Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I forgot to mention this last time, but both Lethfyren and Collin are mine. Please don't use them. I'll be very disappointed if you do. There might even be frowny faces involved. More notes at the bottom.

Heir

Chapter Twenty-

Malfoys were reasonable.

Draco wasn't sure what he'd done, other than, of course, committing the obvious crime of maintaining his friendship with one Ron Weasley. But he knew that he was doing the right thing with regards to that, so why couldn't his father acknowledge that maybe he had the right idea? Maybe what his father considered to be irrational was, in fact, the only rational choice that Draco could have made. After all, if he could bring only one of the Weasley family to the proper side of things, wouldn't that discredit the Weasley family patriarch terribly? And was that not the lifelong goal of his father?

But his father didn't want to hear that, wasn't willing to acknowledge that maybe Draco had a point. But Draco didn't understand why not. After all, above all else, Malfoys were reasonable. So maybe it wasn't that. It couldn't be that. Draco knew that he hadn't done anything irrational in months. Not since... not since the last time he'd had to visit... visit Them. He maintained that he hadn't been irrational at that point in time, anyway. Certainly not unreasonable. Harry was the one who had hugged him. So what if he'd actually enjoyed the gentle touch? But if it wasn't that, then what?

Malfoys did not invite the peasants to touch them.

That had actually gotten him in trouble once before. While he hadn't allowed Harry to hug him, he certainly hadn't pushed him away. And how could he? Harry had been sort of adorable, if the person carrying the Dark Lord's soul could really be counted as adorable. And Draco had enjoyed being hugged, much to his own surprise. He'd never been hugged before. It had been a novel experience.

And he'd already been punished for it, anyway. He'd gone to see Them, and they'd... it had hurt, but he'd paid his dues for enjoying the touch. And he knew that he would never let Harry hug him again, not where anybody could see. He couldn't do that again. But it had been wonderful, hadn't it?

Malfoys were intelligent.

And Draco was! He knew that he was; he knew that he was one of the top students in their class. He was being beaten by a little Mudblood with the plebeian last name of Granger, and by Harry himself. So Draco was actually managing to be third in the class, and it was killing him. But he didn't see... he didn't understand how he could possibly be expected to beat somebody with a much older wizard living inside of his mind and tutoring him. It just wasn't possible.

The Granger girl, well, he wasn't sure how the Mudblood was beating him. It was ridiculous to think that an interloper within their society could be doing better than him. The little chit was good in Potions, but certainly not that good. So how was it that she was beating him in all of their other classes? She wasn't all that intelligent. Book-smarts weren't everything, after all, and her knowledge of their world had to be fairly lacking. Most mudbloods never did manage to gain that base of knowledge in their tradition. Why, the girl probably didn't even know what a Courtship entailed.

So yes, Draco was still third in the class, but he personally thought that was rather impressive. He wasn't ever going to be able to beat Harry, and he thought that his father had accepted that. Perhaps it was because of the Mudblood? That was the only option Draco could think of. Unless, of course, it was something else entirely. But perhaps that was it.

Malfoys have family honor.

Draco had done nothing to shame the family name, unless one were to consider befriending Weasley to count as shaming the family name. Which Draco didn't. If anything, he thought that maybe it showed a side of the Malfoys that hadn't been seen in centuries. Maybe it showed that the Malfoy family could be forgiving towards their enemies. Mercy was a grace that the Malfoy family had long since been missing, at least according to the histories of the family that he'd read.

From what he understood, once upon a time there had been nothing dishonorable about showing mercy to those less fortunate than a Malfoy was. And really, who wasn't less fortunate than the Malfoy family? Certainly Harry wasn't, by most counts, but Draco knew that even Harry would give anything to have a family that actually cared for him and wanted him, despite his near-flawless veneer of nonchalance that he worked so hard to present to the world.

Malfoys are the best at everything they do.

Draco knew that he wasn't. He did. He just wasn't entirely sure that he could do anything about it. It galled him that he was something less than his best at everything, and he worked tirelessly to improve himself, but he knew that he would never manage to beat Harry at pretty much anything. Except for chess, that was, so long as he wasn't playing with the Dark Lord's advice in his mind. And Draco tried his hardest to be his best but... well, his best wasn't the best. And therefore his best was nowhere near good enough for his father. Because, of course, there was both Harry and the Granger chit again. Even in Quidditch, he wasn't anywhere near the best on the team. Oh, he was good, of course, but he wasn't nearly the best. Maybe... maybe that was it? That almost had to be it.

Malfoys bow their head for no one.

Draco wasn't even entirely sure what to think about this one. It wasn't true. It was so painfully obviously not true that it hurt Draco to even think about it. Malfoys had to bow their head to somebody, because otherwise how else could they be the faithful followers of the Dark Lord? But it didn't matter. Draco was confident in the fact that this was not the rule he had broken. The only person he'd bowed his head for recently was the Dark Lord himself, and Draco knew that couldn't be against the rules. After all, his father himself did it.

So what was the answer to the question?

"Did you have any thoughts, son?" his father asked, his voice the dangerous soft and silky that made Draco shiver in fear. "Which rule have you broken that's landed you before me today?"

Draco wasn't sure. He really wasn't. But... there really was only the one viable option. So, with a confidence he didn't quite feel, Draco stated, "A Malfoy is the best at everything they do."

His father let his breath out in a disappointed hiss of air that made Draco cringe. "Draco, Draco, Draco, whatever shall I do with you? Have you not memorized the rules?" his father asked in a chiding tone. "Recite them for me."

Urgently, Draco went through the list of rules aloud. They were stark and uncompromising, just like his father. But his father did this only to help make him a better person. It wasn't as though his father enjoyed this sort of thing. It wasn't. His father was only trying to help him.

"Draco, my dearest Draco, our ancestors are rolling in their graves. You've forgotten the most important rule that a Malfoy must follow," his father said in a pitying tone. "Quickly now, daft child, can you remember what you've forgotten?"

Draco desperately searched his memory. There was no getting out of his punishment, of course, there was nothing he could do to stop the pain that was coming in his direction, but maybe if he was lucky he could remember that which he'd forgotten and perhaps mitigate it a bit?

"Time's up," his father said flatly. "You've disappointed me, child," his father said, and Draco felt the touch his father's fingertips against his cheek as his head was lifted. "The rule," his father said, his face getting very close to Draco's own, "is that a Malfoy must always honor his ancestors. And you've forgotten them in your behavior today. You've brought shame down upon the Malfoy name with your ridiculous insistence on making an ally of the Weasley spawn. I'm afraid, Draco, that I must correct you once more."

Draco had only a moment to consider that he'd never heard that rule in his life when the pain hit him. And hit him again, and again, until he was a shaking, weeping wreck on the floor. He tried his hardest to get his breath back, to stop sobbing so helplessly in the lull between curses, and managed to draw himself back to his knees.

He chanced a look up at his father and found his father's face joyous, rapturous even. It was disturbing, and made even more so when his father chuckled a bit and said quietly, "And oh, look, there's another rule you cannot seem to get right. A Malfoy does not cry, Draco," he said, his tone still silky and now oddly thick with something that Draco had never heard before.

"I didn't... you never taught me that," Draco whispered, his voice a shaky and sodden wreck. His tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth, and his throat felt like sandpaper when he dared to speak. But his father had never told him either of the rules he was accusing Draco of breaking today. How could Draco expect to follow rules he didn't know existed? That was... that was insane! But, even more importantly, even if it was a rule, "And even if you had, Father, I haven't dishonored my ancestors in any way today," Draco said, his voice a little bit more clear now that a few seconds had passed and he'd caught his breath.

"Oh, so now you dare to tell me that I'm wrong? Draco, darling, you should know by now that a Malfoy does not question their betters," his father said, and now his tone wasn't silky. It was eager, filled with something that made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end, and he had only a moment to consider that maybe Harry was right, maybe his father didn't have his best interests at heart, when he heard his father snarl out a gleeful, "Crucio!" once more.

And then Draco's pain was so great that he knew nothing more at all.

ooOOooOOoo

When Draco woke once more, he was in his bed in his room and his entire body ached terribly. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but that didn't mean that he was by any means used to it. How could anyone get used to feeling as though their very nerves were on fire?

"Are you alright?" came Harry's soft, calm voice from his bedside. Draco would have recognized Harry's voice anywhere, he thought blearily, no matter what he'd been through. Harry just had one of those easily recognized voices, of course. There certainly wasn't anything to read into that thought.

"Never better," Draco whispered, though his voice was harsh from the screaming he'd done while under his father's hand. He had to close his eyes, then, as the memory of the look on his father's face rushed back to him. His father had been... his father had been happy to be able to punish him. To be able to... torture him.

"Liar," Harry said with a soft chuckle. "Draco, I wish that..." his friend trailed off, then and Draco turned to see a look of utter irritation on his friend's face before Harry visibly fought it down. "I wish that you'd let me help you."

Draco let out a small sigh of his own and reached out, hesitantly, to take Harry's hand. "I wish that I'd let you help me, too," he confessed, his hand spasming on Harry's, clenching the other's fingers tightly.

Harry's bright green eyes darted up and he suddenly looked far older than his years. "When you're ready," Harry said softly, quietly, those green eyes going red around the edges in what should have been terrifying but was really only comforting to Draco. "When you're ready, I swear, I'll end him for you."

Draco closed his eyes and tried his hardest not to cry. He'd never had a friend like Harry. Not just in that Harry had the soul of the Dark Lord inside of him, but in that Harry was so very loyal. Draco had no doubt that Harry would do just that when the time was right, and Draco was entirely unsure whether he was comforted or disturbed by the knowledge. He supposed that probably meant that he wasn't ready. But...

"You were right, you know," Draco whispered. He had to clear his throat a few times, and Harry handed him a half-full glass of water. Even with it only being halfway filled, Draco's hands shook so badly that it still very nearly sloshed over the side when he tipped it to take a few desperate gulps.

"I'm always right. It's a failing," Harry said softly, lightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

It worked, at least a little bit, and Draco hesitantly offered him a smile. "He doesn't really have my best interests at heart," he confessed, and it hurt him so much to say those words aloud.

"Like I said: Just say the words," Harry said easily, though his fingers tightened on Draco's own.

Draco simply closed his eyes. He couldn't say the words just yet; he was in no way ready to try. But for the first time ever, it seemed like maybe someday he would have to say the words. And maybe on that day it wouldn't be nearly so hard to say them as he'd always thought it would be. Maybe there was a part of him that would enjoy seeing his father die as much as his father had enjoyed torturing him.

And didn't that make him every bit as bad as his father?

ooOOooOOoo

With both Draco and Harry off visiting the Malfoys, Ron's Christmas morning was quiet and calm. Especially considering that neither Theo nor Blaise had stayed, leaving Ron entirely alone in his dorm. It was nice in some ways, but in others it was disconcerting to be alone in the dorm.

He frowned at his pile of Christmas presents. It was small, of course. Being a Weasley generally meant that the other Slytherins were hesitant to approach him in friendship, thus, he was entirely unsurprised to not receive gifts from his yearmates for his second Christmas as a Slytherin. But... there was an extra gift there, other than the ones from Harry and Draco and presumably his parents.

He wondered who could have sent to him, then shrugged, hopped out of bed, and settled on the floor by his presents. He'd find out soon enough, of course. He opened the one from his parents, first, and frowned. There was the traditional Weasley family sweater, of course, and there was a note attached. A part of Ron sort of wanted to tear the note up before he even read it, but he knew that wasn't necessarily a wise idea. Yes, he was young and as such he could get away with a little bit of impulsive rashness for now, but the time was approaching when that wouldn't work. So it was better not to get into the habit of indulging his impulses now, wasn't it? Especially if he was headed in the direction that he was pretty sure he was headed in. The Dark Lord did not reward impulsiveness. And Ron had already decided that if he actually was headed towards being a Death Eater, he wasn't going to do something stupid and get himself tortured to death. No, he'd be the best Death Eater there ever was.

So, as reluctant as he was to read the letter from his parents, Ron opened the envelope and pulled the letter out.

Dear Ron,

Your mother and I are beginning to grow concerned with reports we're hearing from your siblings. We understand that last year you didn't have much time to spend with them, and certainly with you on the house Quidditch team this year we didn't expect you to have any more free time, but your sister has mentioned that you were rather cruel to her when she approached you for some help with her own Quidditch skills.

Ron, we didn't raise you to behave in this way. Once again, we'd like to insist that you cease associating with the Malfoy brat and begin making friends more appropriate to your status as a Weasley. We cannot compromise our family honor, Ron, and both your mother and I believe that you know that by now. We have good reason for continuing our feud with the Malfoys and for you to continue associating with the Malfoy spawn flies in the face of all that we have taught you.

We hope to hear more favorable reports from your siblings soon. Until we do, we'll be cutting off the allowance we've been sending. If you will not behave as expected of a Weasley, you will not receive the things you are due as a Weasley. Please, son, don't force this issue.

With all of our love,

Your parents

Ron closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the paper up and throw it back in his sister's face. He wanted... he wanted to do a lot of things, and none of those things would be wise. They wouldn't get him anywhere. So, with exaggerated calm, he settled the paper on the floor next to him and moved on to the gift from Harry.

Harry's gift to him was a peculiar one. It was a wand holster with a myriad of charms on them, most of which Ron had no idea what they meant or what they were for. It was a lovely gift, but oddly impersonal. Ron wondered if he'd done something to offend Harry, but then he found a note attached.

Ron,

I know that this really isn't much compared to what I gave you last year, so I'm going to go ahead and level with you if I may. I've had quite a lot on my mind for these past few weeks, so I kind of forgot about Christmas. But this is a practical gift, and what I intend to give you over the summer is even more so. I know that you use an old family wand, and I wanted to do something about that. But I can't actually purchase you a new wand without you being present, so consider the holster a somewhat useful placeholder until I can get you out to Diagon Alley with me.

Merry Christmas,

Harry

Ron smiled. Harry was... something else, certainly. He'd never expected when he'd come to Hogwarts that he'd meet Harry Potter, or that he would be so... so very different from the way that Ron had always imagined him to be. But no matter how different from how Ron had expected him to be, no matter how much friction his very presence was causing between him and his family, Ron was so fiercely glad that he'd made friends with Harry. Because Harry was absolutely fantastic.

Draco's gift, too, contained a note. It was a similar transporter to the one he'd used last year, and Ron suspected that Draco had pretty much done the same thing that he'd done last year. But he didn't want to tap the disk without reading the note, if only because that would be rude. Besides, what if it turned out that wasn't what Draco had done?

Weasley,

I suppose I'm fortunate that we're all so young as it makes Christmas shopping for both you and Harry perpetually easy. My gift is much like the one I gave you last year, save that the sizes are larger. Please, by all means, keep growing. It makes Christmas infinitely easier.

Merry Christmas, Draco.

Ron smiled and tapped the transporter. As had happened last year, his bed was quite suddenly buried under a mountain of clothing. He would sort it all out later. For now, there was still the very peculiar and mysterious fourth gift to open. He was much more cautious with this one, considering the options available for the gifter to be. Of course, if the gift was a twisted prank from the twins, Ron was pretty sure that there wasn't much he could do to avoid the prank other than not opening the gift.

Tentatively, hesitantly, he opened the small box and hoped that whatever it was, if it was from the twins, it wouldn't be painful. Then again, their pranks were generally less painful and more entertaining. When their victim wasn't a Slytherin who had gotten them a Howler in his first year at Hogwarts. But no, there was no note with the gift, unless the note was in the small box. But... no.

The box was empty save for a softly cushioned locket in what looked like Slytherin silver with an emerald snake on the front. Ron stared down at it, frozen. Further, hesitant examination of the locket revealed that it was not silver, but was in fact white gold of the highest quality, and the serpent was actually made of several different precious stones, all in varying shades of green. He didn't know enough about them to know for sure which stones were which.

He'd never expected... never anticipated... who had sent this? It was... he let his breath out in a soft, startled sigh. He could be wrong, of course. He could be making a big deal out of nothing. He had to be making a big deal out of nothing. He reached out, hesitantly, and touched the locket. Immediately he was enveloped with a feeling of warmth and affection and he closed his eyes as he forced himself to withdraw his hands. This was the first step in a traditional Pureblood Courtship. He was... he was twelve years old, for Merlin's sake, who was Courting him? And then he took a deep breath and let it out because, yeah, that was the earliest a Courtship could begin. Somebody was just getting in on the ground floor, as it were. Somebody out there had seen that he had potential.

The options were few and far between, of course, for all that whoever this was intended to remain anonymous. There were only so many Purebloods that would bother to Court a Weasley, even if he was currently very far out of favor with his family. For that matter, these days, there were only so many Purebloods that bothered with formal Courtships to begin with. Ron wasn't even entirely sure he knew all the rules of Courtship. It certainly wasn't something his parents had ever taught him.

There was one thing that he knew, however. Accepting this first gift, wearing it in public, indicated only a willingness to consider the Courtship. There would be several more steps involved before Ron had to worry about locking himself into anything. So there wasn't any harm in wearing the locket. But... did he really want to do this? Somehow he knew that his parents would never approve of a formal Courtship.

What they didn't know wouldn't hurt him. With little more deliberation, Ron placed the locket around his neck. It was a trifle girly, but that was the first step in Courtship for you. It was always some form of jewelry, the more expensive indicated a higher favor, and it always contained charms that would let the person touching it know of the Suitor's regard for their Intended. If he ever fell out of favor, the locket would let him know.

His stomach growled, then, reminding Ron that he hadn't eaten anything yet today. That thought in mind, he made his way down to the nearly-empty Great Hall to eat something before he fainted from hunger. He was, after all, as Draco was fond of pointing out, a growing boy. And he ate quite a lot.

ooOOooOOoo

It was after Christmas dinner when Fred and George approached him. "Why don't you-"

"-come with us?" they asked, and Ron's arms were grabbed before he had a chance to protest. Ron didn't particularly want to go with them, but a glance at the Head Table showed only fond smiles of indulgence from the teachers. Ron supposed he could have kicked up a fuss, but it wasn't worth all that. Not really. They wouldn't dare to hurt him when all of the Professors had seen them leave the Great Hall together.

Ron found himself shortly thereafter in the library, all four of his siblings present at Hogwarts present in the library as well. "What's up?" he asked casually. He shoved his hands in his pockets and thanked Merlin that he'd had the foresight to tuck his new locket under his shirt. That would be just one less thing for them to hassle him about.

"Our parents wanted us to try and spend more time with you, Ron," Percy said stiffly. "They seem to be concerned that you're falling to some more unsavory influences."

Ron let out a small sigh. "Unsavory influences that bring me to do things like running to Mum and Dad because my best friend isn't willing to give you the time of day?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in Ginny's direction.

She had the grace to flush. "It wasn't that Harry wasn't willing to talk to me, it was that you weren't helpful at all! You could have at least said something nice in my defense!" she protested with a toss of her long hair.

Ron shook his head. "If you think that a good word from me sways Harry on anything then you're out of your mind," he said quietly. "Harry makes his own opinions, he always has. And honestly, why should I tell him to teach you about Quidditch when you're going to wind up on the rival team?" That was actually a blatant lie. He was pretty sure that if he'd asked, Harry would have been... well, he wouldn't have been happy, but he probably would have lended Ginny a few moments. The thing was, Ron hadn't been about to ask.

"It would just be for fun!" Ginny protested.

"Whatever," Ron shot back, done with the conversation. "And for the rest of you, well, I find it fascinating that none of you have bothered to say anything to me before now." He spoke quietly and calmly, forcing his temper down. He wanted to yell, to scream, to accuse them of not caring about him at all, of being willing to sacrifice him in exactly the same way that his parents were. But it wouldn't do any good, so he bit his lip.

"We haven't really apologized for what we did to you last Halloween," one of the twins, Fred, Ron thought, said suddenly.

"We weren't really sure how to do so," George added. "Because Mum and Dad were right. We could have gotten you killed. And we didn't mean to do that. We're sorry, Ron."

"Yeah, really sorry," Fred said softly, "And that's the reason we pulled you out of the Great Hall. Not because Mum and Dad are demanding that we talk to you or anything stupid like that, but because we owed you an apology."

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. "Apology accepted," Ron said softly, graciously. He could afford to be gracious, after all. He'd just gotten what he wanted from them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some studying to do. So it's just as well that you brought me to the library."

"You're going to study on Christmas day?" Percy asked, shocked.

Ron smiled mirthlessly. "I'm fifth in my class, Percy. I'd like to maintain that rank as much as I can, and it isn't easy. Not to mention I was given a Christmas gift that requires a bit of research. So if you'll excuse me?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question as he brushed by his brothers and headed further into the library.

Neither his brothers nor his sister followed him further in.

ooOOooOOoo

One of the books was missing from his office. He wasn't entirely sure which one as he hadn't yet had time to catalogue the tomes within his office, but he knew that one of them was missing. A ward had been tripped twice, and no more, which meant that whomever had managed to sneak into his office had found whatever it was that they were looking for. He did know that it wasn't one of his gadgets that had been taken; he'd gone through all of them quite swiftly. After all, he had some very dangerous toys in his care.

Albus let out a small sigh. On top of that, three of his students had been Petrified this year and he was no closer with these two new victims to figuring it out than he had been before they'd been Petrified in the first place. Obviously whoever was responsible had found their way into the Chamber of Secrets and had unleashed the basilisk once more, but Albus was still nowhere near figuring out where the Chamber was hidden within Hogwarts. It was most frustrating.

And on top of all of that, Harry was with the Malfoys again. He knew that it wasn't the boy's fault that he'd fallen in with such a bad crowd, but Albus just couldn't understand the appeal of Draco Malfoy to the boy. They should be at each other's throats, not spending holidays at each other's houses. Although, to be perfectly fair, he doubted that Draco had visited the Dursley house at any point in time. But still... Draco should have been busy sneering at Harry's hand-me-downs, not purchasing him an entire new wardrobe. It was utterly infuriating.

Where had he gone wrong with the boy? If he could only figure that out, things would be so much better!

And then, of course, to top off his miserable year, the Board of Governors was making an inquiry into the three Petrified students. There was concern that somehow Hagrid was responsible, and while Albus had managed to quiet the grumblings he wasn't entirely certain that he would be able to should the basilisk strike again.

The entire mess smelled foul to Albus. Somebody was trying to lead him on a wild chase and he had his suspicions that it was Voldemort himself. He certainly hoped that the Dark Lord had no true supporters within Hogwarts. He was confident in his teaching staff, and relatively confident that none of his students now bore the Dark Mark.

There was nothing to be done for it now, he supposed. The castle was quiet and whoever was behind the attacks, if they were even still at the school for Christmas, would no doubt not strike while there were so few students available to take the blame.

He would just have to try and figure the whole mess out once the majority of the student body returned, that was all.

A/N (Mark Two): Guys (and girls), let me begin with a sincere apology. I had no idea how hard it would be to juggle college and work and life when the schoolwork really got going. And then there was this hurricane, and work being unreasonable, and it all sort of got away from me. It didn't help that we're right in the middle of my least favorite part of Book One, which is the transition period. But, NaNoWriMo revitalized me, and I've got six chapters written. Granted, they were written during NaNo so there might be some lingering imperfections, so I'll be posting them probably once a week while I get them nice and shiny for you all.

We're headed for exciting times in Heir, as you may or may not be able to tell, and I hope that you all enjoy the way we're going. I look forward to hearing from you all once more, and again, I apologize for waiting so long with this update.