Harry's PoV.:

His eyes blinked open to blinding light and the steady beeping sound of a heart monitor. He tried to cover his eyes with his hands, but it took a lot more strength to raise his hands than he thought he'd need. As he did move, the beeping increased, getting louder and alarming, forcing him even more awake.

There was something stuck to his forearm. It took Harry moment to recognise it as a PAC. He wanted to scratch his chest, and found the ECG leads as the source of the itching. He immediately pulled his hands away. Muggle medicine was often connected to a lot of tubes and needles and cables and machines, and it was honestly a wonder he even remembered the abbreviations. A CVC was sewed to his Jugular vene for medication and additional liquids, if the PAC wasn't enough.

All in all, Harry couldn't move much at all. He had the strange feeling that if he did, although he logically knew that he could, that he'd rip some of the tubes out of his body and that – as had been indoctrinated to him when he started being a nurse – would be a very, very bad idea. There was a reason the CVC was sewed to his neck. Pulling at it could kill him.

Then there were tubes coming out of his stomach to keep him fed and another, closer to his bladder, was used to get urine out of his system. It was a lot. It made him feel like some kind of alien probe, or a machine.

The room itself was familiar. He faintly recalled that he'd worked here. He recognized the colour of his bedsheets and the view from the window he'd woken up to. Tired, feeling like breathing alone was a challenge, Harry forced himself to sit up and bend his legs a little. How long had he been in this position? Forced to lay on his side, a long pillow steading him and another one between his knees so his skin wouldn't get wounded? Moving this much was exhausting enough as it was. He still minded the tubes and cables a lot.

"Hello?" He said, his voice a little raspy. At least he hadn't been intubated. He recalled that he'd been relieved to find that it hadn't been necessary when they'd brought Draco here. Otherwise he might have died at St. Mungo's –

Harry startled and turned around, perhaps a little quicker than he should have.

Draco!

He was here, in this very room in the ICU, a hollow shell of himself, laying in the bed next to Harry's. Even blurred, Harry would recognise that blond hair, grown too long but apparently freshly washed, anywhere. A matching monitor was checking his heartbeat as well. But, other than Harry, he was still asleep. His chest rising and falling with the beeping sound of his own machines.

Harry rubbed at his eyes with his free hand and finally managed to shove himself up the bed. It was then, that Harry recollected what had happened.

He had died.

Again.

King's Cross rang like a familiar dream through his mind, the choice which world to live in a constant burden on his shoulders. He'd chosen this world, his world, Timeline A. Of course he had. He had a wife, albeit divorced, he had children to take care of. Promises to uphold. His friends were missing him, he was certain of it and the flowers on his nightstand confirmed as much. But –

Harry stared at the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy and the answer to his question became clear and obvious. Draco had died before he had, he had to have been given the same choice as Harry. But –

It dawned on Harry that Draco would have woken up before him had he chosen Timeline A. That he was asleep now – Harry swallowed. "Draco?" He asked, voice still strained and tears welling up in his eyes. With quivering lips, Harry searched for his glasses and found them in the nightstand. He'd put them on, hoping for once that he'd been wrong all along and the man beside him was someone else, or that he mistook open eyes for shadows underneath. That Draco was actually awake and simply choosing not to answer. The sharpened vision only broke his heart.

There was only one explanation for this. Draco had chosen Timeline B. And why wouldn't he? Harry balled his hands to fists in order to stop his own emotions from overflowing. Draco had saved the other world, had reformed the mindset of students who were gonna shape the future of their world. Draco was a hero there. He had made friends there. Draco was free to be himself in that world. What was left in this timeline that he would want? His wife? His kid? Both of which were an obligation? Both of which he lived separated to because the necessary deed was done? His parents who didn't acknowledge or talk to him? A job that he could start anew in Timeline B?

It was frustratingly obvious what choice Draco would make. Harry let his head hang and tears fall. God, he had been such an idiot to even hope for a sign of him. Even if Draco had wanted to be with Harry, even if he'd known which world Harry would choose, Draco had no more reason to trust him. After everything Harry had done to him, it only made sense that he would refuse to follow. "I'm such an idiot."

He wouldn't have made a different choice had he been sure, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he'd hoped. That he'd told himself it would all be fine and they would be together again or got the chance to make up at least. Harry's heart ached, knowing how foolish that thought had been.

It was over.

It was at that moment that the door to their room opened and a nurse entered. She was wearing white trousers with slightly worn trainers and a blue tunic with a name tag. She must be new, Harry didn't recognise her, and he knew that hospitals burned through their staff quickly. Her eyes were trained on a notepad, her blonde hair tied to a strict ponytail, as was required of the staff. Hers was cut with a clean edge, which would have been mildly fascinating, were Harry not halfway down a depression cycle. It was only when she looked up to find Harry awake that she suddenly froze. Her mouth agape for just a second before she hurried to his side. Above Harry's head hung a little remote with a button on it. She grabbed it and pressed it, and Harry knew that she'd just caused an alarm. She turned off the alarm from the heart monitor though.

What followed next was a flurry of questions he had no muggle-proof answers to, several tests about his movability, his heart-rate and blood, dooming sounding talks about rehab to regain muscle strength and so on and so forth. A thousand warnings, some medication, so many things Harry could not possibly name.

And of course, finally, an anxiety inducing call to his (ex) wife.

Ginny Weasley (formerly Potter, formerly Weasley) arrived with Ronald and Hermione as quickly as she could. They had left their children with Ginny's and Ron's parents, who had sworn to visit him soon after. Ginny had a strength potion for him that would make the whole rehab thing rather pointless, and Hermione was already charming hospital staff to forget he'd ever been a patient (and take him off the tubes, obviously). There was no need to keep him here longer than necessary. He could make quicker physical check up at St. Mungo's, as they would simply fix up his bodily dysfunctions with a single tonic.

"Merlin's beard, I knew it was a bad idea to leave you with Malfoy!" Ron announced about an hour in, as they'd brought Harry foods he should, by muggle standards, not yet be able to eat. The potion had helped with that. "I don't understand why you're so obsessed with this guy. Look where helping him got you!"

"Ron, Draco doesn't have a contagious sickness." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"And why did Harry collapse as well? You don't know that, Hermione!" Ron said. "Either way, I'm sure it's his fault!"

Ginny looked relieved to see Harry awake but otherwise hadn't said much yet. It was mostly just Ron going on about the Malfoys and how Draco had proven to be an idiot who had fallen for fascist propaganda and that this was likely some kind of punishment deserved by fate, which was long overdue apparently, even if Hermione liked his therapy plans. Because what was therapy anyways? Little prissy Malfoy, always crying about his 'mental health' and stuff. They had all suffered in the war and Draco shouldn't make such a big deal about it. And so on and so forth.

Harry pointedly ignored him, swallowing down a slight anger that he felt at the prejudice, and looked at his ex-wife. "I'm sorry." He began, because whenever he looked at her, he felt grief and guilt nagging at him and that felt better than arguing with Ron.

"Why, because you fainted?" She said, scoffing, the atmosphere instantly turning cold. "Or because you left me behind with two kids."

Harry winced. "Both. I'm really sorry, Ginny. This wasn't planned. None of this was."

Ginny got up und grabbed her bag, her voice a little icy. "Well, whatever. I'm happy you're awake now. I really am. I'll go get the kids now. Mom is dying to see you."

"Wait." Harry said and reached for her shirt. "I know you're angry." He said and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "And you have every right to be, but I can explain. And I promise –" Harry was vaguely aware of the way her smile twitched and he was reminded of all the promises he hadn't kept. "There will be no more delays. I will pick up the kids tomorrow. We can live together until I got myself a new place. You won't have to do anything anymore. I swear."

Ginny sighed. "I know you mean that. But I hope you understand that it's hard for me to believe after everything that's happened."

"I know. I'm sorry." Harry said, wincing a little. He hated it when they fought. So far, they had kept it hidden from publicity, even Ron and Hermione only knew that they'd had a fight, not really the extend of it. "You need proof. I know." He turned his head to look at Draco's sleeping form. Right there, he knew he had to make a decision. One that would hold dire consequences for his own feelings. "I won't return to this job. I won't work for the ministry. I'll do my best to make up for lost time. A chance is all I need."

Ginny's expression softened, a little pressured by the audience and guilty for feeling how she felt while he was still in a hospital bed. "You don't have to rush, Harry. You just woke up from a coma. We'll figure this out. Together. But don't do this again."

"Thank you." Harry felt like a burden was lifted from his heart. She went and squeezed his hand, then she left, leaving Harry alone with Ron, Hermione and their questioning glances.

"What was that about?" Ron asked but Hermione elbowed him in the side. Hermione had always been more perceptive.

"They didn't divorce for no reason, Ron," she hissed at him.

"Yeah, about that. I still don't get it." Ron frowned. "I get that she wants to play Quidditch and you both having children kind of got in the way of that. But that's no reason for a divorce. I mean, Hermione and I have kids, but she's still prime minister. You can do both if you work together."

"That's not the reason." Harry sighed wistfully. "It's only what complicated things. Quidditch rules demand that women take time off after pregnancy, both for their children's sake as well as their own physical health. And well, me falling into a coma kind of took away her time anyways. It's not like there are many magical daycares." He rubbed at his face. Hermione looked like she wanted to say something about that but decided not to. If she had read all of Draco's files, she might have already changed that, who knew.

"Then what was the reason?" Ron asked, then made a loud 'Ow' sound, when Hermione elbowed him again. "WHAT?"

Hermione grimaced and nudged her head in Draco's direction.

"Malfoy?" Ron raised a brow. "Oh, come on. I know Harry is more lenient with him than most of the wizarding world is, but Harry didn't divorce Ginny because of Malfoy." He turned to Harry for confirmation. "You didn't divorce because of Malfoy, did you?"

Harry sighed so strongly that he could watch Ron's confusion grow. "Ron, I've been in love with Draco for years."

Silence greeted them, Ron's mouth wide open. "You're what?" He looked at Hermione for help. "He's WHAT?"

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't know." Harry said, only a little dumbfounded. "You never stopped mentioning how often I talk about him."

"Yes, because you're obsessed with –" Ron fell silent. "I'll be damned." He fell back into his chair, eyes trailing to Draco's form. "You left my sister, my SISTER, for a DEATH EATER."

"Ex."

"Whatever." Ron groaned, then sighed. He'd had over a year to accept the divorce. Perhaps, Ginny had already told him that it was better for both of them. "Do you think he can hear us?" Ron sounded a little worried as he changed the subject.

"That wouldn't matter. He knows." Harry said quietly, sadly.

"He ... knows." Ron said, once again searching for Hermione's help.

Hermione put a hand on Harry's knee to comfort him. "I'm sorry, Harry. I mean – I always thought he was just as obsessed with you as you were with him, but there can be other reasons why he would reject you."

"You got rejected by Malfoy?" Ron's eyes went wide. "You confessed to him? Are you nuts?! Are you guys pranking me? There is no way this isn't a joke."

"Guys!" Harry stopped them both, not sure whether to cry or laugh. "NO. You've got it all wrong. He didn't reject me... we just had a fight."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. "Harry, are you saying –," Hermione asked him gently. "You were together?"

"Holy mother of Merlin, what the fuck." Ron's eyes were boggling out of their sockets.

Harry sent a longing look to the boy in the other bed. "I think I should just tell you the whole story."

"What story?"

"About my coma."

...

Hermione and Ron had always been good listeners. Hermione would be encouraging and asking the right questions while Ron would be exasperated for Harry's sake and react accordingly at the right moments. Harry told them about his return at the ministry, about Draco's sacrifices, about the war, about the deaths he'd witnessed, even about Ron killing Voldemort. The latter had Ron straighten his back with pride, and Harry knew he would remind them of his heroic duties for years to come. But since it was deserved, Harry didn't mind. R

When it came to his relationship with Draco however, Hermione covered her mouth. "You used an imperius on him?"

Harry winced. "I wanted to protect him."

"I don't know, man," Ron responded sceptically after a very long tirade about how 'YOU WERE DATING?!?!?!' "That sounds pretty fucked up."

"I know already." Harry held his face. "I was desperate. I didn't want to lose him. I know it was wrong, but I just – I couldn't. It wasn't like it was a conscious decision. I was out of my mind with fear. And then we both got our souls sucked out by dementors and I had to make the choice whether to come back here or stay in Timeline B." He pulled at his hair. "Ginny deserved a second chance at happiness. I want to see my children. I had hoped-" He stopped himself

"You'd hoped he'd choose this world too." Hermione concluded for him and looked over to Draco's still sleeping form. "Do you think he would have forgiven you?"

Harry nearly collapsed then. "No."

...

That same evening, Harry returned home to Grimmauld place to face his wife and his two children. Neither James nor Albus remembered him. They hid behind their mother like he were a stranger. Somehow, he hadn't expected this.

He'd hoped it would be easier, but it took time to gain their trust again. It took even longer to be allowed to take care of them while Ginny was gone for Quidditch training.

Harry kept his promise, refusing to get another job and also refusing to visit Draco again. He'd wanted to. But something in him, mostly the voice inside his head that sounded exactly like Draco, warned him not to. If he couldn't stop going, he would be tied to Draco forever. Conscious or not, Draco would drive him mad, and he couldn't allow that for himself. As hard as it was, as often as the thoughts had him nearly reaching his keys and hurry over, Harry fought himself to stay home and stay away from any news regarding his state. If he went now, he would leave his family behind again to tend for a man who would never look at him again. Harry would devote the rest of his life to misery. He knew that even Draco himself wouldn't want that for him.

Harry had to learn how to be happy with what he got. And to be that, he had to forget about Draco. He never truly did, but eventually, the thoughts weren't as painful. He'd made room for his loss, like he had for his grief for his dead family. And eventually, he was getting better. He could be his own person again. He even took some Muggle therapy sessions. Muggles understood loss and pain and Harry could leave out any magical details. It helped, it gave him something to focus on.

Weeks went by, then months and eventually years. Harry settled into his new life as a stay-at-home dad. He taught his children how to read and write, connected with old friends again, and learned to live by himself. The hole in his heart never closed, not really.

But there was something else growing inside him. A dream, a longing for something new. Something familiar, something worth living for.

And one evening, as he brought his children to Ginny's new apartment – neither of them could stand to live at Grimmauld place anymore – he addressed it. "Can we talk?" They had a schedule. Every two weeks or so, Ginny would get the children.

"Of course." Ginny had turned happier with the years, first crinkles gathering around her smile. She looked good and with time, with Harry's promise kept, she'd grown to trust him again. She'd forgiven him too. It wasn't too hard on her. After all, Harry had been in a coma when he'd last disappeared and their children were good enough a reason to keep their relationship friendly. They were friends again.

"I've been thinking I would like to work again."

Ginny had bidden him in to sit at her kitchen table and pulled out some wine while the kids got settled in their own rooms for the weekend that she had them. Her career was going well, allowing her for a spacious house. That and the divorce money, of course. Soon, she would qualify for the world cup and Harry was truly glad she was doing so well. Currently, she was playing for The Holyhead Harpies. They were her favourite, even when she'd still been a teen.

"Which would mean?" She was pouring them both a glass. "Do you want to be an auror again? You know how much time that cost you. You're away on missions for weeks at a time. Who's gonna take care of the children?" It wouldn't be her. She wouldn't cut away on her career again. That much didn't even need to be said.

"No." Harry shook his head. "If anything, I'm done with working for the ministry. I was thinking I could work at Hogwarts."

"As a teacher?" Ginny asked, her mouth twitching in slight surprise and a thoughtful expression, and handed him his glass before she sat down at the opposite end of the table. "Defence against the Dark Arts, I presume?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled. "I mean, I know it won't be that easy."

"Of course not." Ginny said. "Did you know they now have a security system? You have to get pre-checked to work there. Prove that you can work with children and are competent in your profession. I guess they don't want a repeat of Barty Crouch Jr. teaching us unforgivable curses or whatever Gilderoy Lockhart was doing."

"They do?" Harry blinked at her. "Since when?"

"For a while." She said, but when she saw his face, she retailed her steps. "Don't worry, Harry. You're a good dad and the hero of the wizarding world. I'm sure you'll get in, no matter how clumsy you are."

"Wow, thanks." Harry chuckled at the tease and finally allowed himself a drink. "I think a couple things will have to change. Teaching hours are long and complicated – I don't know how much time this will cut away at -"

"Not anymore." Ginny grinned. "Hogwarts has a lot more teachers now than when we went there. It's a wonder how many people actually want the job, once you cut the 48+ hour shifts down in half." She said that with a quiet laugh. "Plus, you won't have to teach seven grades at once. The new acquirements for teachers demand some free time during the day to be able to take care of their children if they have any. Of course, they have to get off Hogwarts' grounds to apparate, but they can do that too now. Teachers stay in Hogwarts in shifts. It's remarkable, really. Honestly, after Neville told me about it all, I was wondering how our teachers even survived their schedules. I had never thought about how much stress they were under." She smiled brightly at him. "It's incredible how much as changed."

"Yeah." Harry blinked at her. He tapped the glass with his fingers. Had Hermione done this? He felt a small, familiar ache. He hadn't read any of Draco's papers, but he wouldn't be surprised if this was also due to him. "How is Neville?" He hadn't dared visit him since he'd woken up, his corpse still a painful image burned into his memory. Now it was a good topic change. He didn't like to think about his losses too much. Harry wondered how he would react upon seeing him. He'd managed to adapt well so far, but there were things he couldn't shake.

"Good." Ginny said. She'd always been better friends with Luna than Harry had, since they were the same age, and she visited them both often. Especially since Luna was focusing a lot more on journalism these days. The Quibbler had gotten quite popular since she'd taken over and loved to interview Quidditch players whenever they had the chance. The latest issue had held a crazy article about ministry secrets, an article written by a former unspeakable with the Initials S.W. "He's very busy, and I think he's hiding something that's happening at Hogwarts, but I don't know what it is." She talked like she definitely knew what it was, but Harry knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't even break under torture. So, he pretended not to be curious.

"I'll make sure to tell you once I get there." Harry smiled, playing along. "So, no more crazy hours for teachers, huh?"

"No more, baby." She laughed and clinked her glass against his. "I've also heard they started a daycare in Hogsmead. You could take our children there when mom can't take them."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really? I didn't know about that. I was thinking of moving to Hogsmead, but –"

"That sounds like a great idea." Ginny smiled, strangely supportive. More than usual, anyway. "That way James and Al won't have to apparate every day."

Harry hadn't expected such a warm response to his idea. He'd thought of himself as selfish and hadn't expected such warm reactions. But Ginny had always been like this. Supportive, kind. It were some of the reasons why he'd fallen in love with her. Sometimes he was reminded of it by her gentle voice and her caring attitude. And then he felt even worse because despite it all, he couldn't go back to her. He knew she couldn't either. It was better this way, and yet, he'd wished he could have been the husband she'd deserved. With a wistful sigh, he reminded himself that even then, he would have had his heart set on someone else.

-

Two months later, Harry moved to Hogsmead with his two children. He'd bought a small house at the edge of town, hoping to stay away from all the people who recognised his name. He knew it would be difficult for his children too, to grow up with so much fame and moving as often as they had the past couple of years, but he also knew that they would always have friends. Always be save. He and his friends had made sure of that when they'd been teens.

Harry's interview with the headmaster Minerva McGonagall had been scheduled around three on a warm summer morning in July. He'd brought his children to the daycare in Hogsmead, surprised to find one of the Patil twins running it. It had been nice to catch up with her as well and good to know his children would be in good hands.

McGonagall welcomed him warmly, inviting him to sit once he'd entered her office. The office had once belonged to Dumbledore, but had been redecorated to match her style. The portraits of previous headmasters were pretending, as usual, to sleep, while they were truly listening to everything they were saying.

McGonagall still made the impression on Harry that he should be careful with her, but he also knew her better than to rely on first impressions. The job interview went well, Harry only had to answer a few questions in regard to his accomplishments, which McGonagall was already well aware of. After all, he'd led Dumbledore's army in fifth grade and won a war with it. Technically, he'd also fought a second one and educated those students too. He had the best references in his desired field of education, since he'd been an auror, and his questions about work hours were answered with a patience McGonagall had never seemed to express before. Harry wondered if all the times she'd given him 'the stare', had all been due to the stress teachers at Hogwarts had to go through.

"Well, Mr. Potter." She smiled at him. "I think you will be a wonderful addition to the staff."

"Thank you, Professor."

"There is one thing though." She paused. "As you've heard, we have made a couple adjustments to how Hogwarts is run. And several of my teachers have trauma responses that may easily be triggered now that they are back at the war scene."

Harry nodded, feeling an odd shiver run down his back. He refused to think about it. The small influences that Draco had left behind.

"We advise all our teachers to go to Mr. Malfoy's office for regular check ups."

The world stood still.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Harry's heart had stopped.

-

Draco's PoV.:

Something had told Draco that Harry would wake up soon. He'd expected it, despite the fact that he didn't really know which timeline Harry would choose. However, Timeline A was the one life where Harry's friends lived. Where his wife and his children were. It only made sense that he would choose this life. The other option would only be reasonable if he'd given up on his timeline for Draco's sake. And Draco knew that even Harry Potter wouldn't do that.

That Harry was here wasn't the reason why Draco had chosen this timeline as well either.

The choice he'd been given, the chance he'd been granted, had allowed him to realise what he wanted. Just like Sarah had told him, just because it had been in his head, didn't mean it hadn't mattered. Draco too had a responsibility here. A wife, a child, parents, patients. He could have it in that other world too, but it would have felt like running away. And Draco was done running. He was done hiding and not facing the consequences of his actions. The other life had shaped him, had helped him figure out how to live again. That was a chance he had to grab.

In the other world, Draco could have lived a life as a hero. He could have lived as the one who got most of the Horkruxed destroyed. He could live there as the man who had reformed wizarding society. He could live there and die alone, blending over the mistakes he'd made in his first life, the lives he'd ruined, and pretend that he enjoyed life to the fullest, because he'd gone to the extreme to protect that world.
Draco had chosen Timeline A because here, he couldn't deny his mistakes. Everyone knew about them. Here was the place where he needed to make amends. Here were the people he'd betrayed, he'd left behind, this was where he'd suffered.

Draco remained in his pretence sleep, waiting for Harry to call his friends and leave him for good. He waited, listening to their conversation and hoping his heartbeat wouldn't give his feelings away as Harry confessed his own, and their story to Ron and Hermione. Or when he sent Ginny away, confirming once and for all the true status of their relationship.

Internally, Draco fought a battle with himself. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to let out his anger and his relief and his pain and his gratitude. But he didn't.

Draco had another war to fight in this world.

-

Recovering by Muggle therapy took time. A lot of time. Perhaps it would have been quicker to recover through a strength potion, but Draco had decided against it. The road to discovery, Draco had learned through his time travel experience, may be long and rocky but it was worth it. Every small victory added up on a set of accomplishments that helped him take the next step. The frustration of failure was a necessary part of it. Through most of his life, Draco had been given anything he'd asked for. The moment he'd been faced with difficulty, he'd had to depend on others. On his father, on Voldemort, on Dumbledore, on Snape, on his mother, on Potter. This once, Draco wanted to take the long route by himself. Take the time and let himself heal, step by step.

Several times Draco had wondered if Potter would come and visit him, finding him awake and alive, but Potter never returned. It both stung and was a relief. Draco wasn't sure he could have kept doing this with Potter mothering him every step of the way. But he couldn't help but miss him as well.

Draco's parents didn't visit him either. They must have given up on him entirely, Draco concluded after asking one of the nurses for information on their whereabouts. He assumed that they'd thought if magic couldn't cure him, then nothing could. They didn't even know he was awake. Except for the nurses, no one did. They seemed concerned about his isolation, but Draco had assured them that it was fine. He wasn't alone. He'd been transferred to the lower station and been given a really chatty roommate. He snored, was a bit annoying, but he was company.

By the time Draco was able to leave the hospital and physical therapy behind, Draco went to find Astoria.

Draco's wife wasn't doing well. He was not surprised. She had been sick since before the pregnancy. And birthing their child had left her weakened and exhausted. To see him had her confused and relieved, especially when he promised to help her. But he did. Draco moved in with her, making her life a little easier.

This time, for once in his life, Draco felt like he was able to do so. Or would be, provided he would be given the time.

With the Malfoy money easing his life, Draco spent most of the day with his little family, helping out in the house, doing the exercises his doctors kept reminding him off, learning the way of the househusband as well as he could, and found that he quite enjoyed cooking for the three of them. He'd known he liked cooking since Potter's had taught him how, but this was the first time he found himself enjoying it without the pressure of staying healthy burdening him. He didn't own a houself and didn't have a personal housekeeper. Draco was learning to get by without magic and without his wand, which in this world, Potter still owned.

In the afternoon, however, Draco would leave the house and allow his wife some time for herself. The reason was not necessarily her, although that was a bonus, it was to get back to work.

Draco hadn't returned to his office and he somehow doubted he would. He'd called in the other day and learned that his former secretary had left and vanished from the world. Draco sometimes wondered whether he had imagined her, but ultimately decided that it didn't matter. What he had to do, he wouldn't need his office for.

...

The St. Mungo's officials knew him well these days. His experimental mental health lessons were still barely accepted, but since Hermione Granger had announced the reformation of the wizarding health system, he'd basically been granted open access for being the face behind the basic ideas.

It was also a little satisfying to know that the Muggle Hospital had kept him alive, while the healers would have given up on him forever ago. Their grimaces spoke volumes of what they thought of that.

St. Mungo's had been changed a little on the interior design. The hospital had received some additional funds from the government to expand the clinic for Muggle patients who'd been confronted with magic and, upon Draco's notes that Granger had found, been educated on the wizarding world, instead of getting their minds wiped. They were given a proper warning and the option to remember, much like Muggle's who'd married into the lifestyle. Speaking of such marriages, there happened to be a few Muggle therapists married to wizards who had decided to open their offices for the magical community as well.

Draco didn't know too much about the new psychatric clinic that Granger had founded, But he knew that it resided somewhere in London and was referred to as the 'Patronus' clinic. The Quibbler said the name was chosen for its protective association in relations to traumatic events, which translated well with the dementor – patronus metaphor. It was a little bit clever and a little bit plain, but Draco liked it just enough.

The halls in St. Mungo's had been decorated by some of the patients who were a little more lively than Draco could remember. As he walked up the stairs, one step at a time, he came by the lycantrophy station, created for freshly bitten Werewolves and those who required medical advice and medication, such as Wolfsbane. Draco often had to duck out of the way to not run into Bill Weasley, whose fight with Fenrir Greyback in their sixth year had left him with side effects that he would explain to similar victims. These other side effects were also noted down now, as they had often been ignored before.

Higher upstairs, Draco finally reached the closed sector. He knocked twice, before he was allowed inside to visit his only two patients.

"Good afternoon, Alice and Frank. How are we today?"

He always made sure to greet Neville's parents between visiting hours to make sure not to run into Neville or his grandmother, and always brought some snacks, so they would connect him with something positive.

"Hello." Alice always looked a little dopey when she met his gaze. But she would also always squeeze his hand when he sat down on the bed beside her, his little notepad tugged under his white robes. She especially loved Muggle sweets.

"Very good, Doctor." Draco smiled, noting down a checkmark that her speech was a lot less slurred than in the beginning of his treatment. "And how are you?"

Draco had made a conscious decision not to use strength potions for himself, but that didn't count for what Alice and Frank had. Their minds were scrambled, and he couldn't go beneath all that trauma without the necessary medication. It was simple tonics, not exactly like antidepressants, but also not too far from it. "I'm doing much better, thank you. Have you talked to your son?"

She paused for a moment. This was usually the one where Draco would give her a lot of time to understand his question. She didn't always remember her son, but she did more and more often and Draco was hoping that this was a good sign. Frank was having more trouble, but he seemed to be in a better mood whenever his wife got it right.
"Neville." She said, struggling to get the name out. "Tomorrow."

"He'll visit tomorrow? That is nice. I'm happy for you." Draco put the notepad aside to check her temperature and pupil reaction. At St. Mungo's, they had spells for this kind of work, and he used his mother's wand to cast them. "Would you like to try to remember something today?"

She blinked at him a couple moments, but eventually nodded. This wasn't usual. Alice often got scared. His method was a little like confrontation therapy, it could get real dark real fast and it could backfire badly. After his first failures with his first muggle patients, back in his early days in this profession, Draco had made sure to watch the memories beforehand, before he exposed his patients to them. Like that, he would know how to prepare them better. Draco pulled out a small vile full of a silver substance. It was a little blotched because it was a memory taken from her own mind. A mere copy that he would make her live through in her own head, a little modified to clear up the haze, but it seemed to be helping.

Draco hadn't chosen to show her traumatic events just yet. Alice and Frank lacked basic memories about who they were. They couldn't face their trauma before they remembered themselves.

Draco had to dig in deep to get those happy memories through hypnosis and experimental spell work from deep within their subconscious. Draco opened the vile he'd brought and used Narzissa's wand to drag out the silver string of memories. He had chosen the moment she'd first held her son in her arms. It was often the first one he showed her, as it seemed to be her favourite one. The last of the day would be the day of her marriage. Happy memories all around, to restore who she was.

With a gentle wave of the wand, he lay the memory over her eyes, letting it sink in and let her dream a dream of pure happiness. She would need every strength she could get to fight the pain she still carried within herself.

He then proceeded to greet and do the same with Frank Longbottom.

The new regulations of St. Mungo's required that he needed a relative's permission to use this kind of method on the patients, since he needed to dive deep into their memories. And Draco hadn't dared confront Neville Longbottom for it. For one, Draco wasn't sure how to react to find him alive, for another, he was sure that Neville hated his guts and would promptly refuse.

So, Draco had gone and talked to Longbottom's grandmother. A true brute of a woman, terrifying and powerful. She'd shouted at him, of course. He was a Malfoy. A direct relative to the woman who had caused this mess. A former Death Eater who still bore the mark, a man who had been pardoned because of a technicality. Draco had seen no other choice but to give her his own memories in exchange, to show her the height of his regret.

He'd handed it to her in a vial, knowing he wouldn't survive the next scolding, if he'd decided to argue. Then he'd left her alone to do with his memories as she pleased. He'd shown her exactly what had happened during his time as a Death Eater and the life he'd lived after at the manor with his parents. What Bellatrix had done to him and how long those memories stayed with him after. He knew a fraction of their pain. But he knew it well.

Two days later, he'd been invited for tea to discuss the specifics for the treatment. No more suspicion, she'd never even mentioned it. He'd begged her not to raise Neville's hopes just yet, or tell him about it. He wanted to present him with positive results before he'd got his nose broken. Mrs. Longbottom supervised every step he took in Neville's stead. Albeit skeptical, she seemed relieved to find that Alice and Frank were at least not doing worse due to his first attempts, which had naturally failed.

"Where am I?"

Draco was ripped from his thoughts by Frank Longbottom. He was holding his head in confusion, his voice a little rough from disuse. He looked like his vision was blurry, like he could barely make out his surroundings, or like he had a mean headache, but he was –

Draco quickly moved over, eyes wide in surprise. He was conscious! Frank Longbottom had a lucid moment! "Hi. Hello. You are at St. Mungo's hospital. Do you remember who you are? Can you tell me your name?" Draco hurried out, a tad bit too excited.

"Frank," Frank slurred. "Frank Longbottom." He groaned. "How long –" He blinked. "How long have we been here?" He seemed to recognise the room and that his wife was here with him. Both of which were good signs.

"Since 1981." Draco said, apologetically. "Almost three decades now. How are you feeling?"

"Like my head is –" His words slurred, his consciousness fading. "Ex- explosion." He closed his eyes and was henceforth quiet as before.

Draco's chest was heaving, panting heavily. That – that was definitely a success. He barely concealed his attempt to jump up and kiss a random nurse on the cheek. He refrained from doing as much, obviously. Instead, he gave Frank Longbottom a little of a break. Every success should be celebrated. This was not the moment to push, especially when pushing was what had put them in this condition in the first place.

Draco let them both rest for a while and got himself a coffee from around the corner and some more snacks for his patients. They were having a good day. Finally, they were having a good day! His method was working!

-

Draco continued this treatment for several weeks, then months. And with time, the lucid moments appeared more often. They lasted longer and remained all the more steady. There were some days when Mrs. Longbottom told him about her son the moment he entered the room. About what he'd said last time he'd visited, sometimes confused with the first words he'd ever spoken.

Some days were better, some days were worse. There were steps forwards and backwards, but eventually, his therapy seemed to stick.

However, as well as his therapy worked, as obvious the changes became apparent for the family. Mrs. Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, was pleased with his work. Neville, however, wasn't faring too well.

Neville had lived his entire life, from childhood to adulthood, knowing his parents would never truly know him. He'd been given hope by various healers, only to have them shattered at his feet. Draco had no idea what this could do to a child. He wondered if that was why Neville had always been so shy, if his parents hadn't even been able to see him. Perhaps, his younger self had blamed himself, for not being worth remembering or something. Children could take these kinds of reactions very personal. The adult Neville likely didn't know how to deal with the changes.

It was for that reason that the confrontation between Draco and Neville was inevitable. Sooner or later, the moment would happen and it happened almost exactly how Draco had expected. Namely, with his head being smacked against a wall and a wand pointed at his neck.

"Alright, Malfoy, what have you done to my parents?!"

They were in the hallway, which oddly reminded Draco of his conversation with Potter after they'd visited Mr. Weasley around Christmas. This time, however, Draco was not confronted with his crush or even a friend, but with something else, with something much more hostile.

What Draco hadn't expected was the wave of grief washing over him as he first saw him, painting the image of Neville Longbottom's corpse into his mind, violently reminding him that this Neville was not and likely never would be his friend. He didn't know nor trusted him. This Neville still deserved compensation for all the years of bullying Draco was guilty of. Draco had to swallow a huge lump down his throat, reminded that the other Neville would never breathe again, would never see his parents talk to him again, because Draco would never attempt to help. It was a feeling heavier than he'd expected.

"Malfoy!" Neville tightened his grip on Draco's collar.

"Longbottom, please, calm down. I have your grandmother's permission –"

"For your sick experiments? Don't you remember who did this to them?!"

Draco closed his eyes. "Of course I know. Which is why I'm doing it. I just want to help."

"Help?!" Neville hissed. "No one asked for your help! Leave my family alone."

And that had been their first and last conversation for quite some time.

-

Draco was at a loss at what to do. On the one hand, he wanted to help. More than anything, he wanted to give Neville his parents back, no matter how late it may seem. On the other hand, he didn't want to go against his wishes. Somehow, he hadn't expected Neville to be mad at him. At least not with such a finality. The younger Neville had been far more forgiving. But perhaps the war of Timeline A had changed this Neville. Facing Voldemort and breaking his silence spell by sheer willpower didn't come from a character whose mind was easy to sway. Perhaps, Draco had been lucky to become Neville's friend in a time when he was still naïve and trusting.

Two months after their argument, Draco decided to visit Neville directly. In Hogwarts.

Neville was a teacher at Hogwarts with far too little time. He was constantly busy, so it was only natural to find him on Hogwarts' grounds, preparing a class for a second grade. Their 48+ hour work plan, by the way, did NOT cover class prep. They held two two-hour classes per class per week, for 7 grades, á two groups which consisted of a mix of two Hogwarts' houses.

Draco stepped foot in the garden in relative silence, approaching him slowly from rows and rows of growing plants of various levels of deadliness.

"Can I talk to you?" Draco hadn't said hello, hadn't excused himself, hadn't wanted anything other than to ask that question. Everything else felt like he would waste Neville's time.

"Why? So you can tell me how you manipulated my grandmother? She showed me your memories. Sorry that your childhood sucked. That doesn't mean you get to make your experiments with my parents."

"That's not the reason. Neville, please –"

"Don't call me that." Neville said, surprisingly cold sounding. Draco was under no illusion that this expression wasn't reserved entirely for him.

"I was in a coma."

Neville sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes. And allegedly, you still are. You didn't even tell Harry that you've woken up and he took care of you for over a year. Why would I care?"

"I can't talk to him, not yet." Draco sighed. "We – we had a fight."

"While you were in a coma?"

"If you would listen, I could explain it to you." Draco was growing frustrated. He knew his reputation, knew his past, but this was important. "Please."

Neville gave him a suspicious glance and finally put the hatchet from his gloved hands. "Alright, fine. Come on."

For the teacher of Herbeology, Hogwarts had a little hut, near the winter garden where the teacher could take their breaks, so they wouldn't have to go back to the castle every time it began to rain or something. Inside were a couple plates and cups, magical, of course, that were linked directly to the kitchens. This meant that Neville always had access to coffee and little cakes. There was also a small table that Neville had put some books on. He sat down, gesturing Draco to take a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Neville looked stressed and exhausted. Draco was, however, under no illusion that he was the reason for that expression. "So? What is it you need to tell me?"

"It's a long story." Draco said and took a deep breath. "But I'll try to keep it short." And then he began to explain. How he'd woken up in the past and befriended a much younger Neville. The version of Neville in front of Draco only raised a brow but didn't interrupt him, and Draco continued. He told him about the Horkruxes and how he'd hunted them. He told him about the new version of their fight at the ministry, how he'd been held captive at his own home. Eventually, Neville interrupted him.

"You're telling me, you were the hero in that timeline?" He scoffed. "How convenient for you."

"No." Draco shook his head. "That's not what I'm trying to say. It's just – in the final war – you died, Neville."

Neville paused, raising a brow but stopped when he saw the misery in Draco's eyes. "I died?" His eyes seemed to ask 'and you care?'

"I didn't know that would be the price, but it was. And now –" Draco closed his eyes. "I had wanted to help his parents long before the war began. I wanted to make better choices and that ended with his death. I know this sounds ridiculous. But I just –" Draco took a deep breath. "For everything I did, for everything my family did to yours, I want to make it up. I should have never befriended him in that world, then perhaps he would still be alive. But in this one – if I can make up for at least a little of it –"

Perhaps Draco had sounded sincere, perhaps Neville had laced his water with veritaserum, Draco had no idea, but Neville's expression softened at that. Draco was clutching at this idea, grasping for every step of compensation for his crimes, and Neville finally relented.

"Okay. I believe you."

Draco could have cried. Maybe he did, a little.

-

While Draco was allowed, albeit reluctantly, to resume his work with the Longbottoms, Draco explained to Neville why Harry couldn't know of it yet. Of him being awake and doing the things he did. Draco wasn't ready to face him. He wasn't ready to be a partner. Draco needed to learn who he was by himself first and he knew that Harry needed to learn that lesson too. He was honestly surprised that Potter still didn't know. But for as long as he could keep it a secret, he would.

"You two were seriously dating?" Neville asked Draco one day about Harry. He had invited Draco back to Hogwarts eventually, demanding more details to the story and also updates on his parents' well being. Draco had to update him regularly and a part of him felt relieved.

"Yeah. We were both a mess. I suppose it was too soon after all." Draco sighed wistfully. It wasn't like he didn't miss him. He longed for him, really. But he wasn't ready. He wondered if he ever would be and that thought made him sad. And then there was the whole question whether or not Harry had moved on with someone else, but Draco refused to go down that route. If Sarah was right, then they were some kind of soulmates. Soulmates didn't just give up on each other.

'Except that Harry didn't visit you.' Draco shoved the thought aside.

"And he really put an Imperius on you?"

"I know."

"That's messed up." Neville took a sip from his glass and reached for a cookie. "I mean, he's Harry Potter. The boy who lived. You'd think he had himself better under control."

"I think that might be his problem." Draco said, playing with his own drink. "Imagine the entire world expects you to save it. Like, why you? Why not anyone else? And then you do save the world but everybody you loved has died. And you're somehow supposed to just cope with it because you're the hero. But you've also died and come back from the dead and you have no one to talk to about that."

"Except you, you mean." Neville commented, reminding Draco that he too, was now, by some ironic twist of fate, a boy who lived.

"Not yet." Draco sighed. "I'm not ready yet."

"Hmm." Neville watched him. With the weeks, he'd turned a little softer. As though he'd realised that Draco truly was just messed up and obsessed with trying to make things right. They were by no means friends. This Neville was not interested in that. Draco had known this long before he'd turned back in time and befriended another version of him. The loss of that friendship was one he would mourn for the rest of his days. Still, Neville was also no longer a stranger. "I've talked to Ginny. She says that Harry doesn't really go outside anymore. He barely meets with his friends. I mean, it's not that he doesn't live or anything, but he's isolating himself."

Draco gnawed on his lip, wondering if that was a good or a bad thing. "He'll come around."

"You do realise that that's contradictory to what you said just now, right? He needs help, Draco. And I've seen what you can do." His parents were doing much better lately. They were even able to go downstairs and hold entire conversations now. The St. Mungo's healers couldn't stop calling it a miracle. Some had even asked if they could study under Draco.

"He's not the only one who needs my help." Draco muttered, thinking of his wife and child.

"What's the plan, then? Go back to giving therapy lessons?"

It sounded almost mocking, but in a friendly way. Draco shook his head. "I was thinking that I alone won't be enough to help everyone. If I'm helping at all. I have a meeting with Granger in a week. I want to talk to her about a couple of things that the wizarding world likes to ignore."

"You want to do what you did in the other timeline?"

"You mean, educate people on mental health? Put in people's minds that the magical community needs to be reformed on all kinds of health subjects? Yeah, kind of. Speaking of which. Say, how many hours do you work a week?"

Neville chuckled darkly. "Too many."

Draco grinned. "That's what I'm talking about. Granger already published half of my work. Now I just need to help her with the rest."

"How long will that take?"

"For as long as it needs to."

-

With time, more and more people from the original DA learned of Draco's awakening and more so, his plans. He'd asked them all to keep it quiet, but eventually, he couldn't hide it for much longer.

After his conversation with Granger followed several more. Discussions with other ministers followed up by discussions with Professor McGonagall and even St. Mungo's officials who were witnesses to the Longbottom's slow but steady recovery. Draco published a couple new papers and got renowned for his remarkable break through in the field.

And one day, one remarkable Sunday afternoon, Draco woke up in his bed with the feeling of utter peace. He knew it wouldn't last forever, knew it was only a single good day in many bad ones, but that morning, Draco knew he was ready.
Somehow he simply knew.

He went down to make breakfast and wondered how Harry was doing. If he was making breakfast for his children too. If perhaps, one day, they could sit on a table together, like a family. Harry, the experienced nurse, could help him care for Astoria's slowly digressing physical state and Draco could prepare their children for muggle school (they needed to learn proper math). They could watch Ginny Weasley's Quidditch games together, could visit the Weasleys or fight with Draco's parents together. It was a dream.

It was the first dream Draco had that had nothing to do with his past. His first dream that wasn't connected to trauma or recompense. It carried no guilt, no shame, no suffering. It was just a dream. A dream about the future. A dream he wished upon and a dream he didn't feel like he didn't deserve.

He was ready.

-

Malfoy manor stood proud and white just outside of a forest, painted like marbel stone in the sky.

It was a beautiful sunny day when Draco knocked at his parent's house, waiting to be let in. It was a houself who invited him in, and it was his mother who saw him first. In shock and disbelief, Narzissa Malfoy stood, chair thrown over to crash against the floor before Draco was forced into a tight embrace.

In another time, Draco would have cried into her arms in relief to see her. In yet another, he would have pushed her away and yelled at her. Today, he saw his mother for the person she was. The broken, terrified mother who had thought she'd lost her son. Draco hugged her back, because he knew she needed the reassurance that he was alive, and he let her.

He had left another version of her behind to die and that was one of the many regrets he could never make up. But this one was alive. This one too, had risked her life for his. This one had carried him through the fire that had been Voldemort's wrath. Draco loved his mother. In every timeline, whether he also hated her or not, he was overcome with a sense of belonging and care.

"I'm home." He said, whispered in her ear and let her cry into his shoulder.

He looked up when he saw his father approaching. His head held high, although his cheeks were drained from his own suffering, Draco moved on to him next.

Draco couldn't remember the last time his father had hugged him. He couldn't remember much more than all the comments about his school performance, his Quidditch results, his never-enough-philosophy. But, and Draco was growing more and more aware of it, his father too had once been a son. A son who'd been indoctrinated the same way or worse than Draco had been. Perhaps, he hadn't known better. Perhaps he too had tried to fulfil expectations. Perhaps, he'd tried to do right by Draco but hadn't known how.

"Hello, father." Draco said formally.

"Son." Lucius replied, almost coldly, but Draco could see a hint of warmth in his eyes. Lucius Malfoy too, had abandoned everything he'd believed in to find his son on the battlefield.

"Maybe we should talk." Draco said and gestured them both to sit. He knew they had many questions, but neither of them had spoken much in the years after the war. So, he was unsurprised to find them lacking curiosity now. It reminded him of the fact that he himself had rarely expressed it too. Now, he began to understand why. They had learned to accept, rather than to fight. He couldn't blame them for that, not when that was the only option they'd had left. And they had gotten used to it.

But he did have things to blame them for. Things he needed to talk about, to get out of his system. He needed to fight his parents, just this once. So that finally, he could forgive them. Not for their sake, but for his own.

Because the day Draco could find it in himself to address and acknowledge the mistakes they had made, would be the day he would be able to forgive them. And if even his parents could be forgiven – maybe Draco could be forgiven too.

-

And then, finally, Draco became Hogwart's first psychologist, or whatever the wizarding equivalent would be called. In the two years he'd lived in timeline B, it had felt almost symbolic, how Malfoy manor had been burned to the ground instead of Hogwarts. Now, it felt a little like coming home.

With Hermione Granger's influence, he'd been granted a job here. He had his own office on ground level – meaning no more stairs – and could reach the hospital wing rather quickly. Draco had also begun to not take his medication anymore. Their service was done.

After a long discussion and presentation – Hermione had nearly kissed him for his thorough work, which was a thought he'd immediately buried somewhere deep in his mind – Hogwart's was changed. Although Draco hadn't made many friends upon the staff, only few remained hostile after he'd eased their workload and made sure they had time for their family. And with those barriers gone, Hogwarts' had dozens of wizards and witches knocking on their door for different teaching jobs.

Even Professor Binns didn't have to work past death anymore. Not that he was gone. But nowadays he haunted the fireplaces in common rooms to tell his stories to unsuspecting students who could leave anytime they wanted.

Word got around and Draco had just one more thing to do. In quick drawn lines, Draco sent a letter to Ginny Weasley and asked for her help. He knew it was selfish of him. But Draco had to relearn how to be selfish. And besides, he knew it couldn't be easy on her, watching her ex-husband wither away as witnesses liked to tell Draco.

But there was one thing Draco had known all along. Harry Potter was not someone who could sit still for long. And after everything that had happened, there was only one career path he could imagine for him and Ginny Weasley confirmed him as much two days later.

Today was the day. Draco braced himself and made sure his tie sat correctly, when someone burst through the door. Draco smiled to himself as he stared at the mirror that showed him Harry's wide green eyes. This was it.

"It's true then." He made a dramatic pause, watching Harry pant in quiet shock, frozen at the door. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." It was the same words he'd first uttered to Harry, and it was a memory he had never forgotten.

Finally, he turned around, slowly approaching him. Harry's brows were drawn in confusion, but it seemed to slowly dawn on him what Draco was doing.

For a moment, Draco was terrified that it wouldn't be well received. He had kept Potter in the dark about his return for years. Harry had every reason to be mad at him. It took Draco all his strength to go through with it.

"My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy. We could be friends?" He held out his arm, just as he had that fateful day on the Hogwart's express when his request had been denied. An act, mirrored the day Harry Potter had attempted to return his wand to Draco after the war, after the trial.

Harry's eyes were trained on Draco's outstretched hand for a second too long. And then, Harry ignored the hand completely and fell into Draco's arms, embracing him tightly.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise but quickly smiled into the hug, closing his eyes and breathing him in. Right. Everything that had happened between them had been in the past. They'd lived there long enough. It was time to move on to the future.

This was their second chance.

For real this time.