Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy had never been more excited in his life. This morning, a sleek brown owl had delivered the most important letter of his eleven years—his Hogwarts acceptance letter. His mother had practically crushed him in a rare hug, and his father had given him an approving nod, which, in Lucius Malfoy terms, was the equivalent of throwing a full-blown celebration in his honor.
They had promised to take him to Diagon Alley tomorrow for his school shopping, and Draco had spent most of the afternoon preening in front of the mirror, practicing how he would walk into the Great Hall as a proper Slytherin. After all, there was absolutely no way the Sorting Hat would place a Malfoy anywhere else.
But as evening fell and the manor grew quiet, Draco’s curiosity got the better of him. He tiptoed into the Malfoy library—a place filled with important books, ancient tomes, and, most importantly, books he wasn’t allowed to touch.
That’s when he saw it.
A peculiar book sat on the highest shelf, its title gleaming strangely in the dim light. Draco squinted and read:
"Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone."
He wrinkled his nose. Harry Potter?
His parents spoke of this boy often, though rarely with enthusiasm. The Boy Who Lived. The famous orphan. The child who, for some inexplicable reason, had survived a Killing Curse from the Dark Lord. Draco had never met him, but he had imagined him to be… well, someone rather impressive.
Curiosity gnawed at him. This book shouldn’t be here. Who put it here? Why did it have his name on the back cover?!
Draco snatched the book, sneaked back to his room, changed into his silk pajamas (because only peasants slept in anything else), and settled into bed. With the flick of a lantern, he cracked the book open and started reading.
.......
The first few pages were standard—Harry’s miserable life with Muggles (ugh), discovering he was a wizard (well, that was bound to be exciting), and Hagrid showing up (Draco had always found the oaf ridiculous).
But then—
He was in the book. Not just a passing mention. He met Harry Potter.
At Madam Malkin’s robe shop.
Draco blinked at the page.
"But… I haven’t met him."
In the book, he strutted right up to Potter and started talking—bragging, actually. He was a bit obnoxious.
…Okay, a lot obnoxious.
Draco frowned. He had some self-awareness, and sure, he might be a bit smug, but this book version of him was—oof.
He flipped through the pages, and his frown deepened.
—Harry was in Gryffindor (tragic).
—Draco was in Slytherin (obviously).
—Harry was best friends with some redheaded Weasley and an insufferable know-it-all named Hermione Granger (a Mudblood?! Gross).
—Harry became the youngest Seeker in a century (excuse me??) while Draco… basically did nothing except exist as an obstacle.
—Harry defeated a troll.
—Harry got famous again.
Draco scowled, flipping the pages faster.
Then, the Forbidden Forest scene. His book self was scared witless by a dark figure drinking unicorn blood. He scoffed and slammed the book shut.
"What a ridiculous story."
Still, as much as he wanted to dismiss it as nonsense, a tiny, nagging thought crept into his mind.
What if…?
No. No! He wasn’t going to waste his time worrying over some silly book. Draco shoved the book under his pillow, turned off the lantern, and went to sleep.
…….
The Next Day – Shopping at Diagon Alley
Draco had almost forgotten about the book. Almost.
His father and mother had taken him to Diagon Alley as promised. His father excused himself to buy books, and his mother left to fetch supplies. Draco found himself at Madam Malkin’s, just like in the book.
The measuring tape wrapped around his arms as Madam Malkin hummed. The shop bell jingled, signaling another customer.
Draco turned.
His breath caught in his throat.
A small, scrawny boy with round glasses stepped inside. His clothes were atrocious—much too big for his tiny frame—and his messy black hair barely hid the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Draco’s brain short-circuited.
"Oh Merlin’s expensive hair products… It’s bloody Harry Potter."
Draco almost fainted. He had read this exact scene just hours ago. But Potter wasn’t supposed to know that!
He forced himself to stand still. Act natural, Draco.
Potter climbed onto the stool beside him. The measuring tape shot forward to take his measurements. Draco swallowed, trying desperately not to be that Draco—the book Draco.
Instead of blurting out anything idiotic, he took a deep breath and—
"Don’t be stupid, Draco."
He turned to Harry and gave a polite (but slightly smug) nod. “First time at Hogwarts?”
Harry glanced at him. “Er—yeah.”
Alright. Good. Keep it together, Malfoy.
Draco decided to be helpful. “There are four houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.” He paused dramatically. “You should aim for Slytherin, obviously.”
Harry gave him a confused look. “Hagrid said most bad wizards come from there.”
Draco almost growled. HAGRID?! That overgrown buffoon?!
He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, ignore him. He thinks dragons are house pets.”
Harry blinked. “Wait, are they not?”
Draco stared at him. “Are—you—?” He exhaled sharply. “Never mind.”
He decided to avoid the disaster from the book and not insult other houses. Instead, he leaned closer. “You should know… Hogwarts isn’t as safe as people think.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Draco smirked. “Oh, you’ll see. Just—watch your back.”
Harry looked intrigued, and for the first time, not immediately annoyed by Draco’s existence.
Progress.
“By the way,” Harry said, “What’s your name?”
Draco hesitated. He should just say it. But then again, if things were to be different… maybe it was best to keep Potter guessing.
He smirked. “Figure it out.”
And with that, Draco hopped off the stool and sauntered out of the shop, mind racing.
Tonight, he was finishing that book. If the future was already written, then he was going to make some changes.