Chapter Text
Following a long question session at the Extraordinary General Meeting, most of which Draco had found himself standing on the stage for, the witches and wizards in attendance began to disperse. Hermione shook hands with several people, and then rushed back to her office where she was needed in discussions. Ron went with her, guarding her from the journalists beginning to swarm, knocking a quill from one of their hands on his way and almost getting into a fight.
Professor McGonagall had approached her three former students (the ones who hadn't escaped) before leaving. She had been in a foul mood, but Draco understood. Clearly she was in a state of shock, and overwhelmed by the death of this Craig boy. Draco imagined she had a terrible amount of responsibility on her shoulders, along with blame she did not deserve.
“Unless I am needed, I will return to my school,” Minerva had declared, looking fierce.
Ginny had thanked her for coming, at which Minerva had softened ever so slightly. She had nodded at Draco with cold respect, but for Harry Potter she seemed unable to muster so much as the smallest of gestures.
She had stormed off, fixing her hat and tutting to herself, before quite suddenly turning back.
“I do wish you luck in finding your sons,” she said, rather stiffly. “And if there is any way I can be of service, then you need only contact me. Those boys are my students. I will do what I can.”
Draco had felt his respect for her grow in that moment.
Harry had disappeared soon after McGonagall, looking stressed. Ginny had given her husband a kiss and Draco had rather uncomfortably nodded his head at him.
And then only Ginny and Draco were left.
“I’m going home,” she told Draco. “I need to be… I want to be waiting. Just in case Albus…”
She stopped herself suddenly, remembering who she was talking to. It struck her that Draco Malfoy was horribly alone. The thought of him returning to Malfoy Manor, worried sick about his son, simply wasn’t right.
“Did you want to come with me?” Ginny volunteered. “I’m not much of a cook but I can make a good cup of tea.”
“I… thank you very much, Ginny,” Draco said stiffly, touched by the gesture. “But I have business of my own to attend to back at the Manor.”
“Of course,” said Ginny, nodding. “But Draco... please know that you’re always welcome. Especially now our boys are-“
“Please, don’t say what I think you’re going to,” Draco said, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to hear that Ginny Potter thought the boys were lost, that they weren’t coming back.
“I was going to say friends,” Ginny said softly. “We will find them, Draco. I believe they’re together. Truly.”
“Scorpius will take great comfort in that,” Draco admitted.
“And so will Albus,” Ginny agreed. “They’ll look after each other.”
Draco gave another nod of his head and then walked away. He didn’t want to talk about Scorpius just then. To be reminded of the distance between him and his son was too painful.
From the Ministry Draco travelled directly to Malfoy Manor. Potter was doing all he could, and so was Granger. But there was still one last hope he had to offer, if only he could find it. If only he could bear to face it.
He swept into the grand entrance hall, not bothering to take off his shoes, and headed for his private display room. Several pairs of grey Malfoy eyes stared out of their portraits at him as he went, but Draco ignored them.
His collection of Dark artefacts were well-kept, sorted into groups and maintained in excellent condition. Some were housed in more secure cabinets than others, such as the cursed items, which Draco only ever handled with dragon-hide gloves. He had always feared that young Scorpius might have one day attempted to investigate the objects, having been the curious boy that he was, and so the extra security measures had been introduced.
And yet there were some artefacts that Draco dared not display. The darkest and most dangerous of all, inherited from a long line of Malfoys. Some, Astoria had not even seen. She had declared she would rather not know what Draco’s ancestors had acquired, and in some cases, Draco himself wished he hadn’t come to know the terrible objects and weapons his family had possessed.
Many of the worst, Draco had long since destroyed. Despite the wailings of the portraits on the walls (many of which were now covered with curtains because of this very event) Draco had taken it upon himself to rid the world of many of these despicable items. It had been quite a challenge in some cases, to fully destroy them, and yet he had done it.
In all but one case.
Draco had kept the item out of sheer sentiment. It was the last object his father had acquired before his death, and to part with it would have felt like disrespecting Lucius Malfoy in some way. It would have felt like saying goodbye to this final trace of his once-beloved father.
Using his wand to open the hidden panels behind the main display cabinet and levitating the cabinet carefully to one side, Draco began to reverse the protective enchantments he had placed on the safe box within.
Inside was a small, silver box, engraved with serpents and adorned with emeralds. It had been found in his father’s bedroom, along with a letter which Draco had only ever dared to skim.
Lifting the lid, Draco let out a sigh of relief. For a horrible moment he had imagined the object had only existed in his mind, a figment of pure desperate hope that he might find his only son. But it was real. It was just as exquisite as Draco remembered.
Inside the safe box was a gleaming golden Time-Turner. A grand and beautiful item of fine quality and masterful craftsmanship. Draco picked it up tentatively. It was strangely light, despite the fact it was clearly made of solid gold. Draco was an expert on identifying such metals, and the mere thought of his father accepting anything less was absurd.
Beside it was a folded piece of parchment. The letter to Lucius Malfoy which Draco had kept with the item ever since his father's death. Draco lifted it from the box and began to read:
Dear Mr Malfoy,
Many thanks for your patience in this most delicate of matters. Enclosed is the item you asked for. It is an original. One of a kind. Modelled on the early series, it is not plagued with any such restrictions as the latest batch. It is indeed a tragedy that the Ministry feel the need to meddle in such beautiful magic.
You should find this item able to transport the user well beyond the Ministry’s assigned five minutes. Our tests lead us to believe it is capable of transporting the wearer back years, perhaps time beyond human classification. Certainly we have put no restrictions in place, although we would advise completing tests before using the item to its full capacity, as this is the first of its kind in a generation. Perhaps longer even than that.
I trust you will find your money well spent, and that you will will use your purchase wisely. We consider it an honour to contribute to the noble Malfoy collection. Your family has always been a faithful client of ours.
Regards,
Mortimer G Burke
If the letter was correct and his father had not been tricked (although, who would dare to trick Lucius Malfoy?) then within his Manor Draco held a lifeline. A way to reach his son. A way to protect him, even now.
Could he use it? Truly?
Draco’s conscience gave a twinge. Long ago he had promised Astoria that he would never use any of the items from his family collection. And until now he had remained true to his word. Even on those lonely nights when the Manor seemed more like a prison than a home, and Draco longed for nothing more than one more hour with his wife. Just one.
But Astoria would have understood, Draco told himself. For Scorpius, she would have done anything. Their son had been the light of her too-short life. She had loved Scorpius more fiercely than she had loved even him, and Draco was glad of it. If Astoria had been there, beside him, she would have told him to do whatever it took to keep their son safe. She would have sacrificed anything for Scorpius. For her precious boy.
In honesty, Draco did not know how to begin. He did not know how to best utilise this new addition to his advantage. He knew that he was not a brave man.
But he knew who was. And who deserved to know about it. Who deserved to be involved, even if it put Draco in some considerable jeopardy. Even if his freedom and reputation were on the line.
Decisively, Draco stowed the Time-Turner in the pocket of his travelling cloak. He returned the room to its original state, using the usual protective enchantments, and then left the Manor without looking back.
+++
Harry had not had the opportunity to sit down all day. The past few hours, following the Extraordinary General Meeting, had been a seemingly endless stream of smaller meetings, research, and organisation. The entire Auror team had been sent out, all needing to be assigned groups according to their skill sets, each being utilised to the best of their abilities. Every so often a Patronus would arrive with news, with potential leads, but nothing Harry heard filled him with hope. He knew full well that they were grasping at straws. That there was very little they could do.
Hermione was determined they give the impression of action, however, to reassure the wizarding world, and so Harry continued his efforts. Even though he knew they would be fruitless. Even if what he truly wanted was to jump on a broom himself and join the search so at least he could feel less pent-up, less useless.
Instead of that tempting idea he stood in his office rifling through papers, searching desperately for something that could help him, for a eureka moment. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement it was his responsibility to stay put. Even if it pained him.
“Good evening, Harry,” came a familiar gentle voice from the frame to Harry's right.
Harry looked up from his work to see Albus Dumbledore back in his portrait and smiling kindly at him. It was the first Harry had seen of him all day, despite the fact Harry had turned to the empty frame numerous times already, desperate for reassurance which never came.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said coldly, not quite able to look the man in his twinkling blue eyes. How could they be twinkling at a time like this? “In my office. I’m honoured. I must be where the action is, tonight?”
If Dumbledore noticed his cool reception, he didn’t show it.
“What are you doing?” he asked Harry with interest.
“Going through papers, seeing if I missed anything I shouldn’t have. Marshalling forces to fight in the limited way we can fight. Knowing that the battle is being raged far away from us. What else can I do?”
Dumbledore said nothing. He had no answer to give him.
Starting to lose his temper, Harry abandoned his papers completely.
“Where have you been, Dumbledore?” he asked, trying to keep his face passive.
“I’m here now.”
Here now simply wasn’t good enough. It was too late. Albus was gone. The wizarding world was in danger. Did Dumbledore think he could just come and go as he pleased? That he could abandon Harry in his time of need, in his son’s time of need and then expect a warm welcome when he finally decided to show his face?
Perhaps once Harry would have been grateful for the fleeting visits, for the vague advice, but no longer. He wasn’t so in awe of Albus Dumbledore that he could forgive such poor counsel. Nor could he forgive the infrequency of Dumbledore’s interest. Not now his son was on the line.
Harry Potter was now a father. A father of a teenage son. A boy of only fourteen years old. He could no longer excuse the fact that Albus Dumbledore had allowed him to step right into danger at that very same age. It was... irresponsible. It was beyond negligent. The very thought turned Harry's stomach and it stunned him that Albus Dumbledore had so calmly allowed him to head towards such peril all those years ago. How could anyone? If he, Harry, was going to acknowledge his wrongs in all this, then surely Albus Dumbledore had just as much to answer for? Perhaps even more.
“Here just as the battle is lost,” Harry remarked darkly. “Or are you denying that Voldemort is going to return?”
“It is - possible,” Dumbledore admitted.
For a moment Harry stared at the portrait of his former mentor, of his once adored Headmaster, of the man who had often played the part of a father to him. Was that all he was going to get? Was that all the reassurance Dumbledore could give him?
Rage rose up in Harry’s chest. Dumbledore was as good as useless. Just a foolish, doddering, selfish old man...
“Go,” Harry declared. “Leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you. You were absent every time it really counted. I fought him three times without you. I’ll face him again, if needs be - alone.”
Dumbledore did appear slightly shaken at that.
“Harry, don’t you think I wanted to fight him on your behalf? I would have spared you if I could-“
“Love blinds us?” Harry burst out, repeating the ridiculous advice Dumbledore had once left him with before, back when his son had been in the hospital wing. It was just another example that Albus Dumbledore was all talk and no action. After all, what was the use of coining a poetic phrase if you couldn't save a child from harm? “Do you even know what that means? Do you even know how bad that advice was?”
Dumbledore blinked at Harry, listening intently, head slightly bowed as though accepting his criticism.
His civil acknowledgement of his complaints only made Harry angrier.
“My son is - my son is fighting battles for us just as I had to for you. And I have proved as bad a father to him as you were to me. Leaving him in places he felt unloved - growing in him resentments he’ll take years to understand-“
“If you’re referring to Privet Drive then -” Dumbledore tried, but Harry cut him off in an instant.
“Years!” Harry exclaimed, slamming his hands down on his desk. “Years I spent there alone, without knowing what I was, or why I was there, without knowing that anybody cared!”
“I - did not wish to become attached to you-“
“Protecting yourself, even then!” Harry declared with a scoff. He crossed his arms over his chest to prevent himself from lashing out.
“No. I was protecting you. I did not want to hurt you…”
Harry turned his head away. He couldn’t look at Dumbledore. He didn’t want to hear his excuses.
Dumbledore attempted to reach out of the portrait, to reach Harry, but it was impossible. Instead, he began, terribly, to cry, tears trickling down his wise old face, down his crooked nose. Worst of all he was doing his best to hide it.
“But I had to meet you in the end,” Dumbledore explained in an unsteady voice. “Eleven years old, and you were so brave. So good. You walked uncomplainingly along the path that had been laid at your feet. Of course I loved you… and I knew that it would happen all over again… that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage… I am no fit person to love… I have never loved without causing harm…”
Harry chanced a look at Dumbledore and was forced to see his grief. It awakened something in him, and suddenly it became impossible to keep shouting, to keep hurling accusations.
“You would have hurt me less if you’d told me this, then,” Harry said, in a slightly calmer voice.
Dumbledore began to sob, now entirely openly.
“I was blind. That is what love does. I couldn’t see that you needed to hear that this closed-up, tricky, dangerous old man… loved you…”
Harry felt ill. Never before had he seen Dumbledore cry like this. Dumbledore had always struck him as a figure of strength, untouchable. To see him show such vulnerability was disturbing. More than anything he longed for a distraction to save him from this moment.
“It isn’t true that I never complained,” Harry admitted, fiddling with a quill on his desk.
“Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world," Dumbledore said. "Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe.”
Harry sniffed and raised his head.
“You said that to me once before.”
Dumbledore dabbed at his eyes.
“It is all I have to offer you tonight,” the old man said gently, walking away.
Harry didn’t want Dumbledore to leave. Not like this. Not with tears streaming down his cheeks, his kind eyes glistening behind his half-moon spectacles.
“Don’t go!” Harry exclaimed, suddenly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards the portrait.
Dumbledore paused. He turned to look at Harry over his shoulder. To Harry’s relief he was smiling. It was only a small smile, and a sad one at that, but it was something.
“Those that we love never truly leave us, Harry. There are things that death cannot touch. Paint… and memory… and love.”
Harry swallowed hard.
“I loved you too, Dumbledore,” he admitted, as the old man began to walk away again.
“I know,” Dumbledore said quietly, and then he was gone.
Harry hadn’t realised that there were tears in his eyes until one trickled down his cheek. Taking off his glasses, he wiped them away swiftly.
At that moment, Harry’s office door opened and Draco Malfoy swept importantly into the room.
“Did you know that in this other reality - the reality Scorpius saw into - I was Head of Magical Law Enforcement?” Draco asked by way of greeting. “Maybe this room will be mine soon enough?”
Draco paused in the doorway, mid stride, as he took in the sight of Harry Potter standing gazing up at an empty portrait frame and seeming highly distressed.
He had the instant urge to walk back out of the room again and pretend he had never witnessed it.
But before he could do so, Harry put his glasses back on and turned to him, swallowing.
Draco noticed the wet trails on Harry’s cheeks and the way his chest was heaving.
Had Potter been crying?
“Are you okay?” Draco asked awkwardly, unsure whether he was supposed to acknowledge the obvious distress on show or not.
Harry did not answer the question directly. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave Draco a weary smile.
“Come in - I’ll give you the tour,” Harry said, gesturing that Draco should enter.
Well, that was undeniably gracious of him, especially under their current circumstances. Draco nodded and accepted the offer.
Draco did not feel it was his place to be invited in. He couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding. And yet he was fascinated too, to witness the world of Harry Potter. Somehow, he had always imagined it to be a great deal more glamourous than this…
Harrys office looked just like any other. There was a desk in the centre of the room, on which were several photographs. One was of Ginny Potter on a broom, clearly from her Quidditch days. Another was of the three Potter children. Draco recognised Scorpius’s Albus right away and noted the way he squirmed away from his siblings.
Also on the desk was a Holyhead Harpies mug, which looked like it contained cold coffee, a copy of the latest Prophet, two spare pairs of round-framed glasses, and what appeared to be stacks and stacks of Ministry documents.
In one corner was the very latest Firebolt model propped up against a broom stand. Beside it, on a shelf, stood a Foe-Glass, which currently displayed numerous faceless shadows. None of them appeared to have silver hair, although plenty of the figures were disturbingly close.
“The thing is though,” Draco found himself saying, mostly to save Potter the humiliation of having to speak in such a state of upset. “I never really fancied being a Ministry man. Even as a child. My dad - it’s all he ever wanted. Me? No.”
To his immense relief, Harry appeared to be pulling himself together.
“What did you want to do?” Harry asked.
“Quidditch,” said Draco easily, smiling slightly amusedly at the thought. “But I wasn’t good enough. Mainly I wanted to be happy.”
Harry nodded, understanding that. Understanding that Draco Malfoy was making a genuine effort to make conversation, possibly because he’d noticed how distressed he was.
It seemed almost like an exchange of vulnerability. Unable to talk to him in such a state, Draco had felt the need to level the playing field by offering a personal insight of his own. That sense of fair-play was not something Harry had ever expected from Draco Malfoy.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at smalltalk,” Draco said quickly, looking uncomfortable. “Do you mind if we skip on to the serious business?”
“Of course,” said Harry.
He summoned a chair for Draco, but he did not take it, instead choosing to remain standing before the desk. Harry settled in his own chair and couldn’t help but feel relief at being off his feet at last.
And then Harry frowned.
“What - serious - business?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draco took a deep breath. The information he had to impart was not something he wanted to be telling the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In fact, all things considered, Harry Potter was probably the last person he wanted to be confiding in.
And yet because of recent events things were different. Such perils hardly mattered. Not when his son was in danger. If he was to be charged for his knowing breach of wizarding law, then it was worth it, if only it meant Scorpius might be returned to safety. For what was freedom without his only family?
“Do you think Theodore Nott had the only Time-Turner,” Draco forced out, refusing to fidget in his unease. His father had taught him far better than to shuffle about under pressure.
“What?” Harry asked stupidly, squinting at him.
Oh for heaven’s sake, Draco thought. This was difficult enough as it was without Potter being his usual dense self.
“The Time-Turner the Ministry seized was a prototype,” Draco explained, gesturing grandly with his hands. “Made of inexpensive metal. It does the job, sure. But only being able to go back in time for five minutes - that’s a serious flaw - it isn’t something you’d sell to true collectors of Dark Magic.”
Harry wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified by what he thought Draco was trying to tell him. A prototype meant more. It meant a finished version existed somewhere.
“He was working for you?” Harry asked.
“No,” Draco said quickly. “My father.”
The thought of Lucius Malfoy with a working Time-Turner was so beyond abhorrent that Harry chose not to dwell on it.
“He liked owning things that no one else had,” Draco continued, talking in very matter-of-fact tones, although still very fast. “The Ministry’s Time-Turners - thanks to Croaker - were always a little vanilla for him. He wanted the ability to go back further than an hour, he wanted the ability to travel back years.”
Harry felt his stomach lurch. The image of a time travelling Lucius Malfoy was now refusing to disappear no matter how desperately Harry tried to force it away. He was sure it would haunt him for weeks, perhaps months to come.
“He’d never have used it,” Draco assured Harry, spotting his appalled expression. “Secretly, I think he preferred a world without Voldemort. But yes, the Time-Turner was built for him,”
Harry did not dare to get his hopes up. The fall would be too far if he had read Draco wrong.
“And did you keep it?” Harry asked, forcing himself to remain casual.
Draco reached into his cloak and pulled out a Time-Turner.
“No five minute problem, and it gleams like gold, just the way the Malfoys like it,” Draco said, turning his nose up a little as the Time-Turner gleamed in his hand.
Harry looked amused. Draco immediately stood to his full height. He wasn’t going to be laughed at by Potter at a time like this. Not after all he had just sacrificed.
“You’re smiling,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Hermione Granger,” Harry announced admiringly. For a moment Draco frowned, unsure where that strange outburst had come from. What did the Minster have to do with all this? “It was the reason she kept the first, the fear that there might be a second. Hanging on to this, you could have been sent to Azkaban.”
Potter really was surprisingly slow sometimes.
“Consider the alternative," Draco said with forced patience. "Consider if people had known I had the ability to travel in time. Consider the rumour that would have been given increased - credence.”
Harry blinked and then understood.
“Scorpius,” he said.
Draco did not like addressing the vicious and unfounded rumour of Scorpius's parentage. Most of the time he refused to acknowledge it. It was beneath his dignity to give it any semblance of validation. The idea that his wife had been anything other than faithful, and that he, Draco, had allowed her to be used in such a foul way, was beyond comprehension. He would have died rather than allow her reputation to suffer such a smear, he would have never let the Dark Lord anywhere near his beloved Astoria. He would have duelled Voldemort himself to keep his wife safe from that man. For Astoria and Scorpius, he believed he could have defeated the Dark Lord himself.
And yet he found, now, that he wanted Potter to understand. That he wanted to defend the reputation of his family. That enough had transpired between them for Draco to trust that Potter would at least hear him out.
“We were capable of having children, but Astoria was frail," Draco began rather uncomfortably. "A blood malediction, a serious one. An ancestor was cursed… it showed up in her. You know how these things can resurface after generations.”
“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said, and he sounded sincere.
Draco waved away the meaningless apology. It was not pity he wanted.
“I didn’t want to risk her health. I said it didn’t matter whether the Malfoy line died with me - whatever my father said. But Astoria - she didn’t want a baby for the Malfoy name, for pure blood or glory, but for us. Our child, Scorpius was born… it was the best day of both of our lives, although it weakened Astoria considerably. We hid ourselves away, the three of us. I wanted to conserve her strength… and so the rumours started.”
Harry stared up at Draco with surprise.
He remembered the pure joy of learning he and Ginny were going to have James. How uncomplicated it had been. How the only worries had been the usual concerns of a young couple starting a family, where to live, how to juggle work and childcare, what colour the baby’s bedroom ought to be, who to tell first, what to name the baby when it came.
Draco Malfoy had clearly been living in a different world entirely. Not once had Harry considered the strain that might put on a person. The difficulties of a frail wife and young child.
If Ginny had become ill, Harry knew he would have dropped everything to care for her. Which was exactly what Draco had done for Astoria. And to Harry’s shame, even he had sometimes doubted the intent of this action of loyalty, love, and devotion. Often he had considered it suspicious that Draco Malfoy and his family had disappeared from public life. A few times he had even been urged to perform raids on Malfoy Manor, which to Harry’s immense relief he had argued against.
“I can’t imagine what that was like,” Harry found himself saying. Because he couldn’t. He couldn’t even scratch the surface. And it would have been wrong to pretend that he understood.
Draco appeared to consider his response and then nodded his head, perhaps with acknowledgement. Perhaps to show that he was grateful not to receive the same old consolations from men and women who couldn’t possibly understand the pain.
“Astoria always knew that she was not destined for old age,” Draco explained, talking more slowly now. “She wanted me to have somebody when she left, because… it is exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy.”
Harry took a sudden interest in a paperweight on his desk, not willing to look up and see if that strange open, rather strained voice meant Draco was becoming emotional. Harry thought it was probably better for both of them if they ignored it. It was only right, considering how nobly Draco had ignored his own emotional moment earlier.
“I will always be suspected,” Draco said. “There’s no escaping the past. I never realised, though, that by hiding him away from this gossiping, judgemental world, I ensured that my son would emerge shrouded in worse suspicion than I ever endured.”
“Love blinds,” Harry remarked, thinking of Dumbledore’s words. “We have both tried to give our sons not what they needed, but what we needed. We’ve been so busy trying to rewrite our own pasts, we’ve blighted their present.”
“Which is why you need this,” Draco said forcefully, putting the Time-Turner down on Harry’s desk. “I have been holding onto it, barely resisting using it, even though I would sell my soul for another minute with Astoria…”
Harry reached out for the Time-Turner, and then suddenly stopped. He was acting on impulse and he’d caught himself just in time. He couldn’t do that any more. He couldn’t put lives at risk for the small chance of finding his son. It wasn’t right. They had no plan, no idea what they were doing. Wasn’t this what their sons had done, to begin this nightmare journey?
“Oh, Draco… we can’t,” Harry breathed out with a grimace, pulling his hand back so that the temptation to take the Time-Turner was lost to him. “We can’t use it.”
Draco looked at Harry, grey eyes full of hope. Harry could see determination there, uncharacteristic impulsivity. Draco was nodding at Harry, as though hoping, desperately, to persuade him.
“We have to find them,” Draco said urgently. “If it takes centuries, we must find our sons…”
Slowly, reluctantly, Harry shook his head. Even if he wanted Albus back more than anything. Even if, oddly, he wanted to accept Draco’s offer, as some sort of olive branch. To put an end to their long enmity once and for all.
He saw Draco’s face fall.
“We have no idea where they are or when they are,” Harry explained. “Searching in time when you’ve no idea where to search, that’s a fool’s errand.”
Draco looked like he wanted to argue, but Harry shook his head again. He hoped Draco understood that he wasn't doing this to be difficult, to refuse his offer, to belittle his sacrifice. But to try and do what was right. For them and for their sons.
“No, love won’t do it and nor will a Time-Turner, I’m afraid," said Harry. Draco let out a breath of disappointment and frustration, only the anger was not directed at Harry. "It’s up to our sons now - they’re the only ones who can save us.”