A/N: Harry's and Voldemort's lines in this chapter were taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Thank you to everyone who read, alerted, favourited, and reviewed. Even those silent shows of appreciation heartened me. I know this story is...well, let's be blunt, it's a creepfest, so it means a lot to me that people were willing to stick with it. Thank you so, so much for the reviews – I love to hear from people. An ultra-special thanks to my two constant reviewers, Roni and Mila, who gave it to me straight and let me know what worked and what didn't.

Chapter Fourteen: A Bountiful Harvest

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Draco winced as his father clamped down bruisingly on his shoulder and his mother's grip on his hand, already tight, began to crush his fingers. Potter's revelation left him strangely numb. So this was how it was going to end. He'd already seen himself dead so many times over during this night that one more condemnation hardly mattered, but his gaze immediately sought out Ginny Weasley on the other side of the Hall all the same for one last glance. He'd just located her flaming ponytail when he was hauled nearly off his feet by his father and shoved in the direction of the door. "Go, Cissa," he hissed and she plowed relentlessly ahead, her hand in an iron grip around Draco's. Draco couldn't help but feel that such flight was futile. He could never hide, not with the Dark Mark. Surely they knew that. But he stumbled on, and the notion that they loved him enough to try burned through his indifference and brought a lump to his throat.

The Dark Lord's voice rose above the crowd. "...and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."

His mother let out a tiny sob as she pushed past another spectator and stumbled into the wall.

"But you're too late," Potter all but sneered back. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago."

Draco nearly collided with his mother as her steps slowed.

"I took his wand from him."

She turned to Draco, eyes full of wonder, and he stared back at her, equally stunned. Potter was right, and they both knew it. So long as the Dark Lord believed his enemy, Draco was safe. His father was upon them a moment later and Draco grabbed onto him with his free hand. "I love you," he whispered to them, needing them to know in case things went wrong.

Just then the world was engulfed in a shade of red Draco knew all too well. Hope. His breath caught at the beauty of the sight and with a sigh, he relaxed into the light, surrendered to it, asked it to enter him and his family and everyone in the room. Hope was alive, a tangible thing. He stretched out his fingers and let it nuzzle his palm, a friendly fire to comfort him as two voices rang through the Hall.

The silence was deafening. The light shone on.

People started shouting. Draco turned to his parents and saw their faces bathed in red. Safe. They looked uncertain, craning their necks forward to discern what had just happened, and then his father gasped and laid a hand over his forearm. Draco's own Mark tingled faintly. "He's gone," he told them, because there was no other explanation for the light and the way the red figures of the crowd was surging forward towards Potter.

His father grabbed him in a bear hug. "We thought we'd lost you," he said before stepping away and letting his mother throw her arms around him.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed tearfully, reaching up to touch his face.

He ducked her hand before she could make contact. "I think something's broken." He started glancing about the Hall, trying to make sense of the chaos. There was so much red.

"We should go," his father said.

"We can't," his mother said immediately. "Not without Bella."

"Cissa, we have to get out of here before anyone realises-"

"Harry Potter owes me a life debt," his mother snapped. "We will not be leaving my sister to..." Her chin wobbled. "We need her."

Aunt Bella was dead. Draco remembered this now. The Dark Lord was dead too. The Dark Lord was dead? He had to be. Potter had been dead, but he wasn't anymore. Draco was so tired. The wood was hard against his back. He was sitting, he supposed. The world was red whether his eyes were open or closed. How relaxing. His parents were alive and safe. He tried to look beside him, and his eyeballs rolled crazily from side to side. "Where's Father?"

His mother's voice came to him from far away. "He's looking for Severus, dear heart. Just a bit longer." She squeezed his hand, though, so that meant she was close.

Severus was dead. The Dark Lord was dead. There was wood at his back. He knew that much. Was he supposed to find Vince? "Vince is dead."

"I'm sorry, darling."

He was shaking. He couldn't stop shaking. "I think Uncle Rod is dead."

"I think so too."

"I'm sorry. About Aunt Bella."

There was that squeeze again. The wood was still hard at his back. He focused on that for a moment. He was on a bench at a table. He was in the Great Hall. The patterns in front of his eyes were people. He could hear their voices. Yellow light flooded in through the-

Ginny. He sat bolt upright, berating himself viciously for forgetting about her until now. Where had the red gone? There! No, that was a brother. There! ...No, another brother. Panic rose in him as his eyes continued to dart around the Hall one step behind his brain. He finally spied her with her mother and sank back against the table with a sigh. He remembered that sickening moment that Molly Weasley's enraged shriek had rang out across the Great Hall and he'd thought that Ginny had been killed, and then the deep relief he'd felt when he'd seen her alive, red hair streaming like a banner. Aunt Bella had died instead. Aunt Bella was dead. Ginny was not. He was so tired.

"I couldn't find him." His father was back. Professor Snape was dead and gone.

"There's not much we can do for him, then. Let's get Bella." Aunt Bella. Still dead.

"Stay here. I'll get her."

"Eat, Draco."

A thick slice of buttered toast was thrust into his hand. The smell made him wrinkle his nose. He dropped it behind him in disgust.

"You need to eat something. Turn around and have some pumpkin juice."

"Mother," he growled as a cool glass touched his hand.

"Draco," she growled back, almost playful as she pressed the glass against him.

"Draco."

His head shot up at that voice. Ginny was standing before him, looking as exhausted as he felt. It didn't matter that she was filthy and unsmiling and looking fit to collapse at any moment. This is what he wanted, not a glass of pumpkin juice. He wanted to take her to Burbage's quarters, gather her up in his arms, and sleep for days. He staggered to his feet.

"Harry wants you to have this." She held out Draco's wand, the one Potter had taken from him over Easter.

She'd been gone for weeks. He wanted to ask her where she'd been, if she'd been scared, if she'd missed him like he'd missed her. He wanted to tell her about his acts of sabotage, how he'd been fighting in memory of her since she'd left. There would be time for that later – hours and days and years. They were on the same side now. There was no need to hide. He plucked the wand out of her hand with a grin wide enough to make his injured face throb and took another step forward.

She took a quick step back and threw up a hand to collide with his chest. "I've got to go back to Harry now," she said, her expression impossibly gentle.

"He can wait a few minutes. I'm sure he's surrounded by admirers." He tried to lay his hand over hers, but she jerked away as soon as he touched her.

"I'm...going back to Harry now," she repeated.

He could drown in her eyes. Maybe he was drowning.

"I'm glad you made it through," she whispered. "Goodbye." She turned away from him.

They'd never once said goodbye. Not at Christmas, not at Easter when she hadn't come back, not even last year after that terrible night when she'd ultimately left him for... The meaning of her words hit him with full force. Back to Harry. No. No, that wasn't going to happen. She was walking away, her red ponytail swaying behind her, and he willed his legs to start after her. "Ginny, wait!"

Small fingers clamped around his wrist and dragged him backwards. "Don't," his mother ordered.

He stopped to pry her fingers off him. Ginny hadn't turned back. "No, Mother, I-"

"Going after that girl won't bring your aunt back."

Now he was dumbfounded. "What?"

"It was going to happen anyway," she said softly, taking hold of his arm.

"No," he insisted stubbornly as Ginny's red ponytail disappeared into a knot of survivors. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. What could his mother possibly know of it?

"Yes," she hissed, her face flushed and angry. "That girl didn't kill Bella any more than you did. There's no reason to blame her for this. You will not seek vengeance on her or her family, do you hear me?"

"Vengeance?" he echoed in bewilderment.

"Promise me. Now."

"I...promise," he said, bemused, and she stopped glaring at him.

His father approached, carrying a large burden wrapped in his cloak. "They've opened the Floo connections."

"Good." His mother was suddenly pale. "Let's go."

"No!" Draco cried. He glanced about wildly, looking for Ginny. "I need to do something first." All traces of Weasley-red hair seemed to have disappeared from the Hall. Back to Harry. This wasn't happening. It couldn't happen. As his mother steered him out of the Hall he combed through his memories, looking for what he'd done wrong, the thing he had to make up for before he could stop this.

He burst out of the Floo and promptly fell on his arse on the marble floor of the receiving salon, his landing rough enough to rattle his teeth. His mother stumbled over him with a yelp a second later and went careening into the loveseat.

The shock of his impact brought his thoughts into alignment. He'd done nothing wrong. There was nothing to make up for. She just didn't want him. He fought down a wave of nausea.

"Wasn't expecting that," he heard his mother say. "I'm going to go help your father...did you hurt yourself?"

He tried to answer her but all that came out was a choked sob. He shook his head vehemently – no, had not hurt himself. Tears stung his eyes, and he was too exhausted to stop them from spilling down his cheeks.

She just didn't want him.

When he felt his mother's arms encircle him, the tenderness was too much and he gave himself over to grief, to noisy, ugly sobs that clogged his throat. How could she do this to him, after everything they'd been through? Hadn't they shared everything? Didn't they know each other's secret hearts? Hadn't he loved her enough?

"I'm so sorry, love. You're safe. It's over now," his mother cooed as she rocked him.

He buried his face in his mother's shoulder; the pressure on his broken face was excruciating but he burrowed deeper, hoping that the pain would Obliviate him. It's over now. That only made him cry harder. Every breath brought fresh agony and more sobs that choked off his breath and sent knives through his chest.

"You'll feel better after your face is set and you sleep, darling. You've suffered a terrible shock tonight."

Ginny.

A/N: ...*ducks rotten tomato* What? Don't give me that look. It said right in the summary that the story was canon compliant! But remember this, dear reader: canon ends in nineteen years, and when it comes time to write the sequel I won't waste a second undoing what JKR hath wrought. Don't dream it's over.