The Tiger Pit

Draco Apparated to Malfoy Manor, using the illicitly gained skill while thinking that perhaps some day he would be able to use it for some simple, harmless purpose like visiting a friend, instead of casting himself into danger yet again. Voldemort was dead, not just dead but utterly destroyed; however, he had left his Death Eaters behind him.

* * * *

Professor Dumbledore had warned Draco of the hazards of attempting to capture his father, when Draco insisted that he wanted to speak to Lucius Malfoy - 'have a private word', was how he put it, and his headmaster's mouth twitched at that use of Lucius's own term for reproving his son. Lucius had always upbraided him in relative privacy, and however much he detested him Draco would give his father the same courtesy.

Dumbledore said that while some Death Eaters would be looking only for self-preservation, others, despairing of that, or blinded by rage, could be seeking revenge on their surviving leaders for failure. Lucius, as one of the most prominent of them, might become a target for his fellows.

Some, Draco agreed, might be intent on mutual recrimination and blame laying. "The walls of the tiger pit are falling in, and the tigers are fighting to the death among themselves, trying to claw their way out. I want to get to my father before any one else does. It would be such a pity if he were to be killed before he could be tried and punished adequately for everything he's done."

Dumbledore shook his head, saying that for his own sake Draco should not be involved in his father's downfall. Draco said shortly, "What else have I been working on for the last two years, Professor? Do you think I can tell myself I'm not responsible just because I'm not in at the kill?"

Draco arranged with Harry to meet him at the Manor at a particular time, giving him a Portkey for the library. It was, after all, his duty to ensure that his father did not escape after their confrontation. Harry would help him with that, and summon the Aurors. They would be along to Malfoy Manor one of these times, in the general clean-up following Voldemort's destruction, but other matters might have greater priority; a certain amount of what Hermione called 'search and rescue ' was needed. Until they came, Harry was willing to help him.

* * * *

Draco noted that his father did not appear to have re-set the magical wards to exclude his son, so he probably did not yet know of the part Draco had played: excellent. Draco was looking forward to explaining it to him.

In the enormous front entrance hall Draco met his mother.

"Mother! Shouldn't you leave the Manor for somewhere safer?"

Narcissa said firmly, "I am Lucius's wife and I'm staying. Not to support him, or to help him, but I am the mistress of this house. I have done nothing wrong, and I have no reason to run. I'll wait in the drawing room for the Aurors. I can open the secret entrance to the rooms below for them." That was where Lucius kept his Dark stores and did most of his Dark magic, especially his experiments. She did not look as if she could be persuaded otherwise.

Draco threw up his hands and went looking for Lucius. There was a lot of territory to search, though he started with the likeliest places: his father's study and the library. He then patiently searched the secret rooms beneath the drawing room, but again drew blank.

Thoughtfully he put a lock of his own on the entrance to the secret rooms before he moved to the upper part of the house. It might be as well to deny his father access to them and their contents, if he could.

Narcissa commented, "Lucius will be severely slowed, if no more, by that. It seems to me a pretty piece of spell casting, even if I haven't had the use of a wand for a long, long time."

Draco asked, "Do you know where Father keeps your wand? You'd do better to look for it, rather than sitting about here waiting for the Aurors to show up. Mother, I must find him."

"Yes, Draco, go."

Draco went up the staircase that came out near his bedroom, but turned in the opposite direction, going towards his father's rooms. Then he heard steps on the stairs, and froze. His father? More than one person. Draco darted into an alcove and took refuge behind the lacquered screen there.

He heard voices before he saw who it was. A stranger was speaking, his voice high, fast, and savage. "... Going to pay, for everything. Pay for the way I had to run last time, when the Potter brat disabled Voldemort, and the Aurors bloody near ran me to death. Pay for my father's death before that, for all your damned patronising manners, for the errands I had to run. You were no better than I was, just another follower, but no one would have thought it, the way you treated me...."

Draco's father said coldly, "You're boring me to death, Otho. Is that how you're planning to do it?"

This did not look good. Someone else had caught up with Lucius Malfoy, and he sounded more than a little crazy. Draco took out his wand.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Draco was further dismayed at what he saw. This Otho, whoever he was, had Lucius prisoner. Lucius had already been stripped to britches and boots, his hair was in a mess, even falling over his face, which he never permitted, and his hands were behind his back. When Lucius stepped further into the corridor Draco saw that his wrists had been twisted up between his shoulder blades and tied there. That must hurt.

Otho came into view, then: a dull brown man considerably shorter than Lucius Malfoy, thin, in dusty robes that looked as if he had fought, as well as slept, in them. He stepped lightly, however, and moved with cat-like balance and assurance.

The way his captive's wrists were tied gave Otho strong leverage with the slightest touch, which he applied using Lucius's riding crop, held in his left hand. His right held a wand, and was clearly controlling Lucius's movements.

The stranger demanded, "Take me to your bedroom, Malfoy. There's a few things I need to do to you before I kill you."

Lucius said disagreeably, "Why should I? Walk around the house and find a bedroom yourself. There are enough for you to choose from."

The stranger must have used his wand, for Lucius gasped and flinched, and stumbled to a halt. The stranger reached out with his left hand, hooked the crop handle under Lucius's wrists, and heaved back hard, and Lucius gasped again.

"Keep walking, Malfoy, and stop talking, or I'll curb your insolent tongue more thoroughly. You're not so clever as you think yourself, so don't talk like it." Otho added viciously, "Forgot to exclude Death Eaters from your precious Manor, didn't you. Still keeping open house for Voldemort's followers. You're a fool."

Lucius did not reply, but he was evidently still planning on not being helpful; he turned right, away from his bedroom. Was he trying to avoid the risk of leading this Otho to his wife? Did he know where she was? Or was he just being his usual bloody-minded self?

Since Otho had the riding crop, Draco could guess something of what the man had in mind. He had no wish to interfere in that: it was time Lucius got some of his own back. However, Draco wanted to make sure Lucius survived to go to trial, which he would like a lot less than, for example, being dead. In any case, right now did not seem a good time to tackle the stranger, who was very much on the alert. It was too dangerous, when his father was at the head of the stairs and handicapped, unable to help himself if he fell.

* * * *

Draco followed them cautiously, at some distance, as Otho looked for something that met his requirements. Otho opened yet another door, and urged Lucius into the room. Draco thought to himself, 'Wonderful. Another beating in my bedroom. At least it's my father taking it, for a change.' Since Otho did not close the door Draco positioned himself where he could see what went on.

Once in Draco's bedroom, Otho put Lucius under the Imperius curse, and though Lucius evidently struggled to throw it off Otho seemed to think it would hold him for long enough. Otho removed the magical bonds with a flick of his wand and bade Lucius strip, which he did, and lie face down on the large bed with his arms spread wide, which Lucius also did. Otho replaced the magical bonds, tethering Lucius by the wrists to the sturdy bedposts, then removed the curse. Lucius's renewed physical struggles showed that he would not be able to escape.

Draco found he did not want to watch the severe beating that followed. He turned away and listened to the regular blows falling on his father's flesh until he was sickened, and looked back. He was horrified as much as impressed by his father's endurance. Lucius had not made a sound, and hardly moved, though his whole body was clenched against the blows.

This seemed to be not very satisfactory for Otho, who complained he had left Lucius's legs free to give him nothing to brace against, and to watch him writhe without being able to evade the whip. He wasn't screaming, either. Why would Lucius not cooperate? Draco thought that this Death Eater was a whole lot crazier than his father.

Draco could see his father's face, however, through the cloud of fine fair hair, which Otho could not, since Lucius had his head turned away from his tormentor. Lucius had his teeth tight-clenched in the bedcover, and his facial muscles showed his response clearly enough. Draco thought the experience would do Lucius no moral harm, at any rate. However, he had to fight the urge to make Otho stop, feeling that Lucius's son should end this from principle, however deserved it was. He reflected that his father had been right: Draco was far too weak of will to succeed as a Death Eater.

* * * *

Lucius had earlier, in Draco's seventh school year, demanded he give his allegiance to Voldemort, and Draco had refused. He did not give his real reasons, but said he had doubts of his ability to perform adequately.

Draco had asked, "Is Malfoy honour and your position going to be served or improved if I fail? Better I should wait, like the other children of Death Eaters, and swear when I'm a man and confident of my skills."

Lucius had snarled and raged, but in the end accepted this, vigorously expressing his contempt for his son.

Later in the year, when things were getting more difficult for Voldemort, Lucius had again demanded Draco come to his master's service, but Draco had refused again. This time he had said that Voldemort's chances did not look as good as before.

Draco had said bluntly, "I'm in no way fitted to make a difference. But there might be a lot to be said for there being a Malfoy not committed to Voldemort, in case things go badly wrong. Malfoys have done that before; it's a traditional aristocratic tactic, and it wouldn't surprise me at all, Father, if we needed it."

Lucius had found himself in reluctant agreement with this assessment, and again accepted Draco's refusal, but he had said bitingly, "You need not expect to share in the rewards if Voldemort triumphs, Draco, as I still believe he can. You'll have to earn a place from scratch, and you'll get no help from me; I'll disown you."

Draco had not said, 'Thanks Father; and if he loses I'll disown you.'

* * * *

At last, apparently satisfied for the moment, Otho threw the riding crop aside, and, panting, crawled on to the bed and knelt across his victim's legs. He pulled open his britches, and put his hands on Lucius, who realised, a second after Draco, what Otho intended.

Draco was revolted, but no longer uncertain whether to interfere, even though his father had always been ready enough to use others sexually without their consent. Maybe he had earned this too, but Draco felt what he had allowed already was bad enough; he could not connive at this.

Lucius, however, had no intention of submitting. Draco heard a low, feral snarl, "No!" as Lucius started fighting. His hands were tethered, but he could certainly prevent Otho from physically forcing the rest of his body to stillness.

Lucius was taller and stronger than Otho, and managed to do damage as well as fending him off. After a fierce struggle Otho was kicked off the bed, and rolled away. The way he was clutching himself as he rose convinced Draco that his mind was no longer fixed on rape. However, the look on his face as he snatched up his wand from the bedside table assured Draco that he must interfere now, or his father would be dead.

He levelled his own wand at Otho and said, "Stupefy!" Otho's body crashed to the floor, still in its awkward crouch, with the same expression of terrifying rage distorting his face. Draco ran forward and snatched up the wand, tucking it inside his robes.

Lucius, his head twisted awkwardly and his body still braced, could now see his son. He also saw how cautiously Draco approached him, his wand at the ready. He said, coolly enough, "Thank you, Draco," and waited to see what Draco planned to do.

Draco said shortly, "Immobilise," and Lucius's face did not have time to assume the pained expression that his eyes conveyed. Only then did Draco release his father with "Libero," pointing his wand at the magical bonds.

Draco fetched his father's clothing and put it on the bed, saying, "If I take the spell off, Father, I expect you to get dressed and come along quickly. Look away from me if you agree."

Lucius conveyed assent and was freed. Without comment he resumed such clothing as he had, grimacing as he fastened the close-fitting britches, and made a vain attempt to tidy his hair by running his fingers through it. Draco silently handed him a comb.

"What about Otho?"

"Who is he?"

"Otho Beverley, one of my, ah, former colleagues."

"Fine friends you have."

"Did I say 'friend'?"

"True. Stupefy will hold him, but I'll put a time limit on it so he won't lose the use of his legs from being cramped like that for too long."

Lucius shook his head. "You're a fool, my son." This was more in sorrow than in anger. He added, "How long have you been here?"

"All along." Draco said thoughtfully, "I think I need a new bedroom."

"Then why did you interfere at all? I would have thought you too delicate-minded to enjoy watching," Draco's scowl confirmed this, "so why not leave Otho to it?"

"I didn't want you dead."

"It was certainly his intention, even before that last kick I gave him." To Draco's raised eyebrow Lucius said, "He explained that much."

"I don't want you dead. I want you in Azkaban."

"Is it wise to tell me that now?" Lucius tensed again for action, and Draco stepped out of reach and levelled his wand warningly.

"I've been looking forward to telling you. And telling you that I've been a member of the Order of the Phoenix for two years."

Lucius was truly astonished, and for once his face showed it. "Why?" he demanded. "You could have shared in Voldemort's power. You're a Malfoy. Even if you didn't trust Voldemort to triumph, and it seems you had reason, what have you to do with Dumbledore and his soft Muggle-loving allies?"

"That was your own doing."

Lucius shook his head. "An unworthy son indeed, if you resent the upbringing I gave you so much you cannot see how it fitted you to take your rightful place in the world."

Draco snorted and said, "You're crazy. No, it wasn't that, or even how you always treated my mother. You did this to yourself."

"How then?"

"Hermione Granger." Draco met his father's eyes. "The day you raped her you made quite sure I would oppose you."

Lucius said incredulously, "You, my son, a Malfoy, abandoned me for that Mudblood girl?"

Draco hissed, then calmed himself. "I found her, after you'd finished with her. You may not understand," he said carefully, "how much I hated what you did to her. But understand, at least, that she's a better strategist than you are."

"She seduced you?" Lucius demanded. "I wouldn't have thought she had it in her. Especially," he said rather dryly, "at that point."

Draco said grimly, "You told her she could be good, if she tried. No, Father. She invited me to be her friend, that's all. I could see how that might work out, and I accepted. Before long I was Harry Potter's friend, too. I knew I couldn't sit on the fence; I had to work with them, so I went to Dumbledore and he took me into the Order. Since then," Draco finished with quiet satisfaction, "I've been reporting to him everything I learned from you."

Draco was surprised when his father did not lose his temper. He just said appraisingly, "You're tougher than I thought, however perverted your ideas are. That's something, I suppose; you haven't disgraced me utterly."

Draco rolled his eyes and decided to give up. "Come along, Father. We have an appointment."

Lucius hesitated, and Draco said warningly, "There's always Imperius."

"So you haven't sworn off Dark magic?"

"I have," Draco admitted, "but I don't mind making an exception for you."

Reluctantly Lucius said, "Otho has my wand."

"You were hoping to come back for it?" Draco found it in Otho's discarded robes, and put it carefully away inside his own, separate from Otho's wand, in case he needed to return it to his father in another emergency. "Walk, please. The library. Where are your clothes?"

"In shreds," Lucius answered shortly. "We'll need to go to my bedroom first, if you intend to allow me to look as I should."

"The Aurors would happily take you naked. But you'll need a shirt, and your robes; it's cold out."

After that Lucius silently led the way to his own room and quickly dressed in clean formal clothing, transferring his fob watch, putting on his dress robes and draping a cloak over one arm.

Outside the door of his study Lucius said, "What's left of my clothes are in there. May I empty the pockets?" Draco nodded, and stood watchfully over his father as he sorted through the heap of black rags on the floor, retrieving handkerchief, comb, purse, a ring pin which he put in his neckcloth, and a few other small personal possessions. He did not bother with the silver clasps on his robes. The elaborate twisted snakes were slag, and silver droplets sprayed the front of the torn robes.

Draco observed, "Temper, temper."

"Yes. Otho was a fool. He should have just killed me."

"You're complaining?"

"No, my son." Lucius stood up. "Where now? The library, you said?"

"That appointment," Draco agreed.

"With?"

"Harry." Lucius scowled. "I hope also some Aurors, to take you off my hands."

Lucius observed, "You're a disappointment, but you don't lack nerve, I suppose. I hope you'll like the world you've made, Draco."

"I think I'll like it better than Voldemort's, or yours."

* * * *

After they had been waiting for a short time, with Lucius lying on one side on a sofa and Draco leaning by the door, Lucius asked, "When do you expect the Potter boy?" He had set his cloak and robes aside before he lay down.

Draco glanced quickly at his watch. "Fifteen minutes or so."

"If I'm going to be haled off to the Aurors' Guild, which I assume is your intention?" the fair eyebrows rose, and Draco nodded, "there's something I'd like to collect from the fencing room."

"They'll probably empty your pockets," Draco warned.

"I don't suppose they'll want to deny me my wedding ring for ever."

Draco said sharply, "My mother might like to, though. Very well."

Lucius did not smile, and led the way submissively as he had done ever since they left Draco's bedroom. The ring was indeed on a side table in the fencing room, left there after Lucius's last practice session; it was not something he always remembered to wear.

Just above it on the wall was a sword and dagger set. Lucius ignored the ring; his hands flowed up to the weapons and he dodged away as Draco flung a spell at him from across the room. He responded to it with the dagger, which lodged in Draco's right shoulder. His son gave a small cry of pain and his hold on his wand relaxed involuntarily; the wand fell. Draco dived for it, ignoring the dagger, and Lucius dived for him, sword out.

Draco gasped, "Accio sword!" and his own sword came to his hand from the wall just before his father reached him. He seized it left-handed, suddenly thankful that Lucius had made his childhood a misery by insisting he gain a facility with his left hand near that of his right. He slid hastily away from Lucius's first stroke, far enough to spring to his feet; and retreated from his father's next attack.

Once he had a little distance Draco managed to shove his wand in a pocket to free his right hand. It would be useless with the sword, though he should still be able to use the arm for balance. He would not have time or space to use the wand. Lucius was too fast, too close, for a spell to strike him down before his sword reached his son. Draco made no attempt to remove the dagger, though it hurt fiercely with each movement, as it bit into his flesh. It partially sealed the wound, reducing blood loss, and he needed his left hand for the sword.

Father and son fought hard, earnestly, well matched in skill. If Draco was wounded, and handicapped by using his lesser hand, so was Lucius. That vicious beating had reduced his ordinary ability to move fast and smoothly, and his wrenched shoulders and wrists must still be aching.

The clash of blades covered the sound of the door opening, but both of them heard Narcissa scream, "Stop that! Stop at once!" They ignored her. Neither had the luxury of anything but defence and attack.

They closed, each trying to beat down the other's blade, then Lucius's left hand snatched for the dagger in Draco's shoulder and twisted it out. Draco screamed, but he also brought his knee up into his father's groin. Lucius gasped, turned white and doubled up momentarily, though Draco had not been able to use his full strength.

Draco had fallen back to recover from the assault of pain rather than following up his blow, so both recovered their breath and involuntarily paused briefly. Lucius changed his hold on the dagger and made a false attack. Draco parried, then hastily disengaged as Lucius's blade slid up his, evading the dagger by less than a hand's breath as Lucius struck low.

As Lucius in turn retreated Draco kicked out with all his strength, connecting with his father's knee. He was very conscious of the blood running freely down his breast, desiring to finish the duel as quickly as possible, and as ready as Lucius to resort to improper means. Lucius's knee gave and he sank down on to the other. Then he snarled, temper suddenly gone, sprang up, and lunged.

Draco parried in time, then there was a hard flurry of blades. Lucius attacked again; Draco barely parried. His father forced his sword high, binding their blades near the hilt, before Lucius sank the dagger once more into his son's flesh. He had aimed for his belly, but the blow fouled Draco's belt, jarring Lucius's hand. Since the slim blade cut into the thick leather, as well as a small way into the flesh behind, Lucius could not at once withdraw it.

He was too angry to abandon it, and before he could come to his senses Draco forced his body up closer against his father's and kneed him in the groin again, harder. Lucius went down, taking the dagger with him; the fall knocked his arm wide of his body as it curled around the pain. Draco stamped hard on his right wrist.

Draco kicked his father's sword away, and the bloody dagger, then stumbled back, his strength suddenly leaking out of him with the release from concentration as much as with the blood. He dropped his own sword and fumbled left-handed for his wand, but a stern young female voice said, "Immobilise!" Draco let himself fall to the floor as he saw his father's attempt to rise suddenly halted and his body fixed in place.

His mother and Hermione were both attempting to help him up. He gasped, "Let me get my breath!"

Narcissa said, "You're wounded."

Hermione said firmly, "Move, unless you know how to heal this. Help me get his shirt and that belt off."

His mother moved back, then the two of them were removing his robes and his bloody shirt, and unbuckling his belt. Narcissa gasped at the blood on his chest, then balled up his shirt and pressed it hard to the wound in his shoulder, making him yelp. She wiped the sweat from his face and throat with her handkerchief.

Hermione unfastened his jeans and said absently, "Shut up, Malfoy," as her fingers delicately investigated his belly. She sighed with relief. "Very shallow cut, thanks to that macho Muggle belt. Mrs Malfoy, can you summon bandages, water, towels?"

"I have no wand," Narcissa said flatly. "Lucius keeps it."

"Two spares inside my robes," Draco offered, his harsh breathing beginning to steady.

Narcissa investigated and chose her husband's wand, then called the supplies Hermione had asked for. It was not long before Hermione had Draco's wounds padded and strapped up temporarily. She said she would prefer a mediwizard to heal the wounds than to do it herself, unless, she asked acidly, Draco planned to get into another fight immediately.

"Not just now," Draco said meekly, allowing the women to help him to his feet. He was tired rather than weak, but it was pleasant not to have to exert himself as he was steered to a seat on a leather bench.

Only then did anyone spare Lucius any attention. After Hermione looked him over, using her wand rather than stripping him, she remarked, "That wrist is sprained, his knee is badly bruised, and I don't suppose he'll be in a hurry for sex, either. Perhaps a mediwizard should look at that, too; I'd rather not. You hit hard, Draco."

"He would have had me if he'd not lost his temper."

Narcissa observed, calm now, "Lucius wasn't as fast as usual."

"Not his first fight today." Draco saw no need to mention the beating Lucius had taken. Clearly it had not hampered him a great deal, though it might have been enough to reduce significantly his advantage over his son.

"Just his last." Narcissa sounded quite pleased. "When can we expect the Aurors?"

"Soon, I hope. Harry was supposed to come - Hermione! Why are you here? Are you mad, coming anywhere near my father?"

Hermione said rapidly, too softly for Lucius to hear, still immobilised in an undignified sprawl, "He was called away. They insisted he come at once, so he gave us the Portkey, asked Ron to meet you."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And Ron is where?"

"Ron," Hermione said flatly, "is sulking at Hogwarts. I'll have his puerile arse in a sling when I get back; I was in too much of a hurry before. I'm not speaking to him. So I came."

Draco's brows twitched at her uncommon use of vulgar Muggle talk, but he asked, quite politely, "And does anyone know that?"

Narcissa was leaning forward to watch them as if at a Quidditch match, her eyes moving from one tense face to the other.

"I asked Neville to tell Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape for good measure, as he might actually have leisure as well as will to help you." Hermione sounded distinctly acid again.

Narcissa asked, "Would you like a dagger each?"

Their anger at each other suddenly collapsed into sheepish smiles, though Draco's was very faint. He said, "Thank you, Hermione, for being on the spot. I was losing, you know. And for wrapping me up." He turned his head. "Mother, can you speak to them at Hogwarts for us?"

Narcissa nodded and went to the fireplace to start a fire with her husband's wand and use it to summon the attention of one of the teachers. Shortly she came back. "Professor Snape will be here in a few minutes to take you to the infirmary, and some Aurors are already on their way here, apparently." She smiled beatifically. "I can go and let them in, if you think that spell of yours will hold Lucius, Miss Granger."

"Please, call me Hermione." Hermione did not think she wanted to be called 'Miss Granger' in Lucius Malfoy's house. It brought back unpleasant memories of being called that as his hands and body efficiently pillaged hers. "It should hold him."

Draco said darkly, "Check again, please; he's slipped out of two people's hands already today."

When Hermione moved away he turned to his mother. "There's someone else for the Aurors to collect. He's in my bedroom under Stupefy, with his britches half off. His name's Otho Beverley, he's a Death Eater, and," very softly, "no need to mention it to any one unless we have to, he was planning to rape Father."

Narcissa's eyes widened and a look of distaste crossed her face. "But he didn't?"

"No, Father was quite determined he shouldn't, even if he was tied to my bed. He fought hard, though he would have lost, of course, once the fellow gave up trying and picked up his wand. Which he had just done when I stepped in."

Narcissa said thoughtfully, "It would be best if someone fastened up his britches for him." She rose. "Will you be all right? I'll be back soon."

Draco nodded. "Thanks, Mum. I don't suppose you're any fonder of Father than I am, but I don't see why he shouldn't keep his privacy. Oh, and take away Father's riding crop, will you, and destroy it somewhere else. And one of these times, organise me a different bedroom, please?"

As Narcissa left Hermione returned and sank down on the bench beside Draco. "Your father should be secure enough. I straightened him out a bit, and put a healing charm on his wrist, it should deal with the bruising."

"And the other bruises I gave him?" Draco enquired delicately.

Hermione made a face. "You'd like me to?" Draco nodded. "Very well. Let's hope he takes it as coals of fire."

Draco wondered whether to ask her to deal with the heavy bruising on his father's rear, or his left wrist, that Otho was responsible for, and decided to leave it. It would give Lucius Malfoy something to think about for the next few days apart from his upcoming trip to Azkaban. He said, "He was most ungrateful to me, so I don't suppose he'll thank you. So I will. I do appreciate it, especially given what he did to you."

Hermione smiled that feral smile Draco remembered so clearly. "I wonder what he'll think when I open his britches while he's pinned down by Immobilise. Revenge of the Mudblood?"

When Narcissa returned she said calmly, "Hermione, I would like to talk to my husband, we haven't much time left. Can you ease that spell without loosing him entirely?"

When Hermione returned from doing that she looked at Draco. "Sinking fast," she observed, though without anxiety.

"Tired," he admitted.

"Happy?"

Draco grinned at her. "Whole new world out there," he told her, "my father said so, and he should know. Your turn to hug me." She embraced him carefully, but when Draco asked hopefully, "Do I get another kiss?" she shook her head and pressed a finger against his lips.

He put out his tongue and licked her finger gently, and she sighed. "Dear Draco. No."

"Why is it," he complained, "I never get the girl?"

She smiled at him. "You don't really want this girl."

"You could encourage me," he offered, with a chill at the base of his spine from saying that with his father across the room.

Hermione did not seem to be thinking about the past, however. "You've clambered out of the tiger pit. Just curl up in the sun, Draco, and enjoy the peace and quiet."

Draco murmured something, and leaned his head against her shoulder. She held him more securely, and when Professor Snape entered the room his favourite pupil was asleep in Miss Granger's arms, curled up on the bench with his head in her lap. Since his mother was sitting by his feet smiling approvingly, he could hardly say anything, so instead he wandered across to his old rival and asked chattily, "How are things with you, Lucius?"

Lucius Malfoy snarled softly, but he seemed not to be interested in making any other use of the voice Hermione had restored to him. Severus Snape was not going to be discouraged, however: this was a wonderful opportunity to rattle the bars of Lucius Malfoy's cage, and he intended to make the most of it.

* * * *

Draco woke when the Aurors arrived and stood over his father exuding satisfaction, before, once assured he was going nowhere, they went off to collect Otho Beverley.

Draco said rapidly, "I want to say goodbye to Father," walked over and knelt beside Lucius, turning his head for him so their eyes could meet.

"You had something to say?" His father sounded polite, and even a little resigned.

"I'll make arrangements for your defence."

"You're the crazy one, Draco. Why waste money? They're going to lock me up for a thousand years. Now listen to me. The Ministry must not take Malfoy Manor; make sure of that. Remind them, if they need it, of how much they owe you - not just today, but the last two years. The family name and property will be in your hands now; look after them."

"Yes, Father," Draco said patiently.

"And remember, too, that you have nothing to be ashamed of in being a Malfoy. The only stain on our honour is that I failed." Draco rolled his eyes. His father pursued, "I hope you won't marry that girl, but if you do, don't ask me to the wedding."

Draco was not pleased with that, but it did not seem right to make him worry about it, so he said, "She doesn't want me, and she tells me I don't want her either."

His father's eyebrows quirked in that insolently astonished way that suddenly caught at Draco's memory. It was probably the last time he would ever see that expression, and he was reminded of all the times it had made him laugh. "You don't know?"

"I'm seventeen, I want anything female that moves. They just don't want to be caught. That one's my friend."

Lucius said dryly, "That probably makes her more important, not less. She's a good hater. It's just as well I wasn't able to kill you, seeing she was already at the door. Ah well. You'll do as you choose; you abandoned me long ago, though I never knew it." He frowned, and added, "I suppose that ought to give me hope you can at least look after yourself and your family responsibilities."

"You haven't asked me to look after my mother."

"You'd do that any way. I assume she's going to divorce me. Tell her to do it quickly, so that one scandal runs into the other; it will affect you less. However - your mother tells me she believes I am crazy, and that she's going to ask them to put me in St Mungo's where someone might be able to cure me. If I'm crazy, I'd rather not be cured, thank you, so please try to discourage her from doing that."

"I don't think you're crazy, Father, I think you're not human. In any case, you'll go where ever they put you, they won't ask what you want."

Lucius scowled. "I don't know what I did to get a son like you, Draco. I'm a Malfoy, and so are you. However, I suppose you did one thing right: not giving my master your allegiance at least means Malfoy Manor remains in our hands."

Draco said rapidly, "Your former master's dead, and destroyed, and if he still had a soul he'd be damned too; I don't want to hear about him again. He ruined you, and he might have ruined me, if it hadn't been for Hermione. And Harry. Don't talk to me about being a Malfoy. If you want to know, I don't feel like one of the lords of creation. I feel like a walking disaster ready to happen, and I don't much like it. I'll probably spend my life trying not to be a Malfoy, and not succeeding."

"You're weak," his father said contemptuously.

"No, but we can probably both agree that I'm flawed, even if we mean different things by it. I don't want to quarrel with you, I just came over to say goodbye."

Draco stood up, but then he knelt down again and quickly bent to kiss his father's forehead. "Goodbye, Father."

"Goodbye, Draco. One last request - I can see you're not likely to name a son after me, but don't name him after my father, either. If you don't like me, you would have hated your grandfather Valery. Now get back to your mother and make sure those Aurors don't take any liberties with the property - or with her, or you, either. Go on, go. Get out of here. Curse you, Draco, goodbye."

Draco looked into his father's silver eyes and realised that the brightness was tears he was refusing to shed. His own eyelids blinked, then he kissed his father again, on the mouth, and said quickly, "Goodbye. I'm sorry about everything. I hope I can do better than you."

He stood up and walked to his mother without looking back.

* * * *

When the Aurors got to Draco's bedroom the cupboard was bare. They reported this with plaintive irritation, when they returned to find the Malfoy wife and son waiting in the drawing room. They wondered aloud how many Death Eaters were running loose around Malfoy Manor, determining to have the place searched as soon as they had removed its owner.

Draco said that he supposed the time limit he had put on the Stupefy spell was the reason, rather than an excess of Death Eaters, but that he would certainly change the wards to ensure no more could enter the house. After that he would be returning to Hogwarts with Professor Snape and Miss Granger to pay a visit to the infirmary. If they wished to search the house they should contact him there, rather than disturbing his mother.

The Aurors did not seem to care for this self-assurance, but accepted it, since it had already been made plain to them that Draco Malfoy was highly regarded by the Order of the Phoenix.

Draco looked at his mother, sitting in her drawing room with the calm of an angel in a painting. Perhaps she was protecting her husband's privacy, even as the Aurors took him away to lock up in their Guildhouse until he was tried. Perhaps she felt that someone who hated him that much deserved to get away, since, wandless, he could do little harm. Or perhaps she was thinking the Aurors would enjoy the exercise, while Otho Beverley would not. Draco was certainly not going to ask; he had enough ambiguities of his own to deal with, today.

- The End -