Chapter Text
Diagon Alley. Eleven-year-old Draco, with a delicately composed little face and platinum-blond hair casually swept across his forehead, looked every bit the picture of normalcy—if it weren’t for the fact that inside this Draco’s body was his twenty-something-year-old self from seven years in the future.
No one wanted to know how utterly dreadful it felt to have finally survived the war and its aftermath, to finally be ready to enjoy a beautiful and wealthy life of your own, only to be unceremoniously shoved back into your seven-years-younger body. But at the very least, he could save his lovely hair from ever being assaulted by hair gel.
The moment the memories flooded in, Draco realized—this world was not the same as his original one.
Voldemort had been vanquished when Harry was still a small child. The current Dark Lord was Tom Riddle. Damn it, weren’t they the same person? Never mind, it didn’t matter. In any case, Dark Lord Tom had taken over Voldemort’s entire plotline, becoming the sovereign of Dark Wizards, and was perpetually pitted against Dumbledore. But this antagonism was clearly more peaceful—more like routine friction between two competing interest groups.
What remained unchanged were the Dark Lord’s abysmal reputation and the Malfoy family’s ties to him.
“Draco darling, why didn’t you wait for me?” A boy’s voice, crisp and clear as a siren’s, sounded from behind him. Draco was forced to put his thoughts on hold and turned stiffly to look. A white-haired, red-eyed boy, unnaturally beautiful and almost unreal, was staring at him with a face full of playful reproach, his pink, plush lips pouted in clear displeasure.
Merlin. Draco felt his eyes suffer a direct assault. This boy was Ares Kent—someone who, through some absurdly convoluted seven or eight hundred degrees of separation, shared blood ties with both the Malfoy and Potter families. He hailed from an ancient French, mysteriously Veela-blooded, pure-blooded, powerful, enigmatic aristocratic family that also happened to pledge allegiance to the Dark Lord. And currently, he was Draco’s fiancé.
Don’t ask why a French aristocrat would pledge allegiance to a British Dark Lord. The answer was simply: global village.
Draco swore on his honor as the Malfoy heir that he had absolutely never known any “Kent” in his previous life. Their connection was so distant he couldn’t even recite that damned, mysterious family’s string of prefixes in a single breath.
Yet now, he could only play the part of an eleven-year-old Malfoy and offer his fiancé an apology. “My apologies, Ares. You look exceptionally beautiful today. I was momentarily distracted.”
He swore, over the course of two lifetimes combined, he had only ever spoken this humbly to the Dark Lord.
Ares beamed, a smile so dazzling it outshone the sun. “Alright then, I forgive you.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. Too dazzling. It was like someone was setting off an explosive light charm right in front of him.
According to the plot of his first life, he would run into Scarhead—ah, no—the Savior Potter at Madam Malkin’s. He only hoped the Savior’s halo would make him act like a normal little wizard.
Draco walked into the robe shop with a wooden expression. That messy mop of black hair was already standing on the fitting stool. In his previous life, Draco had been the one to initiate conversation with Harry, but this time, Ares had taken over that role. He buzzed around Harry Potter like a tireless Doxy.
Bless you, Saint Potter. Draco cast a pitying glance at Harry and positioned himself on the stool furthest from them, ready to enjoy a rare moment of peace… or so he thought.
“System activated. Please fulfill your role as Ares Kent’s fiancé: live for him, die for him, throw yourself headlong into walls for him. Failure to complete tasks will result in punishment by the System.”
The corner of Draco’s mouth, which had just begun to lift, immediately dropped. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple!
“What is this mysterious punishment?” Draco probed mentally. During his years as a Death Eater, he’d endured the Cruciatus Curse more often than meals. Ordinary punishment meant nothing to him.
“Please react to the Host’s act of ignoring his fiancé: display jealousy.”
Jealousy? Him? It was always others who were jealous over him. Since when did a Malfoy ever taste the bitterness of jealousy? Draco half-lidded his eyes, hiding the disdain flowing within. A system of unknown origin wanted to control a Malfoy? Ridiculous.
“Agh!” A piercing pain suddenly lanced through his heart, causing Draco’s legs to buckle instantly as he collapsed to his knees. His already pale face turned stark white, his eyes even glazing over slightly from the extreme agony. He took that back—this was a hundred, a thousand times worse than the Cruciatus Curse.
“Damn it, stop! I’ll do it! Just stop!”
The pain halted immediately. He clutched his chest, still reeling from that bizarre agony. By the time he came back to his senses, he was already cradled in Lucius’s arms. The dignified Malfoy patriarch had a rare look of panic on his face; even his snake-headed cane had been abandoned on the floor. “Draco, what’s wrong?”
Draco managed a pale smile. “I’m fine, Father.”
Lucius ran several diagnostic spells over Draco’s body with his wand. There were muscle spasms caused by pain, but no discernible origin for the pain itself could be found. As though a thought struck him, Lucius fell into an eerie silence.
Draco knew his father must be thinking of him. He was probably reflecting on whether he had done something wrong to bring his master’s punishment upon his son.
But Draco had no intention of correcting him. Even though Voldemort was dead and a new Dark Lord had risen, in Draco’s memory, that was still no benevolent sovereign. If a war between Light and Dark wizards was truly inevitable, the Malfoy family couldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past life. Better to slip the seeds of defection into Lucius’s mind early on.
Now, he had to go complete that damned task.
Draco straightened his posture and strode over towards the two chatting animatedly. Harry was listening earnestly to Ares, a faint trace of awe in his green eyes, a slight blush coloring his somewhat sallow cheeks. Draco mentally marked an ‘X’ next to the Savior’s name. He stepped between them in a few strides, and with practiced Malfoy poise, looked at Harry and extended his hand. “Hello, you must be Harry Potter. I’m Draco Malfoy. This is my fiancé, Iris Kent. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re a Hogwarts first-year too, aren’t you? Believe me, choosing the right sort of friends is a very important decision, Mr. Potter.”
Standing on the floor while Harry was on the stool, he was much shorter, yet that damned arrogant demeanor of his made even these ostensibly polite words sound utterly insufferable.
Sure enough, this was the kind of person Potter hated most, reminding him of his cousin’s family. He pulled his hand back, his not-yet-resolute green eyes holding a mix of avoidance and distaste. “Yes, I’ll choose the right friends for myself.” The implication was clear: the friends he wanted to choose did not include a Malfoy.
The platinum prince’s handsome face went cold. Being rejected by Potter a second time felt just as wretched. He withdrew his hand, donning that perfect aristocratic smile once more—cold and beautiful. “A wrong choice, but I still hope Mr. Potter finds suitable… friends.”
“Task complete.”
Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Damn task. He felt the sudden relaxation on his face must look jarringly at odds with his previous coldness, but he couldn’t be bothered to act. He shot Harry a glare and turned to leave. That’s when he felt a small, warm hand grab his own.
Merlin!!! He’d definitely use Apparition next time!
The next second, Iris, tears glistening like flower petals, took both Draco’s and Harry’s hands. Gazing passionately at both of them simultaneously—don’t ask how one pair of eyes can look at two people at once, but somehow both Harry and Draco felt Iris was looking directly at them—he placed Harry’s hand over Draco’s. In a tone radiating universal benevolence, he declared, “Please, don’t be unhappy because of me. One of you is my friend, the other is the one I love most. I so wish for you to get along.”
Oh, Merlin. Was he supposed to act touched? Draco’s heart was a barren wasteland, barren yet overgrown with weeds everywhere.
Surely that useless Potter was already moved to tears? After all, Iris’s “charm” was impossible to resist.
Draco glanced at Harry, already prepared to mentally scorn the useless Savior. But to his surprise, the infatuation on the Savior’s face had vanished completely, leaving it looking rather pale.
Sallow turning pale? Well, that was interesting.
What shocked Draco even more was that Harry—the git who had just rejected Malfoy friendship—actually clasped his hand. Damn Potter, he had a large bone structure. After all those years of mistreatment, his hand was still bigger than Draco’s. No wonder he’d grow into a troll seven years later.
Draco tried to pull his hand back, but failed. He looked at Harry. Merlin knows how he managed to read embarrassment and a plea from Harry’s green eyes hidden under his fringe. Draco stiffly tugged the corner of his mouth and grasped Harry’s hand back, gazing adoringly at Iris. “You’re right, Iris. We do need to get along well, don’t we, Potter?”
Harry gave an exaggerated laugh, unable to hide his awkward stiffness. Gripping Draco’s hand tightly, almost crushing it, he said, “Of course, Malfoy. Very pleased to meet you.”
You’d better not be doing this on purpose. Draco smiled insincerely and retrieved his hand, several red marks already visible on his pale skin.
Seeing their reconciliation, Iris literally emanated a holy glow.
This time, Draco noticed Harry squinting just like he himself had.
Throughout the entire robe fitting process, although they stood on opposite sides of the shop, Harry’s gaze kept darting anxiously towards him. Draco pretended not to notice. He was curious about the reason for Harry’s change in attitude too, but being so obvious—wasn’t that just handing ammunition to the enemy? Truly still a brat; nothing at all like the top Auror he’d one day become.
But out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of Ares, who seemed to think Harry was looking at him and was blushing coyly. A boy’s shyness spoke louder than words.
Draco wanted to apologize to his brain for making such a fine organ ponder such tripe.
Next, for wands, Ares enthusiastically invited Harry to go with them.
Harry jumped like a startled Niffler, a look of what could only be described as internal struggle flashing across his face. He suddenly strode over to Draco and hooked an arm around his shoulder—just for a split second, like a casual bro gesture. “Sure, let’s go together.”
Bros? The struggling expression didn’t disappear; it just transferred to Draco’s face. The Savior’s friends: the red-headed Weasley, the Muggle-born Granger. Draco felt that becoming the Savior’s friend was beneath a Malfoy’s dignity.
Their interaction did not escape Lucius’s notice. A Dark-aligned Malfoy and a Light Savior shouldn’t be this close. But he said nothing. Perhaps the “incident” concerning Draco earlier had planted a seed of doubt in him?
Draco’s wand in this life was still his old friend: hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core. His old companion seemed to remember him too, humming excitedly.
Harry’s wand was holly, phoenix feather core, just like last time.
And as for Iris… his wand—Draco saw Harry beside him squinting yet again. Perhaps neither of them was willing to call that glittering, iridescently shimmering stick a wand. It even had a little star embedded on the end.
Iris laughed, showing his wand to the two of them. “Draco, Harry, look at my wand! Isn’t she beautiful?”
Draco lived up to his aristocratic upbringing. He even managed a perfectly timed gasp of admiration. “Truly a stunning wand. I swear, it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. It suits you perfectly, Iris.”
Draco’s answer pleased Iris greatly. His rabbit-like red eyes then turned to Harry, filled with shattered fragments of hopeful light.
And what did Harry do? Using the fact that he was standing behind Draco, he fiercely grabbed Draco’s wrist, while on the surface, he flashed the Savior’s trademark “simple” smile. “Nice. Sparkly.” Immediately after, Draco swore he saw the Savior grit his teeth, seemingly summoning immense willpower to force out the next words: “Suits you very well. Both very beautiful.”
Afterward, they went to choose an owl, visited Gringotts and other places, and purchased all the necessary supplies. Hagrid arrived belatedly before Gringotts. He seemed to have a good impression of Iris, but towards Draco, his attitude held the same resistance as in the previous life.
Lucius was displeased, stepping in front of Draco for a silent standoff with Hagrid.
Harry seemed to sense the tension and strongly urged Hagrid to shake hands with Draco. Following that brief skin contact, the same dramatic shift in attitude that Harry had exhibited occurred in Hagrid too. He remained friendly towards Ares, but now that friendliness was laced with a hint of wariness, while his demeanor towards Draco improved significantly.
Draco’s hand rested naturally at his side. This hand had been held by Harry, touched by Hagrid. It seemed their change in attitude had all started from these moments.
He recalled the afternoon’s events—how Harry almost always made some subtle physical contact with him before speaking: sometimes holding his hand, sometimes just their shoulders brushing together. Could it be…
As they parted ways, Harry brushed past Draco’s shoulder one last time. Draco clenched his fist; inside was a slip of paper Harry had secretly pressed into his hand.
That night, after casting a dozen Concealment Charms on his room, Draco opened Harry’s note. Scrawled crookedly in it: “Tomorrow 4 o’clock, Flourish and Blotts.”
After reading it, Draco burned the note.
Then he began to examine the reward the System had granted. For his outstanding performance today, he received a book titled Bestiary of Phantasmal Creatures. Draco frowned. He would have preferred a potions or spells book.
The next day, Draco sat at the breakfast table with dark circles under his eyes. Damn it, the System hadn’t mentioned that the book was practically all-encompassing and utterly fascinating. Draco had secretly read it all night.
Diagon Alley, Flourish and Blotts.
When Draco pushed open the door, Harry was already standing in the corner. He rushed over excitedly and grabbed Draco’s hand, his face alight with a smile that bordered on relief. The look made Draco’s skin crawl. He shook off Harry’s hand with disgust. “What are you doing, Potter?”
Harry didn’t get mad. He pulled Draco towards the secluded corner, where two cups of coffee were already placed on the table. “I picked a good spot. We won’t be overheard here.”
Expressionlessly, Draco drew his wand and added a few more Notice-Me-Not Charms. “Alright, Potter, what did you call me here for?”
Harry nervously clutched his coffee cup, his green eyes filled with bewilderment. “It’s about Ares Kent. I think there’s something wrong with him.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, his attention somewhat caught. “Go on.”
“Yesterday was the first time I met him. In that instant, I almost believed I’d fallen in love with him,” Harry ruffled his hair wildly, making the already messy bird’s nest even worse. “But how is that possible! We’d only just met! Then, when he held my hand and touched it to yours, that strange feeling of love just… vanished. Afterwards, I realized that as long as I’m in contact with you, that infatuation doesn’t affect me.”
Draco nodded. This aligned with his own thoughts from yesterday.
Harry continued, his face now looking pale and drained, as if he’d been walking for a while already. “But the effect wears off over time. I have to keep touching you. Like today—damn it, you wouldn’t believe it, I actually wanted to abandon everything to go find him. Luckily, I got Hagrid to put a spell on me yesterday, compelling me to be at Flourish and Blotts by four o’clock.”
Harry let out a groan and slumped onto the table. “Has he put a spell on me? Or a potion? That feeling came so intensely, and so naturally. If it weren’t for you, I’d definitely be in a terrible state.”
Draco covered his face with his hand, rubbing it like a rabbit washing its face. It was a habit from his early childhood; whenever faced with something he didn’t want to deal with or that was tricky, he’d instinctively hide behind his hands. But lowering them, he knew he still had to face it. “I only came to my senses a few days ago. I’ve searched every forbidden book in the family library. I don’t know what he is.” He didn’t mention his rebirth or the System. It was safe to say he trusted no one but himself.
Harry’s face was almost despairing. “What do we do then? Even Hagrid’s been charmed by him.”
“We need to figure out what the safe time limit is,” Draco offered his hand to Harry, who tentatively took hold of it. “It’s 4:15 now.” Then, he pulled out a mirror and gave it to Harry. “This is a two-way mirror. It’ll let us communicate. If you ever feel like you can’t control yourself, contact me through this. I’ll help you.”
Their two hands remained clasped. Harry’s hand was slightly larger than Draco’s, almost enveloping Draco’s entirely.
Growing up, Harry had no friends, no friendly physical contact. The impact this hand-holding had on him was almost comparable to discovering he could speak to snakes. Draco’s hand, so small, so white, so incredibly soft. Harry barely dared to squeeze, yet felt even if he did, something so soft couldn’t possibly break.
The platinum blond little creature was oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. To him, love and money were things one was simply born with. He wouldn’t care if the occasional kindness he offered was the only drop of rain in a desert. His cheeks were slightly puffed, his lips pressed together in seriousness. “Next, we need to figure out why I have this effect, how to extend it. I don’t want to be woken in the middle of the night by someone wanting treatment.” He glared at Harry; the identity of this ‘someone’ was obvious. “And finally, we need to figure out how to grow our ranks. We can’t let him control everyone else.”
His index finger tapped rhythmically on the table as Draco laid out his plan as concisely as possible. “Did you get all that, Potter?”
“Huh? What?” He’d just been thinking about Draco’s hand, Draco’s face, Draco’s beautiful blue-grey eyes, thinking that Draco was his first friend.
“POTTER!! You might as well be a moron!” Draco was furious. This Harry was no different from the last! Always spacing out and making him lose his temper.
Harry scratched his head and offered a somewhat ingratiating smile, his palm squeezing Draco’s gently in apology. “So… school starts tomorrow. Can we still go to the station together?”
Draco glared at him. “Yes, you git, Potter!”