Chapter Text
Back in Japan
Draco, now wrapped in three comfort blankets and wearing a panic facial mask made of crushed pearl, dictated a letter at top speed to his owl.
“Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,
This is your official warning. Cedric Diggory is about to be yeeted off the mortal coil by a resurrecting dark wizard who thinks noses are optional. DO SOMETHING. Please. I’m begging. Literally. On imported tatami mats. —
Draco Malfoy,
Future Time-Turner Champion & Professional Meddler”
The second letter, to Harry and Sirius, was… less coherent.
⸻
Harry’s Room
Harry opened the scroll that had just arrived with a dramatic swan-shaped Japanese stamp. The letter was… wild.
“YOU’RE IN DANGER. DON’T TRUST MOODY. BUT ALSO TRUST HIM. IT’S COMPLICATED. WATCH OUT FOR GOBLETS. ALSO CEDRIC. SAVE HIM. OR AT LEAST TRIP HIM UP SO HE DOESN’T GRAB THE PORTKEY.
P.S. Tell Sirius I said hi.
P.P.S. Don’t die.”
“…What?” Harry stared at the scroll.
Sirius, reading over his shoulder, chuckled. “Classic Malfoy panic mode. And for the record, Moody’s an ex-Auror. Bit off his rocker, but not evil. Probably.”
“…Probably?!”
⸻
Later, in the Japanese Villa
Draco sat cross-legged on the cedar deck of the Malfoys’ private zen garden, sipping a cup of tea so rare and expensive it might have been brewed from phoenix tears and generational guilt. Fireflies blinked lazily in the warm dusk air, the whole setting suspiciously peaceful for what Draco was about to drop.
Lucius sat beside him, disturbingly elegant in silk robes that probably cost more than the average wizard’s Gringotts account. His expression was calm, unreadable. The calm before a very elegant storm.
Draco cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you… about something very serious. Intense family business.”
Lucius didn’t look up. “Unless it’s about the cursed silverware your great-aunt tried to elope with in ‘67, I’m not interested.”
“No. Worse,” Draco said, voice low. “Dark Lord comeback tour. Horcruxes. Prophecies. Time magic. A possible apocalypse.”
Lucius blinked once. Then slowly, he set his teacup down with the careful grace of a man processing a lot of unexpected plot twists.
Draco continued, the words tumbling out: how he’d seen the future. The war. The deaths. The mistakes. How Voldemort ripped his soul apart like it was an overcooked pastry. How one of those soul fragments—the Cup—was currently napping in Aunt Bella’s vault.
When he finally paused for breath, Lucius was very still. The fireflies danced in the quiet between them.
“So…” Lucius began slowly, “…you’re saying that if I follow the Dark Lord next year—”
“You’ll end up in Azkaban. With tragic pores and no access to bespoke tailoring. They don’t allow peacocks, Father. Not even one.”
Lucius shuddered. “Burlap robes. Good god.”
“Exactly,” Draco said, leaning in, his voice sharp now. “I know I’ve always been dramatic—”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “That’s an understatement.”
“—but this isn’t about me anymore. This is about us. About not becoming… the monsters everyone thinks we are. We have a chance to change everything. But I need your help.”
Lucius looked away, eyes narrowing slightly at the koi pond as if it had personally offended him. Then, with a sigh that sounded far too weary for a man who still moisturized nightly, he leaned back.
“…You want me to steal from your Aunt Bellatrix?”
“Technically liberate a soul jar from a deranged war criminal,” Draco said.
To Draco’s complete surprise, Lucius didn’t argue. Didn’t scoff. Just… nodded.
“…All right. I’ll make arrangements.”
Draco blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”
Lucius waved a hand. “Your mother’s always said I needed a redemption arc. And if it means not living through a second war—or aging in Azkaban like a haunted cheese—I suppose I’ll allow it.”
Draco exhaled, heart beating fast for the first time that day with something like hope.
Lucius picked up his tea again, voice a little quieter now. “You knew all of this.”
Draco hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“And you just try to stop me from falling.”
Draco shrugged. “Well, you and the whole wizarding world. But mostly you, I guess.”
Lucius stared at him, eyes unusually unreadable. He sipped his tea again, then said softly, “I’m proud of you. Even if you’ve become disgustingly noble.”
Draco grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”
⸻
The Hogwarts Express whistled dramatically across the mist-veiled English countryside, a sound that felt far too theatrical for Draco Malfoy’s current emotional state.
Inside one of the more luxurious, extra-cushioned compartments—because even existential dread deserved upholstery—Draco sat hunched over his leather-bound, gold-embossed notebook titled:
“How to Survive Fourth Year Without Dying (Or Becoming a Humiliation).”
Subtitled, in pencil: Also Maybe Save Everyone?? TBD.
He furiously scribbled, then paused, chewing the end of his quill like it owed him answers. The list kept growing. The more he thought about the events of the Goblet of Fire, the more certain moments refused to budge—immutable, unchangeable, haunting.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the folded letter he’d already read a dozen times, the one that lived in the corner of his mind like a quiet curse.
⸻
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I hope you are well. As of now, there are things that cannot be steered away from their original destination—Harry’s involvement in the Tournament, Cedric’s demise, and the Dark Lord’s return.
I cannot say whether they will happen as they once did—or if they must—but remember what I told you: you cannot erase the echo of fate. The scale must remain balanced. It will not work to favor one life without costing another… or perhaps, it might. We may not know, not truly.
I am grateful for your continued help regarding the Horcruxes. I will speak to your father soon.
A.D.
⸻
Draco exhaled slowly and let the letter fall onto his lap, unread but deeply memorized.
He didn’t know what infuriated him more—the cryptic half-answers or the idea that fate required someone to fall in order for someone else to rise. If he saved Cedric… did that mean Harry had to suffer instead?
No.
No, he refused that logic.
But then his mind reeled back through what had already changed. In second year, it hadn’t been Ginny who found the diary—it had been poor Neville, who barely escaped with his soul intact. In third year, he hadn’t been the one to insult Buckbeak; it was Umbridge.
Small changes. Unpredictable ones.
Draco began to see the pattern. See the scale shifting. Fate wasn’t resisting. It was rerouting.
And maybe, just maybe, Cedric’s death was a fixed point. Or maybe it was just the cost of shifting all the rest.
He swallowed hard and cracked open his notebook once more. This time, the list took on a new edge—half battle plan, half desperate prayer.
⸻
Draco Malfoy’s Chaos Prevention Checklist (Fourth Year: Goblet of Fire Edition):
1. DO NOT alarm Mad-Eye Moody (a.k.a. Barty Jr. in dad cosplay with trauma and zero skincare routine).
2. PREVENT Harry’s name from going into the Goblet of Fire (ideally without body-checking him into the trophy case).
3. HEX Rita Skeeter on sight. No hesitation. No mercy.
4. STALK Karkaroff. He smells like secrets and discount cologne.
5. SAVE CEDRIC. (If possible. If not… mourn hard.)
6. AVOID ferret transformations. His bone structure was not built for rodent.
7. GET a Yule Ball date. Preferably scandalous. Durmstrang? Beauxbatons? Hogwarts leftovers?
8. MATCHMAKE Granger and Weasley. Fate clearly needed a boot to the backside.
9. SOLVE the Horcrux mystery. Preferably while alive.
10. FIND Barty Crouch Sr. before his son does. (Very confusing. Very urgent.)
⸻