Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Heir

Chapter Thirteen

It was Harry's second night at Malfoy Manor when he finally saw it, and he saw red. ~Harry, don't do anything rash,~ Tom cautioned.

~How can you... how can you ask me not to?~ Harry snarled. His wand was clenched tightly in his hand, pointed at the tall, elegant blond man currently holding his Draco under the Cruciatus curse.

~Possessive much?~ Tom asked, then he added, ~If you hex Draco's father, he might never forgive you. You remember how angry you were for what I did to your Uncle, right?~

~That was different! Uncle Vernon never...~ Harry stopped. That wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true. Uncle Vernon had abused him when he was younger, and to deny that was to deny that Tom had saved him from so much when he was too little to defend himself. So Harry closed his eyes, counted to ten in Latin, tried to calm down and not eviscerate Lucius on principle alone, but when he opened them he was still just as furious. ~I can't let this continue,~ he said flatly, and stepped into Lucius Malfoy's study.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Harry called.

Lucius turned to him, one pale eyebrow raised. "Mr. Potter. If you don't mind, I'm rather in the middle of something," he said with an expansive gesture towards his son.

"I see that. Stop." Harry took another step into the room, and couldn't help but point his wand at Lucius in a threatening manner. He could hear Tom protesting in the back of his mind dimly over the roaring of the blood in his ears. He was furious. He didn't care what the consequences were for this act. He couldn't stand back and let Draco be tortured like this.

"Stop?" Lucius asked, and casually cancelled the spell on his son. Draco lay there, whimpering and curled into a tiny little ball on the floor. "I'm only helping the boy, Mr. Potter. If you can't understand that, well, you should stay out of our business."

~Harry, you idiot, you need to let me take over. Now.~ Tom snarled. Harry could feel his panic, his irritation, making his blood sing all the more.

But Harry respectfully disagreed. ~No, actually, I need to do this myself. He should respect me for who I am, not what I carry inside of me.~

~You're eleven! You're not meant to be going toe to toe with a wizard like Lucius!~ Tom howled.

Harry ignored him. "Helping the boy? Really, sir? That's the argument that you're going with, that you're helping him by torturing him? If that's your definition of help, well, I'd hate to see what you think hurting him looks like." Harry crossed the room, then, and knelt by Draco's side. He placed a hesitant hand on Draco's back, only for the other to flinch away from the gentle touch.

"You have no right, Mr. Potter, to judge the way that I train my son," Lucius said. "And honestly, are you daft? Challenging a wizard of my calibre? I could eat you for breakfast and there's not a soul that would stop me."

Harry stood, one eyebrow raising in a deliberate mimicry of the way that Tom had once upon a time glared at his Uncle. It worked, because Lucius actually broke his gaze. "Do you know what I carry inside of me, Lucius?" he asked, voice whisper-soft.

"I've heard a rumor," Lucius confessed. He wouldn't look up, not even when Harry crossed the room and stood directly in front of him.

"And what does rumor say that I carry inside of me, Lucius?" Harry asked. He kept his voice as quiet, as patient as he could. Tom had fallen silent inside of him, his protests stilling the moment that Harry had begun using that tone. Perhaps he hadn't realized that Harry had picked up on it, which was rather silly because Harry tried his best to learn anything Tom had to teach him.

Lucius took a slow, even breath. His eyes, however, gave him away. They darted towards Harry for just a second before they were darting away once more. "The rumor is that you carry a piece of our Lord's soul within you."

"Do you believe what rumor is saying about me?" Harry asked casually. As though Lucius' answer didn't really matter, as though this entire conversation was just a game.

"I... I don't know. I can't see any other reason why the Dark Lord would have a Potter here in his stronghold." Lucius still wouldn't look up.

His fear felt good, Harry realized. He could understand why, in the past, Tom had worked so very hard to develop a terrifying reputation. It was intoxicating, and he smiled gently at Lucius. "They are correct," he murmured. "And Lucius, could you tell me what our Lord has always said about torturing children?"

"Our Lord has no hand in the way that I raise my son! He was dead!" Lucius snarled, face jerking up to glare at Harry. His wand came up, too, and pointed directly between Harry's eyes.

Harry reached out and pressed one hand on said wand, forcing it down. "Don't point that stick at me, Lucius, or I'll snap it in two. And obviously our Lord was not dead, as he's returned. Have you ever known any being to return from the dead? No? I hadn't thought so." Harry shook his head in gentle reproach. "Now that he has returned to us, don't you think that maybe you should be following all of his edicts, rather than the ones that suit you?"

"You insolent little brat," Lucius breathed out. His wand snapped up once more, and snapped out a vicious, "Crucio!"

Harry jerked to one side and the spell swept harmlessly past him to impact with a vase on the wall. It shattered, and Harry lunged forward and jerked the wand from Lucius's hand. Really, did wizards have no grip? "I did warn you," Harry said calmly, and snapped the wand over his knee. There was a flash of power, a sense of magic and life leaving the wand, and Harry was suddenly holding a simple broken in half twig.

~Harry,~ Tom whispered, but said no more. Harry could feel his shock, his amusement, his horror, and it made him smile. It wasn't often he managed to surprise the spirit within him.

"So, any questions?" Harry asked lightly. He turned his back on Lucius, then, and went back to Draco, who had fainted at some point after the spell had been released. He murmured a simple, "Mobilicorpus," and Draco's body rose from the ground.

"Don't think for a moment that I won't go to our Lord with this outrage!" Lucius finally shouted.

Harry didn't even bother to turn around as he threw over his shoulder, "I dare you to, Lucius. And then I'll simply have to explain to him that you had tortured your son into unconsciousness for no bloody reason. We'll see which of us he's angry with."

Lucius fell silent and Harry left the room with Draco's body floating before him.

ooOOooOOoo

He took Draco to his own room, if only because he didn't want to enter Draco's personal space without the other boy's permission. He settled Draco on his bed and tucked the covers in around him, and asked Tom quietly, ~Should we be summoning a Healer for him?~

~Oh, now you want my advice?~ Tom asked, snappish in his irritation.

~Tom, could we argue after you tell me if Draco needs outside help?~ Harry implored. He didn't want to fight with Tom while Draco was potentially in some sort of physical distress.

~There isn't really anything that can be done regarding the Cruciatus Curse rather than time and rest. Both of which he can receive in adequate measure while in our bed,~ Tom bit out. It was clear that while he was providing the advice, he wasn't happy about doing so.

Harry let out a breath of relief. ~Thank you, Tom,~ he whispered. He sagged back into the very comfortable chair by his own bedside and let himself relax. Draco would either be okay or he wouldn't. There wasn't really anything he could do either way other than wait, and if there was one thing he'd learned from Tom over the years, it was that stressing over things he couldn't control was a great lead-in to insanity.

~Harry, child, we need to talk. Now,~ Tom commanded. His voice was tense, and terse, and so very angry that it took Harry's breath away.

The last thing that Harry wanted to do was face Tom within his mental landscape, but there was nothing for it. He had no reason to deny Tom other than his own wishes and so, with a deep breath and a moment to brace himself, Harry closed his eyes and took a step back into his mind.

Tom was waiting for him in his usual space within Harry's mind, but now it more resembled the sitting room that Harry had met with the Dark Lord in the other night. Tom was in one of the chairs, staring moodily into the fireplace. He looked up when Harry entered, glared for only a second, and then turned his gaze back to the fire. "Have a seat," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

"You've rearranged in here," Harry commented, trying not to feel like a child being called before a parent for a lecture. He'd done exactly the right thing with Lucius, whether Tom wanted to admit it or not. He would stand by his decision no matter how upset it made Tom.

Tom didn't comment on the decor change. Instead, they sat before the fireplace in silence for Harry didn't even know how long before Tom finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're not even twelve years old yet," Tom murmured. He still wouldn't look at Harry.

"No, I'm not," Harry agreed. There was no arguing with that, it was a simple fact. He was eleven years old, soon to be twelve. "But I couldn't just stand back and let him torture Draco, Tom. You know that I couldn't."

Tom's head dipped in a shallow nod. "You wouldn't be you if you could," he agreed. "But Harry, we've had this conversation before. I need to be able to protect you. That's... that's the entire reason I woke up in the first place! I've lived here, in your head, for so many years and you're like... you're very important to me. Lucius could have killed you today."

Harry let out a soft sigh. "Tom..." he closed his eyes, considered what he wanted to say, and then finally opened them. What he came out with was a quiet, "I could feel your adrenaline in there. I could feel your shock, your horror, your fear, your amusement at what I'd done."

"Harry?" Tom asked, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, concerned. "What are you saying?"

"You warned me, Tom, that you were going away. That you and I were merging. That one of the signs was that I would start feeling your emotions more clearly. It's happening, Tom. I don't know what kind of timeline you were thinking of, but whatever it was, it's starting." The thought was terrifying. Harry wasn't... he wasn't ready for this to happen.

Tom's breath left him in a shuddering sigh. "I know," he confessed, and closed his eyes. "It started when we spoke with Severus, really. Did you not notice that in the mirror what you saw was both your idea of perfection and my own?"

Harry thought back to the scene from the mirror, himself and Tom and Professor Snape all together as a happy family and he realized that Tom was right. He'd had no particular attachment to Professor Snape, he still didn't. There was no reason that Snape should have featured in his idea of a perfect family at all. "So you understand, then," he finally murmured.

"No, Harry, I don't understand!" Tom exploded. "You risked yourself for nothing! And do you know what you did today, Harry? You made yourself an incredibly powerful enemy! Lucius Malfoy is not a man that takes defeat lying down. He'll come after you for this. If not now, Harry, then when you're least expecting it. This was a mistake! You should have let me deal with him! Just what do you think-"

"You won't always be here!" Harry shouted, interrupting Tom.

Tom froze, his red eyes widening in shock. He looked at Harry, horrified.

"You won't always be here," Harry repeated, softer now that Tom wasn't shouting at him. His eyes were swimming with tears and he brushed them away impatiently. "You won't always be here," he said for the third time, softer, trying to make himself believe the statement. "So I need to learn how to stand on my own."

Tom closed his eyes, bowed his head, and then suddenly he moved. He knelt in front of Harry's chair, wrapped his arms around Harry's slender form, buried his face in Harry's chest. "That time isn't yet here. I'm still here for now. You don't have to stand on your own when dealing with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. We still have time, Harry."

"But how much?" Harry asked, his own arms creeping around Tom's shoulders. "How much time do we have?"

"I don't know," Tom whispered with a shake of his head. His shoulders were shaking, and Harry could feel a bit of dampness against his robes. Tom was crying. And just like that, Harry could feel his sorrow and he let out a choked sob as well, curling protectively around Tom.

However much time they had left, it wouldn't be enough.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry couldn't say how long the two of them sat like that, only that enough time passed that the sun came up in the windows of Tom's mind. Harry wasn't sure how accurately that reflected time, but he was pretty sure that he'd never spent so long within his own mindscape. But he couldn't bring himself to let go of Tom, irrationally afraid that the moment he did Tom would disappear on him. He couldn't deal with that.

"It isn't going to happen today, child," Tom finally said. and pulled away from Harry. "Ugh. I'm far too old to be kneeling on the floor," he added with a little smile. It wobbled, but Harry didn't mention it. Tom stood, then, and stretched.

"You're a spirit in my head," Harry said dryly. "Somehow I doubt your bones creak." He took a deep, shuddery breath, and relaxed when he realized that the urge to cry like a pathetic little baby had passed. Thankfully. He'd done more than enough of that today already.

"You've never been just a spirit in anyone's head. How would you know what it feels like?" Tom asked, playful. Harry could see it in the glint of his eyes. He, thankfully, couldn't sense it. He didn't know if he could take much more of sensing Tom's emotions today. He might go mad.

"Just an educated guess," Harry said casually. And then, quietly, "I should probably head back out to the real world. Draco might wake up and be worried when he sees me zoned out on the chair. Not to mention, I'll probably have cramps from spending so long in said chair."

"One moment," Tom muttered, looking thoughtful. Harry waited, eyebrows raised, and finally Tom said, "Listen, I wasn't kidding. Lucius is going to be gunning for you now. You've made a powerful enemy today. So we're going to have to start teaching you the art of duelling, which I hadn't wanted to do until you were much older."

"The art of duelling?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"There are several rules to it, and... I'm going to have you order a book. The Art of Duelling, by Filius Flitwick." Tom was still looking considering, and finally he added, "And also The Dark Truth, which is most likely on some restricted reading list somewhere, which means that it will likely be difficult to buy. But the Malfoy family should have a copy of it somewhere. It's a book on the ins and outs Dark magic. You need to... if you're going to go around snapping the wands of Death Eaters, you need to be able to adequately defend yourself. And just knowing the spells isn't quite good enough when it comes to the Dark."

"I'll get my hands on them," Harry promised. He smiled at Tom, then stood up and hugged him. "Thank you," he whispered to the surprised spirit.

"Don't thank me," Tom warned. "You thought I was difficult when teaching you theory? I'm going to be impossible now that we'll actually be working with magic." Tom paused, then said quietly, "This wasn't what I wanted for you Harry."

Harry grinned as he pulled back. "I know. But it is what it is," he responded. He headed for the door of the study and said, "I'll pick up those books."

Just as he opened the door, Tom called after him, "That bit where you snapped Lucius's wand was actually quite brilliant! The look on his face was priceless!"

Harry was grinning as he left his mindscape.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry came back to the outside world, it was to the sight of Draco sitting up, watching him through exhausted, pain-filled grey eyes. His hands, slender and pale and resting against the blanket in his lap, twitched sporadically.

It made Harry cringe to see it. But he smiled and said quietly, "I'm glad to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Draco let out a small, shaky sigh and asked, "How much did you see?" His voice was harsh, likely from the screaming he'd done while under the curse.

It made Harry wish that he'd killed Lucius. The bastard had it coming. "I saw that he had you under the Cruciatus curse," Harry answered. He couldn't see any reason to lie to Draco about that. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

Draco bowed his head, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes. "I wish that you hadn't seen that," he whispered. He raised shaking hands to his face, hiding it away from Harry. "It isn't... it isn't so bad as all that. I mean, he's only got access to me during the summer now."

Unspoken went the painful fact that it hadn't always been that way. Draco hadn't always only been around for the summer. It made Harry's blood boil. "He shouldn't have access to you at all! Not if he's just going to torture you, Draco. It isn't... it isn't right."

Draco was silent for several moments following Harry's outburst, and then, very quietly, "He's my father, Harry," in the most broken tone that Harry thought he'd ever heard in his life.

"What's your point?" Harry bit out. "You can't tell me that you love him, not with the way that he tortures you. Maybe you fear him, maybe you respect him, but you don't love him." He couldn't... Harry couldn't imagine actually loving somebody that could torture you like that. The thought was terrifying.

"You can't tell me how I feel about my father," Draco snarled. His lips were curled up, his expression gritty and raw and ugly when he looked up at Harry. "It isn't as simple as hating him because he hurts me. Because yes, he hurts me. And my mother doesn't notice or doesn't care if she does. But they still brought me into this world. He still wants what's best for me even if he doesn't know how to show it. And I still want to do my best for him. I want to make him proud, Harry, even when he's torturing me. I want to do better." By the time he finished speaking, Draco was looking down at his hands again, watching them shake. He wouldn't look up to meet Harry's eyes at all.

Harry's eyes closed against the onslaught of words. That was... ~Tell me there's some psychological explanation for this?~ he begged Tom. The thought that Draco, sometimes kind, always vain, strong and confident Draco being reduced to this... this... it hurt Harry more than he'd ever realized something could hurt.

~Harry, I'm not... maybe Stockholm Syndrome?~ Tom suggested, then snorted at himself. ~Harry, I've got no idea! I certainly never cared about any of those who abused me in my youth, and I don't believe that you did either. Despite your rather strong reaction when I did finally kill your Uncle.~

"But wouldn't... wouldn't you want to be free of this if you could?" Harry asked, hopeful that maybe Draco might be able to see life without his father and find it to be better than his current circumstances.

Those hopes were dashed when Draco shook his head once, sharply. "He's my father, Harry. I can't fathom life without him. I need him to keep me safe from the rest of the world."

"But Draco, who's going to protect you from him?" Harry asked.

"He's my father. It's his right to torture me as he sees fit." Draco lifted one shaking hand just a little bit off the bed and stared at it. "I'm a failure as a son. My father has every right to correct those failures, and I know that it hurts him to do so as much as it hurts me to have it done. But you see, Harry, it's always been the way of the Malfoys. Perfection is more than just a goal, it's a requirement. Until I can meet that requirement, he'll have every right to continue to correct my behavior."

"It doesn't work like that!" Harry protested. "He should love you for who you are, not for some... some unattainable ideal of perfection that you'll never meet!"

Draco's eyes snapped up, wide and offended. "So you're saying that I'll never meet my father's goals?" he asked, voice as frigid as it had been when he'd accused Harry of attempting to stop the Dark Lord. It was more than a little terrifying to hear.

~Harry, might I suggest backing off on the matter for now?~ Tom murmured, sounding more than a little alarmed. ~I don't think that Draco's ready to hear the truths that you and I both know.~

Harry closed his eyes and said carefully, "That isn't what I meant at all, Draco," in his gentlest, most unassuming voice. Draco responded, relaxing minutely into the bed, and Harry continued with, "I just meant that I already think you're pretty great, and I hate to see you hurting. That's all."

Draco relaxed entirely. "I don't... it isn't that I like hurting," he said in a very small voice. "So don't think that I'm not grateful to you for making him stop earlier today. And he does scare me sometimes, when he threatens to... to make sure that I can no longer be such a stain on the Malfoy name, but he's my father, Harry!"

"I understand," Harry said soothingly, lying through his teeth. He didn't get it. Even when he'd been freaking out about Tom killing his Uncle, he didn't think he'd really mourned the man. He'd gotten what was coming to him. But Harry could tell that Draco absolutely would mourn his father were the man to drop dead right then and there. It confused him to no end.

~Maybe he'd mourn the father he never had,~ Tom suggested.

"So what did happen with my father after I passed out?" Draco asked suddenly. His eyes were drifting closed as he spoke, his body sagging further into the pillows.

Harry coughed, cleared his throat, blushed, and said nothing.

His silence was apparently enough to wake Draco up entirely, and the blonde sat up once more. "Seriously, Harry. What did you do to my father after I passed out?" he asked once more.

"You won't like it," Harry warned, still blushing. He'd just avoided a fight with Draco; he didn't want another one. And Draco really wouldn't like this, he just knew it.

"Now you're frightening me," Draco said. And then he blanched and he asked, desperately, "You didn't kill him already, did you Harry?" He looked absolutely gutted by the thought.

"What? No! He's not dead! He might be insanely embarrassed, but he's not dead," Harry said loudly. And then he looked away and muttered, "Imighthavesnappedhiswand."

"You... you what?" Draco asked, an absolute and utter lack of inflection in his voice.

"I said, I might have snapped his wand," Harry repeated, slightly louder. His lips were curling into a smile now with remembered pride at the feeling of Lucius's wand snapping like a dry twig within his hands. He still couldn't believe it had been so easy to pull it from Lucius's hand. You would think that the wizard would have more of a grip when things like the summoning charm could be used at any moment to disarm him. Was he just that arrogant? It didn't really matter, it was better for Harry that the wand had been so easily grabbed, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

"You snapped... you snapped my father's wand?" Draco repeated, mouth dropping open like a fish when Harry dared to look up at him.

"He had it coming! I warned him, he knows what I carry within me, and he still tried to curse me with the Cruciatus Curse. I couldn't just let that slide, Draco!" Harry was scowling defensively, he couldn't help it.

Draco... giggled. It was a tiny sound, almost a snort, and the moment it passed from his lips he began to laugh aloud. "You... oh, Harry, if I could have seen his face!" Draco said, still giggling.

"You're... not angry?" Harry asked, relaxing just a bit. Draco was smiling, and giggling, that had to be a good thing, right?

Draco shook his head, still giggling. His hands were still shaking, he still looked pale and drawn, and Harry knew that he wouldn't budge on the matter of his father just yet, but at least for now he was smiling and laughing.

It gave Harry hope that maybe one day Draco wouldn't be so devastated if he gave Lucius what was coming to him.

~Harry, have I ever told you how chilling it is how very bloodthirsty you are when it comes to Draco?~ Tom asked, sounding just a bit concerned. Draco had finally stopped laughing and succumbed to the pull of exhaustion, falling asleep still sitting up, his head slumping awkwardly to one side.

So Harry felt perfectly secure in smiling a vicious, bloodthirsty little grin. ~I only learned from the best, Tom,~ he said quietly. He tucked Draco back under the covers, not wanting the other to wake with a crick in his neck. He would be uncomfortable enough in the coming days without the added problem of neck strain.

~So I take it that there's no chance that I'll convince you to go away on holiday this summer,~ Tom asked as they watched Draco sleep.

~Oh, no. I intend on staying here and making absolutely certain that dear Lucius can't hurt Draco again,~ Harry answered calmly. ~And if he does, if I see it happening again Tom, all bets are off. At least if Lucius is dead Draco will be both alive and sane enough to hate me.~

ooOOooOOoo

The summer passed uneasily.

On the one hand, Harry had a great time with Draco once they'd agreed to disagree on the subject of one Lucius Malfoy. They ran about outside, practiced some standard Quidditch formations, and had massive pillow fights in Draco's room once the blonde knew what a pillow fight was. Harry learned to ride a horse, then a pegasus, and while he definitely preferred his broom, the pegasus was quite entertaining. Although Harry's had thrown him once, much to Draco's entertainment.

He also obtained those books Tom had requested. The second had, in fact, been on the restricted list. He'd run into Professor Snape, though, and had quietly asked the other where he might find it. Professor Snape had studied him for a moment, one eyebrow raised, looking at him as though he wasn't fit to scrape mud off of his shoes, and then taken Harry to his own personal library where he handed over the tome in question. Harry had thanked him rather profusely and taken excellent care of the novel while it was in his hands. He and Tom practiced within Harry's mindscape, in a cavernous room that Harry had never seen before. It was sort of creepy the way that Tom could add and change rooms in Harry's mind, but Harry realized that essentially his mind was Tom's home and he had every right to want to rearrange his home on occasion.

On the other hand, he was waiting rather uneasily for the other shoe to drop. He'd thrown down a gauntlet with Lucius, a fact that the other didn't let him forget. When Lucius showed up at dinner for the first time three nights after the incident, it was with an entirely different wand. When Professor Snape had enquired about it, Lucius had nearly bit his head off and had raised his wand to him, prompting their Lord to involve himself in the discussion. After receiving a round of the Cruciatus curse for attempting to attack the Dark Lord's lover, Lucius had glared so severely at Harry that Harry actually could feel a little bit of singeing at the edges of his robes. It was disturbing. But, if Harry was going to be entirely honest, it was also more than a little bit entertaining.

But Lucius didn't make any moves that summer, a fact that only left Harry more on edge. Lucius Malfoy was not the kind of man to allow an insult to go unanswered. He would be plotting revenge, both Harry and Tom were sure of it. Harry just had to make sure that he was ready when that revenge presented itself, that was all.

These were the thoughts running through Harry's head when Voldemort summoned him to his sitting room on the eve of his return to Hogwarts. Had Lucius finally told Voldemort about Harry snapping his wand? Was there something else at play here? He'd been ignored by the Dark Lord all summer beyond that first meeting; what could he possibly want now?

His question was answered the minute he settled into the chair next to the Dark Lord. "Harry, child, I have a task for you in the coming year..."