Adrift in Time

Arrive

September 1, 1995

It was quite chilly when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station later that night. The strong breeze carried the beginnings of fall and hints of winter within it throughout the small village. A breeze that seemed to Draco much too cold for the first of September. It was as if the castle grounds hadn't decided what to make of his untimely presence back. Not knowing whether or not to drive him out for good just yet.

Draco shuffled out of the train compartment after Blaise Zabini. Crabbe, Goyle, and Theo weren't far behind, the latter cracking jokes at Goyle's expense. Their trunks floating behind them with a steady levitation charm. Still inside the train, he was able to make out a voice calling out to the first years; for they were to make their trek across the Lake and not by horseless carriages as the rest of the student body did. Hurrying, the group of Slytherins started making their way out of the village and towards the carriages when Daphne Greengrass and a blotchy faced Pansy Parkinson crossed their paths. Pansy's frigid glare was directed solely at Draco while Theo found himself the recipient of Daphne's own disapproving stare.

Pansy hadn't come back to see him after his very public rejection. However, Draco knew that the girl would forgive him sooner rather than later and be hanging off him in no less than a week. This fact subsided whatever small amount of guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach from treating her so harshly.

To be honest, he knew Pansy would soon grow to be more mature and become, what some would call, an agreeable person—one he might even consider a friend. In his original timeline, she was terrified of the war she knew would be happening but she kept a stiff upper lip. She ended up being a strong motherly figure to the younger Slytherins in 1998. Maybe he could even try and bring out that side of her sooner rather than later. But contradictory to his original fifth year, his attention lay not on Pansy, but on a certain bushy haired Gryffindor. Granted, not for the same immature reasons he seemed to have been attracted to Parkinson, but for a much greater purpose.

A small, but nonetheless strong, part of his mind nagged at him to talk to Hermione. But he was actually glad that Weasley had stopped him from spilling whatever word vomit that would've come out of his mouth at the time. Draco hadn't been exactly sure about what he would say to Hermione. And the more he thought about it, the more he steadied upon the decision of telling Severus first. At least that way, he could be able to help Draco figure out what to say to the Gryffindor. His hand inconspicuously trailed to his robe pockets to seek comfort from the time turner; only for him to falter in dread as he felt nothing there.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Bloody Fucking Hell.

Draco swore under his breath as he patted his other pocket in search of the necklace. His vision went blurry. This was the only proof he had for Dumbledore to ask for assistance. He tried his other robe pocket. Without any luck, he thought quickly about the last place he held it. The train. Thinking quickly, Malfoy ripped off his Prefect badge from his silver and emerald robes as he then called out to Blaise. The sharp staccato of his breath marking the beat of the deadly song playing in his head.

"Zabini, would you take my trunk to the carriage for me? I seem to have misplaced my badge," said the blond, putting down his trunk and pointing to his chest. At the Italian boy's inquisitive gaze Draco answered, "No need to wait for me, I'll catch the next carriage up."

"Alright," said a compliant Blaise as he successfully levitated both trunks and followed the others down the road. Turning around, the Slytherin prefect started walking back up to Hogsmeade. Students were still making their way from the station and Draco could only hope that the train hadn't shut its doors.

After a very intense and brisk walk (Malfoys never run) he let out a relieved breath at seeing a few straggling students still exiting the Express. He made his way into the train car and looked all around the compartment he and his friends had previously occupied. No seat cushion was left unturned; to no avail. Draco ran his hands through his hair in desperation and anger at himself. He was contemplating ways to reprimand himself as he exited the train and was once again walking down the road. His hand needed something else to focus on instead of his hair. And Draco resolved the issue by stuffing them into his trouser pockets instead. There, he felt a chain. He clasped his fingers around it and pulled it out in one fluid motion. The time turner was dangling in the air in front of him and Draco closed his eyes in irritation.