A/N: If you recognize it, it's clearly not mine. Some dialogue is pulled from Deathly Hallows. Characters belong to JK, except the ones you've never heard of. I made those up.
Chapter One: Draco's Choice
Disasters had happened before. History was littered with them. You were supposed to learn from mistakes, yet to Draco his current predicament felt like he was repeating, not being wiser and learning from it.
It was not clear to Draco, that instead of wanting to be his father, he ought to have learned from his father’s choices and not followed in his footsteps.
Draco should have stuck to his gut feelings about becoming a Death Eater, his gut feelings that the Dark Lord was in fact a psychopath. But, Draco had been frightened. He was scared.
Looking back, his behavior embarrassed him to such a degree he didn’t even want to go on living. He was a Slytherin, so he was supposed to be cunning, sly and ambitious. Draco was to be great, successful and the envy of the entire country.
He was no better than a House Elf and he was scared out of his mind. The past year had been the worst year of his life. The past two summers were miserable, lived in fear of being cursed, being in pain and unable to stop it. Time slowed down, sped up and seeped around him and people kept dying.
The Dark Mark on his arm was a memory that he was someones slave. That was what he was, forever marked, a slave. The Dark Lord wasn’t merciful, he was not kind and he was not even human as far as Draco could tell.
Draco was tired of being scared. He was tried of seeing the end. That was all he saw: the end. If the Dark Lord won the stupid battle, his family would be run into the ground by the man’s demands and whims. They had all ready lost favor because of the failures of his father to get the prophecy, Draco’s inability to kill Dumbledore and finally after they allowed the Golden Trio to escape. And whatever they had stolen from Bellatrix’s family vault had been the last straw.
Draco wiped the blood from his mouth as he scrambled through a hidden doorway. He’d just barely escaped having a few Death Eaters kill him. Finally, someone understood he was on their side and took out the Death Eater.
Only to later punch him in the jaw. That person sounded ominously like Ron Weasley, though there was no red hair in sight.
If the other side won, his family would be punished, thrown away to Azkaban for their crimes. There was no way to deny they were Death Eaters.
It was the end of the Malfoys, something that did not sit well with Draco, along with all his other regrets. It was clear to him now, clear as glass what he should have done, what should be done. He’d known he ought to do it since he’d found the tiny box when he was fixing the cabinet last year, but he’d been too scared.
The battle raged in the Entrance Hall as more Death Eaters rolled on into the castle. If anything, Draco really didn’t want the Dark Lord to win. As he skirted around battles, he noticed Atlanta Black. He froze. He’d forgotten she’d popped out of the Room of Requirement with Ginny Weasley when Potter forced the pair out. She was silently sending out curse after curse, without moving her mouth.
She looked as scary as his Aunt Bellatrix.
He hated it when she looked so…Black-like.
Time wasn’t something you messed with. It was a black and white law in the magical world. But, Draco Malfoy was going to mess with time. He tore through the halls, dodging battles and duels left and right. He’d lost his mother’s wand in the fire Crabbe had started in the Room of Requirement (Potter had Draco’s actual wand). Oddly, he didn’t care. The end was all he could see. In a few hours from now, this reality wouldn’t exist. He’d make a new one.
All he had to do was swallow the vials, read the paper with the incantation on it and choose a point in time to go back to. The only reason he hadn’t done this as of yet, was for one foolish moment he saw a way to redeem himself and his family from their falling from grace: get whatever Potter was after before Potter got it. It was a crown or some sort.
He’d failed. He’d lost Crabbe. While he didn’t really enjoy Crabbe’s company all that much, he felt almost as if he’d lost some limb he hadn’t been aware he needed.
“You have fought valiantly.” The cold voice ripped through the school, reverberating through the walls and floors. Draco shivered. “Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.”
Lies. The Dark Lord valued nothing except himself and his means to his own end. Draco pressed himself to the wall.
“Yet, you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist, you will all die. One by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Draco shut his eyes as the past year rushed into his mind’s eye. Students were beaten, Muggleborns killed. For no reason at all other than they were different.
Draco understood that now, just hadn’t been brave enough to admit it. Brave enough to down the vials he’d brewed and read the little paper from the box he’d found when he’d been trying to fix the cabinet. The Vanishing Cabinet, how he wished he’d never fixed it. As much as he thought Dumbledore was an idiot and slightly mad in a bad way, the old man could duel and had frightened the Dark Lord.
If Dumbledore was alive, none of this would be happening.
“I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”
The Dark Lord when on to threatened Harry Potter directly, blaming him for the deaths and gave him an hour to meet him in the forest.
Harry would give himself up. Draco’s eyes popped open. He plunged his hand into the pocket to the left and yanked out one of the vials. He always kept them on his person since he’d brewed them during the summer. He popped the top and downed the first one. It froze his insides. He could hear people moving and an unnatural silence fell. He had ten minutes before he could drink the next vile.
Staggering, Draco retraced his steps. He pushed the tapestry aside and entered the entrance. As he did, he saw Potter, Granger and Weasley enter, looking around. They looked trouble, none more so than Potter.
He was going to do it. He was going to give himself up.
The Dark Lord was going to win, because he wasn’t going to keep his promise to let anyone live. Anyone against him would be struck down.
Anyone who stood with him would be struck down.
Draco lurked around, watching the three enter the Great Hall. He crept down the stairs, his worry getting the best of him. He had to know Atlanta was still alive. He had no idea what she was doing here, but he had to know she’d made it.
Potter came to a halt, staggering suddenly backwards. He turned sharply and ran, heading right for Draco. Throwing himself to the side, Potter ran, clutching something in his hand.
Potter was going to give himself up.
Draco took his place in the doorway, looking at the bodies of the dead lined up. He quickly spotted her dark head and her ungodly bright outfit. It wasn’t as bright as it was when he’d first spotted her come out of the Room of Requirement with Ginny Weasley, but it was still rather…bright.
She was sitting at the foot of two bodies, tears glazing her face, but a rather blank look on her face. Draco had never seen her look so…dead before. He did not need to look to know who those bodies belonged to. Quickly, he turned and followed in Potter’s footsteps. As soon as he reached the top of the staircase, he downed the second vial. He had thirty minutes before he had to take the last one. The hour limit would be up by the time it was time to end this.
“Draco?”
He glanced down at Atlanta: his beautiful Atlanta Siria Black. His former best friend. The one he’d abandoned, left behind and alienated. All for the Dark Lord. She was a half breed, even if she was of the House of Black. She was tainted by werewolf blood.
He turned away and ran, knowing she was going to follow. He needed to get somewhere she wouldn’t be able to find him. He ran, but didn’t get far before he was tackled to the ground. He landed with a thud, Atlanta on his back.
“Please! You can change sides! He’s going to kill you!” Atlanta pleaded. “Draco, I know you’re not a killer.”
Dumbledore had said the same thing to him.
Dumbledore was gone. Remus Lupin was gone. Sirius Black was gone. Circe Hilderbatch was even dead. Voldemort had killed last summer for refusing him something he wanted.
Atlanta had lost her mother, her newly discovered cousins and her biological father. And yet, she’d just chased him down and said there was still hope for Draco.
Hope flared in him, which might have been the potion he’d just downed, but there was still hope. But, he had to get away from Atlanta to save everyone. He couldn’t allow her to witness what he was going to do: save people.
Save people. Who knew Draco Malfoy would save people? That was Potter’s area. Draco usually only wanted to save his own hide.
Pushing himself up, he knocked Atlanta off his back. Without looking backwards, he leaped to his feet and started to press on.
“He will kill me! I’m a filthy half breed!” Atlanta shouted. “I might be from the ancient House of Black, but I’m a fucking half breed, almost worst than a Mudblood!”
Draco flinched, coming to a stop. He heard her shoes slap the stone floor. She caught up to him easily. Atlanta reached forward with her own left hand and grabbed his forearm, turning Draco to face her. Even though the Mark currently didn’t hurt, he still tried to jerk away with a hiss, but part of having a bit of werewolf in her was having super strength for someone so thin and fragile looking. Her long fingers closed around his arm and jerked him forward, towards her.
“You don’t believe in this shit,” Atlanta spit out.
While she’d never been as prim and proper as his mother would have liked, Atlanta still didn’t curse. Except in British, because she was American and it was funny to her. But, since Draco had gone to the Dark Side, her language had followed him.
“I don’t,” Draco breathed, speaking the truth out loud for the first time.
He didn’t dare look up into her eyes.
“So, come with me,” Atlanta said softly, still not letting go of his arm.
Draco slid his eyes towards her, taking in her feet. She was wearing gladiator sandals and her feet were covered in bits of blood and rubble of the castle. Her legs, bare as she was wearing shorts for some unknown reason, were covered in dirt, scrapes and more blood. He continued to take her in till he reached her shoulders. She was wearing what was formerly a green t-shirt, but it was also bloody and dirty, so it appeared greyish. Her dark raven hair was down, curling wildly all over the place drifting over her shoulders with bits and pieces of rubble in it. Finally, he looked up.
Her beautiful face was streaked with grim and she had a rather angry looking slash across her cheek. But those brilliant, strange looking amber eyes glittered in the dim candle light with pride Draco had finally seen himself for what he really was: not his father.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Draco heard himself ask.
Atlanta snorted. “You know I prefer Muggle wear. When I got the message from Neville, classes had just ended and I’d just changed to go flying for a bit.”
Draco thought it was a bit odd for her to fly in a bright green shirt and blinding coral shorts, but this was Atlanta.
Atlanta. Who had lost so much for no reason. While Draco didn’t know Remus Lupin very well, he wasn’t a horrible person. Not like Greyback. He was horrible, and yet he was still alive. Lupin as dead.
“I bet your mother is worried sick,” Atlanta admonished, tearing her eyes off Draco. They took in his singed robes, the streaks of dust and grime. She frowned a bit.
“Do you have a wand?”
Hers was clutched in her hand.
“I lost it.”
This alarmed her. Draco could feel time slipping, dragging all around him. It was an odd sensation. Things got bright, then dimer. Wider and shorter. Atlanta went in and out of focus, speaking in a super slow Southern accent, then a high pitched, fast one.
The potion was doing something to him.
“Draco?” Atlanta asked, seemingly noticing he wasn’t exactly himself.
“Atlanta! Atlanta!”
Draco took advantage of her distraction to rip his arm out of her hold. He saw the twins she hung out with round the corner, both sandy blonde and blue eyed, just like a Hilderbatch out to be. They were both disgustingly clean as well.
“The wards all over the school are down!” one shouted.
“We totally Apparated into the grounds,” said the one on the right, looking rather smug.
In America, you could Apparate by sixteen. Atlanta said it was like Muggles and driving automobiles, not that Draco knew anything about that.
“We’ve been looking for you. You are in so much trouble,” said the one on the left. He sent Draco an evil look.
Their names were Remus and Romulus and Draco had such limited contact with the pair, he was never going to be able to tell them apart.
“Why are you here?” Atlanta asked, sounding bewildered. “Won’t you also get in trouble?”
“Well, yeah,” one said, running a hand through his hair, glancing at Atlanta. “But, we came after you. Sorry, we’re late. But, we didn’t know where to come. We went to that house in London, but it was empty. Ransacked. So, we came to Hogsmeade. We heard that announcement, so we hurried here. Where have you been? Where’s Remus?”
“Right here,” the twin on the left joked, tossing his flopping hair out of his eyes. Romulus punched him the shoulder. The two began to bicker about something, failing to notice Atlanta’s eyes were filled with unshed tears at the mention of her birth father.
It was time to go.
“Goodbye,” he whispered in Atlanta’s ear before he ran down the corridor.
He could hear her turn and begin to follow him, while the twins both did what he expected them to do: hold her back.
“MALFOY!” Atlanta screamed.
Draco sharply turned the corner. He ran till his legs gave out. Falling to the ground, he reached into is pocket and yanked out the last vile. He yanked out the paper, pressing himself to the wall in the empty hallway. No footsteps followed him, but he could hear Atlanta fighting with the twins. It sounded very far away. Taking deep breaths, he emptied his mind. The hour had to be up. He opened his eyes and it was almost as if there was an alarm in the last potion to tell him when it was time to take the next dose. The whole world was upside down, yet he was still sitting on the floor.
Popping the cork out, he drank the last one. He felt nothing, but the world righted itself. Making sure he was indeed alone, he read the incantation out loud, thinking of his eleventh birthday. Eleven was still young enough he could change who he was, change how things turned out. And he wasn’t too young to seem like he was acting too old for his age.
“MALFOY!”
Draco snapped his eyes open, but didn’t see anyone.
No one was allowed to change time. It was the law. Draco might not be the Chosen One, but Draco knew things. He was cunning, sly and somewhat ambitious. He might not have all the pieces, but he had enough he was sure he’d be able to take his seventeen year old head back to his eleven year old head and change things.
Influence, that was what he father said was important. Influence, money and power.
The Malfoys had none of that currently.
He felt a pull in his head and searing pain. His knees buckled, just as he heard the Dark Lord Voldemort announce to the whole school, “Harry Potter is dead.”
And the world went dark with one last scream of “MALFOY!”
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