Inside the Leaky Cauldron, Victor paused for a moment.
Several wizards crowded near the bar, robes slightly askew, voices louder than necessary. Butterbeer and something stronger filled the air. One elderly wizard was arguing passionately with his own reflection in a spoon.
Victor watched them briefly.
Then he sighed.
"Charming," he muttered.
He stepped into a quieter corner, out of direct sight, and focused.
The squeeze of Apparition pulled at him again—tight, unpleasant—
—and the London noise vanished.
He reappeared just beyond the orchard near the Lovegood house, steadying himself as his shoes pressed into the soft grass.
He checked his watch.
3:30 Pm
"Perfect. Five hours," Victor murmured.
He slipped his fingers beneath his shirt and drew out the Time-Turner. The small hourglass glinted faintly in the afternoon light.
Without hesitation, he rotated it five times.
The world folded in on itself.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Five.
The orchard blurred, rewound, light shifting backward through the sky. The sensation was smoother than Apparition.
When the spinning stopped, it was morning again.
Victor stood behind the trees just as his past self appeared at the edge of the orchard, having just slipped away moments earlier.
He watched calmly as the earlier version of himself glanced at his watch and Disapparated.
Victor waited a few seconds to preserve continuity, then stepped forward and walked toward the house as if he had never left.
Loop closed.
No paradox.
No contradiction.
"The Ministry would faint if they tracked this properly," he muttered under his breath.
Luna appeared at the edge of the orchard before Victor could take more than a step.
"There you are," she said, as though he had only wandered behind a tree. "I thought you might have been looking for Wrackspurts without me."
"I wouldn't dare," Victor replied evenly, allowing her to pull him back toward the apple trees.
She accepted that without question and resumed scanning the air with solemn concentration.
Far away in London, deep within the Ministry of Magic, the Trace quill recorded its entries in the Improper Use of Magic Office.
A thin line of ink formed:
Underage wizard: Victor Malfoy.
Magic detected.
Location: Ottery St. Catchpole region.
A second later, another line appeared.
Underage wizard: Victor Malfoy.
Magic detected.
Location: London, vicinity of King's Cross.
The timestamps were uncomfortably close.
The clerk monitoring the parchment frowned slightly.
"That's odd," he muttered. "The signature overlaps."
His superior leaned over, scanned the parchment, and shrugged.
"Pure-blood household," she said dismissively. "Apparition near wizarding properties can register inconsistently. The Trace doesn't track who cast the spell, only that magic occurred near a minor."
"But the locations—"
"Probably layered detection. If we prosecuted every irregular reading, we'd drown in paperwork. File it."
The quill scratched a final note and fell still.
The Trace was simple magic. It recorded underage signatures and nearby spell residue. It did not understand cause. It did not understand sequence. It certainly did not understand time manipulation.
On parchment, Victor Malfoy's magical signature appeared twice within the same window of time — once in the countryside near the Lovegood home, once in London.
The anomaly was noted.
Then it was minimized.
The supervising official recognized the surname. Malfoy. Old family. Influence. Wealth. Not the sort of name one pursued over technical irregularities unless absolutely necessary.
***
At lunch, Victor examined the plate placed before him with careful neutrality.
The food did not look spoiled or unrecognizable, but it had an unusual combination of colors and textures that suggested experimentation rather than tradition.
He studied it briefly, assessing whether it might be dangerous or merely unconventional.
Luna watched him with open curiosity, clearly interested in his reaction.
Victor lifted his fork and took a measured bite, chewing slowly as he evaluated the taste. The flavor was mild and slightly mismatched, neither particularly pleasant nor offensive. It lacked refinement, but it was undeniably edible.
He swallowed without letting his expression shift.
"It is… acceptable," he said evenly.
Luna seemed pleased with that verdict, which likely meant she had helped prepare it.
That night, Luna made him sit by the tall, curved window of the Lovegood house and handed him a copy of The Quibbler.
"Daddy says this issue is especially important," she said dreamily. "It explains how Fudge is using goblins to control rainfall."
Victor lowered his eyes to the page.
The moving photographs were as chaotic as the headlines. Bold ink screamed about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Rotfang conspiracies, and Ministry plots hidden inside cauldron thickness regulations. Some articles contradicted each other within the same column.
Objectively, most of it bordered on absurd.
He could almost hear Hermione Granger dismissing it as complete rubbish, citing facts, footnotes.
But he did not say that.
Across from him, Luna Lovegood watched with quiet expectation, her eyes bright and unbothered by doubt. To her, every printed word carried possibility.
Victor turned the page carefully instead of scoffing.
"Interesting," he said at last.
He said it because he didn't want to say anything else that might disappoint Luna.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 71🔥
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