Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here is not part of J.K. Rowling's story canon (which is far better than anything I could write). I'm only borrowing some of her characters to practice fiction writing. The fanfiction story of Becoming Draco Malfoy is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.
Rating: T. This story is for teens and older. There will be some violence and adult themes, though mostly allusions to them, nothing graphic. Be warned the MC of this story will do some very immoral things in his effort to defeat Tom Riddle.
Parings: Undecided as to the main character, as he starts out in an eleven year old body. It will be years before that is an issue. For the non-main character (aka the younger) Harry Potter it will eventually be H/Hr. I don't write harem or slash.
MC: Harry Potter (35+ year old time traveler) possessing Draco Malfoy's body.
AN #1: Riddle's Son is my main story and I intend to continue updating it, if only to keep my daughter happy. Since that's over 100,000 words after only six weeks, it shouldn't suffer. I'm writing this one as I need the occasional break from the collection of psychopaths and sociopaths that currently populate Riddle's Son. This story is not connected to the Riddle's Son AU.
HPDM HPDM HPDM
Wiltshire, England, Malfoy Manor, March 20, 1991
Draco Malfoy generally enjoyed deep, untroubled sleep. His room was dark and cool. His bed and blankets were comfortable. His bedroom was designed to allow a hyperactive boy to fall asleep without much problem.
He was exhausted after a long day of practicing seeker drills on his family's private quidditch pitch. He dreamed of playing for the Chudley Cannons someday, and leading them to the league championship. He knew that meant practice and even more practice.
His shower had helped relax his exhausted muscles. There was absolutely nothing preventing him from falling into a long, deep sleep.
But this evening of the spring equinox, his skin itched. Not literally. It was more a prickling sensation in his head that was slowly spreading over his entire body. Worse, he was beginning to feel a sense of dread. Something was wrong.
Draco abruptly stopped his tossing and turning. He opened his eyes and checked the clock. It was almost midnight.
Fluffing his pillow and adjusting his blankets was not working. Though he hated to do it, he was almost eleven after all, he thought it time to get his mother. She would take care of it. She always did.
He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his four poster bed. Before he could stand, his body seized and began to convulse. He was unconscious before he hit his mattress. He never heard the portrait of his great grandmother sound the alarm.
HPDM HPDM HPDM
Harry Potter felt his mind spin, a chaotic tumble of motion and color. He was sweating but felt cold. His muscles spasmed. He couldn't control his body. His stomach was nauseous. He retched.
"It is a case of ague, Lady Malfoy," he dimly heard a male voice say at the end of the tunnel. "It doesn't appear to be too serious. His body is healthy despite appearances. His magic is attacking his body, leading to the symptoms. It's not uncommon in developing young wizards. Body and magic are just trying to find a new balance. He should be fine with a few days bed rest."
"Can anything be done?" A woman's voice asked, sounding deeply concerned. A gentle hand rested on his brow trying to provide him some comfort. A spell was muttered and the mess on his body and bed vanished. He felt cleaner, cooler.
"A potion using a base of ashwinder eggs is a known cure. I don't recommend it except in the most extreme cases. Any defect in the potion can cause the death of the patient. This is not an extreme case. Rest is the safe cure."
Harry tried to keep his attention on the conversation, but his focus slipped. Another's consciousness intruded, seeking the words of the woman. He pushed back, hard. It retreated back into the dim depths of the mind.
It felt as if his head was splitting open. He moaned, then bit his tongue in an effort to remain silent. This was the dangerous part. He needed to collect his wits. He must have done something wrong as the salty, hot taste of blood flooded his mouth. He convulsed again as he dimly heard Narcissa Malfoy scream. Then everything went dark.
Eventually his consciousness recovered. He was standing in the Gryffindor common room. It seemed empty. His mindscape, he realized.
This was the center of his conscious mind, the space he created once he finally, after years of effort, mastered the basics of Occlumency. He had been handicapped by the chaotic nature of his mind and his magical aptitudes. He had learned early on that he performed best when relying on emotion based magic. That sort of magic did not lend itself to Occlumency.
Every advance had taken a huge amount of time and effort. It was only with Hermione's help had he managed it, step by painful step. Without her, he would not have come near so far.
His mindscape was not as clear as it usually was. The colors seemed muted, the outline of objects blurred. He looked around, searching. The tower window which looked out across the sky was no longer clear, but glazed. The clouds, which he used to house his most private memories, were distant and dark.
The common room was a decoy, but one he made sure to set at the center of his thoughts. The books on the shelves and tables were traps for the unwary, filled with his experiences suffering under the Cruciatus Curse and other extremely painful memories. Further traps were scattered about the castle. Not many would search the sky and the clouds, the place Harry felt most comfortable.
He looked around, spreading his senses. Outside the common room door he felt something. He approached, passing by a mirror. He saw himself. A heavily scarred, almost forty year old man, whose many wounds, stress lines, and prematurely greying hair made appear far older. He turned away and stepped out of the common room.
He found the boy he was here to kill hundled on the floor outside. That portion of his mindscape that was Hogwarts Castle was dark and blurred. This must be the point where his consciousness and Draco's connected.
The boy noticed him. He looked to be about the age he first met him at Madam Malkin's all those years ago.
Hermione's Arithmancy was on point again, he thought with a flash of love and pride. He brutally suppressed the tendril of guilt that wormed its way into his heart.
"Help me," the boy gasped, bent over on his knees in pain. He was moaning as he rocked back and forth. Tears streaked his face.
He looked hurt and innocent. A child. He was nothing like the man who had financed, albeit unwillingly, the Fourth Blood War. The war that had ultimately claimed his Hermione's life.
Harry sat next to him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. The contact provided some comfort for the boy. It also made what he was about to do much easier.
"It's alright," he said quietly, doing his best to sound comforting. "I can fix this. Look into my eyes and I'll make the pain go away."
This was not the adult Draco Malfoy. Not even the teenager. Both would have been too distrusting and too experienced ever to make eye contact with someone in their mind space.
The boy's lack of experience was fortunate. Harry was a poor Legilimens. He would have great difficulty forcing a connection with anyone who was even partially on guard. One of the many reasons this time and this method was chosen.
Draco turned to face him, his face alight with hope. As soon as he made eye contact, Harry struck. He cut through the boy's mind, seizing and devouring his memories. He severed the boy's connection between his consciousness, his soul, to his own body and expelled it into the ether.
With the speed of thought, Draco Malfoy was dead. Harry Potter slept deeply as he absorbed the memories of the boy he had just murdered.
Malfoy Manor, March 29, 1991
Harry Potter awoke to a darkened room. The clock on the wall was antiquated, keeping time via a pendulum which ticked quietly back and forth. According to the clock, the time was three hours after midnight.
He opened his eyes, Draco's eyes, and took stock. He flexed his fingers and toes. Shrugged and rolled his shoulders. Turned his head back and forth. There was no pain, no discomfort, and no hesitation between thought and motion. He smiled.
The room he was in was smaller than anticipated. He had always envisioned the younger Malfoy's room as being grand and palatial. While not palatial, it was fairly grand, with hardwood floors, stone walls, and rich tapestries hanging down to trap heat.
The bed he was lying in was large, four postered and immensely comfortable. A large desk flanked by bookshelves was located along one wall, with shelves and a chest full of toys were lined along the other. A broom hung from a wall above a chest, surrounded by Quidditch posters.
Occupying a chair next to the bed, sleeping, was Narcissa Malfoy. She looked exhausted and haggard. Knowing her, she probably had been sitting there for however long he was unconscious.
Harry collected his thoughts. His relationship with Narcissa was complicated at best. She had saved his life, once. He, in turn, had saved her husband and Draco from Azkaban. He bitterly regretted that mercy.
Showing mercy to Narcissa, on the other hand, he did not regret. He had admired her steadfast determination to protect her family, despite the machinations of her husband and the weakness of her son. Her failure did not in any way lessen the respect he had for her.
When they had finally killed Voldemort for the last time (he hoped) following the Fourth Blood War, he had used his considerable influence to keep her out of Azkaban. While he could not stop her from being tried and convicted, he did ensure that she was spared the horrors of the dementors. Too many had died and there was too much rage for even Harry Potter to save someone from the wrath of the Wizengamot. Instead, he had arranged for her to occupy a Ministry holding cell for over two years. During that time, Harry had taken to having his lunch with her on a daily basis.
She had been a brilliant and informative conversationalist. It didn't hurt that all reports agreed he had tried to save Draco and his family, again, at the last battle. That was before he became aware of just how much of Voldemort's war funding had come out of the Malfoy vaults. If he had known, he would not have made the effort.
He had been surprised to learn that he and Narcissa were third cousins. She and the rest of the Blacks were the closest family he had alive in wizarding Britain. Something else Dumbledore had kept from him, he thought bitterly.
He wondered how she would react if she found out how well he had repaid her faith. Not well, he was sure. And like her sisters, she was a skilled and powerful witch, with a murderous temper to match.
Not wanting to tempt fate, he made sure his Occlumency shields were up as he projected a sense of weariness.
"Mother," he said quietly. He was surprised how naturally the word felt coming passing his lips.
It was a shock to realize that he did feel as if Narcissa Malfoy was a mother figure to him. She had saved his life during the Second Blood War and provided invaluable advice afterward, through and including her time incarcerated.
Lying here, with her son's memories crowding and merging with his own, it was hard separating the emotions he felt toward his real mother, Lily, and Narcissa. Keeping his thoughts separate was made even more difficult as Narcissa had spent far more time actually mothering Harry.
On an emotional level, it was obvious he was confusing the two. He suspected that he had been subconsciously mixing them long before now.
The only person who might have otherwise filled that role, Molly Weasley, had stopped talking to him after his breakup with Ginny and Hermione's with Ron. Those breakups only exacerbated the sense of loss the Weasley matron had felt after the deaths of Percy and the twins at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Arthur's guarding the Department of Mysteries.
The Weasley family had suffered greatly. Harry did not blame Molly from pulling away and focusing her attention on her surviving children and grandchildren.
"Draco," Narcissa murmured as she slowly woke up. Seeing her son looking at her while propped up in bed, she launched herself out of her chair and wrapped him in her arms.
"Draco!" She exclaimed again. Her hugs were as overwhelming as Molly Weasley's and that's saying something, he thought.
"Mother, please. You're choking me," he half joked.
She released him and immediately put the back of her hand to his forehead. "Better," she muttered. "No fever. We'll get the Healer in to see you first thing in the morning."
Harry knew exactly what Draco would do in these circumstances, he rolled his eyes and pouted. "I don't need a Healer, mother. I'm fine."
She looked at him skeptically. "Really?" She asked. "You've been unconscious for days and have just woken up and you want me to believe you're fine?"
Harry sighed as he crossed his arms. He wondered how long he'd have to play the role of petulant child, even as he was surprised how naturally it came. He resolved to demonstrate a change in behaviors as soon as he could reasonably do so without drawing attention.
"I could eat," he admitted as his stomach rumbled.
Narcissa smiled. "Something light then, until the Healer approves something heavier." She fixed her hair and smoothed out her dress. "Dobby!"
That was something else Narcissa was in the habit of doing, he remembered. He wasn't sure if it was Draco's memory or his own. She never liked anyone seeing her less than perfectly groomed. It didn't matter whether she was meeting a house-elf or the Minister of Magic. Narcissa Malfoy always looked her best.
The elf popped into existence at Harry's bedside. Danger number three, he thought grimly.
Despite Hermione's assurances, he was apprehensive. Too much hinged on his success. His apprehension was at odds with his joy at seeing his first elf friend as he stood next to his bed. He tried to suppress both emotions.
Dobby kept his head low as he received instructions from his master's wife, before popping away again. He did not appear to notice the change in his master.
Hermione thought that would be the case. House-elves bound themselves to their owner's magic. The ritual used only sent Harry's soul, his consciousness back, not his body and not his magic. Magically, he should be indistinguishable from Draco Malfoy, just as he was physically.
In a few minutes, Dobby returned with a tray containing cut bananas and apples, and buttered toast. A pitcher of cold water stood next to the plate. He devoured it. The food, simple as it was, was delicious.
Narcissa fussed over him a bit longer, questioning him on a variety of symptoms. She appeared satisfied with his answers and eventually he passed into sleep again. His last thought was he could get used to this as she pulled the covers tight around him and kissed his forehead.
The next several days passed in a blur of activity. The morning after he woke, the Healer visited and pronounced him fully recovered from his bout of ague. The Healer reminded his parents that they should see a slight maturing of his magic and requested they firecall him if there were any recurrence of symptoms.
While Narcissa was a constant presence, Lucius visited only once. Much as Narcissa had described in his prior life, confirmed by Draco's memories, he was a distant father.
Lucius definitely loved Draco, but he was not hands on. He'd rather spend his time managing his investments, bribing politicians, drinking whiskey with his acquaintances, or concealing his mistresses from Narcissa. His idea of parenting was limited to buying Draco whatever it was he asked for, within reason. For a Malfoy what was within reason was a far stretch.
The only demand that Draco recalled him refusing was Draco's plea that he buy the Chudley Cannons, after placing last in the league. Again. Harry wondered what Ron would think if he knew that he and Draco shared an admiration for the worst team in British Quidditch, and possibly all of Europe.
Regardless, Harry was firmly on Lucius Malfoy's side on that single issue. The Cannons were terrible.
But Lucius' emotional distance from Draco made things a bit easier. Harry was going to have to get rid of his father sooner, rather than later, to take full advantage of the plan.
The day after he woke, he was allowed out of bed. A week asleep had atrophied his muscles a bit so he was careful when he walked. Dobby was always present when he took the stairs, which he did constantly in an effort to regain, or gain considering how reedy Draco was, muscle mass.
The house-elf showed no signs of recognizing Harry or that Draco was for all intents of purposes dead. Harry took advantage of this and tried to do his best to befriend the elf.
Draco's memories showed that he was at best dismissive of Dobby and, at worse, abusive. A habit shared by Lucius Malfoy. Despite Harry's best efforts, Dobby refused to address him as anything other than "Little Master" or "Master Draco".
After walking the stairs, with an eye toward someday running them as part of a daily routine, up and down all four floors of Malfoy Manor seven times in a row, Harry sat in a crumpled heap at the ground floor. He tried some easy stretches despite his body's complaints as he slowly regained control of his breathing.
Once he recovered, he asked Dobby, "Where does father keep the spare wands?"
The elf's eyes narrowed, even as he lowered his head submissively. "Why does Little Master be needing to know?"
"I want to practice some of the wand movements from the old textbooks in the library," he replied honestly.
"Dobby can't be answering that," the diminutive elf with overly large ears responded. His ears drooped. "Dobby will punish himself."
Dobby raised his fingers to pop away. Harry yelled, "Stop!" As he saw the elf freeze, he relaxed. "Dobby, stop," he continued in a quieter tone. "I command you not to punish yourself without first checking with me. I'll decide whether you need punishment or not. If you do I will decide what punishment you will receive. Not you. Do you understand?"
Dobby nodded his head frantically. "Yes, Master Draco. Dobby understands. Should Dobby punish himself for not telling Little Master where the wands are hidden?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "You told me the truth. That's good enough." As Dobby's eyes widened, Harry continued. "Take me to mother. I'll ask her."
Harry found Narcissa in the back garden. She was sipping on lemonade and reading a book, under the shade of an oversized umbrella. The overcast weather hardly justified the umbrella. He couldn't make out the title of the book.
"Mother," he began. "I would like a wand to practice with before visiting Ollivander's. I don't want to embarrass the family when I attend Hogwarts and need some practice if I am to start ahead of my peers."
Narcissa arched an eyebrow at him as she placed a bookmark in the book and closed it. "You are already ahead of your peers, Draco. You've read the magical theory texts and have been practicing potions, have you not?"
Harry refused to drop his head as he knew Draco would refuse. Draco's only real skill that Harry could recall was projecting arrogance. He channeled that skill now.
While Draco had browsed through the texts, he had not read them. Harry had, however. He also had been practicing the few beginner potions that Snape had coached him through a few months before.
It was all very basic, and well within his capabilities. He probably could have safely ignored additional practice, and instead relied on his past memories. Even in his past life, he wasn't too poor at potions, though his strength was in the wanded subjects.
But he read and practiced anyway. The voices of many instructors were a constant mental whisper that the fundamentals decided who lived and who died. This was a chance of improving one of his personal weaknesses and he intended to take it.
He'd be able to whip up an Outstanding on the Cure for Boils potion that Snape started his class on. Hurray for me, he thought wryly. The almost forty year old wizard can outperform those three decades his junior.
"Yes, mother. I'm hoping to get ahead on my wand work. I've looked at the wand motion and incantation for the Lumos spell and wanted to try that. It's a beginner spell and I think I can do it."
Narcissa contemplated him for a moment. Making a decision, she pulled her wand from her sleeve and handed it to Harry.
"Show me," she demanded. The wand she handed him appeared to be mahogany, roughly ten inches in length.
Harry closed his eyes and focused on the magic coursing through his body. Unlike his childhood, he now understood magic as a living entity and was able to feel it around him. Just outside of Narcissa's lawn chair was a small ward, designed to repel insects and the peacocks that Lucius insisted wander the grounds.
His current problem was threefold. He was not used to this wand and had no clue if it would accept him. That meant he did not know how much power to run through it. Finally, he did not have a complete feel for Draco's magic yet.
Harry Potter at almost age forty was a magical juggernaut. Draco Malfoy at age eleven was not. While Harry's original body was gifted in the use of magic, more so than Draco at a similar age, that did not make him strong. Magic was like a muscle. It needed to grow and be exercised. A lazy but talented wizard was almost always beaten by a less talented but harder working wizard.
He had spent a portion of the last few days mediating and circulating the power, drawing it in and then releasing it. He needed to become accustomed to Draco's magic and fully integrate it into his consciousness. Internal energy practice was a good first step, but casting, expelling focused magic, was critical if he was to become completely comfortable in this body.
While he could exercise Draco's magic to a small degree, he dared not cast. The Malfoys had a dozen elves on staff and portraits were a constant presence. There was no privacy within Malfoy Manor.
Draco's great grandmother, Irma Crabbe, hung on the wall in his bedroom. It was she who had alerted Narcissa to Draco's collapse almost two weeks ago.
And while his previous self could cast a handful of spells wandlessly, he didn't think Draco's current power would allow for him to duplicate those feats. Yet. Not to mention that wandless casting would doubtless give rise to questions he could not answer.
Better spend a year or two in Hogwarts before showing any special talents. The passage of time would provide him sufficient alibi if his talents were discovered.
Looking at his mother's wand, he decided what to do. Too little power, and Narcissa would think he was bragging. That meant no wand until July 31st. Too much might alert her to a problem, if he showed unusual strength. A strength he truly didn't have at the moment. He only had eleven year old Draco's magical muscles.
But he did have a far superior connection to magic, as his internal exercises were far beyond what Draco could have accomplished in a similar time. He decided to split the difference.
"Lumos," he said quietly as he made a curlicue motion with her wand.
He felt the magic being drawn through his body and out through his focus, his mother's wand. The tip of the wand immediately brightened to a dazzling white light.
"Ha!" Harry shouted with glee. He was fairly sure that Draco would have been proclaiming himself the next Merlin with this result, so a bit of celebration was definitely in character.
"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed. "That's brilliant!"
She reached over and gave her son a hug. Harry leaned into it, suppressing a pang of guilt.
"How long have you been practicing?" His mother asked.
Harry shrugged as he lied. "A couple of weeks before I got sick, I found the incantation and the wand movement in the library. I've been practicing with a stick trying to get the movement right, while visualizing the effect and feeling the pull of magic, just like the textbook says."
Narcissa nodded in approval. She looked contemplative. "We can't get you your own wand until your Hogwarts letter arrives. Also, you are too young to be doing magic unsupervised." She tapped her chin and then appeared to come to a decision. "I'll set aside an hour a day for you to practice. You can use my wand."
Harry stopped himself from pouting. He was a grown man, for Merlin's sake! And he had other projects. An hour of practice a day would both exercise Draco's magic and plant the seed that he was a bit of a prodigy. Hopefully that would be sufficient to cover any slip ups he might make and explain his rapid progress when he returned from Hogwarts after his first year.
"Starting now?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course," she replied indulgently as she took his arm to lead him to the library. "You have not said what you want for your birthday, my little dragon."
He knew exactly what he wanted but he had to provide some cover first. "Father said no to the Chudley Cannons." He tried to inject an aggrieved tone to his voice.
Narcissa Malfoy did not snort. Doing so would be very unladylike. But she did something close as she frowned at her only child. "As well he should. A professional quidditch team is not an appropriate birthday present for an eleven year old." She looked contemplative for a moment. "Though the Cannons could be had for a reasonable price, I'm sure."
They walked in companionable silence. By the time they reached the library, he tested the waters on the gift he really wanted. "Dobby," he said quietly. "I want Dobby."
She looked at him bemusedly. "He's already your personal elf, Draco. I thought you might like the newest racing broom."
Harry shook his head. "My current broom is fast enough, and I'm used to it. It suits me. I want him as my elf, not yours or father's. I want him bonded to me."
She stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why?"
"I'm the heir of the Malfoy fortune. I need to learn to take care of Malfoy property and increase the value of the estate. If I can't take care of an elf, I can't be trusted to manage employees or clients. It's a first step for father giving me more responsibility."
She nodded in approval. "I'll discuss it with your father. Your odds will improve if you are able to cast another charm this afternoon."
Harry smiled. Like taking candy from a baby. He wondered what she'd think of his animagus form. Not that he had sufficient magic to make the transformation. Not yet, anyway.
Diagon Alley, April 23, 1991
Harry discovered that Hermione and Narcissa had something in common. Both preferred shopping on Tuesdays, subscribing to the theory that it was the slowest shopping day of the week. That meant fewer crowds and more personal service.
They were walking toward Twilfitt and Tatting's when he saw Andromeda and Nymphadora "Just Call Me Tonks" Tonks coming from the opposite direction. Narcissa stopped and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Andromeda stopped in front of the shop's front entrance. She stood directly in front of her sister, with her daughter facing Harry.
Harry stepped a half step to the side. The older women's demeanor was reminiscent of old west gunfighters meeting at high noon. He didn't want to be caught in the crossfire. To his surprise, Tonks mirrored his action. Draco's cousin smirked at him when she noticed that he noticed.
"Andy," Narcissa said with some venom. "Fancy meeting you and your half-blood spawn here."
Andromeda's smile was cruel. "Cissy. The Headmaster granted Nymphadora permission to leave Hogwarts to purchase dress robes." She appeared to be oblivious to her daughter's flinch when she said her name. "She has an interview next week with Director Bones. She's on the shortlist for a spot in the Auror Academy, subject to the interview and NEWT scores. A spot she'll win on her own merits, not because daddy used his influence." Her eyes flicked to Harry as if measuring him.
Narcissa sneered. "Draco is already half way through the Standard Book of Spells, Year One. He hasn't even started school yet. He'll be a great wizard, both on his own merit and because his family has kept to proper pureblood traditions. How is your mudblood husband? Still subsisting off of scraps?" Narcissa's voice was filled with scorn.
"Ted's legal practice is doing very well, thank you. We've recently purchased a small vacation cottage in southern France. Again, something we earned through our own merits, not because some inbred ancestor handed him a key to a trust vault," Andromeda replied contemptuously.
At this point both women had eyes only for each other. Each radiated anger and hate. Harry moved over to stand next to Tonks, who had edged even further away from her mother.
He searched Draco's memories and remembered that this meeting and exchange of insults was an annual event, always on the same date and same place. A small child's brain didn't connect the dots, but Harry's did.
"Do they think we don't notice that they're catching up on family news, while pretending to insult each other?" Harry murmured to his cousin as Narcissa simultaneously praised a recent business deal of Lucius' while mocking Andromeda for not advancing past the position of Healer at St. Mungos.
"You aren't as inbred as you look, cousin," she whispered as she looked at him appreciatively. "They miss each other but Aunt Narcissa is forbidden by your father and her parents from having anything to do with mom. So they play this game to get around the rules."
Harry nodded. "I thought so." He turned to fully face Tonks as he said quietly, "I'd offer you my hand and ask you to call me Draco, but I suspect we're being watched. Unlike others, I still consider you family even if I can't say so, like my mother."
He allowed his eyes to grow slightly wet. He remembered Tonks dying at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Andromeda and Teddy's murder during the Third Blood War, so it wasn't hard to summon the tears.
Tonks' eyes softened. "Same, little cousin. Don't let your father's wanker friends turn you into a little death eater. You have potential."
Harry was going to say something when he noticed the two older witches had stopped haranguing each other and were looking at their children. Harry smiled at both of them.
Without looking at his cousin, he loudly said, "And that's why you'll never arise above your station, blood traitor scum!" Even as he spoke he was having difficulty suppressing a smile, which was noticed by both women.
Tonks snorted loudly. "Go crawl to your Dark Lord Master, little death eater! Oh wait, you can't. He was killed by a baby!" Her eyes were laughing as she spoke.
The two sisters looked at each other, both suppressing smiles which they covered with their hands and pretended to cough.
"Draco! Come with me. I don't feel like shopping today, especially in an establishment which caters to this sort," Narcissa proclaimed.
She grabbed Harry's shoulder and spun on her heel, side-along apparating him to Malfoy Manor. Harry's last look at the two Tonks witches showed them with their heads together. Andromeda gave him a small wave, which could be either interpreted as one of goodbye or dismissal. Harry knew which way he'd bet.
Later that night at dinner, Lucius closely questioned Narcissa on her encounter with her sister. Harry noticed that every word she said was true, even if she focused on the exchange of insults and omitted the portions that caught them up on family.
She really was a wonderful actress, he mused. She really sold the aggrieved and now disinterested sister part well.
Malfoy Manor, May 1, 1991
Harry's days at Malfoy Manor had settled down to a set routine over the last month. He went to bed at nine p.m., a habit he'd picked up as an older man. He'd learned a decent night's sleep was always important, a direct result of Voldemort tormenting his dreams for years. Sleep was a precious commodity.
He woke at six a.m., without exception. His parents tended to stay in bed until at least nine in the morning, so it gave him time to take care of his less than Draco-like activities. In this case, his yoga stretches, followed by stair running (in a part of the Manor far from the elder Malfoy's bedroom), followed by more stretches, and ending with practicing his martial forms.
Years of being in life and death situations had taught him that a wizard could never count on always having a wand available. His current circumstances were an excellent example of that. So after the Second Blood War he picked up two muggle martial arts, Eskrima and Muay Thai. The skills he'd learned had saved his life more than once.
He'd been diligent about his morning training ever since. He saw no reason to slack off now.
If time allowed, he engaged in some morning meditation. After training was a quick shower and then breakfast with his parents. That always meant breakfast with Narcissa, though Lucius was sometimes present.
After breakfast, he and his mother would retire to the library for wand practice. At this point, he allowed her to see his ability to weakly cast most of the spells in Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells, Year One. It was a tremendous achievement for one so young which caused her no small amount of pride.
He made sure to channel on a small portion of Draco's power through her wand. He judged it better to show that he could learn quickly, and then diminish the achievement by limiting the power displayed.
After wand practice he practiced potions in the Malfoy laboratory. He carefully read the instructions, including Snape's Basic Potion Safety and Procedures. In his last life, he had no idea that Snape had authored a book. He suspected that knowledge of its existence was limited to Slytherins and certain select Ravenclaws. Much of the advice contained in the Half-Blood Prince's potion book seemed to have made its way into Snape's published book. It was an invaluable guide, including the why, not just the how. Hermione would have killed for it.
He had steadily been making his way through the year one potions curriculum, a task Draco's memories of individual tutoring from Snape made much easier. Surprisingly, Snape was actually a good teacher, if he liked the student. Harry felt bitter, remembering Snape crushing any interest he had in potions the first day of class.
Draco had been taught how, and when, to cut, dice, slice, crush, mince and all the other ways of preparing potion ingredients that Snape never bothered to teach anyone other than to his Slytherin students. It made a tremendous difference in the effectiveness of the potions brewed.
Afterwards he had lunch with his mother. Lucius was never present for lunch. Harry thought that much of Draco's negative behaviors could be traced to his near non-existent relationship with his father. Narcissa was an ever present fixture, her love unconditional, and so Draco took her for granted. Lucius was rarely present, never expressed emotions, and so Draco was desperate for his attention and approval.
He wondered if his old school rival might have grown into a stronger man if his father had spent more time with him. He grew morose, then dismissed the thought as unimportant now.
After lunch, Harry flew, practicing his seeker drills. Narcissa insisted that he fly under the supervision of Dobby. Her own school quidditch career had reinforced how dangerous it could be. He practiced the Wronski Feint over and over for hours, careful to remain over the portion of the quidditch pitch that was charmed to cushion falls.
Many times each day he flew over the roof of the Manor as it was out of sight of elves and portraits. He took advantage of being out of sight and practiced his wandless Stunning Spell mid-flight. It was slowly coming along.
It was one of a half dozen spells he had mastered wandlessly in his past life. It was critical for his plan that this body be able to duplicate his previous abilities, no matter how weakly. He felt he was making good progress, at least enough to create a momentary lapse. Which should be enough for what he had planned.
While he flew and practiced that single wandless spell, Dobby worked on degrading the cushioning charm on one particular corner of the pitch, unobserved by both elf and wizard. He had made considerable progress over the last month in winning Dobby's trust. They had bonded over a mutual appreciation of Harry Potter, protector of the weak, and a desire to save him from the plotting of Bad Master Malfoy.
After flying, it was reading, dinner and more reading with a bit of mediation before he went to bed. He knew both his mother and father were pleased with his work ethic. It was behavior that Draco had not previously demonstrated.
Harry was passing his change in behaviors off as him growing up and trying to live up to the Black and Malfoy family legacies, with a strong competitive streak. He announced he wanted to be top of his class at Hogwarts. Both Narcissa and Lucius lapped it up without question.
Harry was pretending to work on the Mending Charm supervised by his mother when Lucius walked into the library. Narcissa quickly stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Lucius responded with a small, tight smile, but did not look at his wife.
"How is Draco doing?" He asked his wife, his tone neutral. His grey eyes never left Draco's face despite Narcissa, an extraordinarily beautiful woman, hanging off his arm.
His mother beamed at him. "Draco is doing exceptionally well. He's been working on his next to last spell, the Mending Charm. Demonstrate for your father, Draco."
Harry obediently broke the teacup he had been using for practice. He moved his wand ninety degrees to the left, then forty-five degrees back to the right at a downward angle, then forty-five degrees upward at a diagonal angle, then back to the left but parallel with the desk. As he moved his mother's wand, he intoned "Reparo."
The broken tea cup pieces were surrounded by a swirling white light. They gathered themselves together in a manner which reminded Harry of a miniature hurricane though the final product was an undamaged teacup sitting before him.
He allowed the faint echo of Draco's memory to feel pleased with his performance. It allowed him to demonstrate something akin to the emotions the real Draco would evidence.
"Voila!" he proclaimed, pleased with himself.
Lucius looked proud. "That is excellent progress, Draco. You are a credit to the family."
Narcissa had told him that Lucius had been bragging of Draco's accomplishments to any acquaintances who might care to listen. Apparently, he took his son's advanced skills as a testament to the prowess of Malfoy men.
Harry had found this attitude hilarious. He was certain this body would never have the magical power that he'd formerly possessed as Harry Potter.
Not to say that Draco lacked power, far from it. Harry even thought he could develop Draco's potential to a very high standard. But he would never be the Dark Lord's equal in this body.
The years after the Battle of Hogwarts had seen Harry's ability to harness and manipulate magic grow by leaps and bounds. By the time the Third Blood War broke out he was able to go toe to toe with Voldemort. He had truly become the Dark Lord's equal.
Unlike the Second Blood War. During that war he had been nothing more than a slightly above average wizard with a few tricks and a lot of luck. The only reason he survived was the cool intelligence of Hermione Granger. She had set up the ambush which allowed him to strike the Dark Lord from behind. One overpowered Diffindo later saw Voldemort missing his head and the Order of the Phoenix and its Ministry allies celebrating a victory.
A victory that had cost the lives of Tonks, Remus, Percy, the twins, and far too many others. Shacklebolt had declared them acceptable losses one night after too much firewhiskey, in a misguided effort to comfort the young wizard. Instead, he was a witness to the damage the angry and powerful young man could inflict on the Ministry building.
And to his immense frustration, the lives lost were in vain. Voldemort returned from death a third and then fourth time. He sometimes wondered why they even bothered to fight, if it was a battle that had to be ever fought but never won.
To this day Harry was uncertain as to how the Dark Lord survived. He had destroyed the diary. He and Hermione, briefly assisted by Ron, had destroyed the locket, the cup, and the diadem. Dumbledore had destroyed the ring, though the curse on it cost him his life within days of running afoul of it. Neville had destroyed Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Hermione was the person he trusted most in the world. Her knowledge of dark and forbidden magic had only increased as they grew older. He more than half suspected that she had become more versed in the dark arts than Riddle, though she never used them. Despite her growing expertise, and their constant investigation, she had grown noticeably reluctant to express an opinion on how Riddle survived as the years rolled by.
Harry shook his head to clear the clutter of past memories. He intended to see that future avoided at all costs. This time, rather than relying on magical power, he would rely on financial and political power. That meant Lucius had to have an unfortunate accident.
His father was talking to his mother. ". . . I'm proud of Draco's progress. I was hoping to fly with him a bit before I meet with my afternoon appointments."
Narcissa seemed pleased. "Of course, dear. Draco, my wand. We'll do this again tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy your time with your father."
Like Draco, Harry knew that Narcissa was desperate for her son to have a better relationship with his father. Unfortunately, Lucius' parenting style made such a relationship unlikely. This flying session would be the first time he'd spent any significant time with his son since he fell ill.
Harry handed back her wand as he called out, "Dobby!"
The elf appeared with a popping sound. "I'm flying with father and will not need your supervision," Harry stated in his most arrogant Draco-like tone. "Busy yourself restoring order to my room and giving it a vigorous dusting. I want the room sparkling. When you are done, assist the kitchen elves. You may attend me when I return."
Both his parents looked pleased at his ability to put his elf to productive use. Harry was pleased that he had given Dobby a rock solid alibi for what was to occur, if fate smiled. Since Lucius had passed the bond, well before his birthday, and once Harry let slip that he admired Harry Potter and wanted to protect him from the machinations of his father, he and Dobby had grown much closer.
It also ensured that the hyperactive elf could not accidentally betray his secrets. Which was critical as he had just passed on to Dobby the agreed upon code word, 'sparkling', to retrieve a vial of blood from his room and use it to access the diary concealed under the floorboards of Lucius' study. His Malfoy blood would allow Dobby to pass through the blood wards without harm, while his ability as an elf to work unseen would hide him from the prying eyes of portraits.
Harry had to admit that Lucius was a good flyer. He was full of invaluable advice, at least for an eleven year old. He freely provided it as Harry as they went through motions of practicing the Wronkski Feint.
Time and time again they competed seeking the snitch. Harry made sure that Lucius won all the contests, until Lucius started throwing it more toward Harry's side of the field. Harry interpreted that as Lucius' effort to allow his son to win some of the one on one duels.
The snitch was charmed to drop wherever its downward descent began after being thrown. It would hover a few feet above the ground and, unlike a game snitch, did not seek to evade capture.
Each time, Harry took them a little higher before starting their downward descent. His father was cautious however, and engaged in no risk taking behavior. Lucius pulled up well before a crash was a real risk, with Harry following in his wake.
The next time Harry pulled up, he reached a height of about 300 feet before he leveled off. His father tossed him the snitch.
"Last one for the day, son," he said with his silver blond hair swirling in the wind. "My appointments will start soon."
Harry laughed. "This time I'll beat you to the snitch, father. I feel it in my bones."
Lucius smirked and Harry knew that he'd try his best to get to the snitch before his son. While Lucius would sometimes let Draco win, he was the type of man who had to win, if challenged.
Harry tossed the snitch. His throw was good, and it began to rapidly descend over the area that Dobby had been working on so diligently. That same area was, not coincidentally, just outside the view of the Manor as it was adjacent to a corner with no windows.
As Lucius raced down, Harry allowed him to pull ahead half a broom length. "I'll catch you!" he shouted with a laugh, causing Lucius to put on even more speed, which Harry matched.
At about fifty feet before the ground, just before his father would normally decelerate and begin to smooth out his approach, Harry silently cast the Stunning Charm with a mental "Stupefy."
The burst of red light that hit Lucius Malfoy was so weak it was nearly pink. The light was shielded from view, as it was cast in the blind spot between the Manor and this portion of the pitch, as well as being shielded by Harry's body.
Despite its weakness, it was enough to stun Lucius Malfoy for a bare couple of seconds. Which was more than enough for him to crash into the ground at the broom's top speed. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if Lucius made no effort to pull up before impact.
Harry pulled his own broom up and then quickly landed next to the broken body of his father. His head and back were at unnatural angles and his eyes were already glazing over in the manner of the dead.
He checked his pulse. There was none. Two down and several to go, Harry thought viciously.
With that, he allowed Draco's memories of his father and the remnants of the boy's personality to surface. Any observer would have been heartbroken by the young boy's screams of fear, loss and despair.
Malfoy Mausoleum, May 8, 1991
Harry stood next to his mother before his father's final resting place as the sermon droned on. They both wore black as hundreds of similarly clad mourners stood behind them.
Lucius Malfoy had a public reputation of a philanthropist, despite his depraved private life. Harry was disgusted with the praise being heaped upon the deceased Death Eater.
To hear Minister Fudge speak, Lucius Malfoy was a kind hearted, generous, civic minded man. His unlucky, accidental death practicing quidditch was a national tragedy. Every word of it was a lie, but it would be printed in tomorrow's Prophet as the gospel truth. His father was apparently a saint and should be canonized, if only the Pope were made aware of his many good qualities.
Harry bit his tongue to prevent an outburst. He contented himself with visualizing plans to remove Minister Fudge from office sooner rather than later.
Eventually Fudge stopped speaking and the urn which contained his father's ashes was interned with all solemnity in the family crypt. He joined a dozen or more generations of the Malfoy family, all of whom preferred cremation rather than risk their bodies being plundered for some dark ritual.
Minister Fudge was the first to approach as the door to the crypt closed. "You have my deepest sympathies, Narcissa," he said as he took Lucius' widow's hand and spoke to her with far too much familiarity for Harry's taste. "If you need anything, you need only ask."
He put his arm around Narcissa's shoulder as if giving her a hug, but Harry sensed the lust behind his words. He was uncertain if that lust was directed toward his mother or the family fortune. Probably the gold, recollecting his interactions with the Minister in his former life.
Narcissa replied to the Minister with some empty words. He then turned to Harry and with that same false familiarity promised to look after him in the future. His insincerity was obvious but Harry pretended to appreciate the thoughts.
He and his mother stood there for hours as one well wisher after another approached to express their condolences. Precious few really meant them, in Harry's opinion. The Greengrasses and Bulstrodes appeared genuine. By contrast, Parkinson was calculating and his daughter, Pansy, hung off Harry as she wailed dramatically. Harry inferred from this that they hadn't given up on the possibility of a betrothal.
Surprisingly, most of the known Death Eaters appeared to be genuinely sorrowful. That didn't stop them from eyeing Narcissa like a piece of meat. The jackals would be circling soon, Harry thought grimly, all looking to make a claim to either his mother or the Malfoy fortune.
He saw the Tonks family at the very back. They didn't approach, though he saw Tonks give him a sympathetic look as they quietly left the service.
Cygnus Black and his aunt Cassiopeia both approached. Cygnus caused Harry's skin to crawl. Cassiopeia held herself as an old school aristocratic lady, but she was obviously fond of Narcissa.
"Arcturus wanted me to pass on his condolences. He is ill and can't attend, though he wishes he could be here for you," she said quietly as she gave his mother a quick fierce hug. "You should visit the Manor soon. I'm not certain he has long left in this world."
Narcissa had tears in her eyes as she returned her aunt's embrace and promised to visit. Cassiopeia gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek before she moved on.
Harry was alarmed when Cygnus held his mother a bit longer than polite. He only released her when she forcibly pulled away, struggling to suppress a flash of anger. It wouldn't do to hex her own father at her husband's funeral.
When he offered his hand to Harry it was limp and damp. Harry resolved to always be on guard around his grandfather. There was something definitely off about the older Black.
Finally the line of well wishers ended and they returned to Malfoy Manor. One of the elves brought a small dinner as they sat in a small nook just off the kitchen.
Harry's feet were killing him. It was a relief to sit down. He suspected Narcissa's feet were even worse as she had spent the entire day in low heels.
They sat in silence for a while, then Narcissa spoke as she looked at her son impassively. "You are the last Malfoy, Draco, though I'm your regent until you come of age. What are your thoughts on how we should conduct ourselves?"
Her tone was probing. He was being tested, he knew.
He put down his glass of milk and looked at his mother seriously. "The first thing to do is to update the wards. Revoke all of father's prior permissions. Only you and I should be granted access until the goblins go through them with a fine tooth comb. We need to make the Manor as secure as possible."
"You don't trust your father's friends?"
"I don't trust anyone but you, mother. All father's funeral did was convince me that we are surrounded by jackals looking to feed on the corpse of the Malfoy family. We need to show them we are not helpless," he sneered.
Her formerly impassive face warmed. "And how would you do that?"
"Grandfather Cygnus is not to be trusted. Uncle Arcturus and Aunt Cassiopeia are old. Neither the Malfoy nor Black families have the strength we once did. That needs to change. Andromeda needs to be brought back into the family. We need trustworthy wands. Despite being a blood traitor, she's still loyal to you and by extension, me. And I think Lord Black might be willing to bring her back into the family, considering her daughter's metamorphmagus abilities and the depleted number of Blacks."
Harry could see her turning over the possibility of bringing Andromeda back into the family. He could tell she wanted to do it, but did not want to jeopardize her standing.
She appeared to weigh the pros and cons before nodding decisively in agreement. Harry felt his heart soar. He came closer to the true goal, step by step.
"Is that all?" Her voice held a tinge of respect.
He cringed inside. Hermione and he had role played this scenario dozens of times. Even though nothing would come of it, an alliance of necessity was required. Besides, it would open her ears on what he really wanted to accomplish.
"We need to enter me into a betrothal agreement. One that allows both me and the bride to back out as adults, but which confirms an alliance and takes me off the market as a potential kidnapping target." He took a breath as his mother's eyes lit with approval. "Not Pansy. Her father is looking to take control. He would arrange an accident for you as soon as he was able. I think Susan Bones is a better choice. She and her aunt are the sole members of the Bones family left, but we get access to the power of the DMLE, through Amelia Bones. It would make most think twice before moving against us. And Susan would benefit for the same reasons I would."
While the muggleborn generally decried the barbarity of marriage contracts, they had practical uses which they never considered. If one was already magically bound to a marriage contract, they couldn't be compelled to enter another. Historically, too many heirs had been kidnapped and forced into a contract against their will. One way around this possibility was to enter into a contract with opt out clauses once the witch or wizard was old enough to fend for themselves.
They also served to solidify political and economic alliances. Anyone attacking his betrothed, attacked the Malfoy and Black families, which was generally considered unwise. Likewise, an attack on Draco or Narcissa would be rebuffed by the family of his betrothed, and their resources.
The DMLE was a Bones' fiefdom as the director was immensely popular. It would be detrimental to the DMLE's reputation if someone targeted Draco and they failed to respond with all appropriate force.
"It is not well advised to put all your eggs in one basket, Draco. If the Bones family refuses, who would be your second choice?"
Harry suppressed a flinch, but he stuck with the plan. "Ginevra Weasley. The family is poor but they have wands to spare."
Harry really hoped the Bones family would not refuse. He remembered his disastrous relationship with Ginny in his own timeline. It was not something he wanted to revisit. But the arrangement would be on paper only and he could and would void it at the first available opportunity.
Narcissa did not bother to hide her surprise. "You would contract with blood traitors?"
Her distaste was evident. Harry frequently forgot that Narcissa was a blood supremacist. Her intelligence, compassion, beauty, and style tended to obscure that unpleasant fact.
"They are pureblood, despite being blood traitors. The question is not their politics, but whether they can be trusted and the strength they can bring to bear. They have the numbers and the support of Dumbledore. She also has a trace of Black blood, through her grandmother, Cedrella. But Bones should not refuse, so long as our terms are generous, financially and with the opt out options."
Narcissa smiles with approval at her son. "You are a credit to the family, Draco. You've thought this through. Anything else you would want to share with me, as your regent, before bed?"
Harry gathered his confidence. "If we get the alliance, if we strengthen our family, we have less to worry about by way of a direct assault. But there are other ways. I'm the last Malfoy. There are those who put the last Black in prison without a trial. They may well do the same to me, if they aren't taught a lesson. We need to get Sirius Black a trial."
Narcissa looked at her son, stunned. "How do you know that Sirius didn't have a trial?" she demanded.
"I was researching the family tree. Most believe, including father, that I am the Black heir. I don't think that's true. Walburga disinherited Sirius, not Arcturus. When I wrote the DMLE, they informed me that Sirius was being held by the Minister under the Emergency War Powers Act."
"And that concerns you why?"
"The Act is still law. It was used to confine a noble family's heir without trial. Everyone else initially confined under the Act has eventually received a trial, except Sirius. That established a precedent. It can be used again."
"How does getting Sirius a trial help you?" Her tone was genuinely curious.
"If he's innocent, then he'll owe us as we'll have done him a great service. He might make me his heir, and not the Potter boy as his godson, which I think is likely. If he's innocent, we can get the Act repealed which protects me."
"If he's guilty?"
"Then he's in Azkaban, exactly where he is now. We've neither gained nor lost. And maybe Lord Black will be impressed that we tried to save a family member and designate me as his heir."
Narcissa finished her plate of fruit. She washed her hands in the small bowl provided and dried them. She gave Draco a fierce hug.
"You are a clever and intelligent boy, Draco. I'll discuss these ideas with Lord Black tomorrow. In the meantime, go to bed."
Harry went up the stairs to his bedroom. He was exhausted but hopeful. Sirius deserved his freedom sooner rather than later. One way or the other, Harry would deliver it.
HPDM HPDM HPDM
AN #2: Per the Harry Potter wiki, Ague is a magical malady which creates severe flu-like symptoms (my interpretation) and can be cured by an expensive potion. But if the potion is in any way defective the disease combined with the potion can be fatal. I have no idea if it is the result of magic attacking the body. I made that part up.
AN #3: A lot of fan fiction has Charlus and Dorea Potter, née Black as Harry's grandparents. While they are on the Harry Potter wiki with an unknown son about James' age, that wiki also has Fleamont and Euphemia Potter as James' parents and Harry's grandparents. To thread the needle, I merged the two for this fanfiction, as I did in Riddle's Son. Fleamont hates his first name so goes by his middle. Dorea flaunted tradition and did not take the Potter name on her marriage, but for Potter family business used her middle name, Euphemia.
AN #4: In canon, Narcissa gave Draco her wand after Harry stole Draco's, so we know Narcissa's will work for him.