Away Childish Things

Chapter 8

June 2012
Harry Potter: 31 years
Draco Malfoy: 11 years

"Who are you?" said an imperious voice.

Harry turned to see Malfoy, looking ten or eleven years old. "Shit," Harry said.

Malfoy looked him up and down. "Well? What's happened? Why am I in these clothes? You're an Auror, aren't you?"

"I'm, er . . ." Harry grabbed the parchment the elder Draco had left on the table, desperately hoping it might tell him what to do. Temporary-Draco had said this would be temporary; this was just like Malfoy, not telling him what would really happen.

"What's happened?" said Malfoy's little voice, louder now. "Where are my clothes?"

"Potter," read the note, and Harry was surprised that the surname stung. He'd been a child when he'd demanded Draco call him Harry. Apparently, Draco hadn't believed Harry could possibly feel the same way when he grew back up.

"I was able to discern that potions from several different cases are linked through ingredients originating from a region they have in common, namely, the Gulf of Mexico. As that area is also the location of the fabled Fountain of Youth-"

"Why aren't you answering me?" Malfoy demanded. "What's going on?"

Harry skipped down the page. -"It is my belief that the supplier you spoke of has access to Life Water, said to be generated from this Fountain. The Water's mythical properties are the only explanation for my inability to counteract-" Jesus, Draco had written a fucking essay, so stilted Harry's brain hurt just looking at it. He skipped down again. "As you have no doubt already surmised, the Fountain of Youth is said to literally encapsulate age. It is the only substance known to do so-"

"Where are my parents?" Malfoy's voice had ascended in pitch.

Harry skipped again. "Unfortunately, said nature of this cure will leave you in the company of my former self for some time. I am aware this presents a terrible inconvenience, as his callow self-absorption will no doubt make outrageous demands for your attention. I regret-"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Malfoy said, then ripped the parchment out of Harry's hand. "What is this?"

"His callow self-absorption" was burned behind Harry's eyes like a brand, and the only thing Harry could think was, don't let him see. "Accio parchment," Harry said.

"No!" Malfoy held onto the parchment, which pulled him up on tip-toe as it strained toward Harry's hand. "What is it? What's going on? Where are my mum and d-"

"I'll tell you; I'm sorry; let go." Harry yanked on the parchment, but Malfoy still held onto the other end. "Malfoy-Draco. Let go." With a final tug, Harry got the parchment away.

"I demand you tell me what is going on this instant!"

"You're thirty-two years old," Harry blurted.

Malfoy's eyes went wide.

"You've been de-aged," Harry went on. "There was a potion. It was an accident. Sort of. You've . . ." Harry waved the parchment, high enough to be out of Malfoy's reach. "You've explained it all here, but I haven't had the chance to read it yet."