Draco's thoughts spiraled as he sat alone at the dining table. His seven years at Hogwarts had been consumed by endless, meaningless rivalry. He had spent countless hours provoking Potter, mocking Weasley, taunting Granger. The memory of Granger's fist connecting with his face burned with the sting of humiliation—a moment that had haunted him for years afterward.
He had despised her for it. For being brilliant. For being Muggle-born. For earning his father's grudging respect through superior academic performance. Lucius had often compared his son's grades to hers, always finding Draco lacking. Those comparisons had cut deeply into a boy desperate for his father's approval.
But now, with seven years of hindsight, Draco could acknowledge the truth: Granger was not stupid. She was exceptionally intelligent. His rivalry with her, with Potter, with Weasley—it had all been a waste of his most precious years.
When he was younger, he had been obsessed with maintaining his position as the center of his world. He loved the spotlight, craved admiration, sought constant validation. Every eleven-year-old boy desired such things. It was natural. It was expected.
But Potter had stolen that light from him.
Or rather, Potter's light was too bright—like the sun itself—making even Draco's considerable shine seem dim by comparison. An ordinary boy from a neglectful background had somehow become the focal point of everyone's attention. It was incomprehensible. It was infuriating.
Draco had convinced himself that he was superior. His pure-blood heritage, his wealth, his family name—these things should have made him naturally preeminent. But Potter had eclipsed him regardless, drawing admiration and loyalty the way a lodestone attracted iron. The younger Draco had been consumed by this injustice, driven to constant provocation, endless mockery, blind competition.
He had wasted so much energy on meaningless battles. Energy that should have been spent preparing for what was truly coming.
Now, seven years of dark memories separated him from that foolish child. Draco understood Potter's survival was not mere luck. There was something fundamentally different about him—something mysterious and powerful that had allowed him to escape the Dark Lord multiple times. Something that would eventually lead to the Dark Lord's defeat.
If only Draco had understood then what he understood now. If only he had possessed this knowledge when it might have mattered. He would have approached everything—everything—differently.
Draco rose from the table and walked slowly from the dining room. His mind was already spinning with calculations and strategies. Tomorrow he would go to Diagon Alley. Tomorrow he would likely encounter Potter. Tomorrow, his true test would begin.
The first stars appeared in the darkening sky as evening fell over Malfoy Manor. Draco stood in his chamber, staring at his reflection in the mirror—a serious face on an eleven-year-old body, eyes that held far too much knowledge for a child.
The Dark Lord was stirring somewhere in the shadows. Not yet returned to full power, but soon. Very soon. Draco could feel it in his bones—the weight of those years pressing down upon him like a physical force, the memory of darkness yet to come.
The Malfoy family had chosen the wrong side. They had paid an enormous price for that choice. His father had lost his wand. His mother had been humiliated. Malfoy Manor had been defiled. And Draco himself had been forced to commit horrors he still could not fully process.
Through some miracle—or curse—or perhaps a gift from Merlin himself, he had been given a second chance. A reprieve. Another opportunity to change everything.
There was still time. Years remained before the Dark Lord's return. Years to prepare, to plan, to position himself and his family for survival rather than destruction. Years to make different choices at crucial moments.
Draco did not harbor any delusions about his own role in defeating the Dark Lord. He was not the chosen one. That burden would fall to Potter—that ordinary, unremarkable boy whose power Draco still did not fully understand.
But Potter could not accomplish it alone. He would need allies. He would need powerful people positioned strategically throughout the wizarding world. He would need those willing to resist, to betray their former masters, to choose survival and redemption over blind loyalty to a madman.
The Malfoy family could be saved. Not through continued service to the Dark Lord, but through careful navigation of what was to come. Through calculated betrayal disguised as necessity. Through the ancient cunning that had kept the Malfoys alive and prosperous for centuries.
His father did not yet understand the threat. Lucius still believed the Dark Lord represented power and glory. His mother was too consumed with immediate concerns to see the larger danger. But Draco had lived through it all. He knew what was approaching.
And he would prevent it.
He gazed through the window at Malfoy Manor sprawling below in the fading light. The gardens his mother loved were in full bloom—white, crimson, yellow, and pink roses perfuming the evening air. The manor itself stood unmarked, untouched, pristine. Everything was still beautiful. Still whole.
He would keep it that way. No matter what choices he had to make, no matter what alliances he had to form—he would preserve his family's sanctuary.
Draco's hands clenched into fists as determination crystallized within him. Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, he would meet Potter for the first time as this new version of himself. A version shaped by experience, by loss, by the weight of seven years lived in reverse.
Would Potter recognize something different about him? Would the boy somehow sense that this Draco Malfoy was not who he claimed to be?
There was another reason he chose Hogwarts over Durmstrang. A reason he could not quite name, could not quite acknowledge even to himself. It was something faint and beautiful in his memory—something that filled him with incomprehension and loss whenever he allowed himself to think about it.
Potter's hand in the flames. Kindness extended when none was deserved. Salvation offered to someone who should have burned.
Tomorrow, he would see that boy again. Young, unaware, ordinary in every measurable way except for that mysterious connection to destiny itself.
Draco whispered to his reflection: "Harry Potter, let me know you again. This time, I will not waste the years we have. This time, I will choose differently."
His reflection stared back—serious, determined, bearing the weight of impossible knowledge.
Tomorrow, his second life would truly begin.