A/N: I know I said 15 chapters… But I honestly can't think of anywhere else for this story to go. Thank you all for joining on this journey! I've appreciated all your reviews, favorites, and encouragements. This story wouldn't have come this far without you.

Without further ado, I give you the final chapter.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

T/W: This story contains mentions of child abuse

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"I hate you."

"Why? I'm lovely," Draco smirked, adding a tally to his name on the scoreboard. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. Rain had drizzled on and off all morning, the grey sky lending to the feeling of somnolence. Harry, Draco, Ron, and George were currently sitting on the rug of the Weasley's living room playing rounds of exploding snap. Draco found himself in the lead by two points, to the utter irritation of Harry.

A month at the Weasley's had passed by in the blink of an eye.

Draco had found his rhythm living amongst the family of gingers. He helped out with household chores (he begrudgingly discovered that he enjoyed washing the dishes), played games with the other children, read some of the rather interesting Muggle novels Mr. Weasley had brought home, and frankly did whatever he pleased so long as it followed Mrs. Weasley's rules.

Everything was…. peaceful, for once in Draco's twelve years.

He should've known it was too good to be true.

It was July 30th, Harry's last day of being eleven. Mrs. Weasley wandered in, gently calling their attention away from the game long enough to ask Harry what sort of treat he'd like for his birthday.

Harry had stammered a reply about not needing anything, but Mrs. Weasley was insistent. "Each of our children gets to pick their birthday treat, dear. If you're not sure, I can make a couple different types of cake and we'll call it a day?"

Eventually, Harry decided on a chocolate cake with matching frosting. After Mrs. Weasley retreated from the room, George made a crack about his mother's pushy nature and they all fell about laughing.

Another round of exploding snap began, everyone threatening Draco that they were going to break his winning streak. He just smiled wolfishly, assuring them they wouldn't. Loud bangs and snaps echoed out once again, but halfway through the round, an equally loud noise disrupted the game.

The fireplace came alive, belching out lurid green flames with a hearty swoosh. The four children on the floor scrambled back at the sudden eruption, cards laying forgotten on the rug. Harry could hear rapid footsteps approaching from the kitchen, signaling that Mrs. Weasley's attention had been drawn.

But he could hardly focus on that now. His own attention was more on the ominous figure stepping out of the flames. He moved before his mind realized what he was doing.

Harry gripped Draco's bicep and flung the pale-eyed boy behind him. Draco stumbled at the sudden harsh treatment, but he didn't object. He was too stunned to.

There, clad all in black and looking every bit as formidable as Draco remembered, stood Lucius Malfoy. His eyes were slitted and his lips pressed into a tight line. The ever present cane was held loosely in his left hand, but Draco knew from experience that it could be whipped through the air in a millisecond.

Lucius's eyes scanned the row of minors slowly, almost apathetically. As his eyes fell on his son, partially shielded by Harry, the same wolfish grin appeared that had played on Draco's face not ten minutes ago. But his was different. His was cold, menacing.

"Step aside, children," Lucius purred. "I'm here to take back my son."

Draco's ears were ringing. The room was hot. His head was spinning. Why was it so hot? The floor felt unsteady beneath his feet. Had someone set the room on fire without him noticing? Why was it so hot?

"Lucius!"

Draco flinched at the sharp tone. Molly Weasley interposed herself between the four boys and the elder Malfoy. "I don't recall giving you permission to enter my home," she said tartly. "Get out."

Draco stared in awe at the fiery headed woman. No one had ever dared to speak to his father that way.

"Believe me, there's over a hundred other places I'd rather be right now, so just give me what's mine and I'll be on my way." Lucius said it nonchalantly, but Draco knew that just below the surface, a torrid temper boiled. "Come, Draco, we're going," Lucius drawled.

The pale-haired boy knew what he was supposed to do. Father says go, you go. No arguments, no disputes. But Draco wasn't ready to go. He wasn't ready to leave. The Weasley's had shown him love, had shown him was a real family was supposed to be like in just one short month. The thought of returning to a home where he was treated like an object instead of a human being with his own thoughts and emotions and desires… it was almost too much for Draco to take.

And still… what choice did he have?

With a shaky inhale, Draco began to whisper to himself. "Malfoys are brave. Malfoys don't show fear. Malfoys are brave."

He edged around Harry, the other boy looking at him like he was crazy. But before Draco could get far, Mrs. Weasley's voice cut out like a whip: "Draco, stay where you are."

Draco froze mid-step, wobbling slightly before he put his foot down.

He couldn't see his father from his spot behind Mrs. Weasley, but Draco could picture his face, could practically feel the heat from the sneer that was no doubt gracing his father's face.

"What makes you think you have the right?" Lucius's voice had gone even colder. "What makes you think you have any claim to him?"

Molly didn't rise to bait, instead keeping her voice firm and level. "Get out of my house or I shall have to remove you."

And in that moment, Draco knew she would do and could do it. Lucius sensed it too.

"What could you possibly want him for?" The man spat. "A trophy to lord of my head? That you stole the son of Lucius Malfoy? It's pitiful. Don't fool yourself like you've already fooled him. He isn't yours, he doesn't belong to you. He's not your son. He's just a charity case dumped on your doorstep by my imprudent wife. You don't love him and you don't need him; I barely do. But he's mine and I'm taking him back. So why don't you do us all a favor and hand. him. over."

It wasn't a question anymore.

Draco knew he wasn't valued by his father. He'd known that for a long time. But never had he heard it from the man's mouth so plainly, so bluntly, so brutally.

It made him sick. He felt hollow.

What had he ever done to deserve such hostility?

His knees unexpectedly gave way beneath him, but he didn't even feel the impact of the floor. He sank back until he was sitting on his heels, staring unseeingly at the floor in front of him. His mind was empty, save for one phrase echoing on repeat.

You don't love him; I barely do.

You don't love him; I barely do. I barely do.

You don't love him.

I barely do.

You don't–

"I do love him."

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

"More than I believe you ever have or ever will." Molly Weasley's voice was harder than diamond. "How you could ever treat such a kind, gentle soul the way you do horrifies me. I'm sorry he was ever born into your family, but I'm not sorry he's here now."

His head was still spinning, but for a completely different reason now.

"You've poisoned him with your words, with your lies about his worth," Molly continued. "You've betrayed the trust that children unquestionably put in their parents. Shame on you, Lucius Malfoy. You should be ashamed of the way you've treated your own flesh and blood, the way you crushed his spirit by forcing your ways on him. The fact that this boy still has love left in his heart to give is a clear testament that he isn't, and never will be, anything like you."

Something wet was falling onto the backs of Draco's hands, which were resting on his lap.

Molly wasn't finished. "Now he may not be mine, but I love him as if he were. I don't care if he has blond hair, red hair, or black hair. Every child you see in this house is one of mine. So don't you dare believe you can burst into our home and demand to have something back that was never yours in the first place."

The silence was incredibly loud following her words.

Draco couldn't have said how long the silence lasted. All he knew was that there was an arm being slung around his shoulders and a tentative hand bracing his back.

"…This isn't over," came Lucius's obviously stunned voice. "I'll be back for him."

A warm gust filled the room as the floo was revived and suddenly, Lucius was gone.

The arm around Draco's shoulders developed into a full blown hug, squeezing tight enough that Draco had difficulty breathing properly. "You're okay, it's okay," came Harry's hushed voice right next to his ear.

It was then that Draco realized the wetness he had felt on his hands earlier were tears. Tears that continued to race down his cheeks. A stuttered sob broke loose as he haltingly brought up his arms to embrace Harry back.

Another pair of arms circled the pair, only increasing the pressure in Draco's chest.

A weak cry of protest was heard before someone else was swept, unwillingly, into the hug as Molly swept all four boys into her arms.

Even though Draco was fighting to breathe properly, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He felt safe for the first time in… Merlin, he couldn't even remember.

He felt like he belonged. He felt cared for. He felt loved.

The tears only came harder as Mrs. Weasley pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Welcome to the family," George declared with a grin. And even though Draco knew he wasn't out of the fire yet, he found himself smiling back.

Lucius never did return as he'd threatened.

Instead it was Dumbledore who appeared as the next unexpected guest that summer. Draco and Harry had pressed themselves to the railing of the upper floor in an attempt to hear what the adults were talking about in hushed voices.

Eventually, Dumbledore had departed and the Weasley's had called Harry and Draco down to the kitchen.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley started, "how would you feel about spending summer's here with us?"

A grin instantly lit Harry's face like a lightbulb. Draco's smile was slower, more hesitant, but present nonetheless.

"I think I'd really like that," he said softly, almost to himself.

It was almost too good to be true.

But it wasn't; it was true, it was real.

It was home.

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With love, Obsidian