When Worlds Collide

After I had led Draco inside the house and to the nearest bathroom to clean/warm himself up, the first place I went was to my parents' bedroom. I hadn't let myself near there since the day they died, but I needed to get in there now to find some men's clothes for this newcomer. As I rummaged through my father's side of the closet, I steeled myself as the musky smell from his clothes washed over me, bringing back memories of better days.

My father and mother, sitting together on the porch and staring out at the starry night sky, with me cuddled snugly at their feet. My father, his dark hair blowing in the breeze, riding a bicycle with me on a rare warm day. My mother, looking at me with loving jade eyes as I recounted my perfect score on the state assessment test.

God, it was too much! I tried to push those thoughts out of my head until I had found some suitable clothes--a grey shirt, a green sweater, grey slacks. It wasn't until I had laid out the clothes in front of the bathroom for Draco to see that I realized what color combination I had chosen.

Slytherin house colors, all the way. I would have laughed if I wasn't feeling so nostalgic.

I went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. Pancakes and syrup were fine with me; I didn't know if Draco was used to Midwestern Muggle fare, but he'd have to learn. As the pan sizzled on the stove, I started to wonder about my new guest. How had he gotten here? Could he get back? What installment had he come from? The questions kept coming, faster and faster. Did he even come from a book? Was the whole "Harry Potter" story for real? Does Voldemort still exist? Is there a magical community out there somewhere? What is this all supposed to mean?

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and continued cooking. They say that time and patience always gives answers. But the latter quality is severely lacking in me.

As I was piling the finished pancakes onto a platter, I heard a shuffling noise behind me. I turned to find Draco standing in the doorway, wearing what had once been my father's clothes. The shower he had taken improved his looks quite a bit, although he was still far too emaciated. His wand stuck out of the pocket of his slacks, a reminder to me of who he was and where he came from. Those Slytherin colors certainly suited him to a tee. I thought the grey clothes made his eyes that much more vivid. And that faint smile on his lips was enough to make anyone's heart melt--like mine did in that moment.

"It sure smells good." His voice was still a little raspy, but mellow and deep.

I flashed him a smile. "Come and sit down." As he nearly collapsed into a chair at the breakfast table, I carried over the platter and a pitcher of maple syrup and set it right in front of him. I could have laughed at the disbelief in his face. "I made you breakfast," I said. "Tuck in."

He didn't need urging twice. I swear to high heaven, even the jocks at school couldn't eat as fast. "Hey, leave some for me, too!" I joked as I sat down across from him.

He looked up and swallowed the large mouthful he had just shoveled in. "Sorry, I--I haven't eaten anything this good in a while," he mumbled.

"What, even breakfast made by house-elves doesn't compare to this?" That surprised me. My cooking was never all that good, but at least it's edible.

He flushed--something I wasn't expecting from such a pale person. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled. Then, something came to him. "How did you know about that?" he asked, stopping his eating for a moment to stare at me.

"Know about what?"

"About house-elves. That my family would have them. About--about our world in general. Are you a Squib?"

"What? No! I already told you, the books--wait." I couldn't tell him things from the series because that could change his future, if he got back to his world--unless said things had already occurred, at which point it didn't matter anymore. I needed to know what book he was from... "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"What year is it now?"

He gave me a look that clearly questioned my sanity. "It's 1997, of course."

I felt my blood run cold. His time was ten years behind mine. "It's not," I tried to keep my voice composed. "It's actually the year 2007."

"Are you serious?" He stared. "How the hell did I get to the future?"

"I don't know, but..." I jumped up from the table and ran to the living room. I scanned the bookshelves lining one wall until I found what I was looking for. I came back with a decently-sized book in my hands as Draco was finishing up his plate. I laid the book in front of him, front cover on top, and I watched him grow pale again as he read the title.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Year One.

He glanced up at me. "This is the story about us?" he croaked.

I nodded. "There's one for every year. I've only read up to your sixth year--which you've finished already, I assume?"

He didn't answer my question, just ran his fingers over the embossed lettering of the title. "What's the Sorcerer's Stone? I don't remember hearing about that in first year."

I frowned. He probably hadn't, since "the Sorcerer's Stone" was an Americanized version of the original title. "Does the Philosopher's Stone sound familiar?" I asked.

"Oh! The alchemic one? Yes, of course."

"That would be the same as the Sorcerer's Stone--we just call it that in the States, for some reason I'll never understand."

"The States? Do you mean--" I could see the comprehension dawning on him. "I'm in a future America?!"

I nodded. "I'm afraid so, Draco."

He shook his head. "I thought your accent was strange." A pause. Then, "What am I like--in the book?"

I didn't know how to reply. "Well," I began. "The books are in the third person, but they're from Harry's point-of-view, so--"

He grimaced. "I get the picture. I'm a rich spoiled brat of a bully, aren't I?"

"Umm..." I'd rather let that question slide. "Most of my friends don't think so."

He looked at me curiously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I pulled my chair closer to him and sat down before answering. "You're portrayed as a really arrogant, selfish prat from day one, I'll admit. But, after the Half-Blood Prince, some of my friends, me included, started seeing you a bit differently--we speculated that even the seemingly evil Malfoy had a good side to him, perhaps."

"The Half-Blood Prince?"

"Oh--sorry, I'm going by titles again. I meant, your sixth year."

"You mean," he looked shocked, "after I killed Dumbledore, people started thinking I was a good guy?"

"But that's the whole point. You didn't kill Dumbledore. You tried, but you couldn't. You lowered your wand after he offered you protection, didn't you? Well, most of us took that as a sign of your good side coming out after years of dormancy."

He stared at the tabletop and didn't answer, clearly musing over my statement.

I hesitated, then reached out and touched the back of his hand. "We weren't wrong, I hope?"

He just shook his head again. "I hope not." A pause, before he added darkly, "I just would hate to make the same mistake my parents did..."

"Oh." A silence fell between us. I was curious to know what mistake his parents had made, but I could tell from his dangerous look that it was a touchy subject. I finally got the courage up to ask him, "What are you planning to do now?"

He shrugged. I could sense the trouble in his eyes before he answered. "I don't know. I mean, I'm in a different country, a different time. I don't know how I got here, or how I'm going to get back." He let out a nervous laugh. "Hell, I might even be stuck here forever."

Not like that would be all bad, I thought before mentally slapping myself. What in the world? Did I actually want Draco to stay? No, Estella, please don't answer that. I brought myself back to the real world, where Draco was still talking.

"...might even have to break my wand and become a Muggle," he was saying, gazing out the breakfast window at the grey sky. "If I have to survive somehow--"

"I won't let it come to that!" I blurted out. He stopped and stared at me. Damn! I felt the heat rising in my face as I stammered out, "I mean--you don't--you don't have to give up magic to live here. You can stay here--at my house--as long as you need to."

He continued to stare at me, his grey eyes making me even more uncomfortable each passing second. "Malfoys never accept charity," he said stiffly. "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm afraid my pride won't let me accept it."

"Then don't think of it as charity," I retorted. "You won't survive if you go out by yourself in the middle of this God-forsaken Minnesota winter, and you know it."

Draco flushed again, shrugged, and moved to get up from the table. I beat him to it and grabbed him by the arm, right where the Dark Mark was. He winced as I held him down, but I ignored it for the time being. I couldn't understand why, myself, but a part of me was yearning to have him stay.

"Listen," I pleaded with him, a desperate thought popping into my head. "If you teach me to do magic, will you stay?"

His eyes widened. "What?" he breathed. "You're--you're a Muggle! You've always been a Muggle! You always will be a Muggle! It would never work!"

I smirked. "Well, a job that'll never be finished is a good enough excuse for you to stay as long as you need to, isn't it?"

He stared at me for a long moment before throwing his head back and laughing deeply. "If you went to Hogwarts, you should've been in Slytherin," he said when he finally stopped. "You're the cleverest, sneakiest girl I've met in a long while." His grey eyes ensnared me again. "By the way, I don't think you've told me your name yet."

I had to remind myself to breathe as I drowned in his gaze. "Estella--it's Estella," I whispered as I released his arm from where I'd been holding him down.

"Thank you, Estella," he said just as quietly as we both rose to clear the breakfast table.

WWC WWC WWC WWC WWC

After breakfast, I excused myself from the house to run some errands in town, leaving Draco to rest and amuse himself in the living room. I was gone for a couple of hours, and I came back with my arms full of grocery sacks to find that he had discovered my family's photo albums and was flipping through them while reclining on the couch.

"They don't move," was the first thing he said to me as I thumped the paper bags onto the kitchen counter.

"What in the world--oh. Well. They're Muggle photos, what else did you expect?"

"Um, I wouldn't know what else to expect. Are these your parents?" He held up a loose picture without moving from the couch, so I came closer to see what he was referring to. It turned out to be a family picture from when I was in elementary school. Mum and Dad were hugging each other, with me sandwiched in the middle, and we were all positively beaming at the camera.

"Yes," I said softly, my heart wrenching painfully at the happy scene portrayed before me.

He twisted his head to look at my face; my voice must have given my feelings away. "Are they..." he started to ask, but I cut him off.

"They're dead, yes. Car accident. Two weeks ago--" My voice broke there, and I slowly sank to the ground beside the couch as my eyes grew misty again. I picked at a loose thread on the rug while I tried to blink the tears away.

"Oh." There was a pause. "I'm sorry..." Draco then muttered something incoherent.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I said, we're the same, then." Draco continued to flip through the photo album nonchalantly, but I saw that he was blinking as rapidly as me.

"What?" His parents were dead? They were still alive in HBP...

"Look, I don't want to talk about it!" he suddenly snapped and slammed the photo album shut, letting it slide to the floor with a thud. He was about to get off the couch, but stopped when I spoke.

"Are you really sure about that?"

Our eyes met. I could see the tears attempting to spill from his grey eyes; and he must have seen the mist in my green ones, because he leaned back into the sofa cushions with a deep sigh.

"I'm...sorry," he said after a long pause. "I--I didn't mean to..."

"S'okay," I mumbled and dropped my eyes to the carpet. "I know what it feels like--"

"But you don't!" His vehement reply surprised me into looking up at him again. He was flushed and shaking with anger. "You've never watched your mother be tortured to death by her own sister! You've never witnessed your father have his soul sucked out of him on the orders of his own master! You've never been turned out on to the streets of London to die because the Dark Lord is downright ticked that you ruined his best spy's cover!" He stopped, breathless from his tirade, before adding grimly, "Oh, Estella, you have no idea." Then he rolled over and buried his face in the cushions.

"Oh, my God..." My hands were over my mouth in horror. "You've got to be kidding me..."

"I wish I were," was his muffled reply. "I wish I were..."

I slowly got up and moved closer to the couch, where Draco was lying on his stomach. His shoulders were shaking, and so I reached out and rested my hand on his back as comfortingly as I could. I could feel him tense suddenly, then relax just as quickly under my touch. "I'm so sorry, Draco," I murmured to the air.

After a few moments like that, he rolled over again and turned to look at me. His face was now streaked with the tears he had been trying to hide in the cushions. "Me, too," he said in the most heart-breaking way imaginable.

Something in me snapped; and before I could stop myself, I had thrown my arms around him in a sisterly embrace. Both of us were sobbing quietly as we let all the emotion from our parents' deaths flow out. I could feel his tears soaking into my sweater, and I was sure that I was doing likewise on his shoulder.

But it didn't matter. It simply felt good to know then, as cheesy as it would sound to anyone else, that we could comfort each other through our shared loss.

After what must have been some minutes like this, we pulled away and smiled at each other through the tears we no longer needed to hide. There were only two words that were needed then, two words that we whispered to each other in unison.

"Thank you."