What Once Was Mine

This was a pinch-hit I wrote for hp_rarities on Livejournal. Obviously the pairing is ah, not my usual but I enjoyed the challenge nonetheless!

***

May 1998 The Great Hall

Draco cast a sideways glance at his father. He could sense the unbelievable tension in Lucius Malfoy’s body, nerves strung tight with awkwardness, and humiliation. Narcissa’s claw-like grip on his shoulder physically hurt, a testament, he supposed, to how relieved she was to find her son alive and, all things considered, reasonably well.

No one paid any attention to the three of them, huddled together on a bench in the Great Hall, each occupied by their own conflicting thoughts; Voldemort was dead, yes, and they had all lived to tell the tale. But Draco couldn’t help wonder at what cost. If his father, by some remarkable turn of event escaped Azkaban, there was no doubt in Draco’s mind that he might not survive the loss of respect their family would likely suffer. His mother would be ostracized in public. The life, and luxuries that Draco was used to, would probably be no more. Harry Potter, and his so-called army of Light would show as much mercy as Voldemort towards those who had supported the Dark Lord.

Not that it mattered what Potter thought, even if he were splashed across the front page of the Prophet asking the Wizarding World to find forgiveness in their hearts. The Ministry would come down on the three of them like a ton of bricks. They would never be freed of the stigma. The Dark Mark branding his arm might as well be an iron collar at his throat for all the difference it would make.

The Hall was filled with excited chatter, discomfiting really, what with the bodies of the dead still laid out at one end; eerily still and the bleakest reminder yet that Witches and Wizards everywhere would want their pound of flesh as justified recompense for the demise of their loved ones.

“Oooh look, a Blibbering Humdinger!” he heard Luna Lovegood shout.

As if he would be foolish enough to fall for such an obvious diversion tactic. Sure enough, as heads turned to peer out the window, Luna nudged Potter who fumbled with his cloak before pulling it over his head.

“I killed Severus Snape three hours ago!” the haunting voice mocked. Draco watched Potter’s foot disappear under the cloak. His godfather was dead. Draco couldn’t see the man’s body anywhere, obviously no one had bothered to collect him yet. Potter would know what had happened to Snape, but the hero of the hour had vanished and Draco had no idea where he might be going. Granger and Weasley were on the move though, and that could only mean one thing.

It took Draco a good thirty seconds to convince his mother to unhand him. He made good use of the delay by carefully removing her wand, promising to be back soon and no, he didn’t need accompanying to the bathroom. Draco picked up his pace and left the hall, turning just in time to see the Golden Trio turn a corner. He hurried to catch up, but they were way ahead of him, and just as Draco resigned himself to shouting them down, they disappeared into the Headmaster’s office. Draco huffed and aimed a kick at the wall, before slumping against it and settling in to wait.

***

What in Merlin’s name they could be doing in there, Draco couldn’t fathom, but when they finally emerged, he jumped to his feet and came face to face with Potter.

“Malfoy.”

Gods, but he was an arrogant bastard, Draco thought, only just managing to stop his fists from clenching in exasperation. Chosen One or not, Harry Potter still irritated the shit out of him.

“Potter. Is it true? Snape is dead?”

Potter looked down at his hands, flecks of blood and dirt encrusted around the nails. “Yeah. He’s in the Shrieking Shack, we should probably move him.”

“Probably?”

Potter glanced up at the venomous tone and frowned. “Hey, I haven’t exactly had a chance to go around recovering bodies yet, what with – “

“Yes, yes, emerging victorious from your Dark Lord slaying. Save it for someone who cares, Potter.”

Draco turned on his heel and managed one stride before a stinging hex hit him between the shoulder blades.

“He saved your life, Malfoy, you ungrateful little ferret!” Weasley shouted, immediately launching into another curse. Draco ducked and fired one back, catching the flame faced boy in the chest.

“Stop it!” Granger cried, dropping to her knees and examining Weasley. And Potter just stood there, inspecting his blood stained hands as if he couldn’t hear or see what was going on around him.

Executing a beautiful sneer Snape would be proud of, Draco took a wary step backwards before setting off determinedly for the Shrieking Shack. Potter might have his deceased lined up like toppled Russian dolls, but Draco was still missing the only one he truly cared about.

***

Somewhere between the stench of congealed blood assaulting his nostrils, and stumbling across the horror of Snape’s rigor mortised corpse, Draco retched the admittedly limited contents of his stomach. Potter hadn’t warned him how exactly Snape had died, but judging by the gash separating the pale skin of his neck, and the sheer volume of blood staining the floorboards around him, it couldn’t have been a simple Avada Kedavra. Draco stood in the doorway, frozen to the spot, willing away the dry heaving crawling up his throat. Snape, who had been on the right side all along, who knew Potter was indeed the Chosen One for a reason, despite his obvious antipathy towards him, had gambled his life and lost.

It could just as easily have been his father, lying there. Sacrificed in the name of a madman hell-bent on assuming power. Merlin, no wonder the Malfoys stood to be vilified. If the boot was on the other foot, Draco knew full well he’d be driving that boot squarely into Potter’s gut by now. He supposed he should feel grateful for his continued existence, but staring down at his Godfather, it was nigh-on impossible.

Sighing heavily, Draco knelt as close to the body as he could without touching the blood. Draco couldn’t look at the man’s face; his lips were twisted into a painful grimace, and his glassy eyes were wide and staring. Draco tweaked the cuff of Snape’s robe and moved it until awkwardly until it lay across his lifeless chest. He did the same to Snape’s other arm, readying the body for transfer. Once he’d made Professor Snape as presentable as one could be with a gash so deep his head appeared severed, Draco planned to Levitate the man back to school and lay him down with the other heroes.

“Go back, Draco. You made a mistake, but you have an opportunity to rectify it.”

Draco jerked backwards, his heart pounding in his chest. Snape’s voice, his brain reminded him, except Draco knew it was impossible; the man was as dead as a dodo. Draco shook his head and tried to calm himself. The Shrieking Shack was giving him the creeps, that was all.

“Malfoy! Do as I say and you may also enjoy the spoils of victory as Potter does.”

I’m going mad, Draco thought, staring at Snape’s unmoving face as the words rang through his ears. Too much pressure, too much stress, I’ve finally cracked.

“You cannot alter the outcome of this war, but you would do well to rethink your allegiances.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and looked around; it had to be a prank. He tried to ignore the regret gnawing at his insides, reminding him that had he swallowed his godforsaken arrogance, he too could be allowed a fresh start.

“In my pocket, Draco. The incantation will take you back to one pivotal moment. Do not attempt to amend anything other than your own fate; mine is determined and linked inextricably to the outcome of this war. The Dark Lord has been defeated, and that must not be tampered with; but make your peace with Potter, no matter the cost to your personal pride, and join the Light.”

The wind whistled through the uneven floorboards, the rickety walls creaking with age and ghosts of the past, but all Draco could think about was Snape’s bloodstained robes and turning out the pockets.

Draco’s shocked gasp as his fingers closed around metal sliced the stagnant air. Parchment and a Time-Turner. Draco turned them over in his hands, recognizing his godfather’s brutal scrawl.

“Put it around your neck, be sure that to use the correct number of rotations, and read the incantation aloud. Now, do it now!”

Draco could hear shouting; footsteps pounding up the staircase. It sounded like Potter and Weasley and he didn’t want to be stopped, not when his second chance was being handed to him on a plate. Startled, Draco fumbled with the chain, slipping it over his head. He drew his mother’s wand with a shaky hand and began spinning the gold on its axis, reciting word for word Snape’s instructions.

“Malfoy! Stop! We know what you’re doing!”

Too late, Potter, Draco thought maliciously as the room began to spin, the words on the page jumping off and dancing in front of his eyes. How had Potter known anyway? He himself hadn’t planned on this. A violent squeezing in his stomach made his head throb, body swaying sideways. The last thing Draco saw was the red-faced Chosen One bursting through the door. The green eyes flashed angrily and Draco gave a weak smirk as his cheek impacted the floor.

***

Draco blinked blearily and sat up. Snape’s body had gone, no ominous puddle of crimson staining the floor. In fact, there was nothing to suggest he was still even in the Shrieking Shack; the four walls looked the same, but this room had furniture and bore the evidence of being inhabited. It was clean, and bright and Draco’s brow creased in confusion as he glanced around. Still, this wasn’t important, what mattered was getting into the castle and finding Potter. If the incantation had worked properly, he should go straight to the bathroom and wait outside. He could stop Potter going in and finding his true-time self there, prevent the Sectumsempra and find a way to talk Potter into helping him, somehow. Draco didn’t have a plan, but he knew he had to convince Potter of his allegiance.

Slipping out of the shack, Draco made his way back to the school. Hollers and shouts came from the Quidditch stadium, but he ignored the voice in his head that told him there had been no match the day of their bathroom showdown. The entrance hall was deserted, and Draco was glad not to bump into anyone. How awful it would be to come face to face with Greg Goyle after the Fyrefiend; but perhaps this would change that timeline, if he was allies with Potter, maybe he could quietly convince Greg to do the same, warn him? The whole idea that he had gone back in time, to a world where Potter’s victory was still uncertain, to when his friends and Snape were all alive.. Merlin.. would he be able to see Snape? So many of their conversations made sense now. Should he tell the man what he knew?

Do not attempt to amend anything other than your own fate; mine is determined and linked inextricably to the outcome of this war.

Was it though? Snape echoed in his head, the sneer loud and present in his voice. Just go the bathroom, he told himself firmly.

Draco reached the sixth floor boy’s bathroom and hovered outside, straining to listen. He expected to hear himself, the choked sounds of distress that had welled up inside him until he could bear it no more. Only, there was nothing. No sound, no Moaning Myrtle consoling him and definitely no Potter approaching the corridor. Draco waited impatiently but nothing happened. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it. Very cautiously, he turned the heavy doorknob and slipped inside.

“Potter?”

Silence, except for water running through the pipes. Draco leant against the door until the lock snicked shut.

“Myrtle?”

“What do you want with Myrtle?”

Draco’s head snapped to the far end of the bathroom, where a figure was emerging from the shadows. At first glance, the boy looked a bit like Potter, without his glasses and infinitely better behaved hair. But as the person came closer, the walk purposeful and controlled, rather than the lazy schlep Draco associated with Potter, it became clear the two were very different.

Draco tipped his chin defiantly; who the hell was this? He’d never laid eyes on the boy before, and yet he was wearing Slytherin robes and seemed to be about the same age. Deciding he must be new, and therefore fair game, Draco straightened his spine.

“I should say it’s none of your business. What are you doing in here, anyway? Everyone else is at Quidditch.”

“Oh, now he develops a sudden conscience to support the house team!” the boy mocked, still walking towards Draco.

Draco screwed his nose up in irritation. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you well enough, Abraxas. I know why you followed me here, and it wasn’t to convince me to watch a stupid game of Quidditch. I’ve seen the way you look at me, don’t pretend you’re here in any prefect capacity.”

The boy tossed his head and a sliver of light caught his face, sharp and angled, postured arrogantly. His eyes were dark, so dark that Draco could have sworn they were as black as night, but as he closed the distance between them, Draco saw they were blue, the deepest blue of purest sapphire.

Abraxas? he thought frantically, why did this boy think he was his grandfather?

“Who are you?” Draco demanded, as two hands flew past his ears and boxed him in, trapping him against the door.

The boy smiled handsomely, lowering his head to catch Draco’s wary gaze.

“Oh I get it,” he mocked, “you want to pretend this is all some chance liaison, don’t you, Abs? Pretend you don’t fancy the dirty little Half-Blood of Slytherin? Pretend it’s someone else with their hand wrapped around your cock, someone else filling your tight hole. Well you pretend, then, if it will appease your sense of Pureblood superiority, but I warn you now, I’ll have you screaming Tom Riddle to all who care to hear by the time we’re through.”

As though a barrier had been opened, a rush of realisation flooded Draco’s brain. He’d gone too far, somehow, the incantation had been wrong, or perhaps in his hurry to complete it he’d spun the Time Turner too far; but however it had come to pass, he was many, many years in the past, with a young Lord Voldemort who, it seemed, had a thing for Draco’s grandfather.

“I’m not...who you think I am,” Draco gasped, when one hand left the wall to caress his cheek. His skin burnt under the touch, the knowledge of who this boy was, and who he was to become. Draco could feel the power of Tom’s magic pulsing over his skin and Merlin, it felt fantastic.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Tom purred in his ear, “tell me you still want to leave school and be betrothed to that prissy little Pureblood and I’ll go, Abs, I’ll leave you alone and never look in your direction again.”

Draco groaned as wicked fingers traced his cheekbone and slid down to his lips, not hesitating to slip inside his mouth when he tried to protest.

“I knew it,” the boy declared triumphantly, taking a step forward and pressing his body against Draco’s, “look how hard I make you, Abs. I’m no fool, you want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

Draco relented and sucked the fingers into his mouth, licking over the swell of a knuckle. Gods, how perfect it felt to have such strength braced against his body, the curve of a hip rubbing his erection. He opened his eyes to find Tom’s cold depths staring back at him. Draco shivered, knowing he should be scared by the emptiness there, but the heat pooling in his groin caused a spectacular shortage of brainpower.

Inflamed with months of stress and pent up frustration, Draco rutted firmly against the leg insinuated between his thighs, hands clenching into fists in the soft black hair.

“Oh yeah,” Tom grunted, as Draco pulled his head back sharply and attacked his neck, “knew it, knew you wanted me.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Draco did want this boy, this striking, confident, chillingly powerful boy, more than he’d wanted anyone before. He was drawn and fluttering as helplessly as a moth to a flame, too overcome with desire to recognise the possible dangers. This is Voldemort, part of his brain tried to tell him, but all Draco could see were eyes bleeding with lust, feel hands caressing him with reverence, and the overwhelming friction of their cocks straining together beneath the fabric of their clothes.

“I do, I do,” Draco panted, fingers fumbling with the familiar Slytherin robes, the realisation hazy that Tom was working on his overdressed state too. Pulling and ripping with matched urgency, Draco kept going until a heap of discarded clothes lay abandoned on the stone floor.

Like the rest of him, Tom’s cock was long and proud, jutting out from a nest of dark curls to rest heavily against his stomach. Draco ran his hand along the length, thrilled to feel the ridges tighten under his touch.

“Fuck,” Tom whispered in his ear, hands roaming his body, over the narrowed hips, to run up and down the smooth, pale flesh covering his ribs.

Draco turned his head and caught the rosy red lips with his own, demanding entrance with his tongue until Tom allowed him to slip inside and explore. The jaw against his was firm and hard, the mouth moving to the same rhythm intoxicating. Draco could feel his own cock straining between them, desperate for more.

Tom pulled away, slightly breathless and smiled widely. “Merlin, I’ve wanted you for so long, Abs,” he said huskily, kissing down Draco’s neck, licking along his collarbone, nipping with his teeth to raise small, red patches of skin as he worked his way down Draco’s chest. His hands slid around and cupped Draco’s arse, kneading his buttocks apart and eliciting a needy moan when air danced across his hole.

Draco’s hand fell away from Tom’s prick as Tom bent forward, using Draco’s hips to control himself as he lowered to his knees. Locking his arms around the backs of Draco’s creamy thighs, he flashed up a hungry smirk before opening his mouth and engulfing Draco’s solid length in the wet heat of his mouth.

Draco cried out and slapped his palms against the wall, bracing his back and his knees against the onslaught of sensation. Tom’s lips were stretched obscenely over the head of his cock, wet and glistening in the half light of the gloomy bathroom, the tip of his evil tongue rimming the foreskin, teasing it back until it sat behind the ridge. Draco let his head fall back, hitting the stone with a gentle thud, and closed his eyes.

A finger brushed his perineum, back and forth, venturing further each time, and Draco couldn’t help but spread his legs and moan invitingly, wanting to feel that first finger slip inside him, stretching him open, but Tom kept teasing, moving ever nearer, circling his hole but making no attempt to penetrate him.

Draco thrust his hips forward into the consuming heat, suction so tight he could only imagine how defined those bones would be with his cheeks hollowed out, hollowed out around his cock. The first tingle of orgasm gathered in his balls and Draco stuck out a hand and wound it in the silky black hair.

“Fuck, Tom, stop, I – “ the rest of Draco’s words were lost on a yell, the firm intrusion of a finger breaching him. It worked its way into his body, tracing the bumpy walls inside, pushing further and grazing his prostate.

His eyes rolled back in his head as the lightning bolt of pleasure struck his spinal chord, conducting every thread of pure feeling along his veins until it reached each nerve ending in his body. He was flying and falling all at once, knees trembling under the focused attention. Just as Draco felt his balls draw up, ready to explode, Tom pulled off his cock with a wet slurp and grasped his hips, spinning him around and shoving him against the wall. The shock of cold stone on his chest was a sudden contrast to the warmth covering his back, Tom’s lean, muscular figure pressed against him in a mirror image.

“Tell me you want it, Abs, tell me you want me inside you.”

Draco shivered as Tom bit into his shoulder, hands pulling his arse cheeks apart, rubbing his cock threateningly along the shaft.

“Fuck, yeah I want it, want you inside me.”

Tom chuckled darkly against Draco’s skin and continued to taunt him with the press of solid flesh between his buttocks.

“Who do you want, Abs? Who do you want to fill you up, claim you, make you his?”

Draco’s hands scrabbled at the stone, fingernails useless skritching the hardness. “You, Tom, fuck, I want you.”

“Oh, I know,” Tom growled, “I’ve always known it.”

And then his sweaty forehead pressed between Draco’s shoulder blades, holding him in place as his hand guided him towards latent heat. Draco groaned loudly as the thick head rested against his hole, Tom’s voice murmuring charm after charm, stretching him out, slicking him up, a hand steady on his hip as he finally stopped speaking and sank into the tight, hot passage.

It burnt, stung, it was too quick and not fast enough and Draco howled in pain and pleasure and need, requesting more in broken, harsh breaths as the blunt cock slowly filled him, driving into him, pulling back, sliding further. Draco spread his legs and arched his back, and Tom seized his hips with frenzied fingers and dragged him back onto his prick.

“Fuck, harder Tom,” Draco whined, a hand wrapped around his own throbbing length, still slick with Tom’s saliva. Tom grunted and shifted his balance, pistoning into Draco with such force that Draco had to brace his cheek against his arm to stop it smacking into the wall. Each thrust seemed to take him deeper, and Draco yelled again when Tom hit his prostate, his high-pitched laugh of glee rebounding through the chamber as he did it again, and again. Biting into the flesh of his hand, Draco’s hand was a blur on his cock when he came, thick ropes of come spurting from his engorged slit and splattering the wall. He felt his arse tighten, the muscles grasping at the prick inside him, and Tom grunted loudly and slammed himself one final time, collapsing across Draco’s back as a gush of warm fluid coated his insides. Tom’s heavy breath was hot in Draco’s ear as they slid to the floor, boneless and exhausted.

For a while, neither of them spoke, and Draco concentrated on the leisurely drip of come from his arse, wondering if it would somehow change the future, though he couldn’t see how it might, but even so...

“Who are you?” Tom said quietly, head still resting on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco stiffened and tried to sit upright but Tom’s hand stopped him.

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t need to know if you won’t tell me, but you aren’t Abs, however similar you look.”

“I – “ Draco didn’t know what to say. Any number of responses sounded all wrong in his head, and would likely cause a thousand different problems in their timelines.

Tom sighed and raked a hand through Draco’s hair. “Will you come back?”

“I have something important to do first,” Draco admitted, “but if I can, I will.”

It was sheer madness, he knew, but to live out his life, perhaps never feeling that way again was too much to admit. This wasn’t Lord Voldemort. The boy huddled next to him wasn’t a Dark Lord, not yet, he was just Tom Riddle, and Draco wanted more, needed more, craved another opportunity to let himself go and just be.

“Good,” Tom said, cupping Draco’s chin with his hand and kissing him gently, “I’ll always be here, waiting for you.”

***