Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply. It should be intuitively obvious that I have no rights to Harry Potter or anything associated with it, but on the off chance it is not, the reader should know that I in fact have no such rights.

Draco Malfoy didn't really start to get worried until Aunt Bellatrix "retired" for health reasons. She had been the Dark Lord's right-hand-witch since her escape from Azkaban fourteen years previously, and Draco hadn't been able to imagine any scenario short of death that would cause her to leave his service, especially after a dozen years as the second most powerful person in Britain. Her death shortly thereafter in St. Mungo's, officially of "heart failure brought on by her tireless work for the renewal of Great Britain", was the cause of three days of official mourning, culminating in a parade, a state funeral, and a nineteen-wand salute by an honour guard. The faces of the cream of the New Society who solemnly watched the funeral procession, Draco included, reflected the official mood of sadness at a life cut tragically short (which was avenged officially by the slow death of the unfortunate healer in charge of Bella's care by use of the Cruciatus Curse), but while the faces of many mourners also betrayed a secret relief at the death of the unpredictable madwoman, Draco showed concern more than anything else.

For all of Aunt Bellatrix's insanity, she was in remarkably good health, even after all those years in Azkaban. Heart failure sounded so implausible a death for his aunt that Draco couldn't help but suspect assassination. The Muggle population of Britain was slowly, quietly, and (to the Muggles, at least) invisibly being culled, so while they would have motive, had they been aware of this, they had no access to St. Mungo's in any event. Their sympathizers in the Resistance would be the natural culprits, but the Ministry had said nothing about that possibility, and they were usually not reticent at blaming the Mudbloods and blood-traitors. He knew that there were still some prominent and capable members of the Resistance at large – Granger, George Weasley, Shacklebolt, Dennis Creevey, Sybil Trelawney, that squib Longbottom, and of course, the 'Arch-Traitor' himself – but whether they even remained in Britain at all was anybody's guess. Could they have been involved?

His aunt's death left Draco as the only member of his family left in government. Uncle Rodolphus never really regained the Dark Lord's confidence after his escape of Azkaban, and had no official role under the new regime. Aunt Bellatrix was dead. Father was sidelined a few years ago, officially to enjoy a well-earned retirement, but according to a Muffliatoed conversation he had with Draco shortly thereafter, the Dark Lord's lingering suspicion of insufficient zeal that was the true reason. Draco himself suspected that his father's formerly close relationship with the Arch-Traitor was also a cause, something that made Draco worry about his own future as well.

But in the meantime, worries about his position and lingering suspicions about his aunt's demise had to take a back seat to his life. He spent as much time with his wife Astoria as he possibly could – like his father, he seemed to be blessed in that an arranged marriage had turned into a true love match, and Draco was a rarity under in the New Society – a truly uxorious man. His son Scorpius was destined to be a powerful wizard, at least as far as Draco was concerned. Draco's job as Assistant Head of the Foreign Department (formerly the Department of International Magical Cooperation – a name quite unsuited to the new regime) brought him status and wealth, and no small degree of difficulty. The Dark Lord's Pureblood Revolution had gained little traction in other countries, and outright hostility in most – all the various wizarding countries of the Americas and Oceania had broken ties with Wizarding Britain, and relations with those countries which still officially treated with Wizarding Britain varied from outright hostility to "correctness" at best.

The only exception to the international opprobrium Wizarding Britain faced was from Wizarding Ireland, which had been 'redeemed' by Irish Death Eaters (with strong support from the Dark Lord, of course) shortly after the Pureblood Revolution in 1997. There had been some talk of reunion between the two wizarding polities, but the official line of the Foreign Department was that Britain needed international friends more than it needed direct control of Wizarding Ireland. That didn't stop substantial coordination between the two island's Ministries, however, any more than it stopped cooperation between the British Resistance and the Irish Resistance, which he understood was currently led by his old schoolmate Seamus Finnigan.

But for now, Draco's job was to concentrate on preserving what good relations Wizarding Britain had with Spain and Portugal. Perhaps a trip to Lisbon was in order – Astoria would appreciate the trip, and the shopping opportunities, and Portugal was one of the countries which leaned more towards "correct" relations with Britain, so as the Dark Lord's emissary he should be treated well enough.

All thoughts of his aunt's suspicious death left his mind as he planned his Iberian trip.

Four years had passed. Draco hastily returned to London from an International Confederation of Wizards conference in New York when he heard the news. He didn't mind – the conference had gone extremely poorly. While none of the nations of the Americas had renewed their relationship with Britain, and indeed the Department of Magic of the United States and the Canadian Ministry of Magic had increased their verbal attacks on the Dark Lord in recent years, they couldn't very well exclude Britain's representatives from official ICW conferences. That hadn't stopped the Australian Minister proposing, and the United States Secretary of Magic from seconding, a motion to officially expel Britain and Ireland from the ICW and institute worldwide economic and magical sanctions against the two countries. The motion only received 58% approval, short of the three-quarters required, but it was an ominous sign.

He was glad he didn't bring Astoria. The trip was an endless series of slights and insults – substandard food, shoddy service, unclean hotel rooms. Draco's complaint to the United States Secretary that "The Dark Lord would hear about this" brought a response that he was welcome to tell him, and if Voldemort (the American had no fear of saying the Dark Lord's name) had any complaints, he was welcome to make them in person.

Draco felt no need to relay that message to him.

But when he heard Dolores Umbridge, Head of the New Society Purification Commission (the successor to the Muggle-Born Registration Commission of the first few years after the Pureblood Revolution) had been assassinated in Edinburgh, he knew he had to return home for the official mourning.

The basic facts of the case were well known. A disgruntled half-blood employee of the Department of Magical Transportation, Lemuel Nichols, used a Reductor Curse on her head from close range, pulping the woman's head like an exploding watermelon. Her bodyguards had mysteriously been detained and left her unattended at the time of Nichols' attack. Lemuel was currently in the tender care of Yaxley's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and would presumably reveal whether he was acting alone or in concert with anyone else.

Draco fervently hoped that Nichols was acting alone.

Umbridge got a nineteen-wand salute, a parade even longer than Aunt Bellatrix's, and the cream of the New Society mourning her loss and raging at the traitorous Nichols, while commenting about how one couldn't really expect anything different from half-bloods, could they? Practically Muggles, they were. There were a spate of arrests of half-bloods in the next few weeks, and then everything calmed down. Umbridge was respected as a hard worker, a steadfast supporter of the Dark Lord since the Pureblood Revolution, and one of the last remaining links to the pre-Revolution Ministry, but she was quite unloved, and other than the renaming of a few streets after her, and the renaming of Ottery St. Catchpole to 'Umbridgecaster', her assassination left the public consciousness.

For precisely five weeks.

After those five weeks, Draco found a think scroll of parchment on his desk – the Official Report of the Trial of Lemuel Nichols, Enemy of the Pureblood State. Draco spend the morning reviewing it, but was ashen-faced at the end of the parchment. Nichols was found to have conspired with the Arch-Traitor himself (no surprise there), Hermione Granger... and Lucius Malfoy.

A quick Floo call to his mother confirmed that his father had been arrested by the DMLE that morning.

His first thought was to take the day off, and go comfort his mother, but he quickly banished it from his head. He had to maintain his position. Mother was still Mother, of course, but he couldn't be seen to be forsaking his duty – especially to see the wife of a blood-traitor, for that was certain to be the official line from this point forward. He had to avoid the taint of his father's actions (actions Draco was absolutely convinced were fictitious). No, better to stay in the office and work.

When he got home that night, he held Astoria tightly in his arms, and didn't say one word the entire evening. What was there to say?

Two more years had passed. Draco was no longer working for the Foreign Department – he had been reassigned to head the Floo Powder Marketing Board. A step down, to be sure, but he was still employed, and still officially in the good graces of the Ministry and the Dark Lord. And after all, Floo Powder was an important commodity. Sure, it was so necessary, there wasn't much need to market it at all, but Draco's staff still submitted reports, which he revised slightly and sent on to the Department of Magical Commerce, and his paycheck was actually better than it had been at the Foreign Department. And as Astoria endlessly pointed out to her friends, he was no longer anyone's assistant – he was his own boss at the FPMB, to the extent that anyone could be under the New Society.

Still, the summons to the DMLE offices was worrying. At least it was a personal note, hand-written by the new head of the DMLE, Vincent Crabbe.

The summons didn't surprise him, really. He was resigned to the fact that the occasional interrogation by the DMLE would be a part of his life for as long as he still drew breath. A year and a half after Umbridge was killed by Nichols, there was a sensational public trial of his father, Yaxley (who had been sacked as the DMLE's head shortly after Umbridge's assassination), his old friend Theodore Nott (who had headed the Department of Intoxicating Substances for the five years prior to Umbridge's death), Hogwarts Headmistress Alecto Carrow, and a dozen lesser figures. The defendants were accused, individually and collectively, of conspiring to kill Umbridge, hiring Lemuel Nichols to commit the deed (Yaxley was specifically accused with letting him get close to Umbridge), sabotage against the New Society, conspiring with Mudbloods, blood-traitors, and half-bloods (that was a new development) to overthrow the Pureblood State, of swearing allegiance to the Arch-Traitor and his Resistance, and even having plotted the death of the Dark Lord himself forty years ago during the First Revolution.

There were lurid stories in the Daily Prophet about the evidence against the sixteen defendants, all of it given by the defendants themselves. Draco shuddered to think of what tortures they must have endured to tell such lies against themselves. To be fair, Draco only knew his father's testimony to be a lie for certain – Lucius Malfoy loved the Dark Lord, and was completely loyal. For all he knew, the other fifteen could be telling the truth, mostly, although he really couldn't see Nott as a traitor and conspirator. But then, he always thought the Arch-Traitor was loyal.

The worst part was when Nott testified that Draco himself had attended meetings with Draco's father and the Arch-Traitor, both before and after the Pureblood Revolution. Meetings during which they allegedly plotted the Dark Lords demise. Meetings with the Arch-Traitor's lieutenants, Granger and Potter. This was a foul lie, of course, and mercifully his father didn't give the same testimony. That didn't stop virulent editorials in the Prophet calling for Draco and his whole family to be thrown unceremoniously through the Veil of Death.

Of course, they were all found guilty and given the Kiss.

Draco's mother was put into "protective custody" in a camp in the Shetlands, as a result of the threats. How she was supposed to be protected with her wand confiscated was beyond him, but at least he got letters from her. Short ones.

Crabbe greeted Draco amiably on his arrival. Draco was actually impressed that his old housemate had done well for himself. They were never really friends, but they were companions of sorts. Draco always took Crabbe as a petty thug with a talent for viciousness, not someone capable of running the DMLE, but the Dark Lord obviously had use for Crabbe's particular talents.

They engaged in small talk – how Astoria was, how Tracey was enjoying being wife of a department head, before Crabbe said casually, "We've captured Granger, you know."

Being careful no to show too much fear or interest, Draco merely said, "Excellent. That shows what a change of leadership can do for a department."

Crabbe smiled a little smile, and said, "Yes, quite. It wasn't easy – she and her companion, Creevey, fought four Aurors to a standstill. They only got her when reinforcements arrived, and got Creevey with the Killing Curse. Granger was shocked enough that one of our boys got her wand arm with a Reductor. Totally obliterated it – sinew and blood everywhere. We could regrow it, but..." Crabbe shrugged.

"Good. The filthy Mudblood deserves it," Draco said evenly. "Has she been given the Kiss, or did she just get Reductored to death on the spot?"

"Oh, she's still alive. Material witness and whatnot. As a Mudblood, her testimony's not worth anything in court, of course, but still..." Crabbe leaned forward over his desk. "As I recall, you spoke a lot about Granger when we were in school."

"Yes. I hated that bitch and her friends."

"Ah. Hate. Is that what it was? Still, she wasn't bad-looking. For vermin. You always had an eye for the ladies, didn't you Draco?"

"Not for stinking Mudbloods. I wouldn't sully myself."

Crabbe thought about this. "That's not what Pansy said. But I'm sure you're right. Still, my boys will give her a thorough going-over. See if she knows where the Arch-Traitor is. I bet you'd find that very interesting – I remember how he was like to you."

"Vincent, he was your head-of-house as much as mine."

"True. But you were always his favourite. Still, I'm sure it's nothing. But I bet Granger will make a very interesting witness at the next trial. No real legal value, of course, but interesting nevertheless."

Draco tried not to show his nervousness. "There's going to be another trial?"

"I'm sure of it. Traitors everywhere, but then you'd know that, wouldn't you? Your father... That was quite the shock, eh? The rot runs deep."

"Vincent, you know I had nothing to do with that."

"Oh, I know. We were mates after all, weren't we? You wouldn't hide that. Still, its like Mudbloods not being able to testify. Blood. It's all in the blood."

Crabbe paused for a few minutes – nervous minutes to Draco.

"But I didn't call you down to talk shop. You're an investor in the Tornados – how do you think they're going to do this year? We should really catch a game."

Draco ended up going to a couple Tutshill Tornados games with Crabbe over the next few months, much to the mortification of Astoria, who thought he was being led into a trap. Crabbe was very talkative, very friendly, although he mentioned Granger both times – saying how she was still good-looking, "or was, before the interrogations. And the arm, I suppose." And how she was very talkative.

"She was screwing Creevey. That's why she lost it when my boys killed him. At least she wasn't polluting a proper wizard, eh? Full of praise for the Arch-Traitor, too. 'Bravest man I know', she says. Bloody Gryffs. Calls him the 'true son of Dumbledore, in all but blood'. Swears he'll get the Dark Lord. Says he was a half-blood too. Figures."

Draco didn't find it politic to point out that Tracey Crabbe was a half-blood as well.

"Do you know he did this all over a Mudblood? Potter's mother. Can you imagine, giving it all up for a Mudblood? Worse, for the memory of a Mudblood, not even to shag the bint? I always thought he was screwy."

Draco didn't scoff. Crabbe had thought Sn- (no, Draco thought, you don't even think his name, let alone say it) the Arch-Traitor was great back in school, just like Draco had, but there was no way he was going to say it.

Draco got another summons from Crabbe a few weeks later.

"The fucking bitch offed herself," he said without way of introduction. "Used her robe as a noose. Just like a Muggle. Figures." Crabbe shook his head. "I was hoping she'd be able to testify. Maybe give up names of some old lovers, eh? That's always good for a laugh. Creevey. Potter and Weasley, I'll bet. I wonder who else?" He waved his hand. "No matter. She told us enough interesting things.

"There's going to be a new trial, by the way. Seventeen newly exposed traitors. Mostly nobodies, but Amycus Carrow is one of them. Pansy Parkinson, too."

Draco left the DMLE is his worst spirits yet. Pansy was no traitor – Draco knew that. Seven years of school with the girl, a Yule Ball together, stolen moments in the Astronomy Tower – she wasn't wife material, but she had been a good girl, and a decent friend, of sorts. He hadn't spoken with her since he proposed to Astoria, in deference to her, but he followed her life occasionally with the interest an ex-lover with fond memories would. He thought she had been doing very well in the Portkey Office.

He also knew that they would use Pansy to get to him. It was obvious, now. Flight wasn't an answer – there was no way he'd be allowed to leave Britain, the borders were too well controlled, and getting an International Portkey was virtually impossible except on Ministry business these days. This was an innovation Pansy instituted, ironically.

Nothing to do but muddle on.

The trial, a year after the trial of his father, was sensational. Pansy lied all the way through her testimony, saying she plotted with Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, all her co-defendants, and of course, Draco and the Arch-Traitor himself. The (by now) usual litany of crimes against the Revolution, the Pureblood State, and the Dark Lord. The accusations of conspiracy.

And a strange accusation that the Arch-Traitor ordered Pansy to 'give' Draco to Loony Lovegood, of all people, and that he and Lovegood were lovers, plotting the Dark Lord's downfall. He'd never spoken one word to Lovegood, not even in derision, even though she was one of Potter's hangers-on. Not even when she was held prisoner in his basement.

He shuddered, thinking of that time.

Seventeen guilty verdicts. Seventeen Dementor's Kisses.

Draco was fired from the Floo Powder Marketing Board, of course.

More worryingly, the letters from Mother had stopped.

Draco knew he was living on borrowed time. He begged Astoria to save herself and Scorpio, and divorce him, but instead of acting the proper Slytherin, she vowed to stand by him, which made him love her all the more. Scorpio's acceptance to Hogwarts was withdrawn just before he was to take the Express to the school.

The three of them spent their days at their apartment (Malfoy Manor having been forfeited to the State upon his father's conviction), waiting for the end.

It came on a Thursday.

Four months after Pansy's trial, Draco was arrested by, of all people, Marietta Edgecombe. ("It's Goyle now, blood-traitor," she spat at him during the arrest.) She had obviously made her peace with the New Society, and was Acting Head of the DMLE. When Draco asked about Vincent, she laughed and said, "Oh, you'll see your fellow blood-traitor soon enough in Azkaban!" She was merciful enough to let him kiss his wife and son goodbye, and then he was shuffled out of the apartment, and right there in the hallway, hit with a Stunning Spell.

The next few months were torturous and tedious. The Dementors were not used as full-time guards anymore when there were so many other, more creative, uses for them, so other than their occasional sweep through the prison, it wasn't nearly as bad as stories Aunt Bellatrix used to tell. Oddly, Draco was never subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, just endless sleepless nights being interrogated and endless days standing in a cell ankle-deep in stagnant grey water. The interrogations were constant and uninteresting, with him being ordered to confess to conspiring with the Arch-Traitor and the rest of the Anti-Pureblood Block, they were officially called. They repeated Pansy's accusations at the trial, accused him of a long-term affair with Lovegood, where they would plot the downfall of the purebloods. He didn't confess, as he knew there was no point, but they never tortured him.

He saw Crabbe occasionally in the halls. Crabbe had very obviously been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. Crabbe wouldn't talk to him, but he learned from his interrogators that he was accused, as expected, of being in league with the Arch-Traitor, and running the DMLE in a purposely slipshod manner to help the resistance. It was the same thing Yaxley had been accused of. His half-blood wife was used as a bludger against him as well. Draco suspected that Crabbe was also being punished for not getting enough out of Granger to properly charge him along with Pansy and the others.

Eventually he was called into an office with Marietta Goyle. The word "SNEAK" could still be faintly seen in faded scars on her face. When she saw him looking at her scars, she said, "I used to be ashamed of this. Now I'm proud. I should really thank Granger – if she hadn't done this, I wouldn't have seen how wrong she was. And how right the Dark Lord is. And I got the last laugh – I outlasted that bitch. And I'll outlast you." She then paused. "If you don't confess, I'll outlast your wife and son. By a long, long time. We haven't used the Cruciatus on you because you, Drakey, are going to be our star witness, and we want you in top form. You'll expose blood-treason for what it is – foul, vile, unworthy of wizards. And if you don't, every Cruciatus we haven't used on you, we'll use on pretty-pretty Astoria and Scorpio. Along with anything else we can think of.

"Or, you cooperate. They get sent, unharmed, to the Shetlands. You get Kissed, of course, but that's happening anyway. Your choice."

Draco made the only choice possible.

A few weeks later, after having gone over his story with his interrogators repeatedly, he was brought by a guard into a room he hadn't been in before, another cell in Azkaban. This one was comparatively nicer than his – no water on the floor, the mattress a little less flea-bitten – although there was still no window.

He saw a short woman with tangled, knee-length, stringy dirty-blond hair, dressed in shabby, filthy robes which may have once been blue, but were now grey with age and dirt. She was humming softly to herself, interrupted with a disturbing, almost maniacal giggle.

"Lovegood?"

"Hello, Draco. Lover." She giggled again. "We're supposed to get our stories straight, you know. The trial is in three weeks."

"We were never lovers you crazy loon."

"Oh, I know that," she said, softly. "Not really. But they will say we were. We will say we were. We have to. So everyone will think we were. In four weeks there will be no one, no one free that is, who will say we weren't. Except the Resistance. If they're still out there. I hope they still are. Some of them were like friends."

Draco didn't know what to say.

"Our children would have been blond, you know. With grey eyes. Just like both of us."

Draco had no idea Lovegood had grey eyes, but this was confirmed when she slowly turned around.

Draco had never thought she was a looker, with her bug-eyes, her too-thin frame, her vapid expression, and that atrocious hair, but she had at least been young and healthy-looking, and smiled warmly a lot. Twenty years of incarceration had changed that. Where she had been too-thin, she was now skeletal. Her bug-eyes were now sunken and almost lifeless. Her skin was waxy and she looked like a corpse. Then she smiled at him...

She still had most of her teeth, although her front teeth were broken, but the smile was one of a woman without hope, with nothing to smile about. It was a mockery of a smile.

She obviously knew it, because she laughed, a cruel mockery of a laugh. "Not so pretty as I used to be, am I lover? Not that I ever was, I know, but back when we spent all those nights together, you must have seen something in me."

"We never spent any nights together and you know it, Loony!" he shouted.

There was a banging on the door of the cell. "Quiet down, you blood-traitors, or I'll Crucio the both of you!"

She giggled again. "I know you weren't really my lover, Draco. No one was ever, not really. But in four weeks, no one will believe that. We have to get our story straight."

Apparently their story was that Pansy and Hermione introduced Draco and Loony in his fourth year at Hogwarts. ("You corrupted me early," she laughed.) They were clandestine lovers after that, plotting with the Arch-Traitor, who Lovegood refused to call anything other than 'Professor Snape', and aiding Potter against the Dark Lord. Her 'kidnap' in her sixth-year was merely a ruse to get her to Malfoy Manor to be with her lover.

"Apparently Aunt Bellatrix wasn't very vigilant," Lovegood said with another horrible smile. Then leaning forward as if imparting some great secret, she whispered, "But we won't tell them that."

Their attempt at plotting was exposed when they summoned Potter and Granger, and vigilant Aunt Bellatrix saw through the deception and summoned the Dark Lord. Draco betrayed Potter under orders of the Arch-Traitor, as they were playing a long game. The rest was history. The Dark Lord killed Potter, although it took two Killing Curses to the back to do so. Granger escaped, but not before Aunt Bellatrix killed her lover Weasley. The Arch-Traitor was exposed, and fled.

"You talked your way out of things, with your silver tongue," Luna said, and laughed madly. "But I was exposed, and sent for nineteen years to a windowless cell in the Shetlands. I didn't betray my lover, though, until now. Aren't you lucky!" She laughed again. "Your Mummy says 'hello', by the way, but I don't think she'll last much longer. If she's even lasted this long."

Draco shuddered at that.

"And then in three weeks, you, me, Crabbe, Dolohov, and seventeen others all confess everything to the people of Britain. We get found guilty and executed, and everyone knows not to betray You-Know-Who," she said, using the archaic term for the Dark Lord.

"Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?"

Lovegood shrugged. "They promised me the Veil instead of the Kiss. They're probably lying, you know, but it gives me something to hope for. I haven't had much of that in twenty years.

She laughed madly again. "There is one other thing, you know. Professor Snape, Harry, Hermione, even Dumbledore... they really were never as good as You-Know-Who at one thing."

Draco had to ask what.

She walked over to him, leaned in close (Draco could tell she hadn't had a bath in years), and whispered in his ear, "Killing Death Eaters, silly. Even in the old days, as punishment. And now... no one has killed as many Death Eaters as he has. If I can take help take twenty more down, it will be something nice to tell everyone on the other side. I can't wait to hear what Harry has to say."

She glowered at him so intensely he shrank back. "I hate you Death Eaters. I hate you all. You took everything from me. Everything. Daddy. Harry. Ginny. All of the only friends I ever had, except Neville, who you haven't caught yet, I hear. Not just people, either. My life. My hopes. My creatures. My innocence. My world."

She looked intensely at him. "I've never forgiven you, you know. I know you were a Death Eater, I know we didn't know one another, but I was a prisoner in your house. You could have said hello. You could have done anything for me, Dean, Mr. Ollivander. I would have appreciated anything. You could have even just been quiet when they captured Harry, but you didn't. Just another Death Eater. I just hope they don't give me the Kiss, or the Veil first."

Draco backed away from the madwoman in front of him. They called her 'Loony' in school. She must have always been mad, he thought. He hoped. Otherwise what would years in the camp on the Shetlands do to Astoria? To Scorpius?

"They're giving us lots of time. Probably so that we lovers can get reacquainted. You're still very handsome," she said. "But I don't think I will, Draco. You betrayed me. Got married!" She laughed and laughed and laughed some more, doubling over in unbalanced glee, before she caught her breath, and turned away from him, humming the tune she was humming when he first came in, and giggling softly to herself.

"Saturn is ascendant, you know."

"There's no windows, you nutjob. How would you know?"

She laughed, not turning towards him. "I was a Ravenclaw, silly. I haven't seen the sky in twenty years, but I know. It's been ascendent for a long time."

She sighed as Draco turned and banged on the cell door, demanding to be let out. "It will be a lovely trial," she said. "I can't wait to tell Mummy and Daddy."