Chapter 7 – Contrasts

Ginny looked at the stack of letters, not knowing if she should read them straight through or wait. She thought, briefly, about firecalling Harry – not to tell him about her little present from the future, but just because she wanted to hear a friendly voice - but then she remembered that Harry was staying at Hogwarts for a month past the end of term and wouldn't be home.

She thought about calling Hermione, but worried that the other girl would sense something was wrong and try to pry it out of her.

Left alone with the letters, she decided she might as well read one of them.

Ginny,

Some of these letters will be long, some will be short. We've planned this little time vacation for a long time, and we're constantly on the move, so I write when I can.

I never thought of myself as much of a writer, but when you realize these bits of parchment and paper are going to be my only testimony to my existence, I find I have trouble putting the pen down.

I left some letters – short ones – to some of our friends, but they will not receive them for another ten years or so. I aim to do just enough damage to fix the timeline, no more.

Of course, this whole plan is contingent that the Oracle is correct. Who is the Oracle, you say? No less than the Oracle of Delphi. Yes! In the twentieth century, there's still a Delphi Oracle. Seems they've been hidden for a few thousand years, but when everything started going to hell and the wall between the magical and muggle worlds was so much bath tissue, we learned a lot of things.

Normally I wouldn't have cared that there was still a Delphi Oracle, especially as how that exalted personage was actually a gum-chewing, tongue-pierced seventeen-year-old girl, but when her bona fides were vouched for by an unquestionable authority, Harry and I felt we should listen to her.

Part of me wishes we hadn't. It's not easy to learn that the world once stood at a fork in the road, and that one possible timeline had me choosing to fight Voldemort but then losing the world to the Rectification, and the other timeline had me joining Voldemort, but the Rectification never arose.

Lovely choice, let me tell you. "Do the right thing and the world perishes, Draco."

At this moment, I'm crying for my younger self. As much of a prat I was, I still believe I wasn't evil at seventeen. You redeemed me, saved me from myself, but I look back at the selfish prick I was and I must say, at least I wasn't truly evil, yet, although I am sure I would have eventually gone down that path without your intervention.

No matter now. It's off to a world of murder, pillage, lies and rape with Tom Riddle and his Merry Death Eaters.

I don't think I can rape someone.

Damn, damn, damn...I shouldn't be laying this on you. But Harry and I learned much, way too much, about how Death Eater politics work, and I am still mourning for my soon-to-be lost innocence.

Bollocks. Enough of this maudlin rubbish. Let me tell you about the time I got you drunk on firewhisky in your sixth year and talked you into helping me break into the Gryffindor boys' dormatories.

Do you know what Nair is? It's a muggle hair removal product. We found that it is also surprisingly resistant to all magical hair-regrowth potions.

Well, that's what Snape said, at least, when a furious McGonagal demanded he find a way to restore the missing foliage from the heads of the 3rd, 5th and 7th Griffindor boys. That taught them to use their wands to clean their hair like proper wizards, rather than listening to Dean Thomas who had them all using conditioner because "it makes your hair smell better."

A little bit of Nair instead of conditioner in the bottle and there's no hair to smell like anything at all. Let me tell you, that scar on Harry's head stands out ten time more when that black mop is gone.

Ginny laughed, despite herself, as she read about a joke that never would be. She thought about Draco, her Draco, who would never be able to pull off the prank that future-Draco had just described.

Ginny's Draco, that scared sixteen-year-old boy, sat contemplating his misfortune. He finally realized that if he was to be a Death Eater, he might as well be good at it.

He didn't quite know where to begin. Despite his boasting, most of the time he had worked very hard to stay away from Lord Voldemort. Now, however, he would have to come up with a plan that would raise his status in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

Something one of his classmates had said reminded him of something...a Vanishing Cabinet. Draco was not stupid; he understood the laws of magic better than most, actually. Nothing really vanished in the Wizarding World, it merely...went elsewhere.

That was knowledge he could use. In fact, that cabinet reminded him of something.

Draco was so entranced with running his idea through his mind that for ten minutes he didn't think of Ginny, his future self, or even Lord Voldemort. He had an idea, an original one, and he had to figure out if he was up to executing it.

Back at Hogwarts Castle

"This is wrong. Insane and wrong. Couldn't you find something else to do this?"

Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "Ah, Harry, as is the case in so many things, this is a task that only you could undertake."

"Yes, Professor, I understand that, but still. Why? And why for him?" The last word was hissed, and obviously directed at the older version of Draco Malfoy who was now lying on a bed in front of Harry.

Dumbledore's voice was soft. "Do you really, really doubt him, Harry? Do you really think the petulant youth you know as Draco Malfoy could grow into a man willing to take such a staggering risk without having gone through some fundamental life changes?"

Harry didn't answer, but thought for a moment. "You're going to erase my memory of this, aren't you, Professor?"

"Not quite, my dear boy. Merely suppress it for a very long time. I think Draco trusts you to be his backup plan."

"Great." Potter sighed, and then turned to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, followed by the elderly Headmaster.