Bottom Draco One Shots !Drarry!

Draco at nineteen

Photo credits: upthehill

I opened the window before going to sleep last night, hoping for some respite from the humid evening. Now, as I turn over in bed, I hear rain tapping lightly against the glass and listen with relief. Tomorrow will be cooler, fresh after the past week of heat and headaches.

Tomorrow. My nineteenth birthday.

I suppose technically it's today, although I'm not sure what time it is now. It's not like it's anything to look forward to. I ignore the familiar clench of anxiety at the thought of another day and stretch my bare legs out against newly cool sheets. It's comfortable here, at least, and peaceful. I'm just drifting, sinking gratefully back to oblivion, when I hear him.

My first thought is that someone's come in through the window. I freeze, and, trying to make no sound, grope for my wand under the pillow.

"Shit."

Sounds like they've stubbed their toe on something. I can see a large shape by the foot of the bed. I find the solid length of hawthorn and slide it out, ready.

"Draco." It's a whisper. Nervous, or excited. I can't tell. The voice is familiar, but‒ "Draco. Are you-?"

There are some cautious footsteps, then the mattress dips as whoever-it-is sits down near my head.

"Ah, there you are." It's weird, but I can hear them smiling in the dark.

"Who the fuck is it?" I grip my wand tighter.

"It's me. Harry."

Merlin. It is, as well. I can see his glasses glinting in the bit of light that slants in through the window.

"Potter. Why are you in my bedroom?"

There's a laugh. I'm starting to think he might be drunk.

"It's a surprise." He's still whispering. "For your birthday."

Drunk, or just idiotic. He sounds sort of giddy.

"If this is your idea of a joke..."

"No joke, Draco." He laughs again. "You thought of it, in fact. Hold on." There's a rustling and then he casts a low Lumos, and I can see him, perched on the edge of the bed, looking a bit wide-eyed. "Oh, wow," he says. "You're really... wow."

I sit up and squint at him. "What?"

"Well. Young."

Something's really off. It's Potter, all right, but- "What the bloody hell is going on?"

He's grinning like a fool. "I've come from the future."

At first I think it's just his hair. His hair actually looks good. But it's not just his hair. It's―

He fumbles in his shirt and brings out something golden, intricate, on a chain. There's a tiny hour glass resting inside a dial, shining in the light from his wand. "I'm from 2005."

His face is different. It's him, but it's different, he's―

"We just celebrated your twenty-fifth birthday together."