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

I have left the AO3 tags on every chapter of this fic for good reason.

YOU'LL GO THE SAME WAY

9) ONE

"I suppose I'll be seeing you at Diagon Alley, today?" Narcissa says, on the bright morning of August 1st. Lucius is in the bath, the younger Draco is still abed, and it's safe for the elder Draco to be having a small conversation with his mother in an upstairs hall.

The only danger he's in is that of Miriam Abbott-Malfoy's further disapproval - the leader of Malfoy Manor's paintings doesn't like him much. Unfortunately for Miriam, Draco doesn't care much for his paternal grandmother's portrait's opinion usually and he especially doesn't care today.

"Perhaps," Draco agrees. "Once I've finished business."

"Are we still on for dinner tonight, darling? I can always tell Lucius that our guest cancelled." Narcissa looks at him with no small deal of concern. "It's quite fine if you decide you'd rather take some time to rest and recuperate, after all you've to do today."

"No, we might as well," Draco says. "Before we truly upset the paintings."

Half of them are convinced that Narcissa is having an affair in her own home with her husband's bastard younger brother. Most of them wouldn't care if she was actually having an affair, it's just that one doesn't bring their mistress into the same residence as their spouse. That's rude. Narcissa's only saving grace in this whole matter is that Draco is a secret mistress and Lucius doesn't know, except that's also worse because how does Lucius not know.

"Ah, yes," Narcissa agrees, her eyes sharp and uncomfortably knowing. "We mustn't do that."

Draco doesn't dare show an expression and turns away, striding down the staircase and waving vaguely over his shoulder. "See you at dinner, Mother. Give my regards to Father and the young one on this momentous occasion, will you?"

"Of course. It's not every day a young man goes shopping for his Hogwarts supplies, now, is it?" Narcissa says archly, before her footsteps move away from him. "Good luck, Draco," she calls softly, as she walks away.

Draco stops at the bottom of the stairs to take a deep breath, a final pause, then moves on.

"Good morning, darling!" His mother's voice floats down the stairs, bright and cheerful. "Did you sleep well? Are you ready to visit Diagon Alley today?"

"Not hardly," Draco mutters, letting the front door click quietly shut behind him.

oOo

"Might as well get yer uniform," says Hagrid, nodding towards the neat sign of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry peers curiously inside, still vaguely confused by the long cloaks and sweeping robes that witches and wizards wear – they look like costumes to him.

"Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts," Hagrid mutters. The giant man does still look a bit sick, so Harry nods, despite not wanting to enter alone. Hagrid went through so much for him already and he can't have Hagrid everywhere. Might as well get used to it.

Harry watches the giant man lumber off in the direction they first came from, then faces the fancy-looking shop with butterflies in his stomach. It looks like the sort of shop he'd get shooed out of, or told to wait outside of by Aunt Petunia, and he's still dressed in Dudley's old hand-me-downs. But he swallows his fear and steps inside away, alone, and feeling terribly nervous.

Madam Malkin is a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. She looks very friendly and homely and generally magically odd; and her smile widens when she lays eyes on Harry. All at once, it's a little overwhelming, and Harry doesn't know nearly enough about magic to recognize the faint haze of compulsion to her eyes.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she says, when Harry tries to speak. "We've got the lot here. There's another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. Why don't you join him in the back?"

Madam Malkin leads Harry through the shop and through a door that reads Employees Only. Harry has the passing thought that that's a bit odd, as they go down a hallway and through another door, but he doesn't know enough about shops or wizards to decide that's wrong, and he doesn't have the age or the incentive to act on what he doesn't know. He can only be very confused as she leaves him on a small stool in what seems to be a storage room.

"An assistant will over shortly," Madam Malkin promises with another wide smile. Then she disappears through the door and her leaving footsteps move down the hall.

Harry stares at the door for a few seconds, then down at the stool he's standing on, and then around at the room. There's not a mirror or anything in sight, just stacks and stacks, and rolls and rolls of fabric. He doesn't see another boy or young man anywhere. He's the only person in here.

He turns his head to look back at the door, considering peering into the hallway. Except… his head won't turn. That's really, really weird. And really, really alarming. Why won't his head turn?

Actually, why won't any part of his body move?

His panic only increases when he hears the whisper of fabric and the step of boot – he can see the dark edge of a cloak, just barely, out of the corner of his eye. There is someone behind him. He doesn't remember seeing someone behind him when he'd first looked around the room, and he knows for a fact that the door hasn't moved since Madam Malkin left.

The stranger behind him sighs heavily and something hard and thin pokes against the back of Harry's head. It feels like the end of an umbrella or a pencil, and it stays there, resting in his untidy hair.

Then they speak, barely audible like they're muttering it under their breath, their voice sounding male and tired and a little snobby. "You are such a git to have asked this of me, Potter," they say.

Then, enunciated clearly, they say, "Avada Kedavra."

There's a flash of green light, but only for the slightest of seconds. Then there's nothing.

oOo

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