Draco jolted awake, sweat clinging to his forehead like a curse. The room was dark, draped in green silk, the faint scent of cedar and old parchment filling the air. His fingers trembled as he touched his forearm—smooth, unmarked. No Dark Mark. No war. Just the distant drip of rain against the Slytherin dormitory windows.\n\nHe sat up, heart hammering. The calendar on the wall read September 2nd, 1991. Eleven years old. First year. Impossible. But the memories surged forward—Bellatrix’s laughter, the cold of Azkaban, the way Potter’s eyes had burned with pity when Draco broke down in the Room of Requirement.\n\nA knock echoed at the door. 'Malfoy! You’re going to miss breakfast!' It was Goyle, voice thick with indifference.\n\nDraco stared at his reflection in the mirror. This time, he wouldn’t sneer at Potter on the train. This time, he wouldn’t call Granger a mudblood. This time, he’d reach out—before the lines were drawn in blood.\n\nThe question wasn’t whether he could change the world.\nIt was whether Harry would let him get close enough to try.