Draco Malfoy and the Denial of Reality

Chapter Five - A Pleasant Day in the Alley

Twenty-seven year old Draco Malfoy sat at a café in Diagon Alley, watching people stroll by.

He loved it.

It took a while to get used to it. At first, he had been consumed by an overpowering urge to flee. So many people - when he had arrived in this time, he had been shocked by the sheer number of people around, but he was focused on his goal.

Now, Draco had nothing to do but wait for the end. Hermione's words came back to him.

I'm sorry, Draco, according to my calculations you'll only have about three days before you literally dissolve. This is really only a last resort plan.

Draco was damned if he was going to cease to exist without sampling the delights of a forgotten world.

The first - and to Draco, most exciting - task had been simple. He did something he'd wanted to do for over a year.

His younger self was quite upset when Draco calmly announced he was commandeering his bathroom and taking a very long shower, complete with magical bubbles and hot AND cold water.

As Draco had not had a proper bath for at least a year, he felt it was rather rude - and showed poor judgment, as well - for his younger self to protest. Draco certainly didn't want to smell himself any longer than he had to, and if his younger self needed to "adjust" to his new reality, well then, that was just his own damned problem.

Talk, talk, talk. Draco didn't remember being so needy in his youth.

Of course, he didn't have any memories of an older-self dropping in and telling him that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, and, oh, yes, you need to turn your back on the woman you love and join a Mudblood Madman in a doomed, half-baked scheme to try to conquer all wizard-kind.

Draco snorted, blowing a bit of firewhiskey through his nose. Mudblood. It had been a long time since he had thought of that word.

He looked around, scanning the people around him, wondering who was going to jump out at him and bite him.

Wondering who was infected.

He knew, instinctively, that there was no threat here. The only threat in this time was the Death Eaters, and he knew that they wouldn't strike in Diagon Alley, at least not until next October.

Old habits died hard.

One person standing about ten meters away looked different. Draco's mind quickly categorized the threat.

Black, earring, bald.

Shacklebolt.

Auror.

Shit.

Draco locked eyes with the Auror, and gestured for him to sit.

Watching Kingsley Shacklebolt mentally curse himself for being detected brought a smile to Draco's face. He could see Shacklebolt wrestling with a decision in his mind before brushing his ear and shrugging.

Giving your partner a signal to watch, eh, Kings? Who is your partner? I don't recognize anyone. Someone who was killed or left before my time? Or could it be Tonks, disguised as someone else?

Shacklebolt walked to the table and sat down, fixing Draco with a stare that used to sometimes make criminals confess before Kingsley could even open his mouth.

"Hi, Kings. Wondering what I've done to drawn you here. Don't worry, I'll keep my hands out of my robes."

Shacklebolt arched an eyebrow at the use of his nickname, and replied in a reasonable tone.

"I appreciate that, my friend, and was hoping that you could tell me who you are."

Draco pondered this a moment.

"Can't do that quite yet, Kings. Tell me where I bollixed it up and then we'll talk."

Kingsley shrugged. He had the strange wizard dead to rights, and he was in an easygoing mood today.

"Counterfeiting is a very serious crime my friend, very serious indeed." He tossed a Galleon on the table between Draco and himself.

Draco picked it up and looked at it, turning it over until his eyes fixed on the date.

Oops. 2004. Should've thought of that.

Kingsley continued.

"An excellent job - I can't quite figure out how you managed to fool all the verification spells - it tests as genuine, and passes cashbox protection charms without a peep, but the barman has quite a sharp eye and thought we'd be interested in you. Seems like a rather foolish mistake, making a perfect forgery and getting the date off."

"I can explain." Draco's tone was bored, careless. Doesn't really matter, does it?

"I'd love to hear it."

"It's not a forgery."

Kingsley stiffened. "You better have a very good explanation indeed then, my friend."

Draco slowly raised his hand.

"May I?"

Shacklebolt's wand pointed right at Draco's throat. Draco was conscious of the café getting very quiet indeed.

"Slowly. Very slowly."

Draco withdrew a leather case from his robes, and presented his Auror identification to Shacklebolt.

"My credentials. I trust you'll find them in order."

Shacklebolt's eyes darted to at least three different people before looking down at what he held.

Kings either has more than one partner, or he looked at multiple people just to throw me off. He's going to be right pissed when he verifies my ID.

Sure enough, Shacklebolt's eyes widened, darted to Draco, and flashed with disgust before throwing Draco's identification back at him.

Draco smiled as he caught his card with one quick movement.

Shacklebolt's voice was low, resigned.

"You're going to have to bloody oblivate me, aren't you? I hate people mucking with my memory."

Draco gave Shacklebolt a serious stare, before breaking and smiling.

"Not much. Let's not talk about much and all I'll have to do is wipe who I am."

Shacklebolt smiled back. "Fair enough. I may have nightmares about a Malfoy being one of my Aurors, though, if you don't do a good job with my memory."

"I will do a good job. You taught me, after all."

"Christ. What was I thinking?"

"All for Queen, Country and the Service, Kings?"

"I should have become a Potions Master. Mum always wanted me to."

Draco's mind flashed back to hiding out with an older Shacklebolt, underground, brewing potions for the Resistance even as the Infected roamed overhead.

"You may still, Kings, after you retire. You have the gift. Let me buy you a drink, and then we will drink to things that haven't happened yet, and to the Aurors you have yet to train, and those whom you will not get to train because their destinies are being stolen from them."

Shacklebolt pondered that.

"One way trip, eh, Draco?"

Draco didn't smile this time.

"Yes. And in your timeline, I'm going to wind up on the wrong side. Let's not discuss it anymore, it bothers me and I don't want to mess with your head any more than I already have to."

Shacklebolt raised his glass, which had magically appeared in front of him when Draco had said he was going to buy a drink for the Auror.

"To the future, then."

Draco clinked his bottle to Shacklebolt's glass.

"To the future."

Draco downed his firewhiskey, as Shacklebolt slammed his glass down.

"You want me to take care of the barman and the coin before you take care of me?" Shacklebolt tried to sound upbeat.

"I think that would be best. Just make him forget about the date and think the coin was fraudulent. Does your partner have any idea who I am?"

"No, and there's two of them."

"Excellent. This should be pretty simple."

An hour later, Draco was walking down Diagon Alley in a slight state of confusion.

Kingsley had modified the memory of the barman, and then Draco had removed his identity from Shacklebolt's mind. Kingsley had then explained to his partners that it had been a misunderstanding of a secret matter, and that he would file the report, under seal, in such a way that it would not be read for at least a decade.

Draco was troubled. He knew that he should have begun experiencing the symptoms of temporal disruption. He should have been experiencing cramps, as his organs started to malfunction before his inevitable death by systemic organ failure, followed by the eventual literal disintegration of his corpse.

He withdrew a piece of parchment from his robes, and went over Hermione's calculations again. And again.

A passing witch, who had been giving him an admiring look, was startled when he suddenly said very loudly, "Hermione, you careless witch, where the HELL was your mind?"

Later that day, he visited the Crystal Chalice - the wizarding restaurant where he had first proposed to Ginny. He ate alone, sampling almost every item on the menu. A plate would be brought to him, and he would take a bite or two, before demanding something else be brought.

The waiter was quite troubled.

"Is the food satisfactory? Is something wrong?"

Draco laughed.

"Everything is just perfect. I want to sample everything, everything you have. Cost is not an object. Just keep it coming. It has been so long since I've had a proper dinner.

Draco was in a state of delirium, but his splendid mind had already prepared for what had to be done.

He ended his day in Diagon Alley by making a purchase at the Magical Menagerie. A quick Apparation to a Muggle farm, and later that evening Draco went to Hogsmeade.

A short walk later, and he was standing before the gates of Hogwarts.

Later that night, Albus Dumbledore ascended the steps to his office. It took a lot to surprise the old wizard - but finding a twenty-seven year old Draco Malfoy in his office qualified as quite a surprise indeed.

The presence of Draco at Hogwarts was not quite as surprising as Draco's words.

"Hello, Albus. I was wondering, could I trouble you by borrowing Harry Potter for a brief time?"