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Chapter Text

Three days after the wizarding world was enlightened to the bitter truth of Voldemort's return, and three days after Sirius Black fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter finally managed to escape from the heavy gazes of friends and strangers alike. He was currently trying to find seclusion on the shore of the Black Lake, and after he confirmed that the spot was mostly hidden by conveniently placed shrubbery, he dropped onto the bank and drew his knees to his chest, staring blankly at the horizon. Harry knew that if he looked in the water’s reflection, he would see that his black hair was in its usual disarray, and that dark circles hung under his eyes, and that in blunt terms he looked like shite. But his mind was heavy with the echo of Sirius’ laugh, and Trelawney's voice as it spoke the prophecy that ultimately connected his life to Voldemort.  Ironically, Harry was so oblivious to the world around him that he didn't even notice someone was nearing until the unmistakable crack of a stick sounded behind him. He inwardly groaned, and his last thought as blue light enveloped him was that it would almost be a relief for it to all end before he was forced to lose anybody else he cared about.

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Draco Malfoy was not amused. He was currently in a dream that others might perceive as perfectly ordinary. You see, in the haze of his unconscious mind, he was in the company of a rather skinny boy whose green eyes burned with rage and messy hair screamed to be brushed. He was flanked by a red-faced ginger boy and a bushy-haired girl whose nose was turned up in a way that implied she was a know-it-all (and Draco knew this because he saw the same expression in the mirror every day).

The green-eyed boy kept telling Draco “You need to fix it, pointy-faced git” and each time he said it his voice rose in volume. It wasn’t until the chant mimicked that of a scream that Draco woke, pyjamas soaked with sweat and tears streaming down his face. He would have been mortified at the state of himself if it hadn’t become almost normal after the past two months of the secret dreams.

Deeming his damp clothing uncomfortable, he performed a couple of cleaning and drying spells, then sat cross-legged in his bed, wondering why things like this had to happen to him. He was aware that he was monumentally important, but that certainly did not entail going utterly barmy. While he had no clue who the three Gryffindors were - they were always in school uniform in the dreams - he intuitively knew that whoever they were he hated them and that they returned that hatred. He firmly ignored the strange flutter in his stomach that appeared when he saw the boy with the lightning scar. When his subconscious began to bring it up, he immediately explained to himself that it was just gas. Because it definitely could not be anything else.

Draco knew that if he ever so much as mentioned that he was dreaming about people who, to his knowledge, didn’t exist, the family healer would be called over to check for any brain damage. Well, that and the fact that he had a feeling deep in his gut that if the dreams did mean something, they must be coming to him and not anyone else for a reason.

Grabbing his silver wristwatch from his nightstand, Draco let out a rather pitiful groan when he saw it was barely a quarter to six in the morning but still rose to dress in something warm enough for him to enjoy a morning ride on his broom. It was a sort of habit, he’d wake from a particularly intense dream, and if he couldn’t quiet down his mind, then he’d go out on his well-loved Firebolt for an hour or two.

After careful consideration of how he should get to the broom shed that stood outside of the manor, he half-whispered, “Dobby!”. A slight pop and the bulb eyed house elf stood in front of him.

“Bring me my morning tea.”

Dobby returned with the tea and rocked from side to side while Draco drank it, and carefully accepted the empty mug when he was finished. Before the elf could waffle on about his latest attempt to be freed, he held out his left hand and commanded him to take him to the area right outside of the shed. Draco grimaced as they landed outside in the crisp fall air, he had forgotten how dizzying side-apparition was. A casual wave of his hand sent the elf right back to wherever it is he went when he wasn’t moping about or following orders.

Turning to the shed, he went on with grabbing his broom and putting on a warm hat before mounting the Firebolt and taking off to the sky. Draco was lucky that the manor was located on Wiltshire countryside, and that wards prevented any stray muggles from seeing anything but trees and empty pasture. It left him kilometres of acreage to fly through, and although he sometimes wondered if his rides would be more enjoyable with a companion, the beautiful gardens and tranquillity he felt when he rode made up for any loneliness that might sneak up on him. Feeling more adventurous than he did most mornings, he cast a high strength disillusionment charm on himself and the broom and headed toward the tourist-heavy Wardour Castle. It was a rather depressing example of what happened when a wizard abandoned his home, but the hidden alcoves and open rooms had often been used as a play place for Draco when his mother wanted to escape the manor.

He had rediscovered it only recently and kept returning due to the random doors that appeared when he would arrive. His last visit had led him to what once was the kitchen and servants quarters. For a castle that had been damaged sometime in the latter half of the 15 century, then left to crumble as an “ornamental feature” by the muggle that managed to inherit it, it was incredible that there were parts of the ancient house that still looked habitable. While he didn’t share the intense hatred for muggles like his father and most of his preferred company, he had to admit that they liked to royally fuck up things that they shouldn’t have the right to touch, examples including Stonehenge and wizarding castles.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when Draco finally landed in front of the castle’s cave, and a slight morning mist settled around him as he shrunk the broom and slipped it into his robe pocket. The cave was one area of the old house he hadn’t thoroughly explored, and he decided with a firm shake of his head that it would be the focus of the day's visit.

As Draco climbed the small set of stairs leading to the cave, he noticed that the roof was covered in overgrown variegated ivy and that it looked as though there was no way to enter. Muttering to himself as he sidestepped through the narrow gap at its front, he barely stifled a gasp when an arched outline of an entrance began to glow along the previously unblemished looking wall of stone. As he neared closer, it started to materialise into an actual door, complete with a bronze ringed handle on its left-hand side. He reasoned with himself that it was probably okay to open because the other magically appearing doors had not been trapped or led him to an untimely death. An inscription curved along the arch of the door and began to grow as though it felt Draco trying to read it. Memores acti prudentes futuri. A soft voice spoke as though it was right behind him, “Be mindful of what has been done, and aware of what will be” but when he turned around he found himself alone. With a light shrug, he reached to open the door, surprised when he felt a tingle of magic rush up his arm and along the rest of his body when his hand closed around the bronze ring and pulled.

The door opened to reveal a short hallway, dimly lit with torches, which curved to the left after about six metres. A quick popping of his knuckles and he was off, striding down the hall like he wasn’t internally screaming at his arse to go back and forget that he ever saw the door. Halfway down the hallway, he heard a slight creaking as the door inexplicably closed behind him, and he turned around with an unimpressed glare at the stone wall where the door had once been.

“Well, fuck you too.”

When he rounded the corner of the hallway, he was suddenly inside of a large study. Decorated in a deep red and accented with dark oak furniture, it looked like it belonged to a well-rounded wizard, with its small potions lab, alchemy table, three fully stocked bookshelves, and squared desk on which books on ancient runes sat along with many strange artefacts. One artefact, in particular, caught Draco's eye, a rounded globe that reminded him of a prophecy orb, except the changing colours of the swirls inside of it were like nothing he had ever seen or read. Picking it up and holding it in both hands, he heard a soft voice whispering and felt small vibrations under his fingertips. He was just about to put the orb against his ear to try and listen to the voice properly when it suddenly burst from his hands, zipping across the room until it was floating about two metres from Draco’s face. The whispering he had heard before suddenly grew until the voice could be heard clearly:

“With truth and courage, know thyself

   You have lived life before

   Know this to understand that which must be changed forever

   From Merlin's mind, I give untold knowledge

   For if you want peace, you must prepare for the war.”

As the last word was spoken an intense light filled the room, and a pulse threw Draco backwards until he hit the wall, and he collapsed as his vision went completely dark.

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Draco woke up with a pounding headache, and two sets of memories for every year of his life, which was almost but not quite as nauseating as the time Mad-eye Moody turned him into a ferret. He was lying on his side on the chilly stone floor of the study, and after a quick check that all of his limbs were in working order he pushed himself up into a sitting position. After the initial head rush, he pulled one knee up to his chest and propped his elbow on it, then rested his chin on his hand.

“I swear to Salazar this is all Scarhead’s fault,” he muttered before his eyes comically widened as he remembered that in this current world, Potter didn’t exist.

Was it funny that even after all the hating and whining and stalking that his enemy being erased from existence made him depressed? Even Draco could admit that if he were a bystander he’d laugh until his face went red. But he wasn’t. Instead, he was sitting here trying to figure out how to breathe, because, without Harry Potter, the lunatic snake man would probably walk the earth until the end of time, and that just wasn’t acceptable. Draco might be safe as a pureblood who has a strong allegiance with the Dark Lord, but he knows that he was meant to remember Potter for a reason. Meant to remember his past life for a reason. He knew now without a shadow of a doubt that life was immensely better when Voldemort was dead versus when he was alive. He’d had to live with the nutter for a whole year in the world with Potter, and in this world, he knew just how many people(good people, or at least good enough) eventually died because they realised how barmy he was.

Feeling determined to fix it somehow, because Draco wasn’t an idiot and understood that the orb was telling him that he was the unfortunate sod that was destined to fix this mess, he got to his feet and cautiously approached the now-lacklustre ball that had given him back his memories. He touched it with his shoe, nothing happened. With pursed lips, he slowly bent down to pick it up, wary that it might throw another tantrum and blind him with light. When he managed to pick it up without anything happening, he smirked and scrutinised it. Of course, now that it had done its job it looked and felt like the divination balls Trelawney used in her classroom, which implied it would be utterly useless. He quickly decided that he would come back to it later, and set it back on top of the desk where he had first picked it up. It was when his eyes landed on a sloppily bound book titled Horcruxes, What They Are and How to Safely Make One that he realised the untold knowledge the orb had talked about wasn’t just total rubbish. Because there was a memory, or something resembling a memory, of all five of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and their locations. Deciding that he needed to learn about Horcruxes before he did anything else, he pulled out the red velvet desk chair and started reading.

“The man believed that splitting his soul five times was a good idea?!”  Draco audibly scoffed.

“Immortality? Sure! Just sign this line right here, and we’ll give it to you. Directly after we completely eradicate whatever inch of morality you had left in you by splitting your soul into five parts. What an absolute nutcase,” he muttered to the empty room.

If he didn’t think Voldemort was a lunatic before, he certainly did now, promptly closing the book and setting it on the desk.

Checking his wristwatch, Draco was pleased to see that it was only half past eight, which left him with plenty of time to continue his search of the study. Stretching his arms as he rose from the chair, he walked over to the knapsack resting on top of a red scarf on the left-hand corner of the desk. It looked to made of dragonhide and had three pouch sized pockets along its front. Draco opened all three and was disappointed at the emptiness of them. The main space of the bag, however, was quite a feat, as two leather bound journals lay inside, and rows upon rows of little potion bottle-sized pockets. Making up his mind that he would be taking the bag back home with him, he grabbed the book on Horcruxes and the orb and put them inside the bag.

Walking over to the most prominent bookshelf in the room, Draco began skimming the titles for anything that would be helpful to him. Secrets of the Darkest Arts , Moste Potente Potions , and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them , were the books Draco grabbed and put into the knapsack, the latter because he had been wanting a copy of his own for years, and hadn’t acquired one due to Father thinking it was completely bogus. After coming up empty-handed from the second bookshelf, Draco didn’t expect much from the last but was happily proved wrong when he noticed that almost all of the books on the shelf were journals. He grabbed Changing Time Using Runes and Time Travel Using the Dark Arts , and almost missed the book that was glowing right under his nose. It didn’t have a title or any markings on the spine, but it must be vital if it was glowing just like the door and orb had. Stuffing the books into the bag and swinging it over his shoulder, he did a final sweep of the room and decided the only thing left to look at was the small potions lab and the small wardrobe next to the wooden door that had appeared along the wall he crashed into earlier.

The potions lab ended up having an ingredients case filled to the brim, and a book listing ingredients and everything about them to a more considerable degree than a common Ingredient Encyclopaedia did. The wardrobe was sparsely filled but did have an expensive cloak that had strong disillusionment, and defensive charms weaved into it, a pair of dragonhide gloves, and a strange pouch which had an enchanted necklace inside it. The gloves and pouch Draco put inside the knapsack, but he switched the cloak he was currently wearing for the one in the wardrobe. One last look around the room and then Draco was out the door and on his broom, hoping that he could find a way to bring Potter back as quickly as possible.

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Three days after the orb incident and getting his ‘old’ memories back, Draco found out that Harry Potter hadn’t been erased from existence, but instead had been born two decades earlier than he was initially supposed to. He wasn’t entirely shocked to learn that he had gotten himself killed the summer after graduating from Hogwarts, in a raid attack in some village in the Scottish Highlands. From Draco's memories of the original timeline, Potter and his friends were all apart of some Order that Dumbledore had founded during the First War. A week and a half after that Draco found a spell that could send him back as a permanent member of that timeline. It had been extremely tricky, as when he realised that it would be better to prevent the first war from ending as disastrously as it did, he had to look for an entirely different kind of spell to send him back. The ritual he had found had one requirement, and that was that he couldn’t become a part of a family unless their "blood flowed through his veins", and for the umpteenth time that week he thanked Merlin he wasn't a mudblood. Luckily for him, he was a pureblood with ties to multiple families that went back centuries, and the only thing he had to think about was which family to become a part of.

It was one day before his scheduled departure date that he remembered he would need to keep some of his memories to defeat Voldemort properly. Pulling out the glowing journal he had grabbed from the study, he asked the book if it was able to preserve what Draco needed to remember. It was the reason he knew about Potter, the first time he had opened the journal it had eagerly given him everything he needed to know about where the messy-haired git had been sent. The book hummed in his hands, and he was comforted by the memories that were now preserved, he assumed, in the pages of the magical journal. He already had a way for the knapsack to move back in time with him, and he had made sure only to put things he thought would be necessary in his quest (everything he had taken from the study) and wouldn’t look too out of place (a couple of childhood books his mother had given to him that were published before his arrival date). With a small sigh, he put everything on the desk in his room and went downstairs to enjoy the last dinner he would have with his parents.

Lucius Malfoy was looking pristine while scolding a house elf when Draco entered the dining room. His mother, elegant as always, was gliding across the room, watering the plants that lay in boxes in front of the eight paralleled windows on the side walls.

“Draco, keep your chin up, you look like a filthy squib with that slouch.” Lucius all but commanded.

“Of course, Father,” Draco quipped. 

He mentally laughed at what his father would do if Draco were to be a little more external with his sarcastic tendencies. Probably bring out the cane, as Draco wasn’t entirely confident that Lucius would deem Draco too old to be punished that way. He rubbed his backside in remembrance as he sat down at his place at the table, thanking Merlin he wouldn’t have to tolerate a father like that when he went back in time. Dinner passed without much conversation or real importance, which was perfectly fine as Draco would rather things be boring than disruptive to the plan set in place. It was after he had been excused and was halfway up the staircase that led to his quarters that his mother softly called out his name.

Turning around he saw her gently beckon him back down the stairs, and once his feet hit the deep plum rug of the foyer, she began to glide towards the library, clearly expecting him to trail after her. He followed her as she weaved through the bookcases until finally she gracefully sat in her comfy chair in the corner of her nook and tucked her feet underneath her.

A wave of her wand and a chair similar to hers appeared opposite her, and she pointedly looked at it before waving her hand and a tray to serve tea popped onto the small circular table which sat between the two chairs. Draco sat down in the chair and poured her tea before serving himself, and they sat in comfortable silence.

She eventually turned to look at him, her voice gentle, “Little Dragon, do you know without any doubt that what you’re about to do is for the greater good?”

Well, that was a loaded question Draco hadn’t seen coming, but he knew better than to question how she knew about what he was about to do. He looked down at his lap, where his fingers were idly tracing the pattern on his teacup, then leaned forward to place the tea on its saucer, keeping his elbows on his knees as he put his face in his hands.

Letting out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he replied, “I know that I’m the only one with the knowledge that could save hundreds upon hundreds of lives and that for once in my life I feel brave enough to fight for those lives. To be the person that risks their existence for a better past and future.”

He looked up to see her smiling at him with watery eyes, but her voice was firm and clear when she said, “Then, Little Dragon, it’s time for you to fly."

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The door to Draco’s quarters had been locked and warded, but the paranoia that someone would figure out his plan still lingered. Even if it was an irrational fear as his mother was the only person aware of his quest, and his father had left for the Ministry earlier that morning. He had never been a fan of pacing, but his feet were restless and his palms might have been shaking, so if walking back and forth in front of his desk helped then he’d gladly pace. He was currently trying to go through the extensive list of things that he needed to complete the complicated ritual he was about to start. It had been one of the only spells concerning time travel listed in the Secrets of the Darkest Arts and the most recommended way to permanently travel back in time in the journal Time Travel Using the Dark Arts. It involved Draco taking a symbolic possession that represented the life of Draco Lucius Malfoy, smearing it with some of his blood, and then him destroying it with the spell provided in the book. Once this was finished, he would have to say the chant precisely as it was written, and if done right he would be pulled to his new life.

He was attempting to stay calm, but if things didn’t go perfectly, he could be erased or killed and many other depressing alternatives. Adrenaline was surging through his veins like it did when he had a Quidditch match, and like it did during fourth year when he realised his infatuation with Potter had risen to new heights while watching his horrendous dancing, and like it did whenever his father raised a hand too quickly. With a final shake of his head, he pulled out his wand, “Accio family portrait”. He caught the small photograph as it sailed to him, looking at his young self-standing in front of a grimacing Lucius and laughing Narcissa.

He remembered the day it was taken, how his father’s hand had been painfully digging into his shoulder, and how his mother had gently fixed his hair and kissed his cheek. Taking his wand he pointed it to his right forearm because he wasn’t about to cut his palm like some barmy muggle, he was far too dignified for that. He felt a slight sting as the cut began to bleed, and tilted his arm over the photo, watching as it darkened from the blood. Placing it in front of him on the ground, he muttered “Lacarnum Inflamarae”, and the photo let out a small hiss as it was set aflame, curling into itself as it turned to ash. Letting out a shaky breath he went over the chant in his head one more time.

“In manus tuas commendo spiritum meum.” The room met his voice with an echo.

“Ut renati, Ut ius iniurias.” It could be his imagination, but it sounded like voices were chanting along with him.

“Memores acti prudentes futuri.” The voices were real, and they were growing louder.

“Aut Vincere aut mori.” He could barely hear himself over the chorus of voices that rebounded throughout the room.

“Alea iacta est.” Once the last word was spoken silence weighed down on his shoulders like a heavy blanket, and just when he doubted that the spell had worked, he suddenly felt like he was falling, and was still falling when everything went black.

Chapter Text

3/11/1970

Draco woke with his face half covered by a soft blanket, his feet bare and exposed to the chill of his bedroom. A soft ‘pop’ informed him of the house elf standing by his bed, and he gently pulled the blanket under his chin.

“Mistress asks that Young Masters be woken and dressed.”

A rather pitiful groan answered from his left, and Draco only sighed when an arm swung to land on his side. “Mmph...daft wrinkly baby…. g’ way.” Turning his head, Draco sniggered at his brother, whose hair was sticking in a hundred directions, his mouth half open with drool crusted on his cheek. Grabbing ahold of his shoulders, Draco pushed until he promptly rolled off of the bed, letting out a startled yelp when he hit the floor.

Draco turned back to face the elf and climbed out of bed to stand on the fluffy indigo carpet than covered the majority of the bedroom’s floor. He stood patiently as the elf vanished his pyjamas, then picked out a pair of blue-grey robes to dress him in. It wasn’t until the elf moved to try and coerce his brother off of the floor that Draco went up to the mirror that stood in the right-hand corner of the room, and as his eyes met his reflection, he remembered.

He remembered, well, everything about his life until this point. The elf’s name was Kreacher, and he had taught Draco and his brother Sirius how to walk, his small hands gripping round ones and patting their heads when they fell. He remembered a beautiful woman with honey blond hair pulled back into a smart bun kissing his cheeks when he behaved as he should, and a tall man with a huge laugh who never yelled or hit but merely voiced his disappointment when they misbehaved. There were memories of sneaking up to listen to closed doors with Sirius at his side, playing pranks on their younger brother Regulus, and huddling over a muggle storybook their cousin Andromeda left once after coming for tea. He remembered his Mother’s intense dislike of muggles, and how when she was in a good mood her laugh and smile made her look years younger.

Finally, he remembered that his dream last night consisted of life without brothers, a father who liked to use his cane and his hands when he got angry, of sharp features and pale white-blond hair, and an immense sense of hatred for himself and others. He was reassured when his reflection showed his face instead of the face from his dream. His hair a dark honey blond like his Mother’s, face heart shaped with full lips, and skin a medium olive tone. “You think you could dress me from the floor?” Sirius asked Kreacher, who was muttering about how lazy Young Master was.

Draco smiled as he recalled their eleventh birthday was today, and that their letters from Hogwarts would be arriving by owl at any time. Turning to look down at his horizontal mess of a brother who was rumpling the plum robes he was now wearing, he reasoned, “C’ mon, Siri, don’t want mum to start a screaming fit, you can sleep later.” Eyes widening as he remembered a fit she had earlier on the weekend, Sirius clambered to his feet. “Off we go then,” he replied, grabbing Draco by the wrist and pulling him through their bedroom door, yelping as an irate Kreacher vanished the pyjamas he was still wearing and conjured a dark-grey robe in their place.

It was a regular occurrence, Draco waking up and dressing, then coaching Sirius to get off the bed or up from the floor, and it ultimately prevented any harm on their ears. As they passed Regulus’ door, where Kreacher was now helping the youngest Black dress, Draco and Sirius stuck their heads around the frame.

“Aw, little Reggie, love the snitch pants.” Sirius piped.

“Oh yes, quality stitching, or snitching, that is.” Draco agreed.

They laughed as Regulus twisted his head to try and glare at them, failing as Kreacher was currently pushing robes down over his hair. They raced down the stairs, pushing each other and almost falling on the staircase in an attempt to slow down as they approached the last landing, where their father was standing arms-crossed with an eyebrow raised.

“Better be glad I placed a muffling charm on the staircase, boys, or you’d be in for quite the tongue lashing.” Orion Black said seriously before his face relaxed into a grin and he sent them a wink.

Walburga Black was currently sitting in one of the dining chairs, beautiful face set in slight disgust as she went through the morning’s Daily Prophet. Both boys approached their Mother and gave small bows before jointly greeting her, “Good Morning, Mother.” Her face seemed unmoved until it slowly softened into something that loosely resembled fondness, and beckoned with her hand for them to sit. Draco smiled slightly to himself once they were seated, imagining how much of a cheeky and informal git Sirius would be without Draco to remind him that acting like a big mouth wasn’t how you pleased people who kept you fed.
He was drawn away from this thought by their Mother’s drawling voice, “The post has not yet arrived.” It was a somewhat aloof statement, but it was her subtle and detached way of wishing them a happy birthday. Lord Black entered just before the clock struck eight, kissing his wife’s cheek much to her chagrin and sitting at the head of the table. Regulus appeared a couple moments later, dressed in emerald robes and looking like a stiff board had been spelt to his back.

“Alright, Reggie?”

A small nod assured Draco that his younger brother was if best just wary of the fact he was last to the table. He greeted their Mother then finally sat, which signalled for the food to be served. This was Sirius’ only delight in the morning, as their house elf Kritter, who did most of the cooking and had changed their nappies as children, was an excellent cook with a soft spot for Sirius and his appreciative stomach.

Halfway through the meal, the Black family was startled by the rushing noise of the floo, and they all turned to look at the floating head of Cassiopeia Black.
“Walburga dear, are the boys fit for an outing to Diagon Alley this afternoon?” she asked in a lilting tone.

All three children turned to look at their Mother with pleading eyes, and Draco reasoned, “It is our birthday Mother, wouldn’t it be fitting to spend it out and about rather than staying in?”

With a small sigh that told the boys she would allow them to go, she responded to her aunt, “I’ll send them through the floo once we’ve finished breakfast. Do make sure to have them back an hour before suppertime.”

Aunt Cassiopeia nodded before disappearing from the fireplace, and Sirius stifled a laugh at their Mother’s muttered “could have sent a letter rather than disrupt our morning”. She sent him a sharp glare before setting down her silverware and rising from the table. “Fix up a pack for you to take with, Draco. Salazar knows the old coot will forget you need to be fed.”

After he nodded to show he heard her, she left the room in a graceful flight. While Walburga Black often came across as rather shrill and heartless, she had a dry humour that often reflected that she merely disliked most if not all human beings for their lack of dignity and intellect. She was not someone who tolerated opinions that differed her own if they could not be backed up with some form of proof or hypothesis, which meant that a great deal of study was required if one of the boys wished to oppose any of her views. Her husband was severely more flexible when it came to his opinions on anything from politics to moral, but he tended to agree with whatever his wife said for the sake of his own backside. In fact, it was through a well-prepared argument on mudbloods and how some texts suggested they were in fact descended through squibs that had Mother holding her tongue on the validity of mudbloods and their magic in the Wizarding world. Although, the boys were tersely reminded that muggles were beneath wizarding kind and they would not tolerate any infatuation of them.

Looking to their father, who was fully immersed in the Prophet, they gave a cheeky wink to Regulus before heading upstairs to their room.

“Ya think mum would get mad if I bought a toad?” Sirius asked, flopping back on the bed.

Draco, who was currently going through his trunk looking for his knapsack, hummed before replying, “Nah, she’d probably just turn you into a toad and ask me to return you in its place.”

Sirius groaned, “Right, then. Guess I’ll get an owl.”

Draco looked over his shoulder with a grin, “Not a kneazle?”

The dark haired boy threw a pillow, hitting Draco on the back of his head. “Y’know they hate me.”

Draco was about to reply when he caught sight of a strap, “A-ha! Found it!”

Pulling the bag from the mess of the trunk, he was surprised when he felt it wasn’t empty. Shrugging, he leaned back and set it on the floor in front of him. Peering inside it, he found three journals, a strange orb, five shrunken books, a cloak, and a velvet pouch. He was about to open one of the journals when a pop sounded in the room.

“I is excited to say the post has arrived, Young Masters.” Kreacher said in his monotone drawl.

Both boys scrambled to their feet, Draco only just remembering to slip the pack over his shoulder, before making a beeline for the stairs. When they reached the parlour, they found both their Mother and father holding a letter, a satisfied smile on Father’s face and, well something resembling that on Mothers. Draco had never been this excited to see Draconis Pollux Black on anything before and wasted no time tearing it open. It was with a dedicated grace that Walburga Black pulled the letters out of her eldest children’s hands, folded them, then placed them neatly in the pockets along the front of their robes.

With a stern glance and slight nod to her head, “No toads or reptiles of any kind shall be brought back to this house, am I clear?”
Sirius nodded his head enthusiastically.
“Amphibians, Mother.” Draco quietly informed.

Orion barely stifled his laugh and gasped when his wife smacked him in the side. Smirking slightly at her son, she responded, “Quite right, my dear. Reptiles and amphibians.” Casting a tempus, she grabbed the two boys by the wrists and led them to the floo. “Call Regulus, darling,” she instructed Orion.

When Regulus reached the parlour, Walburga reached into the inner pocket of her robe, revealing two velvet pouches about the size of a fist. Handing one to each of the boys, she instructed them on how they opened and how to properly stow them away in their robe pockets.

“Once you have your wands, tap the seam of the pockets to conceal and lock them. Regulus, Aunt Cassiopeia is covering anything you would like to purchase today.”

A small pet to their heads and kisses to their cheeks and they were stepping into the floo, disappearing in a rush of flame to the hearth of Aunt Cassiopeia’s luxurious home. It was one of thirteen historical Black homes and was located in Staffordshire, much to the rest of the family’s displeasure. While equally if not more so luxurious than 12 Grimmauld Place, the manor was what their Mother described as ‘lacking propriety’, for the furnishings were random and more often than not muggle-made. In fact, Aunt Cassie, as she liked to be called, was one of two Black family members who embraced the muggle world with open arms, which explained why the boys got on so well with her.

When they tumbled through the floo and landed on the rainbow knitted carpet with a soft thud, a loud humming could be heard from above them. Sirius looked up first, none too surprised by the sight of Aunt Cassie dancing with a knight on the ceiling. Regulus, however, was staring up with his eyebrows drawn and mouth open, as though he wasn’t aware of whose home they were in. Draco cleared his throat and gave a crooked smile when the witch stopped her dancing and floated down to greet them.

Cassiopeia Black was a beautiful woman in her mid-fifties, salt and pepper hair loose to her waist and bright blue eyes crinkled in permanent amusement. She was dressed in an emerald and cream silk kaftan, wooden bangles stacked on her right arm and wand secure in a holster on her left. Her bare feet made faint taps on the ornate flooring, and Draco noticed she smelled like vanilla and pine when she gathered them in her arms for a soft hug. With a flick of her hand, a black woollen robe settled around her and thin flats appeared on her feet.
“Grab on then,” she instructed.

Immediately after all three boys grabbed onto her arm, a hard pull at their navels and loud crack indicated apparition. When the world finally stopped spinning, all three opened their eyes to see the busy street of Diagon Alley in front of them, turning this way and that to try and take in as much as they could. Draco found it thoroughly mesmerising, as their parents only ever apparated them into individual shops due to the ‘hectic mess of witches and wizards and mudbloods alike’ that generally occupied the alley. Aunt Cassie turned to them with a twinkle in her eye and gently grabbed Regulus by the wrist. “Have fun!” She shouted, then spun around and dragged Reggie off to Merlin knows where immediately disappearing from sight. Sirius turned to Draco with a bemused expression, “I’d forgotten how scatty she was.” Draco laughed in response, then pulled out his letter from his robe pocket, looking over the list of required supplies.

“How about we get our wands first, then go from there?” Draco asked.

Sirius grabbed Draco by the hand and pulled him towards the small shop with peeling gold letters spelling out Ollivanders as his response, stopping at the door with a reassuring look at his brother.

The inside of the shop was just as shabby and dark as the outside suggested, tall shelves filled to the brim with wand boxes, dust lightly covering the front desk and the single wand on display, a single chair hiding in the corner. Draco was startled by the sudden appearance of an old man with white hair and silver eyes peering at them from behind the desk.

“Ah. Sirius and Draconis Black, hmm?” His voice was rich with age, and the eyes that were twinkling at the two boys looked as though they saw everything.

“Eldest first, then. Yes?” He beckoned Draco with his hand, a tape measure floating near his halo of hair.

Draco stood patiently as the tape measured him, relieved when the wandmaker swished his hand, and it flew somewhere toward the back of the shop. He disappeared through the dark aisles, and returned with five boxes in his arms, and took the lids off of them before asking Draco to come and give them a go. The first wand he tried(10”, Hawthorn, Unicorn hair) sent an electric shock up his arm and was quickly taken from him, which for an unknown reason slightly saddened him. The next two had no effects, and both were put back in their boxes. The second to last pushed warmth through his body, and a slight glow surrounded him. The wandmaker’s brows were drawn together in deep thought, and even though the wand felt right, it was gently taken from him and put back in its box.
The minute Draco touched the last wand, he knew. The look on Ollivander’s face was still rather deep in thought, as though the boy’s wand surprised him.

“Interesting. Hmm. Cypress, Phoenix Feather,14 ½, Nice and Flexible.” He turned quickly, putting all but one of the boxes away. Draco’s eyebrow was raised in a silent question, and the wandmaker clicked his tongue before answering it. “Cypress is a wood many wandmakers like to believe, my ancestor Geraint Ollivander included, to choose wizards who will die a heroic death.” Sirius gasped behind him, and Draco’s eyes grew rather large. The wandmaker saw his shock and continued, “Of course, that seems rather extreme in this day and age. If I could clarify, I believe it simply means you may be willing to lay down your life, if there came a time for it.” He smiled and turned away after this, and waved his hand to measure Sirius for his wand. When the measuring tape was finished, he began presenting wands to the dark haired boy. Three wands later Ollivander picked up the wand that had glowed when Draco held it and held it out to Sirius.

“Ash, Unicorn Hair,15’, Pliable” He provided.

When it became evident that the wand had chosen its owner, he smiled to himself, as though he had guessed correctly. Both boys paid seven galleons for their wands and quickly left the shop. Sirius was reading the small parchment that accompanied his wand, and read aloud, “An ash wand with a core of unicorn hair is a faithful wand that will be difficult to turn to the Dark Arts, and the owner may be stubborn, courageous, and strong in their beliefs.” He grinned at Draco, “That’s quite a bit better than being bloody destined for a heroic death, eh?”

Draco rolled his eyes and shoved his git of a brother “Oh, shut your mouth. Let’s go get our cauldrons and potion ingredients next.”

Potage’s Cauldron Shop was selling pewter, brass, and copper cauldrons, and although the supply list said to get a Standard Size 2 Pewter Cauldron, Draco decided to buy one Pewter and one Copper. His tutor had informed him that copper was the best of the three for brewing, and he wasn’t about to get himself the worst cauldron he could possibly buy. They moved to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary to get potions ingredients and brass scales, both of which were listed on the supply list. It was a rather strange smelling shop and had basic kits for students to buy, which Sirius immediately reached for. Draco, however, was a posh git that demanded the best of the best, so he decided to buy a case that he could fill himself, and after looking at the potion ingredients included in the basic kit, he began scooping the fresh ingredients into a self-sealing case. He did this twice, and with a persistent nudge he managed to replace his brothers kit with the one he made for him, and they paid at the counter. Realising that they were carrying about as much as they could hold without dropping something, the boys stopped outside of the Apothecary and put all of their purchases in the knapsack.

Flourish and Blotts was a bookshop with books stacked as high as the ceiling, and Sirius decided to leave Draco to get the books while he went over to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour to get them both some ice cream. This was perfectly fine with Draco, as this meant he could explore the shop without his illiterate brother whining about the smell. It was when he went to the corner of the shop that covered magical creatures that he ran into a boy about his age, effectively knocking both of them to the ground.

“Blimey, sorry about that.” Draco laughed, grabbing the nearest book to him, Living as a Beast by Lunar Ethelwulf, the cover of which featured a werewolf howling at a moon. Looking up at the boy, he handed the book over with a small smile. His hazel eyes were wide, and he had messy, sandy brown hair falling over his forehead. “Um..thanks.” He had grabbed the rest of his books and was already around the corner by the time Draco had blinked a second time. Well alrighty then, guess he must have put off a Dark Wizard vibe or something. Standing up, he quickly found the last book needed on his list and made his way back to the front of the shop.

When he left the shop, he was bemused to find Sirius trying to lick a stray drizzle of his chocolate ice cream off the cone, only to get a glob of it on his nose. As he handed Draco the strawberry ice cream cone in his other hand, he attempted to look at the mess on his nose, succeeding only in crossing his eyes and swaying as though he was about to topple over.

“You’re a right idiot, did you know?” Draco asked, enjoying his ice cream.
Sirius rolled his eyes as he used the sleeve of his robe to wipe off the mess on his nose, and responded, “Yeah, yeah, but at least I’m pretty.”

Munching on what was left of their ice cream, the boys wandered over to Madam Malkin’s, surprised to walk in and see their younger brother on the dressing stool, a pinched expression on his face from the uncomfortable looking dress robe he had been forced into. His face transforms into complete relief upon seeing them, and whispers while pointing off to the side, “Save me, she’s put me in ten different robes in the last twenty minutes!” Draco and Sirius look over to where Regulus is pointing to see Aunt Cassie holding up yet another set of boys dressing robes, and were about to try and save themselves when a squat woman with blond hair spotted them.

“Ah, I assume you need to be fitted for Hogwarts robes dearies?” Realising there was no escaping the inevitable, they nodded.

“Right then, whichever one of you wishes to go first can come and take the place of this young boy here.” She said with a wave of her hand, clearing Reggie of the robes and allowing him to hop off of the stool. As Sirius went and stood on the stool, Draco walked over to the young boy and ruffled his hair.

“It hasn’t been too terrible, has it?”

Regulus sighed, a faraway look on his flushed face.

“First, she took me to Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions, and she spent a good fifteen minutes just looking for a colour correcting skin potion. Then we went to Rosa Lee Teabag and spent ten minutes looking for a lavender tea that had been on display at the front of the shop the whole time. After that, we went into TerrorTours so she could book a trip to Bulgaria to go and visit a Dragon Reserve. Then we came here, and she dressed me up like a doll.” He shuddered and closed his eyes, leaning his head against Draco’s chest, whispering quietly, “It was horrible.”

Stifling a laugh with his fist, Draco gently patted Regulus’ back, “There there. At least we’re here now to bear it together.”

And bear it they did. After both boys had been fitted for their Hogwarts robes they were meandered through the alley to almost every peddler and stall in sight, Aunt Cassie collecting bags upon bags of miscellaneous items that she shrunk and stored in her patchwork bag. It was half-past one before she accepted that she had looked under every nook and behind every corner, and just as their Mother had predicted instead of feeding them she had a sudden revelation about a meeting she had in regards to a recent murtlap infestation in her home. In a manner of seconds, she had used side-along apparition the three boys to the parlour of Grimmauld Place, and in half that time mumbled a goodbye and vanished with a pop.

In the silence that hovered after she had twisted away, the three boys looked at each other and promptly burst into fits of laughter.

After the giggles subsided, Sirius was the first to speak, “I swear, are we sure she’s actually a Black? That’s not normal madness, is it?”

Regulus giggled, “Is there such a thing as normal madness?”

With a smile, Draco responded, “No, Reggie, I don’t think there is.”