Chapter Text
The past is the past for a reason.
That is where it is supposed to stay,
But some cannot let it go. ~Donna
February, 1999
It had been six months since Harry began his Auror training. Six months since his world turned upside down. The days were grueling, filled with intense physical drills, spell-casting practice, and endless lectures on magical law. Harry threw himself into the work, letting the demands of the training consume his every thought and moment. It was easier that way—easier to focus on the tasks at hand than to dwell on the memories that lurked just beneath the surface.
His fellow trainees admired his dedication, often commenting on his relentless drive and focus. Harry would merely nod in response, a tight smile on his lips, showing nothing that would point to something else. He pushed himself harder than anyone else, always staying late to perfect a spell or to run another lap around the training grounds.
There were moments, though, when the memories would sneak up on him. In the quiet of the night, when he lay in his dormitory bed, he’d stare at the ceiling when sleep never came him.
We’re here forever. And our love never changes.
Closing his eyes didn’t shut down his thoughts.
Apollo was devastated. In his grief, he refused to let Hyacinthus’ spirit descend to the underworld.
Sometimes Harry would find himself thinking of grey eyes and that smile. The image of Draco’s smile, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his touch—it all haunted him, refusing to fade away completely.
If only there was a stronger Occlumency where he could shield his mind from himself.
Despite the exhaustion, Harry found a certain comfort in the routine of training. Each day followed a predictable pattern, different than the chaos and uncertainty that had defined his life for so long. He clung to that predictability, using it as a shield against the emotions he wasn’t ready to face.
For now, though, Harry focused on the present, on becoming the best Auror he could be.
Ron was with him at Auror training, a familiar presence that grounded Harry. They trained together, often partnering in duels and practice missions. Ron’s easygoing nature and sense of humor provided a much-needed balance to Harry’s intensity. Harry had decided to dorm than live in Grimmauld Place. He wanted to be far from that place for now while Ron didn’t dorm but instead, was living with Hermione at the new cottage they bought. Their wedding was in a month and Harry was happy for them.
Occasionally, Harry would join Ron to meet up with Hermione and some other friends at the Leaky Cauldron. They were not a quiet gathering but it was a chance to relax and reconnect with those who mattered most. Hermione, ever perceptive, would occasionally give Harry a searching look, sensing there was more going on beneath the surface. But she never pressed, respecting his boundaries.
Despite the warmth and support of his friends, Harry couldn’t shake the sense of something unfinished, a lingering need that gnawed at him. He left Draco’s letter and the vials of memories locked away, but their presence was still there in the back of his mind.
Unbeknownst to his friends, Harry had begun searching for a way to get his hands on a Time-Turner. The idea had taken root in his mind, fueled by a desperate hope that he could change things, that he could alter the past and make something right. He knew it was dangerous, knew the risks involved, having researched for hours on Time-Turners, but the thought of seeing Draco again, of maybe finding a way to prevent all the pain, was too tempting to ignore.
Harry’s search was discreet, careful. He didn’t want anyone to know, especially not Hermione, who would undoubtedly try to dissuade him. There was a plan in his mind but he just needed an opportunity to execute it. There was the knowledge that all the Time-Turners were destroyed in the department of Mysteries but Harry was sure that wasn’t the case. He only needed to reach there again to be sure.
In the meantime, he buried himself in his training, using it as a cover for his clandestine efforts. The demanding schedule and physical exertion provided a plausible explanation for his exhaustion and occasional absences. It was a good distraction to not think because if he did, Harry knew he would spiral out of control, unable to come back; unable to do anything but sit still and cry. Ron, who was busy with his own training and planning his future with Hermione, didn’t question Harry’s behavior, assuming it was part of the process of becoming an Auror.
Finally, by the end of February, the Aurors in training were taken to the Ministry for an intensive field simulation.
The Ministry was bustling as usual, its grand atrium filled with witches and wizards going about their business. Harry and his fellow trainees were led through the maze of corridors to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The air was thick with anticipation and a sense of purpose.
Harry’s heart pounded as they passed by the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. He kept his face impassive, focusing on the task at hand, but his mind was racing. This was his chance. He needed to find a way back into that enigmatic place.
The field simulation was intense, designed to test their skills and readiness for real-world situations. Harry went through the motions, his movements precise and calculated. He couldn’t afford any mistakes.
After the simulation, the trainees were given a brief break. Harry saw his opportunity and quietly slipped away, heading towards the Department of Mysteries. The corridors seemed endless, and each step echoed with his resolve.
He reached the door that led to the Time Room, his hand hesitating on the handle. Memories of the battle in the Department of Mysteries flooded back, but he pushed them aside. He had to do this. For Draco. For himself.
The room was as he remembered—dark, filled with the ticking of countless clocks and the ominous presence of the destroyed Time-Turners. He scanned the room, looking for any sign of a functioning device. His heart sank as he saw the remnants, but he knew there had to be something left.
As he searched, his fingers brushed against a hidden compartment in one of the cabinets. He pried it open, revealing a small, intact Time-Turner nestled within. His breath caught in his throat. This was it. The key to changing everything.
With the Time-Turner in hand, Harry quickly concealed it and made his way back to the training area. He had to act normal, blend in. The plan was in motion, and he couldn’t afford to be caught.
Later that evening, Harry met up with Ron and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. He forced himself to smile, to engage in their conversation. No one suspected a thing. But beneath the surface, his mind was racing with the possibilities that the Time-Turner held.
He had a secret, one that could change everything. And he was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.
***
Late into the night, when everyone else was asleep, Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His fingers clutched the cool metal of the Time-Turner. The desire to go back gnawed at him, but the prospect of returning to the chaos of the war was daunting. Still, the thought of seeing Draco again, of saving him, was a mission he couldn’t ignore.
Rising from his bed, Harry took a deep breath. He got his invisibility cloak and turned the Time-Turner. The world around him dissolved, and he felt a sensation similar to a Portkey, though without the uncomfortable pull at his stomach. The dizziness was intense, so he shut his eyes against it. When the sensation faded, he opened his eyes to find himself in the midst of a destroyed Hogwarts.
May, 1998
The sight of the shattered castle tugged at Harry’s heart. Debris littered the grounds, and the once-majestic towers lay in ruins. He took a moment to gather his bearings, inhaling the familiar, smoky scent of the battlefield. The memories flooded back—faces of friends and foes, the cries of battle, and the weight of loss.
Harry knew he had to act quickly before Draco made his way to the courtyard where Harry would be carried back by Hagrid; where Draco...
He scanned the wreckage, searching for any sign of Draco. He remembered the moments before the final battle, where Draco had been, what he had been doing. Steeling himself, he moved swiftly through the rubble, avoiding the occasional Death Eater or dueling students.
He found Draco near the shattered remains of the Astronomy Tower, looking lost and scared. His pale face was smeared with grime, and his eyes were wide with fear. For a moment, Harry paused looking at him after all the months of seeing him in memories. An urge to touch him gnawed at him, wondering if he would turn to liquid smoke like memory Draco. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight.
“Draco!” he called out, his voice urgent but low enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
Draco turned, confusion etched on his face. “Potter? What are you doing here?”
Harry grabbed his arm, pulling him into a nearby alcove. “No time to explain. We have to get out of here.”
Draco looked around, bewildered. “Are you mad? The battle—”
“I know,” Harry cut him off. “But trust me.”
Draco hesitated, then nodded, the fear in his eyes giving way to a glimmer of hope. Together, they navigated the treacherous path through the castle, avoiding skirmishes and ducking behind cover when necessary. Harry’s heart pounded with each step, knowing the risk they were taking but determined to see it through.
Finally, they reached a relatively safe spot in one of the abandoned classrooms. Harry turned to Draco, looking at his battle-stricken face, his grip on Draco tightening.
“Stay here.” Harry said.
Draco’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“Just, please. Don’t go out, not until the battle is over.” Harry said.
“I–” Draco hesitated, grey eyes searching his as if Harry was tricking him.
“Please, promise me.” Harry pleaded as Draco winced, realizing how Harry held him in a death grip.
Draco’s resolve wavered as he met Harry’s pleading gaze. For a moment, the noise of the battle seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in the dim, dusty room. Finally, with a resigned nod, Draco whispered, “Fine. I promise.”
Harry’s grip loosened, and he gave Draco a brief, earnest look. “Thank you.”
With a final glance at Draco, Harry turned and left the classroom, his mind racing with the urgency of the battle. He navigated through the chaos, each step feeling heavier with the knowledge of what he had just done. His heart ached with the desire to stay, but he knew he had to return to his own time.
Finding a secluded corner, Harry pulled out the Time-Turner. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey back. The time around him began to blur and twist as he turned the device. The feeling was akin to a Portkey, but without the nauseating pull in his stomach. Instead, it was a dizzying rush, the world spinning around him.
June, 1998
When the sensation ceased, Harry opened his eyes to find himself back in his room at Grimmauld Place. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. It was right before he received the vials and letter. He sat on the edge of his bed, the weight of the experience settling heavily on his shoulders.
Harry glanced at the now dormant Time-Turner, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he had witnessed and changed. The room was silent, save for the faint sounds of the waking world outside. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
Just then, the floo flared to life and Hermione’s face came into view.
“Harry?” She spoke.
Harry got up and went towards her. “Right here.”
“Oh, good I thought you already left.” Hermione said
“Left for what?” Harry asked, confused.
“For Draco Malfoy’s trial.”
He froze at that. So, it had worked. Draco was alive.
“I just called to see if you were really sure about this.” Hermione said.
Harry just looked at her confused.
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Well, he did try to kill you after the battle.”
What? He wasn’t sure he was hearing this. Why would Draco want to kill him?
“I–” harry was about to ask but Hermione just cut him off.
“I mean I understand it was awful with her mother dying but it wasn’t your fault.”
Harry’s blood ran cold.
Oh no.
Narcissa Malfoy had died in Draco’s place.
The wand. Draco wasn’t there to hand Harry the wand so Narcissa…
“Remind me when’s his trial.” Harry asked, still in a trance.
“An hour from now.”
“I have to go.”
“Wait, Harr–” But Harry had already cut off the floo and apparated to the ministry.
He wanted to talk to Draco before the trial. Harry arrived at the Ministry with a sense of urgency, his mind racing. He navigated the familiar hallways until he reached the holding cells. After a quick exchange with the guard, he was led to Draco’s cell. Draco sat on a bench, his face pale and gaunt, eyes filled with a mixture of grief and fury. As soon as he saw Harry, his expression hardened.
“What do you want, Potter?” Draco spat, standing up.
Harry took a step closer, his heart heavy. “I need to talk to you.”
Draco’s eyes flashed with anger. “Talk? What is there to talk about? You let my mother die!”
Harry flinched at the accusation, guilt gnawing at him. “I didn’t know that would happen. I was trying to save you.”
“Save me?” Draco’s voice rang out, bouncing off the cold stone walls. “What about her? She was everything to me, and you let her die!”
Harry’s heart sank. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Please, Draco.”
Draco’s eyes blazed with fury. “You know, when you came and told me to stay there, I thought you had some brilliant plan. You were finally going to save everyone.” His voice cracked, his lips trembling. “But some savior you were. I can’t believe I–” He broke off, his anger palpable.
Harry’s breath caught, desperate for Draco to finish his thought. But instead, Draco’s words cut deeper.
“I’ll never forgive you, Potter. Never. I’ll hate you till the end of my days. I vow that to you.” Draco’s voice was ice cold, reflecting in his eyes, his jaw set in a rigid line.
In that moment, Harry realized it was too late. This wasn’t what he had wanted. Not one life for another.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry managed to choke out before turning away. As he exited the cell, he almost thought he heard a faint whisper of Me too. But Harry was already gone.
Harry stumbled out of the cell, the weight of Draco’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. The corridors of the Ministry felt darker, colder, as he made his way back toward the main hall. His mind was a whirlpool of regret and confusion. Had he truly made things better, or had he only shifted the pain onto someone else?
The trial came and Harry testified but nothing really changed from that. Draco was sentenced to life in Azkaban.
Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, his mind racing. The weight of Draco’s words hung heavy on his heart. He couldn’t let this be the end. With trembling hands, he reached for the Time-Turner once more, its cool metal reassuring against his skin.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. The image of Draco’s anguished face and the knowledge of Narcissa’s death spurred him on. This time, he would get it right. He would save them both.
With determination, he turned the Time-Turner, feeling the familiar pull as everything around him blurred and twisted.
If only he knew what he was getting in to.
Again, he was brought back to the Battle of Hogwarts, just moments before Draco’s demise. Harry moved quickly, ducking spells and navigating the chaos, determined to reach Draco in time. He managed to pull Draco away from the path of a deadly curse, but as they fled, Harry felt a sudden jolt. When he returned to the present, he found himself in a different world altogether. Hogwarts was still in ruins, and the battle had ended in even greater devastation. Draco was alive, but the cost had been too high.
Undeterred, Harry turned the Time-Turner again. This time, he decided to act earlier, intercepting Draco before he even reached the thick of the battle. He pulled him aside, trying to convince him to stay hidden. Draco, confused and suspicious, eventually agreed. They huddled together in a deserted classroom, waiting for the battle to end. When Harry returned to the future, he found that Draco had survived, but at the cost of countless other lives, including many of their friends.
With each attempt, Harry grew more desperate. He went back again, trying different strategies, each time tweaking his actions slightly, hoping to find the perfect solution. He tried shielding Draco with protective spells, guiding him to safer paths, even enlisting the help of others. But each time, something went wrong. In one attempt, Draco was injured but alive, only for Harry to return to a present where Draco resented him even more for his scars and the loss of others who had been close to him. Draco’s eyes, once filled with a cautious hope, were now cold and distant, filled with a bitterness that cut Harry to the core.
The strain of constant time travel began to take its toll on Harry. He grew exhausted, both physically and mentally, as he repeatedly faced the horrors of the battle and the consequences of his actions. The line between past and present blurred, and Harry found it increasingly difficult to keep track of the changes he had made. Each failure chipped away at his resolve, leaving him hollow and despairing.
In one particularly harrowing attempt, Harry managed to save Draco and Narcissa, guiding them both to safety. He felt a flicker of hope as they huddled together, watching the battle from a distance. But when he returned to the future, he found that Draco had vanished completely, as if he had never existed. Panic set in as Harry realized that he had altered something fundamental, erasing Draco from the timeline altogether. The world felt emptier, colder, and Harry’s heart ached with the loss of Draco’s presence.
Desperation clawed at him as he turned the Time-Turner once more. He could feel the fabric of time fraying, the strain of his repeated interventions taking a toll on reality itself. He knew he was running out of chances, but he couldn’t stop. The memory vials, the images of a life he had never truly lived but had come to cherish, drove him onward. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco's smile, felt the warmth of his touch, heard the soft laughter that had once filled their imagined moments together.
He needed to think.
Maybe you’re not supposed to mess up with time. Harry pushed that thought away. This wasn’t the end.
Desperate and worn down, Harry tried one final time. He closed his eyes and twisted away.
When he opened them, he was in the Forbidden Forest, the very spot where he had once marched to his death. Retrieving his Invisibility Cloak, he draped it over himself and swiftly set out to find his past self.
Hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry navigated through the dense trees of the Forbidden Forest. The air was thick with tension, and he could hear the distant murmur of Voldemort’s followers gathering.
He spotted himself, the past Harry, walking with grim determination toward Voldemort. It was a surreal experience, watching himself from the shadows, knowing exactly what was about to unfold.
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he witnessed Voldemort raise his wand. The words “Avada Kedavra” echoed through the forest, and a flash of green light erupted. The past Harry crumpled to the ground, his wand slipping from his grasp and landing with a soft thud on the forest floor.
Every instinct screamed at Harry to intervene, but he knew he couldn’t change this part of the past. He had to stay focused on his true mission. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, waiting for the right moment to step forward and alter the future once more.
Harry stayed hidden, watching as Hagrid emerged from the darkness, tears streaming down his face. “Harry... no...” Hagrid’s voice was thick with grief. Bellatrix’s maddening laugh echoed through the forest.
Using the commotion to his advantage, Harry inched forward, his eyes fixed on the wand lying on the forest floor. With a quick, silent movement, he retrieved it and tucked it away under his cloak before Voldemort ordered Narcissa to check if he was truly dead. He kept a safe distance, ensuring he wasn’t detected as he followed the procession back to the castle.
When they reached the castle, Voldemort’s triumphant voice rang out, gloating over Harry’s supposed death, who now lay in Hagrid’s arms. The air was heavy with despair, but Harry knew what was coming next. He waited, heart pounding, as the scene played out exactly as he remembered. Voldemort ordering the others to join him. Draco emerged and walked towards Voldemort. Harry held his breath, watching him, every detail he couldn’t see before.
Draco’s face was a mask of fear and hesitation, his steps slow and uncertain. Harry’s heart ached, knowing the internal struggle Draco must be experiencing. He could see the conflict in Draco’s eyes, the flicker of doubt that had been invisible to him in his past life.
As Draco reached Voldemort, the Dark Lord’s cold, high-pitched voice cut through the air. “See? Even the Malfoys know who their true master is.”
Draco stood there, visibly trembling, his gaze darting to the lifeless form of Harry in Hagrid's arms. Narcissa, standing close by, cast a quick, almost imperceptible glance at her son, her expression a mixture of relief and anxiety.
As Neville pulled out the sword of Gryffindor and past Harry stirred in Hagrid’s arms. The moment his past self sprang to life, Harry seized the opportunity. He moved swiftly, unnoticed in the chaos, and dropped the wand directly in front of his younger self. The wand clattered softly on the ground, catching the attention of past Harry just as planned.
In the midst of the confusion and renewed hope, Harry backed away, ensuring he wasn’t seen. His younger self would soon pick up the wand, completing the sequence of events leading to Voldemort’s defeat. Knowing he had done his part, Harry began to slip away, ready to return to his own time. The final battle was about to commence, and this time, things would be different.
The chaos that ensued was both familiar and surreal. Spells flew, shouts echoed, and the battle reached its climax. Amidst the confusion, Harry kept his eyes on Draco, who, despite his fear, subtly moved to protect his mother. Narcissa, torn between her son and the battle around her, seemed to draw strength from Draco’s resolve.
Harry turned back, ensuring that this time, everything would be right. Harry took a deep breath, gripping the Time-Turner tightly. As he turned it, the world around him began to blur and twist once more. The familiar pull tugged at him, and he closed his eyes against the disorienting sensation. He felt himself being yanked through time, leaving the battlefield and all its chaos behind.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in the quiet of Grimmauld Place. The silence was almost jarring after the cacophony of battle. Harry sat down heavily on the nearest chair, his mind racing. He had done it. He had changed the past, given Draco and Narcissa a chance to survive the battle unscathed.
But now, he had to live with the consequences of his actions. He didn’t know what the future held, but he hoped it would be better. The weight of the memories and the pain of loss still lingered, but there was also a glimmer of hope.
Harry glanced at the now dormant Time-Turner, the device hot in his hand, humming with magic. He knew he couldn’t keep it. It was too dangerous. With a resolute nod, he decided to return it to the Ministry, to ensure it wouldn’t be misused.
For now, he needed to rest. Exhaustion settled over him, and he made his way to his bedroom. As he lay down, his thoughts drifted to Draco. He wondered how things had changed for him, how he would navigate this new future. He was back to the day before Draco’s letter was supposed to arrive. But by now, he knew it by heart. Harry hoped he would find happiness, despite the pain and loss they had both endured.
Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it brought a sense of peace. Harry had done what he could, and now it was time to move forward, to find a way to heal and to live with the choices he had made.
The next morning, Harry awoke with an anxiousness. All day, his thoughts went towards the arrival of a letter but it never came.
Nothing did.
Days past but there was nothing.
And if I survive this war, if we survive, I would try my best to reconcile with you till you get sick of me and want to kill me yourself.
There was nothing. He had made sure that Draco and Narcissa had survived and no one else had perished. They were even pardoned. But it was like everything Draco had written in the letter didn’t matter at all anymore. It wasn’t like his Draco. If there was such a thing as his Draco at all.
If you’re reading this then I’m already dead because clearly this letter wouldn’t see the light of day if I wasn’t and I would pretend the rest of my life that it never mattered at all like I always have.
Maybe it didn’t matter after all.
Days turned into weeks, and Harry found himself growing more restless. There was an absence that gnawed at him. He had altered the past to save Draco and Narcissa, but in doing so, had he lost the chance to ever reconcile with Draco? The letter had been his only tangible connection to the Draco he had come to know, and now it was gone.
His birthday came again and this time he didn’t spend it in a drunken stupor. Instead, he chose to spend the day with friends. Ron and Hermione had planned a small gathering at the Burrow, a comforting reminder of simpler times. The Weasleys, with their warmth and cheer, offered a temporary respite from the gnawing uncertainty in Harry’s heart.
As the evening progressed, laughter and chatter filled the air. Harry found himself relaxing, momentarily forgetting the weight of his thoughts. But every so often, his mind would drift back to Draco, and the unanswered questions that lingered. He managed to find out that Harry had returned Draco’s wand back to him at the battle and that was the last they saw of each other. Hermione and Ron did tell him that they saw Draco in Daigon Alley the other day and he had, indeed, apologized to them for his behaviour. At that, Harry remained quiet. Draco still hadn’t approached him. Maybe he just needed time or maybe he changed his mind.
After the party, Harry sat alone in the garden, the cool night air wrapping around him like a blanket. He stared up at the stars, wondering if Draco was looking at the same sky, and if he felt the same sense of longing.
He turned the time-turner, moving a bit forward into his Auror training, being closer to his present time. He threw himself into his Auror training, trying to bury his unease under the weight of rigorous exercises and assignments. Ron and Hermione noticed his distracted state, but he managed to deflect their concerns with excuses about the intensity of the program. With him being busy at his training, Harry managed to arrive back to his present day at the simulation test at the Ministry where he stole the Time-Turner from. He managed to place it back to its original place.
He was just getting back when he caught a glimpse of a blond head at the reception. Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t seen Draco since the battle, and the sight of him now, so close yet seemingly out of reach, stirred a whirlwind of emotions. Draco’s hair was longer, the bangs nearly covering his eyes, with blond wisps trailing down to his nape. Despite wearing simple black robes, he looked nothing short of ethereal.
Harry felt an almost magnetic pull towards Draco, his feet moving before his mind could catch up. As he approached, he saw Draco speaking quietly to the receptionist, his voice too low for Harry to hear. He hesitated, uncertainty gripping him. What if Draco didn’t want to see him? What if everything he’d done had only made things worse?
Summoning his courage, Harry took a deep breath and closed the remaining distance between them.
“Dra–Malfoy?” he called softly.
Draco turned, his grey eyes flaring slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Draco broke the silence.
“Potter.” His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that Harry couldn’t quite decipher.
“I—” Harry started, then paused, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Draco nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. “I was just here to return my training badge.”
Harry perked up, curious “Training?”
“I just finished my portioner training for the DMLE.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You know you don’t need to work, right?”
“I guess I don’t have the knack for sitting ideally around my fortune with having nothing better to do.” Draco said.
Harry snorted, the tension easing slightly. They stood in an awkward silence before Draco gestured to his Auror training robes. “So, you’re finally going to be an Auror?”
Harry glanced down, a hint of pride mixed with apprehension in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess; in a month.”
Draco nodded, his gaze flickering to the Head Trainer who was now calling the trainees to assemble and head back to the base. As the moment stretched, Draco looked at Harry, a brief flicker of panic crossing his face before it was quickly masked with indifference.
“I was—” Draco started, but Harry cut him off, both speaking at the same time.
“Listen—” Harry began.
Draco’s eyes met Harry’s, and for a moment, their words hung in the air, unspoken but understood. The silence that followed was heavy and awkward.
Draco took a deep breath, breaking the silence first. “I was wondering if we could talk. Properly, I mean.”
Harry nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
The Head Trainer’s voice grew more insistent, and Harry knew he had to go. “Maybe after this, we can catch up? How about we meet at the Leaky Cauldron this evening?”
Draco eyes hesitant, softened slightly. “Alright. I’ll be there.”
With a nod, Draco turned and walked away, leaving Harry to join the rest of the trainees. As they moved out, Harry’s thoughts were a whirlwind. He had altered time, faced his past, and now, perhaps, he had a chance to mend what was broken.
The day seemed to drag, each task and drill a blur as Harry’s mind kept drifting to the upcoming meeting. Finally, when the day’s training ended, Harry made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. The familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air as he entered. There wasn’t much of a crowd due to it being a work day. Harry had reached there first, so he took a booth in the far corner and ordered himself a butterbeer as he waited.
As he stared into his drink, the door opened and in walked Draco. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Draco’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Harry. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the bustling pub fading into the background. Harry stood up, unsure of what to say or do. Draco walked over, his expression unreadable.
“Potter.” Draco said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something Harry couldn’t quite place.
He took a seat opposite to Harry.
“I see you’re still stuck on your butterbeer phase,” Draco remarked, eyeing Harry’s half-empty drink.
“It’s the best drink,” Harry replied defensively.
“Oh, please, it’s basically liquid candy,” Draco retorted with a smirk.
Harry rolled his eyes. “At least I’m not sipping on firewhisky like it’s water.”
Draco chuckled, a genuine laugh that Harry didn’t think he would hear it in real. “Fair enough. I suppose some habits die hard.”
There was a brief, awkward silence as they both took in the moment, each uncertain how to proceed.
“So,” Harry began, trying to steer the conversation, “I heard about Ron and Hermione meeting you in Diagon Alley.”
“Yes, that’s where I was getting at.” Draco said.
Draco took a deep breath, glancing around before leaning in slightly. “I wanted to apologize. For everything. And to... talk, I guess. Properly.”
Harry spoke, trying to keep his emotions out of his tone. “I thought you forgot about me.”
“With your horrendous glasses and that scar, who could ever forget you?” Draco retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.
“So what? You were saving me for last?” Harry shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Draco gave a half-hearted glare. “Well, I do have a flair for dramatic timing. And I figured if I was going to apologize, I might as well make it memorable.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Oh, well, nothing like a little post-apocalyptic guilt to spice up a drink.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression. “Yes, because nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like a round of butterbeer and a chat in a pub.”
Harry smirked. “You’re really going all out with this apology tour. What’s next, a song and dance number?”
Draco laughed softly. “If it would make you feel better, I might consider it. But for now, I thought a simple conversation might suffice.”
A stray lock of Draco’s hair fell across his eye, and he brushed it impatiently behind his ear. Harry found himself almost compelled to reach out and do it for him.
“I believe I have much to apologize for.” Draco said.
“And I accept.” Harry said.
“I’m sorry for–wait what?” Draco said, surprised.
“I said I accept your apology.” Harry said.
“But you didn’t even let me finish.” Draco said.
“Look, I’ve been dwelling a lot on the past and now…I just want to be in the present.”
Draco seemed to wrestle with his words for a moment, his gaze fixed on his drink. “I suppose I should say what I came here to say, then.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about everything that happened—about how I reacted and what I did. I realize now that I was wrong in a lot of ways.”
Harry leaned forward slightly, his eyes steady on Draco. “You’re not the only one who made mistakes.”
Draco gave a wry smile. “Oh, I’m well aware. But I’m sure there’s a long list of things I could be blamed for.”
Harry chuckled softly. “Well, as long as we’re making lists, I guess we’re even.”
Draco’s smile widened, though it was tinged with sadness. “I guess we are. But it’s strange, you know? I just thought you would be angry.”
Harry thought about it. He had been angry. He’d been so angry but now that Draco was in front of him, alive, he just didn’t know how to be angry anymore.
“To be honest, I was angry for a long time.” Harry admitted.
Draco nodded, his gaze drifting away, as if he was weighing Harry’s words. “I don’t blame you. I would’ve been too, in your place.”
Harry searched Draco’s face, looking for the traces of the boy he had known and the man he had become. “But now… it’s different. Seeing you here… it’s hard to hold on to that anger.”
Draco looked back at him, his grey eyes clouded with something unspoken. “Different how?”
Harry hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain the countless times he had gone back, the desperation that drove him to tamper with time, just to keep Draco alive? How could he make Draco understand that his anger had given way to something else—something that scared him even more?
“I don’t know,” Harry finally said, though the words felt inadequate. “It just is.”
A silence settled between them, heavy with everything left unsaid. The noise of the pub faded into the background, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, Malfoy staring at him as if he knew what Harry did. But he couldn’t have.
Tom the innkeeper brought over two butterbeers without being asked, breaking the moment. Draco, though more reserved, seemed at ease for the first time since they’d met again. There was no hint in his demeanor that he suspected anything unusual. To him, their encounter was just a chance meeting, an unexpected but not unwelcome reconnection.
The evening passed in a haze of easy conversation. They didn’t talk about the war, about the losses they’d suffered, or the ghosts that haunted them both. For now, it was enough to simply exist in this moment, to let the past be the past, even if Harry was the only one who truly understood how tangled that past had become.
Draco glanced at his watch, his expression shifting to one of reluctant realization. “I should get going. It’s getting late.”
Harry stood, too. “Yeah, I suppose we both have things to do.”
As Draco gathered his things, Harry couldn’t help but notice how different he looked—how much he had changed. The bitterness and anger that once defined their interactions seemed like a distant memory. It wasn’t his Draco but it was close.
They both stepped out of the pub, the night air cool and refreshing. Draco hesitated at the door, turning to Harry with a thoughtful expression. “It’s been nice talking to you. I–”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Draco struggle to find the right words. The air between them felt thick with unspoken thoughts. Draco’s mouth opened, and Harry held his breath, waiting for what might come next.
But then Draco hesitated, his eyes flickering with something Harry couldn’t quite read. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Never mind,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.
Harry’s heart sank, the moment slipping away as quickly as it had come. “Yeah,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say, his mind already spinning with possibilities of what Draco might have wanted to tell him.
Draco gave him a small nod, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the night. Harry stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot, replaying the encounter in his mind. What had Draco wanted to say? Why had he stopped himself?
The unanswered questions gnawed at him, lingering long after Draco was gone. Even as he made his way back home, his thoughts kept returning to that moment, trying to decipher the mystery behind Draco’s hesitation.
A month later, as Harry completed his final assessments and officially became a full-fledged Auror, he reflected on the changes that had unfolded since that night at the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn’t seen Draco again since then, their paths not crossing despite the occasional rumors and sightings around Diagon Alley.
Standing in the Ministry atrium, surrounded by colleagues and well-wishers congratulating him on his achievement, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was unfinished. Deep down, he knew he needed closure with Draco, to bridge the gap that still lingered between them. But for now, as he accepted his new responsibilities with determination and pride, Harry pushed aside his personal uncertainties, focusing on the challenges and duties that lay ahead in his new role as an Auror.
It was a few days later that Harry would spot Draco in the cafeteria all alone.
Harry hesitated at the entrance to the cafeteria, his eyes fixed on Draco. The room buzzed with conversation, but all of it seemed to fade into a distant hum as he watched Draco, who appeared lost in thought, his usual guarded expression softened by something Harry couldn’t quite place.
The urge to approach him, to finally address the unspoken words between them, was almost overwhelming. Yet, a familiar doubt crept in, reminding him of how their last conversation had ended with Draco nearly saying something, only to withdraw at the last moment. What had Draco wanted to say? And why couldn’t Harry let it go?
Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to move forward. His steps felt heavy, as if each one was weighed down by the memories and uncertainties that had accumulated over the years. As he drew closer, Draco looked up, their eyes meeting in a moment that felt strangely like déjà vu.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.
Draco raised an eyebrow, the flicker of surprise quickly masked by his usual cool demeanor. “Potter,” he replied, his tone neutral, though there was a hint of something else—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it just Harry’s imagination?
There was a beat of silence, and then Draco gestured to the empty seat across from him. “Care to join me, or are you just passing by?”
Harry took the offer, sliding into the chair opposite Draco. The awkwardness between them was palpable, but there was also a sense of inevitability, as if they both knew this conversation had to happen, even if neither of them was sure where to begin.
They sat quietly for a moment, the clinking of dishes and low hum of chatter around them only emphasizing the heavy silence. Eventually, Draco was the one to speak first, breaking the stalemate.
“So, you’re a full-fledged Auror now,” he said, his tone carrying just a hint of something Harry couldn’t quite decipher—was it pride, sarcasm, or maybe a touch of both?
Harry nodded, unsure how to interpret Draco’s tone. “Yeah, finally made it,” he replied, trying to keep his voice casual. He glanced at Draco, searching for any sign of what he might be thinking, but Draco’s expression remained carefully neutral.
“Must be… fulfilling,” Draco said, his eyes flicking to Harry’s, then quickly away. “Catching Dark wizards, saving the world—still your thing, I suppose.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile, a little wryly. “Something like that. But it’s not always so dramatic. Mostly just paperwork and training.”
Draco gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “It suits you,” he said quietly, surprising Harry. “You’ve always been good at… saving people.”
Not good enough. His mind supplied.
There was a pause, heavy with the unspoken memories between them. Harry wanted to say something, to bridge the distance that still lingered, but the right words seemed elusive. Instead, he asked, “And what about you? Still brewing potions?”
Draco looked down at his hands. “Yes, for the Department. It’s... quiet work.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “I prefer it that way.”
Harry studied Draco’s face, noticing the subtle changes—more shadows under his eyes, a certain weariness in his expression. He wondered how much of it had to do with the past, with the things they had both been through.
“Back at the Leaky, what were you going to say?” Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Draco’s expression flickered with something—regret? But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “It wasn’t important.”
Harry shook his head. “It felt important.”
Draco sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You really haven’t changed, have you? Always digging for answers, even when they’re better left buried.”
“Maybe,” Harry conceded. “But sometimes I think we both deserve some answers.”
Draco looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing whether to let Harry in or keep him at arm’s length as he always had. “Maybe you’re right,” he said finally, though his tone was more resigned than convinced.
Before Harry could press further, a voice called out his name from across the cafeteria. It was one of his fellow Aurors, signaling that it was time to get back to work. Harry’s stomach tightened with frustration, but he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.
Draco must have seen the conflict on Harry’s face because he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Another time, Potter. We both have our duties.”
Harry nodded, standing up reluctantly. “Yeah, another time.”
As he walked away, he couldn’t help but glance back at Draco. The blond was already lost in thought again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his cup. The sight only deepened the sense of unfinished business that gnawed at Harry, a reminder that some things were far from settled.
From then on, Harry would occasionally see Malfoy here and there but not long enough to catch him in conversation. It was like this until he was assigned the case.