned back to eating and chatting with the Gryffindors around her. Draco turned back to his own friends. 

“So, Draco?” Pansy asked. He hadn’t heard the rest of the statement. He hummed questioningly. “Do you want to study in the library after Herbology today?” She paused. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. Just tired.” She squinted at him but let it go. Draco couldn’t imagine having someone as observant and intelligent as Granger as a friend. She’d have known within days of the new school year.  

Potter and Granger were already nestled in the pile of blankets when Draco arrived. They seemed to be chatting, but stopped abruptly when he approached.  

“You know,” Granger started as Draco sat down. “I didn’t think you two were really that close. You don’t really act like you even know each other in classes.” 

Potter coughed slightly. “Er, yeah. We’ve been working on that. Being more friendly to each other.” 

“I wouldn’t call ignoring each other being friendly.” 

One side of Draco’s lips quirked. “It is when you were at each other’s throats at school.” 

“So, it is true? Everything? You two being from the future?” Her eyes grew wide as she spoke. Her head moved between the two boys as if trying to look at both simultaneously.  

Potter shrugged.  

“Oh my God.” She covered her hand over her mouth. “Do you understand how dangerous time travel is? I read about it, you know? Meddling with the past to change the future could cause irreparable damage to the construct of the world. Have you gone back far enough to see yourselves at some point? I’ve heard it can make some go mad. Or—how are you going to end up back in the same place you time-traveled from—” 

“Hey, Granger?” Draco interrupted. She hummed. “We know.”  

“Oh, well…that’s good.” She paused in thought. “Well, what else are you trying to change? Harry told me that there’s a stone being held within the school that You-Know-Who is after, but I didn’t really understand much else in the rambling.” 

Draco looked to Potter. “Well? Are you going to repeat it for her, or would you like me to? Since, apparently, you’re not all that articulate.” 

“Ha ha.” Potter stuck his tongue out at him. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, er, it’s kind of complicated. So, you know what happened on Halloween 1981?” Granger nodded. “Okay, so Voldemort is basically just a spirit right now. He can possess someone, but he needs to take their life force to stay alive and become whole. Right now, he’s on the back of Quirrell’s head.” 

Granger choked. “Excuse me, what?” 

Draco grimaced. “Had the same reaction.” 

“Er, yeah. Voldemort is possessing him, and his face is on the back of Quirrell’s head, which is why he has the turban. He was also the reason I almost fell off my broom during the Quidditch game. Well, right now, Voldemort is living on Quirrell’s life force and unicorn blood. He needs the Philosopher’s Stone to become fully human again. It was moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts the same day Gringotts was broken into. Here, there’s a bunch of obstacles in the way to prevent Quirrell from getting through.”  

Draco interjected, “Why were the obstacles so simple that eleven-year-olds could get past them?” 

Potter frowned, mumbling, “Never thought about it.” 

“How did you manage to get through school, much less survive a war, Potter?” The other boy glared.  

“Can we please get back to the story? What were the obstacles?” 

Potter turned back to his friend, although he kept his eyes cast downward. “Fluffy, the three-headed dog. Music puts it to sleep. Devil’s Snare—” 

“Light.”  

“Yeah. Erm, then the flying keys, a giant chess set, the mountain troll, the potions riddle, and then the Mirror of Erised.” 

“Yep, that all sounds far too easy for a fully grown wizard. It was intended for children to be able to get through.” Draco hummed. “Perhaps not Vince and Greg. They barely passed first-year exams.” 

Potter smiled. “I always wondered how they moved up to second year.” 

“I made them study with me and Theo.” 

“So, do we have everything to get through?” asked Hermione. 

“I think so.”  

Draco asked, “When should we make for the Stone then?” 

“Tomorrow night. It’s a Friday. We won’t be tired for classes,” Potter answers. 

“What if Professor Quirrell goes for the Stone tonight?” 

“He won’t. He won’t figure out how to get past Fluffy until March.” 

“How do you know?” 

“He gets Hagrid drunk and offers a dragon egg for information about Fluffy.” 

“I fucking knew there was a dragon!” 

“And you got yourself in trouble over it. It was being shipped off to Romania that night anyway.” 

“Still. A dragon on school grounds. Madness.” 

“Need I remind you of the madness that was the Triwizard—”  

“No, actually. You don’t.” 

Granger mouthed, What? Mouth gaping as she followed their conversation. 

“So tomorrow night? Malfoy, meet Hermione and me in front of the door to the third-floor corridor.” Draco nodded. “We’ll be under my Cloak, but I’ll take it off when we get close to you.” 

Draco responded, “Right,” just as Hermione asked, “What Cloak?” 

Potter said, “I’ll tell you on the way to Gryffindor Tower.” 

And they gave their good-byes as the door to the Room of Requirement disappeared behind them.