Away Childish Things

Chapter 1

June 2012
Harry Potter: 10 years
Draco Malfoy: 32 years

The last thing Harry remembered was talking to a snake. The snake had talked back-or sounded like it had-and then the glass had disappeared, and the snake had escaped. Dudley had blubbered like a baby, and Harry had got in trouble-or he thought he might have done, but that was when it started to get hazy, like grey swirls inside his own head.

The next thing he knew he was holding a stick inside a pile of clothes. Dropping the stick, he tried to get out, but the clothes were attached-well, not completely; the trousers, looped with a too-large belt, were falling off. The shirt was on over his head like a normal shirt, except three sizes too big, and a weird robe thing seemed to be clasped around his neck. His feet were in boots twice his size, and his hands were in large fingerless gloves. At least he still had his glasses, though they seemed too large as well, and Harry panicked for a second, thinking that he had shrunk. Once when Aunt Petunia had tried to put a jumper on him it had changed sizes, but it had never happened to his own body before .

The clothes definitely weren't his, however, and when Harry looked around he saw he was in a room with a table that had strange equipment on it. Counters lined the walls, cabinets above them with glass doors. Broken glass was on the floor in front of him, not far from a tall man with pale hair staring down at him.

Uncle Vernon would definitely characterize this situation as "funny business."

Meanwhile the blond man looked stricken.

"Er," Harry said, holding up his belt and trying not to trip over the robe thing as he slowly backed away from the glass. "Where's this?"

"Potter?" The man sounded stricken also.

Trying to decide whether he recognized the man, Harry backed up another step, the big boots almost falling off. He was fairly certain he would have remembered if any teachers at St Grogory's looked like this bloke, for the man's appearance was singular. He was tall and slender, like a straw, and pale too, as though the colour had been leaked out of his hair, eyes, and skin. His clothes were strange, like an outfit from one of Petunia's costume dramas, but they seemed to be the right size. "Who are you meant to be?" Harry asked.

"Oh no," said the man.

"Do you know where this is?" Harry asked, backing up another step. "Because I don't remember getting here, and if you've kidnapped me . . ." Harry broke off because he didn't quite know what would happen if he had, in fact, been nabbed. Vernon would probably thank the man for his efforts.

A door opened on the other side of the room.

"We've got to go," the man said, his voice low. "Accio Potter's wand!" The stick flew into the man's hand, and then before Harry quite knew what was happening, the man was striding forward and grabbing Harry's arm.

Then the world was swirling as Harry struggled.

The tables in the room swished away like a painting being mixed up. A loud pop filled the air, then a cold darkness. With a frigid squeeze that felt like thawing and expanding and being pushed very hard all at once, everything stopped.

Then the stars Harry saw before his eyes were dancing through a new room entirely. This room was much smaller, grey in the dim light.

"Fuck," someone said. It was the blond man, and fire roared to life against one wall. Harry was busy jumping out of skin, while the blond man strode about saying, "Fuck, fuck, Merlin, fuck," pointing a stick at various places in the room. Fire leapt up after him, burning on candles, and Harry realized the fire against the wall was in an old sturdy hearth.