Author's Note: This was SUPPOSED to be a 5+ Headcanons Tumblr prompt. (HAHA, it is NOT that anymore; although the numbering definitely helped with plotting.) Unfortunately, it interested me too much to just let it lie there. Despite the Malfoys being horrible people, their family dynamic interests me, especially since Narcissa is a Black. They could be quite good at the whole good guy thing, if they weren't such massive prats.

This now marks my SECOND Draco Malfoy time-travel fic. (Ohh myy godddd, whyyy.) This is a older-self-physically-travels-back case, while the other is a Peggy Sue case, so I suppose they're different in that. Especially in regards to Draco involving his mother. The first one is called "A New Beginning" and you should go read it (it's here on FFnet and on AO3) because it was very fun to write and I guess it's technically the first in a series. The fics are unrelated, of course, it's just... it's probably a good basis for this one.

This work was originally posted to my account on AO3.

Tags on AO3: Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Fix-It, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Malfoy Family, Malfoy Manor, Mother-Son Relationship, Bonding, Family, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Horcruxes, Horcrux Hunting, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Philosopher's Stone, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Minor Character Death, POV Third Person Limited

YOU'LL GO THE SAME WAY

1) A man appears at the gates of Malfoy Manor.

A man appears at the gates of Malfoy Manor.

He is tall and blond and pale and… sharp. Thin and long-limbed and young and all sharp edges. When he removes a silver pocket-watch from the breast of his dark blue and silver robes, which are of fine material but slightly dusty at the ends, the flick of his gloved wrist as he opens it is sharp too. The quick glance of his pale blue eyes at the device? Sharp. The snap of the watch as it's closed and pocketed? Sharp.

The expression as he looks up at the tall and unbreached gates of Malfoy Manor? That's the face of man who's been on the wrong edge of sharpness too many times, rubbed so raw that there's nothing left but sharp edges in turn. And the expression that replaces it far too quickly? Sharp – sharp and cold.

He draws a wand from the sleeve of his slightly dusty robes, and this is the one thing done softly. It is done gently, with every piece of care that a too-sharp young man can muster. Odd, because drawing a wand is rarely done softly – often firmly, warily, quickly, carelessly, absently – and it is curious, because he draws this wand as though it is the most delicate thing in the world. Not drawn as an extension of himself, his magic, his soul, but as something precious, something fine, something borrowed.

The wand is too small for him, one would notice if they cared to observe, too short and too thin. It is an instrument of magic made for smaller hands, slender and soft, and not for the long-fingered, callused, faintly scarred ones that hold it. The wand reaches out, singing a grieving song to the hands that hold it so carefully, which it did not first choose and do not answer save to hold it more tightly.

The man waves his borrowed wand over the gates of Malfoy Manor, and they swing open without a creak. The wards buzz in faint confusion, but they soon settle back into place as the familiar stranger walks down the gravel drive, up towards the grand manor house.

He's unfamiliar yet not, unknown but not, and he reeks of danger and the dust of sharp, golden sand. But… his every footstep is like a reassuring order to hush. They don't know him… not quite… but he knows them… he knows them well… and that's more than enough to be a little afraid.

The man strides straight up to the grand manor house, up the marble front staircase two stairs at a time, and then directly, confidently, apparently thoughtlessly, through the front doors, which open immediately for him. The portraits and paintings of the Great Hall whisper as he passes through, his footsteps carelessly echoing, not giving the gallery a single glance.

His eyes are fixed and his stride is steady, and the man soon steps through the gleaming glass doors of the back. He finally stops at the top of the stairs. The man looks out towards the ornate wrought iron dining table, meticulously set with decorative china and yellow flowers, and the three chairs surrounding it – and, of course, to the waiting wardmaster of Malfoy Manor, seated at one end.

Narcissa Malfoy carefully closes her newspaper and looks up at the man. Her striking grey eyes are cold and suspicious – they widen slightly, at the strange man's familiar appearance, but any surprise disappears quickly. Her wand is already in one slender hand, resting very deliberately in view.

The intruder stares back for a moment, then his shoulders loosen and he steps down towards her. His borrowed wand is twirled lightly between his fingers, also very deliberately in view. It is also, to the discerning eye – which Narcissa Malfoy has never been without – apparently identical to the wand in her hand. From the tip to the handle, she would know it anywhere; the intruder is holding the wand that chose her as its witch.

It is surprising enough that she allows the intruder to approach the dining table. The man gently places the copy of her wand on the surface and gracefully takes the seat in the middle of the table, facing the wide gardens of the estate. She finds her eyes narrowing as the man takes her son's seat, because she has quite the discerning eye and…

"Hello, Mother," the man says.

oOo

Author's Note: This fic is finished and chapters will be posted daily until it's complete. There will be 10 chapters.