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Draco poured a generous amount of cognac into his coffee, and when he realised Astoria was still talking he poured in some more.
“So the estate agent is coming round about five,” Astoria said as she came into the kitchen, a quick wave of her wand straightening the curtains and setting the dirty pots to clean in the sink. “And then a woman named Lavender is coming round from the Prophet to interview us for the announcement. She told me that she was in your year at school; do you know her?”
Draco grunted in response, taking a hefty swig of his coffee.
Astoria huffed and put her hand on her hip. “You could at least try to show a little interest, Draco. You were the one who wanted the divorce, but somehow I’m the one trying to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“I couldn’t give a shit about the estate agent,” Draco muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table-top. “The house could sell for half its value and we’d still be well-off.”
“And the interview?” Astoria questioned tersely. “I may be aware that you’re a selfish, miserable drunk, but I’d have thought you wouldn’t have wanted that to become public knowledge.”
“I’m not a drunk,” Draco snarled, closing his fingers tightly around the handle of his mug. “I only ever drink enough to take the edge off. It’s not any of your business anyway now, is it, ex-wife.”
Once upon a time, Astoria may have become tearful at angry at the way Draco spoke to her, but now she brushed Draco’s attitude aside as if it was a simple quirk she’d become used to.
“You’re right, it’s none of my business if you want to ruin your life,” Astoria shrugged, straightening the hem of her dress. It was bright red, slinky and tight, and far sexier than anything she’d worn for years.
“But seriously, Draco,” Astoria continued. “We were together for fifteen years—married for fourteen of those. I gave up my career plans for you, put off having a baby for you, and stuck by you and even covered for you throughout all those affairs you had, so the least you can do is work with me now to make sure everything goes to plan and we can be rid of one another at last.”
“Whatever,” Draco muttered, downing the rest of his drink and getting to his feet. “I’ll be back here at four, all clean and presentable so we can put on a show of being a lovely divorcing couple.”
Astoria’s stern expression turned weary, and Draco felt his bad mood ease slightly with guilt.
“I’m still sorry it came to this,” he murmured apologetically. “We started off so well, but we were both nothing but miserable these last few years; I think it’s better for both of us to be apart.”
Astoria nodded, hesitating for just a moment before she stepped forwards to draw Draco into a brief hug.
“I’ll meet you here at half four, okay?” Astoria said. “Have a good day at work.”
That was unlikely.
Draco was a Curse-Breaker working as part of the Auror team. While Draco enjoyed the work itself, he had always wanted to go freelance, and perhaps work with potions or Arithmancy instead. Instead, Draco had allowed his father to push him into the Ministry, believing Lucius when he told Draco that Ministry work would leave Draco more respected and with more power. They had allies in the Ministry, his father had said, and they would take care of Draco.
Only those allies had been forced to shun the Malfoy name after Lucius was sentenced to twenty years under house arrest, and Draco had been left to fend for himself. Lucius had also pushed for Draco to marry Astoria while they were both young, which meant Draco lost all chances of leaving his job to work for himself because he had to provide for his wife. That was part of the reason Draco had put off having children—he’d really be forced to stay with the Ministry then.
Still, another day, another Galleon.
He grudgingly finished getting ready before Apparating to the Ministry, his cloak billowing around him as he strode to the Auror offices. He barely got chance to sit down at his desk before Head Auror Robards called for him, summoning Draco to his office.
Potter was already in Robards' office when Draco arrived, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of Potter.
Draco had never quite got over that schoolyard crush he’d had on Potter, and had spent the last several years torn between resenting Potter for having a loving marriage, wonderful kids, and a fulfilling job; and wanting to bend Potter over—or bend over for Potter, Draco wasn’t fussy—and have his way with him.
Draco settled for having numerous affairs with dark-haired, green-eyed men.
“Auror Potter and his team are investigating an abandoned house which has links to the current potion smuggling network,” Robards explained, giving Potter a proud smile.
Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if Robards also had dirty fantasies about Potter; why else would Potter be next in line for the Head Auror position despite being far younger than any of the others had been?
“Malfoy, I’d like you to accompany the team and be on the lookout for anything unusual looking,” Robards continued. “The network is renowned for leaving cursed devices behind when they leave a safehouse. Intel says it’s more to destroy evidence than harm investigators, but either way, I’d like it if you could stop any sort of cursed objects going off.
Draco nodded, accepting the casefile without a word. He flipped through the sheets of parchment, quickly skim reading the case details—standard potion smuggling stuff; no firm leads, increase of violence in the seedy end of Knockturn Alley, more potion related cases popping up at St Mungo’s...the usual.
Draco wordlessly followed Potter from the room to the main Auror hub and leaned against the wall as Potter gave his team the briefing before they left. The Aurors paid attention to every word that left Potter’s mouth, looking at him with great respect. Potter really was in his element in the Aurors, and Draco wondered how it would feel to actually enjoy work.
Draco Apparated to the location after Potter finished the briefing by telling everyone the coordinates. He landed in the garden of a rundown looking house which had every window bordered up with graffitied planks of wood. Draco could smell the stale taste of cigarettes coming from one of the neighbours, and heard a couple arguing loudly in the house the other side.
“Malfoy,” Potter called, beckoning Draco forwards with his fingers.
Draco gave the back door a quick study and promptly declared it clean. Draco had worked as a Curse-Breaker for so long that he could easily pick up on large curses and jinxes that had been placed at locations because they left residual magic that always had the same feel to it. It was the smaller curses that were placed on objects which tended to be the most difficult to uncover, as well as generally having nastier effects.
A sweep of the house picked up no major curses, so the Auror team were finally allowed to enter with strict instructions not to touch anything, or even use magic on items without consulting Draco first. Aurors had their own Curse-Breaking skills, though they were nowhere near as talented as Draco, but Robards had been very adamant that they retrieve information this time round.
Draco crept up the creaky stairs behind Potter, following him to the master bedroom. Draco crinkled his nose as soon as he stepped inside, grimacing at the sight of used and discarded condoms, mouldy patches growing on the walls, and dirty needles scattered along the vanity. There was a map of London on the wall with several red circles drawn on it, and Potter promptly took several photos of it.
Draco meanwhile could feel a faint thrum of magic coming from the vanity. He peered closely at it, spotting several pieces of silver jewellery, an emerald green and gold painted music box, and a watch with a crack right down the face. His immediate suspicions fell on the watch, as powerful charms could cause physical damage to the items that they were placed upon.
In retrospect, Draco knew he shouldn’t have had brandy before he left for work. While he was by no means drunk or even tipsy, the alcohol had impaired his judgement enough to make him not think twice about reaching his hands across the vanity to prod the watch with his wand, brushing his wrist against the music box in the process.
The touch of Draco’s skin caused the music box to open, making Draco jump as a ballerina figure emerged from within and began to spin around slowly to the gentle sounds of music. It was quite charming really, dainty and innocent, but Draco knew it was anything but.
Only it was too late to do anything about it.
Draco caught one glimpse of Potter’s panicked face before everything around Draco began to blur together, spinning faster and faster until Draco couldn’t even tell one colour apart from another. Draco felt dizzy from it, though he wasn’t moving at all.
All of a sudden Draco found himself lurching sideways, and he fell to the ground as the spinning stopped abruptly. The ground was cold against his fingers, and a quick glance told him that he was outside now, within a forest. He got to his feet, brushing the mud from his trousers when he spotted several potion vials, pieces of parchment, and maps—the one on the top was the same one that Potter had just been taking photos of.
Well, at least Draco had discovered where all the evidence had been going to.
He gathered all the items up and transfigured a branch from the ground into a bag to keep them all in. Thankfully Draco could see bright light coming from not too far away, and he found himself at the edge of the forest with only a short walk to get there.
And there, unmistakable before Draco, was Hogwarts Castle.
Draco didn’t know whether it was incredibly stupid or genius of potion dealers to magic away their evidence in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had retired now, so nobody ever went into the Forest, and unless the Aurors had reason to suspect Hogwarts to be involved they would never think to investigate there.
Going into the Ministry with all the evidence they’d been looking for would certainly win Draco some glory. That glory never lasted long, though, and Draco always ended up going back to being the ex-Death Eater who nobody really trusted or liked.
Draco reckoned it might be a good idea to wait until Robards was at his wits’ end before he revealed the evidence, just to make himself look like even more of a hero.
Draco began to stroll to the castle because he’d have to use McGonagall’s Floo to get back to the Ministry. At one point he swore he heard that mangy mutt of Hagrid’s barking, but Draco knew he must have been imagining things because the dog had gone to the dragon sanctuary along with his owner.
It was the day before term started so Draco didn’t have to worry about running into students, and he quickly found himself in front of the gargoyle that led to the headteacher’s office. Draco felt his stomach twist slightly at the sight of it; he didn’t often think of Dumbledore anymore, but when he did he couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt, not even eighteen years later.
Draco pressed his wand against the tip of the gargoyle’s wing—a trick never revealed to students—and waited until the gargoyle twisted around enough for Draco to be able to make his way up the stairs. He knocked on the door and was called inside almost immediately.
“Sorry to intrude,” Draco said curtly. “There was an incident at work that sent me to the Forest, so I’d like to use your Floo to return to the Ministry, please.”
McGonagall stared at him. In fact, Draco could feel several portraits staring at him too, Snape and Dumbledore’s included.
“Malfoy?” McGonagall queried bewilderedly.
Draco nodded impatiently; perhaps the woman was finally starting to go senile.
“Yes, Draco Malfoy, Curse-Breaker for the Auror team,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me, Headmistress, but I really would like to get back before the team start to panic about me.”
McGonagall continued staring, seeming lost for words.
“Can you prove your identity?” Snape asked from his portrait. “I’m sure you’ll understand—adults coming into Hogwarts claiming to be one person when they’re actually not is not uncommon.”
Snape cast a dirty look towards Dumbledore’s portrait, who seemed to be surveying the scene with amusement in his eyes.
“Fine,” Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt his impatience rising. “When you told me of the Unbreakable Vow you made with my mother when I was sixteen, I held a shard of glass to my wrist to test how far you were actually willing to go to protect me.”
McGonagall glanced at Snape who nodded from within his portrait.
“You always were dramatic,” Snape sighed. “Tell me, Draco, have you ingested any potions this morning? What was this so called incident that brought you here?”
“I only drink coffee which I brewed myself,” Draco answered, still finding himself uncomfortable from McGonagall’s unnerving stare. “The team was investigating a potions smuggling network. I was in a building they believed was used as a safehouse when I accidentally touched a music box which made the world spin until I landed in the forest along with several pieces of evidence which had disappeared from other safehouses.”
“And you’ve been working for the Ministry long?” Snape asked, as though he didn’t know the answer already.
“Seventeen years,” Draco muttered angrily. “Look, I really need to get back-”
McGonagall clapped her hands together, drawing Draco’s attention to her. She glanced at Dumbledore’s portrait, asking him something with her eyes, and after a moment she reached down and handed Draco the Daily Prophet from her desk.
As she passed Draco the paper he couldn’t help but notice that her skin looked much better than normal, much less leathery and weathered.
The headline read: ‘Hogwarts to re-open tomorrow for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts’.
Draco looked back up at McGonagall. “Why would you give me an old newspaper?”
“That is today’s paper,” McGonagall said gently. “Look at the date.”
The numbers in the corner read as 31/08/1998.
Draco knew the date as the 31st August, 2015—a whole seventeen years later.
“Is this some kind of trick?” Draco spat angrily. “Because if it is-”
“No trick,” Dumbledore cut in, speaking for the first time. “I believe that you have travelled back in time somehow, Draco. That music box must have had some kind of time-related curse on it; that’s rather unheard of but entirely possible for a gifted enough witch or wizard.”
Suddenly Draco was aware of how McGonagall’s hair was still dark brown with silver streaks rather than entirely grey, and how he had almost definitely heard Hagrid’s mutt on the grounds when he was supposed to be in Romania.
Draco sank down into a chair, clutching his hand against his chest.
“You’ll be able to send me back?” he asked desperately. “There must be a way to do that.”
“Devices and spells may be used to go back in time,” Dumbledore answered sadly. “But the only way to go forward is to do it naturally. If my beliefs about time travel are correct, the time you came from shall carry on existing without you, while this time now will almost become a parallel universe thanks to your presence. The younger version of you that exists here may live the same life that you did, or things may be different for him depending on the situation. Of course, I advise that you have nothing to do with your younger self because that could cause him incredible mental strain and instability.”
Draco nodded, barely listening to the words.
He had travelled seventeen years into the past, and would never be able to return to his own time. Though it was a shock, he couldn’t think who would miss him except for maybe his mother. Draco had nothing he particularly wanted to go back to anyway, unless he counted an ex-wife, and a job he hated.
“So what happens to me now?” Draco asked, looking at McGonagall with hopeful eyes.
In some ways, this could be a new start for him; a chance to live the life he had always wanted to without his name holding him down, or his father dictating his choices.
“You can take a new name and we can forge some documents for you,” McGonagall said effectively, snapping out of her shock almost as easily as Draco had. “I believe we should spell some minor changes to your facial structure, but otherwise you could simply claim to be related to the Malfoy family in some way. After that, the choice is yours as to what you want to do, provided there’s distanced between you and your younger self. However…”
She trailed off, suddenly looking at Draco as though he were the answer to all her prayers.
“You were rather gifted at Potions, were you not?” McGonagall asked. “Professor Slughorn is retiring and we’ve not yet been able to find a replacement for him. He was going to continue teaching until we found somebody but he’s ready to leave as soon as he can and well… I’d be more than pleased to offer the position to you, if you’d like it.”
Draco’s mind had been drifting to taking up freelance Curse-Breaking work in Egypt or Peru or somewhere, but the idea of being the Potions professor struck something within Draco. He could be somebody completely different; a new name, a new job...a new him.
He smiled at McGonagall, the first genuine smile he’d given for ages.
“I’ll take it.”
***
Draco found himself happier than he had been for a long time, sat behind his very own teaching desk in the Potions classroom.
He had fashioned himself the moniker Corvus Pandora. He had wanted to stick with a constellation first name, and Dumbledore had suggested Pandora for his surname. Dumbledore had found himself greatly amused when he suggested it, saying it was rather fitting. Draco didn’t know what Dumbledore had been on about, but Draco decided to keep it because he quite liked the sound of it.
Professor Pandora. It had a good ring to it.
Sitting up at the Head Table and looking across at a sea of faces, many of whom he’d recognised from his past, had been odd for Draco. It was especially strange seeing his friends looking seventeen years younger than when he’d seen them last. In fact, last time he’d seen Pansy—five days ago, seventeen years into the future, to be exact—she had been heavily pregnant with her second child.
Draco figured he’d get used to the weirdness, however. It just felt right, sitting at a teacher’s desk in the dingy dungeon classroom which somehow felt comforting to Draco. There was just something about the stone walls and flooring, the chill in the air, and the slightly nauseating smell of varied potions ingredients which felt like home to Draco. He had always been good at making potions, and though he still had to answer to McGonagall he had far more freedom now than he had for the last seventeen years working for the damned Ministry.
Still, Draco couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive as he heard students approaching for his first class. He took a quick swig from the whiskey bottle he had stashed under the desk, just to take the edge of his nerves, and waited with bated breath for the doors to open.
To make things worse his first class was the seventh and eighth years, who were the people he knew best. At least it got the hardest part over and done with, Draco supposed.
The class started to stream into the room steadily, paying little attention to Draco as they settled themselves at desks. He got several curious glances, but nobody stared at him in horror and shouted to the room that he was actually an older version of Draco Malfoy.
The younger version of himself was thankfully with his parents at the Manor, probably making plans to work at the Ministry and thinking that everything was going to work out great for him. Draco remembered how delusional he’d been back then, believing that nobody would give a damn about the Dark Mark on his arm after a couple of years of hard work and getting in with the right people.
Draco thrummed his fingers on the desk as Pansy, Blaise, Millicent and Tracey strolled into the room, chatting amongst themselves. They all looked so young and fresh-faced, almost completely different people to how Draco knew them; Pansy was a gracious mother and wife, Blaise was a philanthropist-slash-layabout dating some gorgeous model, Millicent owned the most popular lesbian bar for witches in the whole of Britain, and Tracey was the Charms professor after Flitwick retired. They were all successful in their lives, and Draco had often wondered if returning for eighth year had actually made all the difference.
Shortly after his friends came Potter and his gang. Again, they all looked so much younger than when Draco had seen them last. All of them, too, became successful and happy.
Potter laughed loudly at something Weasley had said, the gesture causing his eyes to sparkle behind his glasses. Ginny Weasley walked alongside them, and Draco felt his hands clench into fists as she laid her hand on Potter’s arm. Draco had always been incredibly jealous of Ginny, especially when he saw them out together, or photographed in the newspaper looking every part the loving couple. Draco knew they didn’t actually get together until after they both graduated school, and he’d often found himself wishing that he’d somehow got Potter to fall in love with him instead.
The class finally all gathered in the classroom, looking at Draco patiently to start the class. It was a good feeling to have people waiting for his command, and having trust in him to teach them what they needed to know to pass their examinations.
Draco stood from his desk, trying to get his cloak to billow like Snape’s had always done but not quite managing it.
“My name is Professor Pandora,” Draco announced, charming the chalk to write his name on the blackboard. “I am your new Potions professor. I understand that you’ve all had a tough time of it this last year, however, this is your opportunity for a fresh start. I expect you all to put in as much effort as you can, and I will endeavour to help you work to the best of your ability. I hope to see you all pass with at least an E on your exams. Now, let’s start with something easy, hmm? I want you all to brew a Shrinking Solution without looking at your textbooks."
The class passed without much of a hitch, excluding a couple of minor explosions and a slight spillage. The students all seemed to be focused on their work, and though there was a little chatter at first, a stern word from Draco soon shut them up.
Draco had an idea of the sort of image he wanted to present; stern but approachable. He wanted to be respected, and even a bit feared by the younger students, but he also wanted to be seen as helpful and wise, and willing to help anyone out when they needed support—not a monster but not a pushover.
“Great work, everybody,” Draco called out when the lesson finished. “I want three inches on the properties of the Shrinking Solution for next lesson. Yes,” he added when his request was met with several groans. “Theory is just as important as practical work, and if you do small amounts of work on each potion now, by the time it comes to exam period it will make studying a lot easier for you.”
That was the approach to studying Draco had always taken, anyway, and it had always worked for him.
The class began to file out, and it was only as Draco began to clear his own desk that he noticed somebody still lurking in the classroom. He was surprised to see that it was Potter, but he tried to keep his face impassive as Potter approached him.
“Can I help you?” Draco pressed after it became obvious that Potter was simply going to stand in front of him otherwise.
Potter shrugged, shifting from foot to foot. With his hands in his pockets, slightly slouched posture, and untucked shirt, Potter was a far cry from being the next-in-line for Head Auror. Draco somehow liked Potter better like this, though, considering him more relaxed and natural.
Draco found his eyes drawn to Potter’s lips when Potter bit down on them, and Draco quickly scolded himself in his head. Potter was only eighteen now compared to Draco’s thirty-five, and Draco should definitely not be considering him attractive.
Although Potter was still an adult, and Draco was only looking.
“Hmm?” Draco prompted, even though Potter hadn’t said anything.
It seemed to work though, drawing Potter out of his own study of Draco.
“I, er, was wondering if you’d be able to help me with Potions,” Potter finally said, giving Draco a shaky smile.
“Which one?” Draco asked, following the movement of Potter’s hand as his fingers played with the hem of his shirt.
“All of them,” Potter answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not actually that brilliant at Potions. For sixth year I had this textbook which had some, er…tips in it, but I’ve lost that book now so I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing now, especially after having a year out of school. And I really need an O in Potions if I want to get into the Auror Academy, so I wondered if I could maybe have some extra tutoring or something.”
Part of Draco wanted to snap at Potter and tell him that he should just study with know-it-all Granger, but Draco was a teacher now, and professional, so instead he smiled and nodded.
“I can give you one-on-one lessons if you’d like,” Draco offered. “Tuesdays at eight pm; come to my office for half an hour and we can go over the previous lesson together.”
Potter smiled brightly, eyes lighting up in a way that Draco had never seen before—probably because Potter didn’t know that it was really Draco Malfoy that he was smiling at.
“That would be brilliant!” Potter beamed. “Thank you, Professor!”
***
Teaching was a career that Draco had never really considered before, but he had come to realise that he loved being a professor. He enjoyed the freedom of planning his own lessons, of having people answering to him rather than him having to answer to someone else, and he loved simply being around the smell of potions.
It was a strange feeling, living a new life as Corvus Pandora, professor of Potions at Hogwarts. He missed his mother at times, but he didn’t feel too distressed at leaving his old life behind. He was still getting used to the odd sensation of seeing people he knew seventeen years younger than when he knew them last, but a good mix of Cognac in his coffee every morning usually helped him get through the day.
“Good, good,” Draco murmured softly as he wove amongst the student’s desks reviewing their potions. Most were brewing at a pass level for the NEWTs, and Draco couldn’t help but feel great satisfaction at seeing his students doing well thanks to his teaching abilities.
Unfortunately, not all of them were quite there yet.
“Your potion is pink,” Draco stated as he stared down at Harry’s potion. “Why do you think your potion is pink rather than red?”
“Er…” Harry mumbled, looking down into his cauldron as if it held the answer.
Draco laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Draco felt Harry relax under his touch.
They had spent several evenings now having one-on-one classes for Potions, and for the first time in his life Harry actually seemed to like Draco. Of course, Harry didn’t know who Draco really was, but Draco wasn’t going to set him straight on that.
Draco had wanted Harry’s affection for so long that he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the attention. Harry was always so focused on Draco, and so relaxed around him, that Draco found himself pushing the boundaries.
It had been an accident at first, with him subconsciously brushing a strand of Harry’s hair out of his eyes. Harry had blushed and averted his gaze, and bitten his lip until it was bright red and glistening. Draco was curious to know if that meant Harry had a bit of a crush on him, so another evening he laid his hand on Harry’s arm and got the same reaction.
Since then, Draco had got addicted to flirting with Harry. He didn’t plan to act on his attraction to Harry any further, because he was seventeen years older than Harry now as well as his teacher, but that didn’t mean that Draco couldn’t have a little fun. He had pined over Harry for so long, and spent so many years miserable, that Draco thought he deserved it.
Besides, Harry had never rejected Draco’s flirting, and at times Draco even thought that Harry might be teasing him; bending over unnecessarily in front of him, pressing close to him when they sat together, and laughing at all of Draco’s witty comments even if they weren’t that funny.
“You stirred your potion too slowly,” Draco said softly, leaning over Harry and brushing his fingers against Harry’s as he took his stirring rod from him to demonstrate. “You really need to get some power in there, see? You have to really work it to get results.”
Draco felt Harry shiver slightly. Smirking, Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulders briefly before he returned to full height and turned his attention to the other students.
Blaise and Pansy were watching Draco curiously, but they quickly returned to their potions as Draco approached them.
“Working hard?” Draco asked, stopping in front of their desk. He peered into Blaise’s cauldron, and nodded at the sight of the red potion bubbling softly in the pot. “Good consistency, Zabini.”
“Thank you,” Blaise replied. “My friend Draco taught me how to brew.”
Draco’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of his own name coming from Blaise’s lips.
“Oh,” he said shortly. “He must have been an excellent tutor.”
“He was,” Blaise agreed. “Rather vain, though.”
He fixed Draco with an unreadable look and a smirk.
“Could I ask you a question after class, Professor?” Pansy perked up. “I need to ask you something that I’m desperate to know.”
Draco didn’t much like the way that Tracey and Millicent seemed to have stopped their work to watch Draco too, but he couldn’t get defensive unless he really wanted to appear suspicious. It was obvious that they had figured out something was off about Draco—he knew his friends well enough to know that they were each extremely observant and logical.
Draco spent the last ten minutes of the class planning in his head what he was going to say to his friends when they asked.
There was every chance they just had a Potions related question, but Draco was still convinced that it was better to be prepared. Draco had been warned that he shouldn’t reveal who he was to his younger self, but nobody had actually said anything about telling anybody else. Of course, it made sense not to broadcast his true identity, but to some people it probably wouldn’t matter if they knew the truth or not.
Draco reckoned that even if he lied to his friends and said he was simply a Malfoy relation, they wouldn’t let it go and would investigate until they uncovered the truth. In that case, Draco lying to them would lose him their trust, which meant they would be more likely to tell other people.
If Draco admitted the truth to them, he would no doubt be able to convince them to keep his secret, but then he ran the risk of being pestered with questions about the future. Blaise could get Draco to tell him which Quidditch teams to bet on, and Pansy could demand to know what cut of robe would be in style when so that she could wear it first. There was nothing serious that Draco could tell them, so it would be harmless but irritating.
When class ended, Blaise, Pansy, Tracey, and Millicent all stayed behind, sitting at their desks the picture of innocence. Draco knew they were anything but—he had once practised that same look, after all.
“What do you want?” Draco asked, his tone coming out sharper than intended. “Are you having trouble with the assignment I set you last lesson?”
“I am,” Tracey said, idly picking at her nails. “My friend Draco always used to help me with my homework, you see.”
“He’s the one who taught me to brew, as I mentioned earlier,” Blaise added.
Millicent nodded. “You look rather like him, Professor Pandora.”
“Almost strangely so,” Pansy agreed. “Hair that blond is very common in the Malfoy family.”
Draco could feel his heart racing. They definitely knew that something was up, and Draco wasn’t sure how he could get out of it, or if he even needed to get out of it.
“I believe I am related to the Malfoy family,” he tried, tugging at the cuff of his collar uncomfortably.
“Funny,” Blaise smirked. “Draco used to tug at his collar when he was nervous, too.”
That was it for Draco then. He took one glance at the door and hastily cast a locking and silencing charm on it before turning his focus on his friends.
“Anything else you noticed?” he asked coldly.
Despite his best efforts to stay calm, Draco could feel his fingers trembling.
“Your laugh is the same as Draco’s,” Pansy answered. “And you wear the same cologne.”
“When you’re sat at your desk you tap your fingers three times on the desk and then repeat it, just like Draco does,” Millicent said, her lips curling at the corners.
“So what we’re wondering,” Tracey asked innocently, “is whether you’re Draco who’s aged himself up using a potion?”
Draco laughed humorlessly. “Clever theory, but you’re wrong.” He sighed, resigned to admitting the truth to them. He’d make them take an oath not to repeat his secret to anyone else, so hopefully there’d be no damage done; if there was then he would just pack his bags and move somewhere abroad with a new name and a new identity. “I am Draco, but from seventeen years from now. I was a Curse-Breaker and I accidentally got sent to the past.”
Four pairs of eyes widened at his words, all of them stunned into silence—until Blaise smirked.
“Must have been a pretty shitty Curse-Breaker, then,” he grinned.
Draco gave Blaise a strangled smile. “Ten points from Slytherin for language.” When Blaise huffed indignantly he added, “and ten points to Slytherin for wry humour.”
“Merlin, this is weird,” Millicent muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t,” Draco shrugged. “But as you pointed out all those similarities between Draco and I...and what reason would I have to lie? In fact, let’s make a magical oath now—not Unbreakable, mind—that I am telling you the truth, and everything I tell you in this classroom will remain between us.”
After some minor reluctance, the oaths were made and Draco felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. With the knowledge that his secret would remain a secret to most of the world, it actually felt good to be able to talk about his time travelling. It felt even better to be talking about it with his friends; even if he was seventeen years older than them now, he still felt comfortable around them.
“So who did you marry?” Pansy asked curiously. “Was it Potter? You were always sweet on him.”
“Sweet isn’t the word I’d use,” Tracey said darkly. “Did you have an intense but secret affair with Potter behind both your spouse’s backs?”
“No,” Draco muttered bewilderedly. “Potter married Ginny Weasley and they were oh-so-happy together. I...was not so happy in my marriage. Or my job for that matter; life was pretty shit for me, to be honest. I can’t say I miss it, even if I am living a life more unusual now.”
“That’s because you always wanted the best,” Blaise said wisely. “You know, Potter isn’t dating Weasley yet; you could go for him now and get the life you always wanted.”
“I didn’t always want Potter,” Draco denied, but he knew that his friends had heard him go on about Harry enough to tell he was lying. “And even if I did, I’m his teacher now; it wouldn’t be proper.”
“You didn’t care about proper when you took the Dark Mark,” Tracey murmured.
“Besides,” Millicent added. “Teachers have literally tortured and tried to kill Potter before; dating him would probably be a refreshing change.”
“And,” Blaise said eagerly. “Weasley gets him in one life, so it’s only fair that somebody else gets Potter in another. Weasley’s a popular girl; she’ll find someone else to make her happy.”
“I’m not going to try to date Potter,” Draco said sharply. “And that’s the last I want to hear of it, okay?”
His friend’s expressions were sour but they nodded; hopefully that would be the end of that.
***
Draco was instantly suspicious when he saw Harry sat next to Tracy Davis in potions class. Blaise, Pansy, and Millicent were sat at a desk either side of them, which only made Draco more confident that they were up to something.
It made sense for Tracey to be the one sat with Harry, as Draco doubted they had ever spoken before in their lives so there were no bad feelings between them. But it was for that exact reason that Draco knew Tracey had to be sat with Harry for a reason; she had no need to speak to him otherwise.
“Silence, please,” Draco shouted to the class for the fifth time, seeing Tracey and Harry whispering conspiratorially together yet again.
Pansy and Millicent kept glancing at Draco and giggling, so he was pretty sure that whatever they were talking to Harry about involved him.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the end of the lesson when he saw Pansy whisper something in Harry’s ear and clap her hand on his shoulder, and continued to glare until most of the class had filed out and only Harry remained.
“Yes?” Draco snapped, forgetting himself for a moment.
“Er, Quidditch practice is tonight so I’m having my Potions revision lesson now, aren’t I?” Harry said, giving Draco a slow look up and down.
The look was almost flirty< in nature, but that couldn’t be true. Harry might have been a bit blushy around Draco, and perhaps even a tad playful, but he’d never initiated anything seriously.
“Yes, you are,” Draco murmured distractedly, running a hand through his hair. “Love Potions we’re up to now, aren’t we?”
Love Potions were outlawed and banned from Hogwarts’ curriculum in Draco’s time, and he wasn’t surprised. They were nasty potions, despite their image as cutesy pink potions with no harm done—they were one of the first things Granger banned when she became Head of Education in the Ministry.
Harry crinkled his nose at the mention of the potion.
“My friend Ron got drugged with a Love Potion once by mistake,” Harry commented. “And Tom Riddle’s mother drugged her husband with one, which led to all sorts of awful things which resulted in Voldemort. I think we should just skip over this potion.”
Draco pursed his lips. He may have had inappropriate feelings towards a student, and maybe had just a tiny problem when it came to self-control around alcohol, but Draco was still a professor and he had to at least show some kind of consideration for his job.
Plus if Harry fancied him then it was Corvus Pandora he was attracted to, not Draco.
“We can’t skip over the potion unless you want to miss out on marks on your exam,” Draco said blandly, trying not to notice the way Harry was chewing on his bottom lip, leaving it all puffy and red.
“But there’s better things we could be doing,” Harry responded, sounding very much like he was trying to be suggestive but not quite managing it. His cheeks were stained pink, and he looked out of his depth despite giving it his best shot.
Draco almost wanted to give in, thinking of some much more interesting things he could teach Harry.
But no; Harry was a student and Draco was a teacher, and no matter how much Tracey and the other Slytherins had talked Harry into thinking that seducing Draco was a good idea, Draco couldn’t allow it to happen.
He knew his friends were probably just trying to help him out, but Draco really couldn’t allow himself to give into temptation. He wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban for it, and maybe wouldn’t even lose his job seeing as Harry was of legal age, but there’d certainly be a stigma over his head—and Draco was finally free of being judged for choices he had made without thinking them through first.
“Sit down and turn to page 221 in the textbook,” Draco murmured, pointedly ignoring Harry twirling his hair around his finger—that trick had definitely been one of Pansy’s.
“Are you sure?” Harry said softly, brushing the lock of hair he’d been twirling behind his ears. He leaned in close to Draco, close enough that Draco could see Harry’s body trembling slightly with nervousness. “Isn’t there anything else you might want to teach me?”
Draco had never been so grateful to hear a knock on the door.
Harry hastily jumped back from Draco with a blush staining his cheeks, and straightened his robes just before Astoria Greengrass entered the room.
Draco felt his stomach twist at the sight of her, so young and full of hope. It was what had made Draco fall in love with her all those years ago, until his own demons drove him away from Astoria which only dragged her down with him.
“Sorry,” she murmured, glancing between Harry and Draco. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, I was just going,” Harry said quickly, grabbing his bag and glancing at Draco longingly before he left the room.
“How can I help, Greengrass?” Draco asked, trying to look casual as he took a seat behind his desk.
“I just wanted to make sure my essay was on track,” she answered, sliding a piece of parchment across to Draco. In the corners of the page were intricate, swirling patterns, which sent a stab of guilt through Draco.
He read the essay quickly, hoping the distraction would ease the feeling but it only served to make it worse.
“It’s perfect,” Draco said, voice coming out strained. “You’ve got everything you need for an O grade, provided your conclusion remains at the same standard as the rest of your essay. You’re a very clever girl, Greengrass, and creative, too.”
“Oh, you mean the drawing?” Astoria murmured, laughing awkwardly. “I tend to doodle without thinking; I love to draw. I’d even like to be a professional artist, one day.”
“You’re gifted; I can see that even in your inappropriately placed patterns,” Draco said lightly. “Greengrass, if you have a passion and a gift you should pursue it. One day you may meet a man who’ll tell you that art isn’t a proper career and that your duty is to run the home. If that happens, I want you to remember that you’re worth more than that and you can live your life how you want.”
Astoria stared at Draco bewilderedly for a moment, but then a massive smile crossed her face.
“Thank you, Professor!” she beamed. “That’s the first time anyone’s told me that. My parents think I’m being silly and should concentrate on marrying a Ministry man, but-”
“They’re wrong, trust me,” Draco said seriously. “Go for what you want, Greengrass.”
He had held Astoria back from her dreams once before, and he wasn’t going to let him—or rather the younger version of him—ruin that for her again.
He wasn’t the only one who deserved a second chance, after all.
***
“Potter!” Draco snapped. “You’re stirring your potion clockwise instead of anticlockwise.”
That was the sixth time that lesson that Draco had had to correct Harry and stop him from making stupid mistakes. Harry wasn’t a natural at Potions, but with a bit of focus and attention he could make a decent enough potion that would get him the grades he needed.
Today, however, Harry just seemed utterly distracted. His attention seemed to be focused entirely on Draco, which wasn’t unsurprising. Almost kissing a professor and being in his class the next day would probably have put Draco off his lessons, too.
Hell, it was distracting enough to Draco just having Harry in his lessons.
There was a selfish part of Draco that wanted to take what Harry was offering, to take the person he had always wanted, consequences be damned. He tried to reason with himself that even though he used to be Draco Malfoy, he was Corvus Pandora now, and if Harry wanted him over Draco then it was no matter because he was supposed to be living as Professor Pandora now.
But then he remembered that he’d always be Draco Malfoy, no matter what name he went by, or what time he was in. And even though they could work around the teacher-and-student situation—either by waiting a few months or ignoring the stigma entirely—Draco would always wonder whether Harry would feel the same way about him if he knew who he really was.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose when Harry’s potion began to bubble furiously, and he waved his wand to clear up the mess before it stained the desk.
“Concentrate, Potter!” Draco snapped. “And see me after class.”
From the corner of his eye Draco saw Blaise and Millicent grin at each other, and just caught sight of Millicent brushing some Horn of Bicorn into her bag. Horn of Bicorn was a harmless enough ingredient on its own, but it could cause fizzing sensations when mixed with certain ingredients.
Draco sighed, and drummed his fingers on his desk. He was prepared to bet anything that Blaise and Millicent had slipped the ingredient into Harry’s potion, but as Draco had already called Harry out on the mistake he couldn’t take it back, especially not without any solid proof.
It was proving to be a difficult day.
When class ended, Draco ignored Harry entirely while he went to his filing cupboard and took a stealthy swig of whiskey from the flask he kept hidden in there. He’d been itching for a drink the entire lesson; maybe tonight he’d even open that wine he’d been saving for a big occasion—or a bad day, whichever came first.
“Professor?” Harry asked gingerly.
“Don’t call me that,” Draco growled, spinning around to face Harry. “I mean, do or…” He trailed off, resisting the urge to grab the flask again and down his entire drink. “You’ve been distracted today.”
“I could say the same about you,” Harry retorted, fixing Draco with a knowing look. “Probably for the same reason that I have.”
He leaned in towards Draco, nervous fingers fumbling with the edge of Draco’s collar to smooth it out.
“Stop,” Draco said softly, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears. “Harry, you’re eighteen with the world ahead of you; why are you playing games with a man seventeen years your senior?”
Harry stayed silent for a moment, doing the maths in his head. “You’re only thirty-five,” he said finally. “That’s not old at all.”
“It is to you,” Draco murmured, sighing as Harry took his hand, but he didn’t pull back from Harry’s soft grasp. “I’m your teacher-”
“That doesn’t matter to me,” Harry said defiantly. “It’s not illegal; I asked Hermione to look up the laws on it to make sure. I know you’ve been flirting with me, so I asked Tracey and she said she’d teach me to flirt better. This isn’t a game to me; I know I’m young, and Blaise told me I have daddy issues, but I just feel comfortable around you.”
“Your whole life has revolved around your daddy issues,” Draco said before he could help himself, and even though his tone had been light Harry’s brows still furrowed. “Look, I’ve done things that are far worse than dating an of-age student, but—” he sighed, resigning himself to telling Harry the truth—“there’s something about me that you don’t know.”
“I know more about you than you think,” Harry murmured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a scrappy, folded bit of parchment. He opened it, pressing his wand to the parchment as he said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”
Harry held the parchment out to Draco, who watched amazed as swirling patterns of black ink danced across the page until it was filled with what looked to be a perfect map of Hogwarts.
“So, Professor Pandora,” Harry said lowly, “care to look at where we are on the map?”
Draco glanced down to the Potions classroom on the map where he saw two dots, one labelled Harry Potter, and the other labelled…
“Draco Malfoy,” he said softly. Draco had never seen anything like this map before, but for it to have given away his identity…
“My dad and his friends made this map while they were at school,” Harry explained, offering Draco a smile. “It’s never wrong. So of course when I saw your name where Professor Pandora’s name should be, I was instantly suspicious. But rather than investigating you myself, Hermione made me go to McGonagall who explained the whole time travelling situation to me and asked me to respect your secret—which I do. But the fact that you’re Draco Malfoy doesn’t matter to me; call it daddy issues, but you’re much more grown up than the Draco my age. I like that.”
Draco let out a humourless laugh, clapping his hands on Harry’s shoulders and dropping his head.
“Where I’m from, my life was a mess,” Draco muttered. “I was married to a woman who I didn’t deserve, I hated my job, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to punch or kiss you. I drink too much because it’s the only thing that makes me feel better, but the exception might be kissing you.”
Harry smiled again, leaning in and pressing his lips softly against Draco’s. Harry’s kiss was slow and nervous, but tasted like hope.
“Was that alright?” Harry asked as they pulled apart, looking at Draco with a soft gaze.
“More than,” Draco said, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages.
“Good,” Harry said, letting out a breath of relief. “I’ve never kissed a man before. I’ve wanted to for a while—I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, but-”
Draco cut Harry off by kissing him again. It had been a long time since he’d done something he really wanted to do for himself, and now he’d started Draco was hooked on the feeling. It was better than any glass of whiskey, and even though the road ahead would be tough, Draco knew in that moment that he was ready to change for the better.
He had a reason to now.