Author's Note: 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
4) Arrangements are swiftly made and any arguments are even more swiftly dismissed.
Arrangements are swiftly made and any arguments are even more swiftly dismissed.
"What Lucius does not know, will not hurt him," Draco's mother pronounces, without room for debate and with an expression that says very firmly that she will be making sure of this. The stubborn line of her posture suggests that this is not the first time she has hidden something quite grave from her husband, in the way that also suggests there are perhaps a few graves hidden in the Malfoy gardens.
Draco, despite being an adult and only a handful of years younger than his mother – and it's quite odd, being closer in age to his thirty-six-year-old mother than his eleven-year-old self – does not put much effort into arguing with her. And not just because she's technically his mother and he's aware of a few graves in the gardens that aren't there yet. But because Narcissa Malfoy is simply a terribly difficult person to argue with, especially in her own home.
And also partly because he is so utterly relieved that she believes and supports him. He knows his mother well, but… well… Draco is not proud of his family's history anymore, recent or otherwise. She was never Marked, never a Death Eater, but she agrees with their preaching, more often than not. Draco loves them, his parents, but he is not proud. Not anymore.
Narcissa Malfoy is a good mother, but she is not a good person.
It has been a painful and humbling hell to come to realizations like that, Draco knows personally and intimately. And worse, it never stops being painful and humbling to realize just how arrogant and ignorant and hatefully hateful he and his family are, without them even caring to realize it.
Draco is simply very well aware that if he were less competent and capable at proving himself to her – and if he didn't bother to fight back, which he absolutely would have – he too could have ended up in an unmarked grave in the Malfoy Manor gardens. Dead and buried, without even a patch of freshly-turned dirt as evidence, before anyone else came home or to call. Some unimportant impostor come to turn her against the great Dark Lord.
Good mother? Yes. Good person? No.
Destroying all five of the remaining Horcruxes is going to take more than a single afternoon, so Narcissa sets Draco up in one of the guest bedrooms. In the farthest wing from her and Father, and his younger self. He's to stay with them for the foreseeable future, to rest and relax and plan. When Narcissa has the time and can free herself from her husband and her son, she will accompany him and they will end the Dark Lord together.
On one hand, it's absolutely ridiculous to think that Narcissa will be able to hide a strange man from her husband and son in their own house. But, on the other hand, the portraits and statues won't tell, the servants won't tell, and Draco knows that his father pays no attention whatsoever to matters of the house unless he's accidentally misplaced something he wants to wear that day. And the younger Draco barely bothers to remember guests when he's told about them, so… on that other hand, it's actually and unfortunately not that ridiculous at all.
They'll figure out what to tell Lucius and Draco's younger self after all the Horcruxes have been destroyed and the Dark Lord is dead for good. What will happen then, Draco isn't quite sure. He doesn't actually have much of a plan for his life in the past, not past preventing two wars and a horrifying amount of death and destruction.
It's very strange, walking through the halls of Malfoy Manor, all gleaming and bright and untouched by war and the Dark Lord's presence. The Second Wizarding War still haunts him sometimes and Draco half-expects to hear the scream of a prisoner, the skittering lurking of Pettigrew, and the drunken laughter of Death Eaters using his ancestral home as a stopping place. Or perhaps to turn a corner and come face to face with Aunt Bellatrix. Uncle Rodolphus or Uncle Rabastan if he was lucky.
The Third Wizarding War? Well, suffice to say, it's odd seeing Malfoy Manor whole.
The Dark Lord was not pleased with Narcissa Malfoy when he returned.
Draco watches green fire flash in the entrance hall from the landing above, hidden under a Disillusionment Charm.
Merlin, how it's strange to watch a small blond boy leap out of the fireplace, flying into his waiting mother's arms.
How it's so very strange to watch a tall man follow, striding out the flames to kiss his wife on the cheek, the both of them younger and happier and whole – all proud and soft and bright, as they smile down at the young boy they both dote on.
There's no indication of the faded Dark Mark that Draco knows is burned into his father's arm. A knowing prickle runs up Draco's left sleeve, where his own, more recent, more vivid Dark Mark is forever burned into his skin. No indication of the brand that shows their true colours. Not a single sign that Lucius Malfoy is a murderer, proud to serve an unreasonable megalomaniac for no other reason than pure, cruel, irrational hatred and a deep-rooted sense of superiority. None at all.
The happy family quickly moves off towards the dining room, for supper, and Draco stays even after they've gone. Even after the embers are orange and dying in the entrance hall fireplace below.
It's strange, seeing where he came from, after everywhere he's been. It's strange, seeing how far he's come, after so long of only being able to see how far he had to go.
I'd be careful if I were you, Potter, an old memory dredges up for him, spat with all the sureness and spite of a spoiled little boy. Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either.
Draco scoffs at the memory, accidentally frightening a nearby portrait of Seccundus Malfoy due to his Disillusionment. Honestly, what kind of ironic prophecy? He can't even remember being that young and foolish, really, even though the embarrassing memories never seem to leave him.
He sighs tiredly, then turns on his heel and makes for his guest bedroom.
oOo
Author's Note: This fic is finished and chapters will be posted daily until it's complete. There will be 10 chapters.