A/N: Dialogue from the second scene in this chapter was taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I'm sure you'll recognise it.

Chapter Thirteen: Fruition

"Got another question for you, Draco," Vince said, looking very pleased with himself.

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing that he'd picked another compartment of the Express to sit in. Scratch that – he wished that he wasn't going home for Easter at all. "The answer is that your real father was a Security Troll – that's why your face looks the way it does."

Blaise tittered but Vince ignored him, which wasn't altogether surprising; Draco knew from experience that Vince only had room in his brain for one thought at a time. "If your mum and dad got divorced, would they still be brother and sister?" He chortled in delight.

Greg burst out laughing, and not even a glare from Draco could shut him up. Even Blaise was sniggering, the traitor. "It was a good one," he said helplessly when he noticed Draco was scowling at him too.

"But why stop there, Vince?" Draco asked. "Tell us about Blaise's mum next!" Vince flushed, just as Draco knew he would. "Oh, wait, you'd never joke about her because you want to fuck her, don't you? Don't you?" he wheedled. "Wouldn't you just love to bend her-"

"That's my mum you're talking about!" Blaise snarled, all traces of good humour gone.

"And Vince wants to fuck her," Draco pointed out, encouraged by Greg's snort of mirth, "so why are you looking at me?" Vince was completely still, pressed back into the cushions as far as he could go. Fat bloody luck if you're trying to hide, Draco thought. You're nearly as big as Hagrid.

"B-because you want to f-fuck your own mum, Draco," Greg stuttered.

There was a moment of shocked silence in the compartment, and then Draco's companions broke into howls of laughter.

"I di-di-di-di-di-didn't know you'd learned how to f-f-f-f-finish sentences," Draco spat in vicious imitation of Greg, but no one was paying him any heed. His hand itched for his wand, but it was more important that he arrive home without incident. Vince would pay eventually, though. He'd been growing increasingly impertinent since Christmas. Draco had been trying to ignore it – he had other things to deal with – but this train ride was the last straw.

"Oh, Greg!" Blaise wheezed delightedly just before Draco stormed out of the compartment.

Once he was clear of their window, he slowed. Which compartment had he seen Pansy go into? He strolled through the corridor, peering in the windows, and spied her lying with her head in Theo's lap. A quick glance at the other side of the compartment revealed Daphne and Millie. Draco slunk away, not wanting to be seen lingering like an orphan at the window.

He had a sudden, reckless urge to seek out Ginny, which was madness in itself considering he'd just been with her last night. Her appetite for him had grown to positively ravenous proportions as the antics of Dumbledore's Army grew more outlandish. Not that he was complaining – a scorching bout of sex was always the perfect way to work off the tensions of the extra Inquisitorial Squad shifts he'd been forced to pick up. He'd caught sight of her skulking about late at night last week with Longbottom and McMillan in tow and had been forced to Confound Pansy and then look oblivious as they scarpered off, no doubt congratulating themselves on the effectiveness of their shoddy Notice-Me-Not charms. The subterfuge against his own had made him surly, but two nights later Ginny had rewarded him most handsomely for his actions.

Most handsomely.

Two firsties appeared in the corridor. Draco fixed them with the stare a dragon might give prey on the borderline of being worth the chase. They froze in fear, then then gathered their wits about them and edged past him warily.

The train would be pulling into King's Cross any time now. Draco resigned himself to prowling the corridors until then.

After three hours at home, Draco was tired of his father. He didn't want to talk about the Dark Lord's wishes, didn't want to understand the recent Death Eater campaigns, didn't want to hear oblique references to hidden assets as contingency plans. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts, glancing at the Prophet headlines and then tossing the paper aside, waiting to catch a glimpse of green in Ginny's hair. It hadn't escaped his notice that his mother had disappeared as soon as the conversation turned from how nice it was to have Draco home to the recent successes of the Death Eaters. She'd still been able to pretend at Christmas. His father would never stop pretending. Did he think Draco was stupid, that he didn't notice how drawn they both looked? With a sinking feeling, Draco realised that his father was keeping up the act in an attempt to give him hope.

An owl had interrupted his father's litany and he set about immediately to writing a reply. Draco retrieved his Herbology text and joined his father in the drawing room (his father's opulent study had been usurped by the Dark Lord). Annoyed as he was, Draco was still painfully aware that the time he had with his parents was limited and his father's presence was a comforting reminder of a simpler time. He could hear the brisk cadence of his mother's heels on the parquet above the din of booted feet, each dull thud another reminder that this house was no longer his home. He redoubled his focus on his text, trying to ignore the intrusion.

"What is this?"

Draco looked up at the tone of his father's voice and out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of something that sent a reflexive pinprick of elation through him. Hope. Then his heart abruptly dropped through his shoes as he realised the implications of seeing Weasley-red hair in his home and he looked back down at his book, not really seeing anything. Please, he begged, but Ginny was the only person who had answered his prayers in the last year so his desperate plea unaddressed. Not like this. He took a moment to school his features as carefully as he could, certain that the slightest twinge would give him away. The stakes had never been higher.

"They say they've got Potter," his mother said.

The words broke him out of his shock. Simple curiosity had him looking her way. It's just the Weasel King, his mind screamed immediately when he saw the bound wizards before him, but he didn't trust his visceral reaction and he glanced about, looking for any trace of her behind the thugs tracking mud on the Persian rug. With a fresh jolt of fear, he recognised one of the thugs as Greyback.

His mother nodded at him. "Draco, come here."

Draco approached cautiously, grateful that Greyback was occupied with jostling his captives. The Weasel King flinched and staggered, and Granger winced as she was dragged along. Rounding out the triumvirate, as always, was Potter, rendered nearly unrecognisable under the hexing he'd suffered at the hands of the Snatchers. Despite his defeat, he stood ever defiant, staring blankly ahead. Was he reflecting on his imminent demise?

"Well, boy?" The werewolf's voice echoed throughout the hush of the room.

It was over. No more fighting, no more useless revolts. The Malfoys would be rewarded for their service and the Dark Lord would move into permanent quarters wherever he pleased – the Minister's house, Draco supposed. His family would be safe. It was everything Draco wanted. Why didn't he feel relieved?

"Well, Draco?" his father prompted, uncharacteristically impatient. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Granger's bushy hair obscured her face, but she was slumped in resignation. Weasley chewed on his bloody lip, his shaggy red fringe, so close in colour to Ginny's, hanging in his eyes. Hope. Draco pushed the thought out of his head. There was no hope left for these three, and no hope left for her. But unlike Potter and her brother, she would live. He would teach her to live in a world without hope. The fire would seep out of her slowly and her hair would turn grey, but they would be together. And she would be broken, and once again it would be his fault. And the Dark Lord wouldn't be satisfied until everyone who did not serve him gleefully was as broken as she was. His mother. His father. Himself, in time.

He didn't want to live in a world without hope.

There's good in you, Draco Malfoy. Ginny's words echoed in his head so clearly that she might have been standing beside him. One day you'll find that hope inside you and do what's right because you can't do anything else and your actions will matter. "I can't – I can't be sure." Would his father ever forgive him? Even if he did, the Dark Lord wouldn't.

"But look at him carefully, look!" his father demanded. "Come closer! Draco..."

The Dark Lord would slaughter them all without a second thought. All he had to do was nod and they would be spared for something much more insidious. "I don't know." Repeating the lie was like lancing an infected wound. He was doing the right thing. It was empowering. A sick giddiness swept over him, and he stepped away from Potter before he did something rash. He turned to the fireplace and placed a trembling hand on the cool stone of the mantel. He needed to think. Potter needed to leave.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

His mother's voice sounded so hopeful. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't real, that it was too grey to be real hope, but he didn't have the heart. His newfound resolve wavered. Theoretically, he could be forgiven for not recognising Potter. But Granger was obviously Granger, just thinner and even more rumpled-looking than usual. A quick glance at the Prophet would confirm it, and Draco would be exposed as a liar. "I...maybe...yeah," he stammered helplessly.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted in triumph. "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name – ?"

They were so happy. Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't turn around, couldn't look at Ginny's brother. This wasn't going at all like he had hoped. Ginny and her friends made rebellion look so easy. His control of the situation was slipping away with alacrity. "Yeah. It could be." He needed everyone to leave him alone so he could plot out his next misdirection.

Then things got much, much worse. Aunt Bella, drawn to chaos like a Niffler to gold, was suddenly in their midst, and any chance Draco had of getting Potter out of this evaporated on the spot. The Dark Lord was coming. Dark, desperate thoughts flitted through Draco's mind as he watched his aunt croon and shriek and curse and snarl, but he was paralysed. All he could do was watch. The churning black waves of her fanaticism swallowed any spark of hope left as Weasley was dragged from the room. I'd kill Ginny, he decided as Granger screamed in Aunt Bella's grasp and Greyback watched with glee. Better a merciful death than this.

The Dark Lord's wrath had been worse than Draco imagined. Afterwards, Aunt Bella staggered to her feet and Disapparated before Draco's mother could stop her, Greyback following her lead. Draco dragged himself up onto the settee and tried to quell his shaking limbs.

"Help me, Draco." His mother was on the floor beside his father, hefting his arm over her shoulders as he struggled to stand.

Draco rushed to their sides, ignoring his body's protest, and ducked under his father's free arm, hoisting him to his feet. He started towards the settee but his mother turned towards the doorway and he followed, supporting his father until they reached the large bed his parents shared. They backed him up to the mattress and he sat heavily, his arms flying out to support him. Draco only had a moment to marvel at how old his father seemed before his mother shooed him out of the room.

He wasn't sure how he made it back to his own bedroom, but his bed was inviting and he stretched out on it, aware of every muscle and nerve ending unfurling as he did so.

Potter was gone. He wasn't sure how, but it hardly mattered now. Potter was gone, and his family was somehow alive. He thought of his father, so haggard-looking, unable to walk on his own, and shuddered, consumed by guilt. If he had just admitted right away that it was Potter, the Dark Lord would have arrived before Aunt Bella and this whole debacle could've been avoided.

There was a soft knock at the door, and his mother entered. "Draco, darling." She took a seat on his bed and brushed the back of her hand against his forehead. "How are you feeling?" She was so very pale, and her hand shook faintly.

"I'm fine. How is Father?"

She bowed her head and didn't answer for a long moment. "Ever since Azkaban, he's been..." She gulped and looked very morose. "His body can't handle the things it used to. He's not as young as he once was."

He'd brought this on them with his lies. "Mother, I'm sorry," he blurted. "If I-"

She shushed him. "You did nothing wrong," she said adamantly, fluffing his pillows. "I just wish you hadn't been here to see this. You'll be back in school soon enough."

"What's going to happen to us?" he whispered.

His mother's eyes glimmered with tears and she shrugged helplessly.

"I can stay. I'll help you."

"Absolutely not. Your father and I, we want you safe. We want better for you," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

He thought of his father on the ground, his mother's screams, and his own overwhelming pain. The Dark Mark tingled on his arm. "I want better for all of us."

In truth, he just wanted to sink beneath the waves of unthinking obedience again, but it was no longer safe. No matter what he did now, his family wasn't safe. Was it better, then, to strive towards hope? Ginny would have answers. He couldn't wait to see her again.

She didn't come back to school.