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
8) TWO
It is not as difficult to break into Gringotts as Draco thought it would be. He honestly thought this one was going to be the hardest to get his hands on, if not impossible, but there is no need to even consider the impossible task of enlisting the assistance of a Gringotts goblin, because he has already enlisted the assistance of Narcissa Malfoy.
The Lestranges are all in Azkaban at the moment and would never allow their worldly possessions to remain in the Ministry of Magic's possession. Not only does Narcissa have possession of all the Lestrange wands, given to her after they were used as evidence in the Longbottom trials, but she actually has the Lestrange vault key. The Lestrange brothers have no close living relatives, so everything went to Bellatrix's youngest – and only remaining, in Bellatrix's eyes – sister.
They do not have any Polyjuice Potion – which is easy to buy, really, if one has the knowledge and the money – but they do not need any in the face of Narcissa's considerable skill with magical and non-magical cosmetics. Draco need only sit back in his father's dressing chair, dressed in his Uncle Rabastan's clothes and a hooded cloak, and watch his mother at work at her vanity.
It's a hot afternoon in late July. Lucius has business at the Ministry and Draco's younger self is spending the afternoon with the Goyles, who are celebrating Gregory's younger sister's birthday. Narcissa and Draco have the house entirely to themselves and the afternoon for business.
When Narcissa finally turns around, Draco applauds at the vision before him. Without any Polyjuice or anything but the lightest enchantment, in front of him sits the perfect picture of Aunt Bellatrix – only much healthier, slightly younger, and generally saner than Draco ever saw her.
All his mother has to do is change her clothing and put on a hooded cloak, and they are perfectly ready to secretly rob one of the most viciously protected banks in the world.
"Thank you, Draco," his mother says, breaking the illusion.
Narcissa stands to change and pull on her sneaking cloak, and her mannerisms are masterful. She moves almost exactly like Aunt Bellatrix, from the schoolgirlish skip in her walk to the predatory tilt to her head. The curl of her fingers and curve of her smile might as well be a reflection – an extremely, extremely eerie reflection.
But she does not sound like her sister at all, not in the least. Draco could tell that she was trying, but she didn't quite manage a good impression, much less one that was perfect. Unless the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts and the wizarding art world moves fully into silent performance, his mother needs a great deal of practice if she wants a future there. Narcissa has never had a wide-ranging and deeply expressive voice.
As soon as Narcissa returns, wearing one of Bellatrix's old dresses and clicking boots that make her slightly taller, along with her hooded cloak, Draco stands and draws his borrowed wand out of his sleeve sheath. Luckily, as with most things, there's a spell for that.
"Mother, one moment," Draco says, laying his wand against her throat, "Mimesis."
A temporary medical-based transfiguration, terribly difficult and requiring much skill and at least a NEWT-level education, along with a good memory and intense concentration. Draco has heard that some people are incapable perform this spell due to lack of imagination and recall, actually, but it's one of his specialties.
It's no trouble for him to remember the high-pitched coos and giggles of his Aunt Bellatrix's "baby" voice, nor for him to recall the low-pitched hisses and snarls of her frequent "secret" arguments with her sister. Both equally dangerous, because with the first she was especially cruel and with the second she was especially vicious. He remembers everything: the long, raspy drawls, the shrieking cackles of laughter, the quiet whispers and rambling mumbles… Honestly, he wishes he could forget.
Family First, he said to his mother, meaning it completely, but… some people, he just doesn't count as family. He'd probably be labeled a bloodtraitor if he talked about it more and his mother loved him less, but he doesn't really care. Some deep, repressed part of him still wants to secretly send Molly Weasley a fruit basket for a death that hasn't happened. It's terrible and he's guilty over it, but still, the feeling's there.
"What's this?" Narcissa says in her sister's raspy drawl.
Draco almost flinches. He doesn't, but it's all he can do to keep in a painful wince.
"A mimicry spell," he says. "Your impression needs work."
Narcissa searches his face for a moment, before she raises her nose in imperial disdain. "Hmph, come on then," she says. "We haven't got all day, Draay-co."
Draco is better prepared to repress his wince and she doesn't catch him out. He raises his hood, sheathes his wand, and gives her a serene smile as he offers her his arm.
"Of course, Aunt Bellatrix."
Narcissa takes his arm, a suspicious look to her changed eye, and they're off.
They Apparate just outside Gringotts, in the designated area, and stride into the bank as two cloaked and hooded figures. They get a few odd looks, but not many, because Gringotts deals in all sorts of business, including the anonymous, shady, and outright illegal. Goblins don't care much for the affairs of wizards and take great pleasure in thwarting the Ministry as often as possible.
"I would like to visit my vault," the hooded woman says to the goblin at the desk, sliding the Lestrange key across the marble. She raises her hood, ever so slightly, to show the sneer of her lips and the glare of her heavily-lidded eyes. "Immediately."
The goblin behind the desk stares, their eyes widening in stifling fear and recognition. Thankfully, they nod stiffly and wave over another goblin. They press the key into the other's palm and whisper something into the other's ear before pulling away, and Draco has never seen a physical representation of this is your bloody problem now performed so vividly before.
The new goblin, who very, very stiffly introduces themselves as Hachetenu, quickly leads them away from the main operations and to a more private cart and track. They are loaded into the cart and hastily sent on their way by Hachetenu. Despite the long ride, no conversation is made whatsoever by any member of the cart, and the goblin does not take their eyes off the track ahead the entire time.
Draco remains physically relaxed and repeats a calming mantra in his mind. They are not stealing from the Lestrange vault, as Hufflepuff's cup does not belong to the Lestranges or the Dark Lord. They are not stealing from Gringotts, they are saving the wizarding world from an immortal madman. Gringotts, if any part of it can read his thoughts, should be aware of this.
Besides, Narcissa is Bellatrix's full-blood sister and the regent-guardian of all Lestrange affairs in their absence. She has the full right to go in and take Hufflepuff's cup on their behalf, really.
They arrive without any trouble whatsoever and Draco quickly exits to help his mother out of the cart. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, only shoves him out of the way and steps out of the cart herself. She holds her infamous curved wand under his nose as she leans in close; the weapon drawn without warning.
"I don't need your help, Rabastan," she hisses.
Then she stalks after Hachetenu, who takes a visible gulp and quickly grabs a pair of clankers. Draco hurries after them, his shoulders hunched in apparent shame, and then gapes under his hood at the sight of an ancient and abused Ukranian Ironbelly dragon.
He heard as a boy, of course, that Aunt Bellatrix had one guarding her vault, but… dear Merlin, this explains the massive disaster that was left behind last time someone went after the cup. The infamous golden trio plus a dragon would certainly account for the massive hole in the Gringotts ceiling and the absolute nightmare it was to deal with the Goblin Nation after the Second Wizarding War.
Their group, however, gets past the dragon without any trouble. The key is handed over and Hachetenu scrambles to open the Lestrange vault for them, fumbling with the clankers and practically yanking the door open.
Well, at least Aunt Bellatrix is good for something, Draco supposes.
Narcissa strides into the vault, takes a good look around, then points her wand at Hufflepuff's cup. "That's the one," she snaps. "Get it down for me."
Hachetenu stares from the doorway, wide-eyed.
"I'm not clambering over gold to get it myself," Narcissa practically snarls.
Since the curved wand is very clearly in view, the goblin does not argue and hurries into the vault. Since Draco is standing outside the vault, as though guarding it, he doesn't see much of anything. He hears a bit of clinking though, which becomes a bit frantic after thirty seconds when his mother starts tapping her foot.
"Finally!" Narcissa sweeps out the vault, then spins only to snap, "Hurry up! We're leaving!"
The goblin quickly exits and begins the process of shutting the Lestrange vault. Narcissa, meanwhile, dumps Hufflepuff's cup in Draco's hands and begins tapping her foot again.
"Hold on to that with your life," she says coldly. "The Dark Lord is expecting us."
Hachetenu is very quick to get them out of there, never once meeting their eyes. When they exit the cart onto Gringotts' main floor once more, the goblins give them a wide berth all the way to the front doors. One manages to give them a quiet, "Pleasure doing business," but that's it.
Once they're back at Malfoy Manor, they destroy the Horcrux in the same hallway where the diary was slain. Draco hands his mother the Sword of Gryffindor once more, and Narcissa Malfoy stabs into the thing wearing the vicious face of Bellatrix Lestrange.
She really didn't need any enchantments to manage the disguise, Draco notes unhappily. But, he notes with a great deal of pleasure, there's delicious irony here that's definitely worth it.
Aunt Bellatrix would be so mad.
oOo
Author's Note: This fic is finished and chapters will be posted daily until it's complete. There will be 10 chapters.