Reality twists 4/39 - 1

[herumtreiber]

Title: Reality twists
Chapter: four
Author:herumtreiber 
Genre: Post DH, romance, adventure, time travel
Disclaimer:  I do not own Harry Potter or related characters. Nor do I make any money from the writing of these stories.
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, threesome, noncon
Epilogue compliant? Maybe, who knows?
Chapter length: 3985 words
Beta: None.
Summary: Harry/Draco/Daphne. Draco in Azkaban, plus time-travel. Explores the idea of powerful magic pitted against a nuclear bomb and the implications for the world. Noncon - evil Hermione and Ron – Atlantis may appear later on, and another meaning of the Prophecy. How a Time Turner can win a game. Very ecological use of the Fidelius charm; Dementors abound, but...

Table of contents
 

First twist - 2

Draco found it very difficult to integrate the adult memories into his life. In order to deal with the maelstrom of despairing memories of his future self, he needed more time to process them – or he would be overwhelmed by the sadness he felt in his other self. He used the time-turner to help him cope.

He spent five weeks in the past, returning 10 objective minutes later. It didn’t help that much – Draco still mourned desperately for his son Scorpius. His son’s blond hair, so like Draco’s, tousled after playing Quidditch, the irrepressibly smirk that shined even when Scorpius was at his most angelic. Scorpius’ small hands playing nervously with the quill when he tried to do his homework, resisting the need to ask either Draco or Daphne for help – Scorpius was a Malfoy through and through. But he had been yanked from his side most cruelly.

In his mind, Draco wondered why Potter hated him so. It didn’t seem like the Gryffindor he´d observed carefully throughout school to be so vindictive, so evil. Sometimes during his earlier time together, it seemed to Draco that Potter struggled mightily against something only Potter could feel.

Shaking his head, Malfoy decided to concentrate on the urgent needs of the present. He used the time-turner to make his way to the goblins at Gringott’s and push through the application naming him Lord Malfoy, so it would be signed that very day.

It was very strange to feel both 17 and 36 years old, to combine in a sole viewpoint the ardour of youth and the maturity of a father. And Scorpius' loss haunted his very soul, his every waking moment. But Draco was ready to return to the high life. In the other timeline, he’d tried to atone for his sins – 20 long years he spent paying for the sins of his misspent youth, but the gits did not forgive them. Never would they allow him to forget the past and move on, instead they tortured and chastised him on a daily basis. They took away his parents, and in the end, they killed precious Scorpius.  Draco would not tread the humble path again. They’d find their worst enemy waiting for them. The stuff of nightmares was his to mould as Draco saw fit, for he commanded Time, if only for a little while.  

Draco paced around the small room, sneering at the commonplace decor. Truly the Ministry didn’t want to waste Galleons whilst they forced the Malfoy fortune out of him. He faced the door and rubbed the Malfoy signet ring between the fingers of his right hand. “Lord Malfoy requests the services of the excellent Griphook, to settle urgent matters."

Draco heard the unexpectedly soft sound of goblin Apparition. A grizzled goblin appeared in front of him, his long ears stretching impossibly apart. The goblin’s thin fingers massaged nervously his beard as he scowled at Draco. "Griphook is here, how may I serve you?"

"The Malfoys are Gringott’s biggest clients” – replied Draco frowning at the goblin – “yet when the Ministry asks for my money, they expect the goblins to comply as if they were simple house-elves!”

Griphook shuffled his feet and scowled fiercely at the parchments lying on the table, noticing the conspicuous Ministry seal.

“I’ve thought of a way to fool them,” Draco turned and sneered at the parchments. Then he looked sharply at the goblin. “But I need your help.”  

The blond brushed nervously his hair. "Of course, Gringott’s may deny such request, but I’ve thought about things that make us natural allies.”

Draco picked up a parchment and toyed with it. “Like the broken promises of Harry Potter, when he promised the goblins he’d give them the Sword of Gryffindor. “

Griphook’s face thundered when he remembered that time, whilst Draco continued seemingly nonchalantly. “The goblin performed the service, yet the sword vanished after a few days.”

Draco hefted the parchment against his hand and finally threw it at the surprised goblin, which looked at it as if wondering what to do.  The blond continued, "We must make common cause against this hypocrisy and treacherous logic – and also against the loss of revenue that you will face if the Ministry takes the money out of Gringott’s jealous care.”

Griphook looked at Draco aghast. If the goblins abhorred something, it was the loss of money. Draco walked to the window and looked at the building on the other side of the street. “If you help me, I give you my solemn oath as Lord Malfoy that within one year, the sword will be returned to you, it will be yours to keep. I make this oath on my magic.”

The goblin was astonished. He'd thought the sword was gone forever, a dark shame upon his honour. To have the chance to win his reputation back by being the one responsible for the sword’s return was a chance he was not willing to lose. Griphook squared his shoulders and replied, "Griphook and Gringott’s will be pleased to do everything we can to help you, if you return our sword."

"I’d like to change vaults,” replied Draco in a businesslike voice. He breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part – convincing the goblin to help him – was over. Now that he could use the goblins’ cunning, he was reassured that he could keep the family’s wealth and manage to save his parents from their cruel fate in Azkaban. The blond grimaced in pain when he thought about Scorpius.

Nothing he could do could save his son in that lost future that receded farther away from him with every action he took. But this world, this reality, needed him to continue. Or else everything would vanish when the fateful confrontation between the laws of physic and those of magic took place.

Potter’s Protection Charm had to be disarmed – Draco needed all his cunning and resources to think outside the box. To outsmart Godric Gryffindor and Albus Dumbledore, whose dead hands seemingly controlled the world as tightly as they did when they were alive.

“Instead of using vaults 130 to 189, as has been done up to now” – said Draco whilst he looked intently at the goblin – “I want you to use vaults with a different number. It would be advantageous if this were done overnight."

The blond sported a decidedly serpentine smirk. "Of course, it’d be much easier if you numbered your vaults in other way. Let's say that the first Malfoy vault begins with 44, and so on, so you don't have to actually drag the contents across your vaults, but simply change the numbering system."

Griphook dismissed the matter with a shrug of his hand, muttering, “Easy for us to do!”

Draco continued, "I’d like your help to perform a Magnus fidelius charm. I want to place all Malfoy real estate assets under the modified Fidelius charm.”

The Slytherin walked to the table and looked at the yellowed parchments there. “To do that I’ve prepared a list of all the properties we own.” Draco muttered low under his breath, “And Hogwarts, which we are the trustees for.”

Turning to look at the goblin, Draco pointed to the parchment that Griphook held in his left hand. “You will find them there. To weave the spell, we require three different magical creatures.”

Draco then pointed to Griphook. “You’re one. I’ll call one of my house-elves-"

Griphook commented, "We will need another creature."

The blond replied a bit nervously, "I am a Veela, though an unwilling one.”  

Draco called Schimmi, who that was currently taking care of the Manor.

The frightened house-elf appeared with a loud popping sound.

Draco drew out the Elder wand out of the pocket of his robes and moved it with a stabbing motion towards the floor. Instantly the thurisaz and uruz runes were inscribed on the floor, forming a pattern that resembled strongly the Manor’s stables – a place signifying home and warmth for Draco, adding to the symbolism the daunting spell required to be effective.

Draco conjured a small dagger and pierced his thumb, dropping his Veela blood on the triangle of the thurisaz rune, which began to shine with an ethereal glow. He commanded Schimmi to do likewise on the uruz rune. Without being told, Griphook took out an ornately carved goblin dagger and cut his wrist.

The goblin’s blood dropped on the joint portions of the runes. There was now a shining sphere on the room, bathing the occupants in a sacred light and making it very difficult to see. Draco chanted the spell in an ancient language. The words were those he’d read on a dusty tome in the Malfoy library a long time ago - a time when life was sweet and everything seemed to be within his reach - when his parents were his and not Voldemort’s.

The ethereal light shot towards the walls and beyond as the Magnus fidelius was enacted. 

Draco dismissed Schimmi after he told the nervous elf that everything would be okay. The Malfoys would continue living in the ancient Manor and the elves would not be uprooted.

Afterwards he cast a recording charm on the room, ensuring that the images and sounds would be available and ready to be poured into a Pensieve.

Lastly, he requested something else from Griphook. He wanted to buy Daily Prophet stock. Draco wanted the Malfoys to have the controlling interest in the paper so they could control its content.  

HRHRHRHRHRHRHRH

That afternoon the Ministry representatives appeared, expecting to meet a broken Draco Malfoy.  They were surprised when they saw a brisk one – a Malfoy that had his own game plan.

When Darius Spork shoved a parchment in his hands, expecting him to sign over his assets in return for his family, Draco demurred.

The blond watched the Ministry employees with a piercing look. When his eyes met those of Percy Weasley, Draco nodded minutely.

Percy lifted nervously the rims of his glasses with his index finger, whilst he looked pointedly at the parchment Draco held.

Draco understood the visual cues. Weasley was uncomfortable with the Ministry’s way of doing business. The redhead was warning him about the trap the Ministry intended to lay for him.

During the war, Draco met several times the studious Weasley, and they appeared to understand each other. Both were sometimes standoffish individuals, people who did not fit the stereotypes laid for them, and were consequently held in contempt by the same persons who depended on their reliability. Percy was someone Draco could depend on, even if he was a Weasley. His time on Azkaban had taught Draco that appearances could deceive.

"I’ve a proposition,” drawled Draco whilst he fingered the parchment the Spork individual gave him. “I give you control of all my vaults and all known Malfoy property. You give me back my parents. I want to meet them at the trial tomorrow.”

Darius Spork sneered. "What can you do if we say no?"

Draco reclined against the table and crossed his arms. "I’ll fight you as much as I can. You won’t have an easy way. Even if I’m in Azkaban, you won’t control my fortune."

Weasley continued, "You agree to give up everything for your parents? You’ll sign away your fortune to the Ministry?” Percy shook his head wonderingly – and warningly.

Spork snorted disdainfully. “You must really love them; I hear ferrets love their family!"

Draco growled, "Apparently more than you, Sporky!”

The senior representative commented, "We’ll allow you to see your parents tomorrow, but only if you hand over the Malfoy assets. We cannot let such a big fortune remain with people sympathetic to the Dark Arts."

HRHRHRHRHRHRHRHR

The next day dawned in a glorious explosion of red and gold. Unbeknownst to many, several enviable plots of land were conspicuously missing from preferred locations across the UK, including portions from Diagon Alley and the West End.

There was also the little matter that Hogwarts had seemingly disappeared.

The Wizengamot hearing destined to seal the fate of Draco Malfoy would take place in the morning.

When Harry flooed into the Ministry, he was surprised to see Neville there. His Gryffindor friend helped when Harry stumbled out of the Floo and appeared ready to fall down.

Harry brushed the ash off his robes and nervously ruffled his hair. After Neville told him he was there for Malfoy’s trial, Harry was quite unnerved, the public had no idea that the trial would take place – not that they would ever care, after all, it was only Malfoy, a known Death Eater.

Yet, Harry faced considerable inner turmoil. Sometimes he wondered if Dumbledore was right, that time when he met him on King’s Cross and the trusted Headmaster assured him that it was over, that Voldemort was gone for good and Harry could live his life in peace.

For Harry felt drawn to do certain things, to perform acts that went against his inner moral grain. There were inner voices that compelled him in certain ways. Sometimes Harry was sure that these internal monologues were his alone, other occasions he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the damned horcrux of Voldemort’s still acted within him. It was the only way he could explain this pull to do certain things, this enormous quench that would only be satiated by certain things – like ensuring Malfoy was his to do with as he pleased.

All his years at Hogwarts, Harry yearned to be free of Voldemort’s shadow, to be free of the constraints imposed on him by the Wizarding World. To be free of the burden of being the Saviour, the one everyone adored – the one they loved to vilify too.

Harry expected that after the Final Battle, he would be finally free from this unwilling yoke – that he would cease to be the Boy Who Lived and would become simple Harry, the master of his own design.

But apparently it was not meant to be, and Harry remained what he always hated – someone else’s puppet.

Shaking his head, Harry’s mind escaped this train of thought and fixed on something else.

Harry would start to ensnare his prey right now, watching with glee as Malfoy fell. But Neville, what was he doing here?

They took their seats on the audience chamber of the Wizengamot and observed the wizards and witches as they made their solemn entrance, garbed in their usual robes and headgear.

Pandemonium at the Wizengamot 2/2