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

10) + ONE

The Leaky Cauldron is packed, as always. No one pays anyone else much mind, even strangers, because the entrance to Diagon Alley gets plenty of traffic from foreign wizards, for business or pleasure. So no one really notices when a brown-haired, middle-aged man with a handsome beard, wearing stylish blue robes, sidles up to the professor in the purple turban at the bar - a complete stranger.

"Quirinus Quirrell?" the bearded man says. "By Merlin, man, is that you?"

"P-p-pardon m-me?"

"Merlin, it is! It's been forever, man! Don't tell me you don't remember me? What am I saying, of course you do! Let me buy you a drink to jog your memory!" The man waves at the bartender, Tom. "A pint for me and a pint for my friend here, Tom!"

Quirrell, all his attention on the stranger, pays no mind to the haze of compulsion in Tom's eye as the barman prepares the drink. The professor has business to attend to and no time for overly friendly wizards.

"I b-b-beg y-your p-p-pardon, sir, b-but-"

"Oh, come on, Quirrell! Just one drink and I'll be out of your hair – if you still have any under that new-fangled turban of yours, you handsome bastard." The man leans in, smiling broadly. "You need to hear this tale I've heard about Gryffindor's shield – some bloke's found it in Ireland, of all places."

Quirrell's eyes light up with reluctant fascination. "W-w-well… I d-do sup-p-pose I could sp-spare a m-m-moment," he says, taking the pint that the man hasn't, gesturing over at a free table in the corner. "I'm t-t-terribly s-sorry, but your n-name, s-sir?"

Despite the offend, the man practically roars with laughter. "Great Merlin, your memory must be terrible, man! It's Zacharius Smith, antique collector extraordinaire! I'm told I take after my Aunt Hepzibah – may her soul rest in peace – who managed to get Slytherin's Locket for a while. It's such a shame her part of Hufflepuff's tea set was lost; the rest isn't the same without it, really. Call me Zack, by the way, let's not have any of the stuffiness from last time."

The self-proclaimed Zack Smith sits back and takes a long sip of his pint. Quirrell's eyes are all but literally glowing with interest, as he raises his own pint to take a sip.

"Hufflepuff's t-tea set?"

Zack looks momentarily panicked. "Ah, well… don't go spreading this around, Quirrell, man," he whispers, "but ol' Aunt Hepzibah only had a piece of a set. It's an heirloom that's spread around the main Smith family. Comes together for family's teas, all poetic like. But, ah, there's a wondering if Aunt Heppy's bragging was what really did her in, since no one's been able to find her cup or Slytherin's Locket since she died."

"O-oh," Quirrell says, looking terribly frightened. He takes a long sip of his pint as Zack does. "I d-d-definitely w-won't go sp-spreading anything a-around. I'm s-s-sorry for y-your l-loss."

Zack waves a dismissive hand. "Ah, thanks, Quirrell, man. It's been decades, though. Gotta even wonder if the murdering thief is even still alive, if there even was one."

"S-so, w-what w-w-was this ab-bout the Sh-shield of Gryffind-dor?"

"Oh, this is a good one, might finally be the real deal," Zack says, taking a long swig before leaning forward in a conspiring manner. "So old man Burke hooked me up with this collector a couple years ago, who said they'd traced the Gryffindor tree down to a Squib. Can you believe that? The line of Gryffindor down to a Squib? Of course I said it was dragonshit."

"Of c-course."

"I told them to go hop a pot with that dragonshit, but they insisted. Now I'm eating those words, because they come by last week with the news that they'd traced the Squib's line all the way down to a bunch of Muggles in Ireland. Seriously, Muggle Gryffindors in Ireland. And they tell me yesterday that they're haggling to buy the shield off the muggles today!"

"H-how d-d-do they kn-know it's g-genuine?" Quirrell asks, looking suspicious as he takes another sip of his pint. Zack picks up his own and gives it a swig, nodding with the intelligent question.

"Well, it's genuine goblin silver, for one thing," Zack answers. "And I do not like this bastard collector one bit, Quirrell, man, but I trust them to know goblin silver and real rubies when they see them. And how many shields do you know that are made of goblin silver and gems and are inscribed with Godric Gryffindor? What else can it be?"

"And the n-name of th-this col-collector?"

"Oh, give me a moment, it's on the tip of my tongue. I think of him as 'the bastard', you see. First name is definitely Henry, but I can't quite remember his family name. Might be Muggle, you see."

Quirrell nods, grimacing, and then chokes all of a sudden on nothing. The ghastly sound is lost among the loudness of the Leaky Cauldron, along with the Muffling Charm that Zacharius Smith has just cast around them with the wand that hadn't been drawn a second ago. Quirrell chokes again, and again, and no one in the pub pays them the slightest bit of attention. Not even as Quirrell has a paralyzing charm cast on him and a Notice-Me-Not is layered over the both of them.

"The name of that poison you've got there, Quirrell, man, is one that I do remember," the self-proclaimed Zacharius Smith says casually. "However, I don't think I'll tell it to you. All you really need to know is that it creeps up slow, acts fast, and is incredibly, incredibly deadly."

Zacharius Smith takes another sip of his pint, then there's a blade stabbing into Quirrell's middle, underneath the table. Nobody notices that either. Especially since Quirrell, paralyzed and silenced, cannot react to the Sword of Gryffindor being plunged into his stomach.

"I know this is really quite rude, but… you never know, you know?" Zack says and twists.

After a few seconds, the sword underneath the table is resheathed up his sleeve and Zack sits back. He takes another sip of his pint, then Vanishes both mugs on the table with a flick of his wand. He casts a few spells over the table as well, as though getting rid of every trace of his presence, and then he sits and waits for Quirrell to stop… well… living.

It's not exactly a good moment, watching the light go out behind the eyes, but that's probably exactly the sort of moment the victory of a war should be. At least by tradition.

After the moment's passed, the self-proclaimed Zacharius Smith stands and takes Quirinus Quirrell by the arm. They Apparate away, in their corner of the Leaky Cauldron, and it's enough to break through the Muffling and the Notice-Me-Not. The pub goes quiet.

Tom the barkeep, now with a mysterious headache that he can't quite explain, shakes his head and makes a witty complaint about people ignoring the bar rules. People laugh and go back to their business, knowing those patrons will get quite a talking-to when they come back. Tom's quite serious about his rules.

The Leaky Cauldron is quickly bustling and chattering away once more. Tom Dodderidge goes back to talking with Rubeus Hagrid.

All is well.

oOo

In a random field in Wiltshire, a disguised Draco Malfoy sharply unsheathes the Sword of Gryffindor and beheads an already dead Quirinus Quirrell. Then he transfigures the head and turban into a dead snake, the dead man's body into a rock, and quickly buries each in opposite sides of the field. Just to be sure and safe.

Then he sighs heavily, removes the itching false beard and the awful brown-dye enchantment, and strides away from the scene of his crime. He's very glad not to have to immediately worry about the Ministry anymore, although he's now vaguely worried about just how easy it is for foreign wizards to get Temporary Apparition Licenses. Mostly it's just a lot of lying, a handful of illegal spells, and an even larger handful of money – especially for the Side-Along Apparition Permit – as is everything, apparently. There's some terrible stuff that could be done with that; the only trouble is the month-long wait.

He'll walk and Apparate a few times before he hops on a broomstick and heads home for dinner with the family. It's sure to be an interesting evening, to say the least. He's not sure which way it'll go and how many secrets will come out, but he's looking forward to it nevertheless.

He's never had a younger brother before.

oOo

END

oOo

Author's Note: My notes on AO3 from revising the whole fic...

1) The eighth Horcrux is a fanfic headcanon of mine from a different fic of mine. I think it's perfectly possible that Ginny could become a Horcrux, given the whole situation with Tom and the diary and how unstable Voldemort's soul was supposed to be.

2) In my headcanons, Regulus Black and Narcissa Malfoy were each other's favorite cousins. They were both quiet and loyal and obedient, and ultimately treacherous in the face of protecting their families and the world. I just... Regulus Black makes me sad and I like to acknowledge that he existed and he mattered.

3) Why does Narcissa have the Lestrange wands and key? Look, because why not. I didn't want to get too complicated here and it's all magic. I headcanon that the pureblood families balk at the Ministry holding on to their worldly possessions, and that the Lestrange wands weren't snapped (like Hagrid's) because of racial bias in wizarding law enforcement. So Narcissa's the defacto Lestrange regent, basically. And she used the magic powers to smash.

4) Ahaha. Harry's not dead. Harry's not dead because I am a soft-hearted wuss. He's fine. He's going to pick himself off the floor of that back room, dizzy and confused, and be fine and totally Horcrux-free. (Unless you are somehow greatly satisfied by minor Major Character Death, then believe what you will.)

5) Why would Quirrell drink a poisoned drink? Well, Tom made it and Draco never touched it. Voldemort probably wouldn't drink it, but I headcanon that Voldemort didn't get his strength back until much later in the year. Voldemort is weak right now and Quirrell let a dude possess the back of his head in the first place, like, come on. There's also a faint compulsion on the mug and people copy people who have their attention and interest, and Draco was drinking.

6) Oh! Right! Draco has the Sword of Gryffindor bc some Gryff (Harry probably) gave it to him for his quest. We only canonically see Gryffs using the sword and while it's said only Gryffs can use it, it was never shown that other people couldn't. I like the idea of a weapon of Gryffindor being entrusted to a Slytherin to finish an important quest. Gryffindor and Slytherin were friends once upon a time, after all.

7) I am working on a sequel... or at least a series of snippets for this story. I don't know when or if it'll be finished, but it'll probably make an appearance on AO3 before it shows up here.

Thank you for following this fic!