บท 1: Chapter 1: The Ghosts of Yesterday
Sunlight crept through the windows of Malfoy Manor as Draco sat alone at the huge dining table. He stirred a cup of cold tea, the sound of his spoon the only noise in the big, empty room.
Five years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, since Voldemort's defeat. Five years, but for Draco, it felt like yesterday.
He put down the spoon and rubbed his forehead. The headache was back, like always. Sleep never came easy, and when it did, the nightmares were waiting.
A house-elf appeared with a pop. "Master Draco," it squeaked, "your mother wants to know if you're eating breakfast with her."
Draco sighed. His mom kept trying to act like everything was normal, like their family wasn't a mess, like people didn't hate them. "No, Mipsy," he said quietly. "Tell her I already ate."
It was a lie. He hadn't been hungry in ages, but he couldn't stand seeing his mother worry. Not again.
Mipsy gone, and Draco got up. His chair scraped against the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls. It was too quiet here now.
He walked through the manor, his footsteps echoing. The paintings of his ancestors seemed to stare, judging him. The great Malfoy heir, now just a guy everyone looked down on.
Draco stopped at his father's study door. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, locked up for the stuff he did during the war. Draco had gotten off easy, partly because he'd been young, partly because of Harry Potter's word. The thought made Draco feel sick. Saved by the kid he'd picked on for years.
He went into the study. It smelled like old paper and his dad's cologne. He sat in the big chair behind the desk, feeling like a fake. This room, this house, this family name—it all felt dirty now.
Draco started opening drawers, not really looking for anything. Just something to do. Most of the drawers were empty; the Ministry had taken a lot when they raided the place after the war. He was about to give up when his fingers brushed against something in the back of the bottom drawer. Frowning, he pulled it out.
It was a small black box, dusty and unremarkable. Draco turned it over in his hands, then carefully opened it.
Inside, nestled in faded velvet, was a time-turner.
Draco's heart skipped a beat. He knew what it was right away. He'd heard about Granger using one back in school, and he knew most had been smashed in that mess at the Ministry years ago.
He lifted it out of the box, letting it dangle from its chain. The tiny hourglass spun slowly, catching the light. Draco's mouth went dry. A time-turner. Here, in his hands.
For a moment, his mind raced with possibilities. He could go back, change things, fix his mistakes. But then reality set in. Time-turners were tricky. Messing with the past could blow up in your face. And anyway, how far back would he even need to go? When had it all started to go wrong?
A knock at the door made him jump. Quickly, he shoved the time-turner into his pocket. "Come in," he said, trying to sound normal.
His mother walked in, looking tired but still carrying herself like a queen. "Draco, dear," she said. "I thought you might be in here."
"Mom. Sorry about breakfast."
She waved it off. "It's all right. I just wanted to check on you." She paused, looking him over. "You seem tired."
"I'm okay," Draco lied. "Just thinking."
His mother nodded, understanding in her eyes. She knew what it was like, carrying all this baggage. "I've been writing to some old friends," she said. "There might be a job for you, if you want it. Something in potions research."
Draco blinked. "Potions research?"
"Yes, with a private company. They're doing interesting work, I hear. And they're... not picky about who they hire."
For a second, Draco was tempted. Potions had always been his thing, and the idea of doing something useful, something that didn't involve all this history, sounded good. But then he remembered who he was, what people thought of him. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mom."
"Draco—"
"No," he said firmly. "I know you're trying to help, but... it's better if I stay out of sight. For everyone."
His mother's shoulders dropped a bit, but she nodded. "I get it. But Draco, you can't hide forever. You're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you."
Draco looked away. His whole life ahead of him. Yeah, right. What kind of life could he have, with the Dark Mark on his arm and his family's crimes following him around?
"I know, Mom," he said quietly. "I just need some time."
She came closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "They say time heals everything. But sometimes we've got to give it a hand." She kissed the top of his head, and Draco felt a lump in his throat. "I'll let you be. But eat something, okay?"
After she left, Draco sat there for a long time, feeling the weight of the time-turner in his pocket. Time heals everything. But his wounds felt as fresh as ever.
He pulled out the time-turner and stared at it. He knew he should probably turn it in, let the Ministry deal with it. But the thought of those idiots having it made his skin crawl. No, he couldn't trust them. But could he trust himself?
The answer was pretty clear: no way. But who else was there?
Draco stood up, suddenly full of energy. He couldn't undo the past, but maybe he could set some things right. He just needed a plan.
First, he had to learn more. The little he knew about time-turners wasn't enough. He needed to understand what he was dealing with.
Second, he needed a real goal. "Set things right" was too vague. He had to figure out the important moments, where a small change might do the most good.
And third, he had to be ready for anything. If he used this thing, he'd be on his own. No backup, no safety net.
Draco's mind was already running ahead. He'd need books—lots of them. History books, to remind him how things went down. Books on fighting magic, because wherever he ended up, there'd be trouble. And books on Occlumency, to keep his thoughts safe.
It was crazy. It was dangerous. But for the first time in forever, Draco felt a tiny spark of hope. It was small and fragile, but it was there.
He looked at the time-turner. It didn't feel like a weight anymore. It felt like a chance. A chance to make up for his mistakes, to even the score.
"I don't deserve this," he said to the empty room. "But I'm gonna earn it."
Carefully, Draco put the time-turner back in its box and locked it with a spell. Then he hid it behind a loose stone in his fireplace. It would be safe there until he was ready.
Night had fallen outside. Draco stood at the window, looking out over the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Somewhere out there, past the gates and the hedges, the wizarding world was putting itself back together. Moving on.
For the first time, Draco let himself imagine being part of that world again. Not as an outcast or a cautionary tale, but as someone who'd made different choices. Better choices.
It wouldn't be easy. The road ahead was full of dangers, most of which he couldn't even guess at. But as he got into bed that night, his head buzzing with plans, Draco felt something he hadn't felt in ages: a sense of purpose.
The ghosts were still there, whispering about his failures. But now there was a new voice. A voice that talked about the future. A future that, against all odds, he might actually have a say in.
Draco closed his eyes, and for once, sleep came fast. His dreams were full of spinning hourglasses and shifting sand, but at least they weren't nightmares.
Tomorrow, the real work would start.
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