Summary: Harry goes back in time to change the past, and ends up meeting someone who could really use his guidance.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): time travel, lack of slash
Epilogue compliant? Nope. Very defiant, in fact.
Word Count: 620 + art
Author's Notes: Well, this is a combination of fic and art. I loved it when I saw that you liked the time travel genre, because it’s one of my favorites. This may not be explicitly slashy, but I think it holds the promise of slash in the future. I hope you like it!
The compartment door slams behind him, but Draco doesn’t stop to glance back. He frowns, flushing with humiliation and rage, and ignores how Crabbe and Goyle trail behind him, calling for him to stop.
Refused. By Harry Potter. It’s intolerable, laughable; it’s ridiculous! And yet, true. How is it that Potter can refuse Draco: to be his friend or even to touch him? It makes Draco hate him like he’s never hated anything before, with a feeling in the pit of his stomach that tastes like bile and a tightness in his thoughts that feels like a headache coming on.
The handle of another compartment comes up on his left and Draco reaches for it, shoves it open. The door rattles and shifts slowly, and Draco snarls at it. He jumps inside and turns, sees Crabbe and Goyle coming fast behind him, and wrenches the door shut. He flips the lock quickly.
“Draco!” Crabbe snaps.
Goyle’s, “Draco,” sounds more like a whine, and Draco puts his back to the compartment door, eyes closed.
“Don’t call me that,” he grinds. “It’s Malfoy.” He doesn’t know them well enough – doesn’t want to know them well enough – to allow them to use his first name.
Draco’s eyes snap open and he blinks through the bright sunlight filling the compartment, trying to locate whoever said his name like that. All he can see are dark robes and dark hair, and a figure much too tall to be a student. Damn, he’s picked the wrong compartment. Again.
Draco lifts his chin and steps away from the door. He tries to look cool and unbothered; no need to spoil all his first impressions. Nervousness twists through his stomach.
“Yes,” he begins. “I’m Draco Malfoy. And you are?”
The man across the apartment pushes up from his seat and nods. “Henry Evans, Assistant Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. You can call me Mr Evans. It’s nice to meet you, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco nods. “Evans… You’re new?” he tries. His father has told him all about the professors at Hogwarts, but not this one.
The man smiles, and Draco notices that, behind his spectacles, the man’s eyes are very green, and he looks very young. “Yeah,” he says. “Just hired. You probably wouldn’t recognize my name.” He waves off Draco’s curiosity and settles back into his seat. “You’re a first year, right?”
“Yeah,” Draco says, and sits carefully. Evans is so casual, so at ease, that he’s making Draco feel strangely comfortable. He tries a smile, and is surprised when Evans smiles broadly back.
“Meeting some new friends?” Evans asks, smile not faltering for a second.
Draco’s own happiness vanishes and he shrugs, looking out over the flat countryside flashing by. “I guess.”
“Well, you know,” Evans begins, and Draco dearly hopes that this isn’t going be some kind of patronizing adult advice, “Things don’t always work out.”
Yeah, Draco sneers inside. If only you knew.
“But I’ll tell you something,” he continues; Draco is on the edge of getting up and making his excuses, but something about the man’s sly smile holds him in place, “And I knew for certain that this is the truth.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You are going to be a great man. No matter what happens.”
Draco’s mouth gapes open; he’s been taken utterly by surprise, and is a bit flattered. “Well…” he starts, but doesn’t know how to respond.
“And if all else fails,” Evans says, “I’ll be your friend.” He reaches out and holds his hand to be shaken. “All right, then?”
Blinking, Draco closes his mouth. It’s all so surreal and unexpected. But after his first failure, he’s not about to let that happen again. He reaches out and shakes Evans’ hand firmly, and nods.
“Great,” Evans says, a bit louder than necessary, and leans back, his grin fully in place, and even his eyes smiling. Draco’s never seen that kind of smile before. “Friends, then. So… tell me about your classes. What are you going to take?”
Draco takes a deep breath a leans forward. “Well…”