Chapter Text
The hallways of Malfoy Manor stretched long and endless in the dim candlelight. Shadows flickered across the polished marble floors, swallowed up by the tall, ancient bookshelves that lined the corridors. The scent of parchment, old wood, and a faint trace of something floral—his mother's perfume—filled the air as Scorpius, eight years old and endlessly mischievous, pressed himself against the cold stone wall of the corridor, his small chest rising and falling with breathless excitement. The grand chandeliers above barely flickered, their enchanted light casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the dark wooden floors. The house was quiet—too quiet—except for the soft, measured footsteps echoing somewhere nearby.
His mother was looking for him.
“Scorpius,” her voice sang through the air, warm and lilting, holding the edge of a tease. “You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?”
Scorpius grinned, resisting a giggle. He was very good at this. The house-elves refused to play anymore after the last time, declaring he was impossible to find. But his mother? She always found him.
But not this time.
"Scorpius..." His mother's voice, lilting yet edged with playful warning, carried through the halls. "I know you're close."
Hide and Seek at Malfoy Manor was a thrilling game, especially at night. The house was large, full of hidden corners and forgotten rooms—his own private maze. Light footsteps clicked on the marble. Closer. Too close.
He had to move. Now.
With careful, practiced movements, he slipped down the corridor, ducking into the next room just as her footsteps grew closer. His heart thumped in his chest, excitement bubbling like a freshly-brewed potion. The room he entered was dark, its vast shelves lined with books bound in worn leather, strange trinkets gleaming under the dim light of floating candles.
His father’s study.
Scorpius paused. He wasn’t supposed to be in here. But if his mother was getting close… perhaps she wouldn’t think to look somewhere so obvious?
His bare feet pattered over the cold floor as he found himself in his father’s study—a room he knew was strictly off-limits. But it was dark, empty, and safe. She wouldn’t think to check here.
Smirking to himself, he tiptoed toward the grand mahogany desk at the center of the room, ducking behind its towering legs. The scent of aged parchment and something faintly metallic filled the air, mingling with the scent of polished wood. He pressed himself against the side of the desk, knees drawn to his chest, heart racing with the thrill of the game.
The door creaked open.
He froze.
Her footsteps hesitated in the doorway.
“Hmm… you wouldn’t be hiding in your father’s office, would you?”
Scorpius held his breath.
Seconds stretched unbearably. Then—her footsteps moved on.
He exhaled softly, relieved. That had been too close.
And yet, as his nerves settled, curiosity crept in. Now that he was here… perhaps he could look at something. Just a little peek.
His father’s desk was meticulously organized—quills lined in perfect rows, parchment stacked neatly, books opened to marked pages. But one thing caught Scorpius’s eye.
A delicate, golden hourglass was attached to a fine chain. The light of the candelabra above made the glass shimmer, casting reflections against the dark wood.
Scorpius’s heart pounded with curiosity. He climbed onto the chair, his fingers hovering over the device.
A Time-Turner.
Scorpius had seen one in a book before. He knew what they were. He knew what they did.
A thrill ran through him.
He picked it up carefully, feeling its unbelievable weight in his hands, staring at the tiny hourglass nested within the golden rings.
He wondered—
What would happen if he just—
Turned it?
Just once?
Just to see?
Surely nothing would happen.
His small fingers grasped the delicate frame. The golden rings gleamed, catching the dim light. And before he could talk himself out of it—his hand jerked, and before he could stop himself, the tiny hourglass spun.
The world lurched.
A rush of air screamed past him, pulling at his clothes, his hair—his breath.
The candlelight shattered into streaks of gold. The room twisted, stretched—or was it him?
His body felt weightless, endless, small and massive all at once. A flash of golden light swallowed the room, a pulling sensation wrapped around his body, twisting, dragging, stretching. Scorpius gasped—
And then—
Silence.
The air stilled.
Scorpius staggered. His knees buckled, his hands slammed against a table to keep from collapsing. The room was spinning—no, no, the world itself was spinning—
A soft thud as he landed, slightly disoriented, in an unfamiliar place.
Scorpius swallowed, trying to orient himself.
Had it… worked?
Had he really just—?
He squeezed his eyes shut.
And when he opened them—
Something was wrong. Something was very, very, very wrong.
The scent of home—old books and polished wood—was gone. Instead, he smelled something warm and sweet, like cinnamon and vanilla. A fire crackled somewhere nearby, casting a golden glow over the cozy living room he now found himself in.
Panic flared in his chest. This wasn’t Malfoy Manor.
His eyes darted around, searching for answers. A calendar hung on the far wall, the date printed in bold, clear ink:
April 2, 2005.
Scorpius’s breath caught.
That was twelve years ago.
That was five years before he was even born.
And he?
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He staggered back, mind whirling, barely processing the implications before he heard footsteps approaching.
Then—
A woman stepped into the room.
She had vivid red hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, and sharp brown eyes that landed on him immediately. Her expression shifted in an instant—confusion, shock, outright horror.
She screamed. It was a harrowing sound, loud enough to shatter the windows of the house.
Scorpius flinched, his hands instinctively moving to cover his ears. "I—I can explain!"
Ginny Weasley-Nott didn’t look like she was in the mood for any explanations.