The F.E.R.R.E.T Program

Draco stared down at the parchment as it shook violently in his hand. He was no idiot. He'd known this was coming, but he still feared it just the same. While reading each subject, flashbacks entered his mind. He remembered every accusation listed. Every one of them.

And there were quite a few that he regretted too.

He drank himself a potion, an attempt to relax his anxiety. It was pointless, a waste of a good brew, but it was all the hope that he had.

His parents were reading their own letters— summons from the Ministry to appear before court for their committed crimes.

"We should run," Lucius sputtered out hoarsely. He did not take his eyes off the paper— his list of accusations being the longest of the three, dating back to when Draco was fourteen.

"No," Narcissa spoke up, her voice very quiet. Her list was the smallest, having only done two crimes, but that was merely because her forearm was unmarked. Nonetheless, she had endured a plenty share of her own horrors.

Draco pulled his gaze from the paper to look at her in utter shock. In all his life, the woman had never said no to her husband.

"If I go back there, I'll surely die!" Lucius protested, speaking about Azkaban, horrified by the thought.

"I'm exhausted, Lucius," Narcissa announced with a sigh. "I'm tired of running. Tired of living in fear. Tired of having everyone else decide my fate. It's been almost thirty years, I just want to live a normal life. I'm not running anymore. You can if you want, but I'm not running!"

Lucius scoffed. "Easy for you to say!" He waved his paper. "I've got enough on here to lock me away for life!"

She glared at him. "And who's fault is that?"

He buttoned up his lips, tightening his jaw. "You know I had no choice."

"Half of those things on that list, you imposed on yourself," she returned bitterly. "No one made you torture that Muggle in '94. You could have easily skipped that activity."

Draco massaged his temples. He remembered the horror he felt when he learned that his father had done that. Lucius claimed that the Muggle had deserved it, but even at the age of fourteen, Draco had his doubts. What could a Muggle do to a Wizard to deserve such torture?

He was not to openly question his father's actions though. And so he had remained silent about the whole ordeal.

Draco reread his list of accusations. Six crimes— that could be proven anyway. One, the biggest one, hadn't even been his choice, which led up to four other crimes . He swallowed down a lump of bile as it crept up into his throat.

"Me neither," he announced in a whisper, unable to find his voice. He didn't look his father in the eye. This would also be his first time defying the man. "You've done this family no good. We wouldn't even be facing a fraction of this rubbish if you made better choices for us. You failed us father, and now we all are going to be punished for it. All because of Muggles?" Draco was disgusted.

Lucius let out a shaky breath. He dropped into the chair across from Draco and gathered up fistfuls of his hair. "You're right," he admitted grimly. "This is all my bloody fault."

?!

"How do you plead?"

Several eyes watched him. His former school mates, former friends and enemies, their parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles… lots of people came to witness Draco's trial. They wanted to see him rot away in Azkaban.

"Guilty on one account," Draco answered, picking at his hands, focusing his attention on them.

Papers shuffled above him at the seated Wizengamot. The group of officials was only made up of fifteen members now, many of whom were lost in the war. Some quit their jobs and moved away, too traumatized by the war and its aftermath.

"Which one?" Minister Kingsley asked, curious.

"The Cruciatus Curse, cast on Harry Potter, Sixth Year."

"You are claiming innocence of all other crimes?"

"Yes."

"You bear the Dark Mark, Mr. Malfoy," the minister said gently, as if reminding him of it. "Did you not choose to do so on your own accord? I hear that's not usually the case."

Draco lifted his head to look at his mother. Her eyes swelled up with tears, and she dabbed the corners of them with a handkerchief. She gave him a rigid nod.

Draco blinked back his own tears as the memory unfolded in his mind.

Severus had met him at King's Cross after fifth year had ended. His mother was nowhere in sight. This instantly sent Draco's heart thrashing against his chest. With Lucius locked away, and the Dark Lord returning, he had every right to worry.

"Where's Mother?" he asked carefully, truly not wanting to know the answer.

"Come," was all Severus said.

Up until that moment, the biggest fear Draco had experienced was when he had been forced into the Forbidden Forest when he was eleven.

This was nothing in comparison. Nothing at all. This was tend fold, hundred fold, possibly even a million fold more scary.

The Manor didn't even look like his home anymore. It was cold; dreary. Frightening. The house elves were nowhere in sight, too afraid to come out of the shadows. Draco shivered as Severus escorted him to a room— one that his parents would host parties and banquets in. It was large, and every footstep, every noise, echoed throughout it.

He sat there, in his father's chair, as if he owned the bloody place. His white eyes pierced Draco, smugly, evilly, sinisterly. This was Draco's first time meeting him, and he had developed an immediate fear of him.

"Good afternoon, Draco," the Dark Lord greeted.

Draco tipped his head, showing respect. "Sir."

"Your father has failed me, boy," the man (if you could call him that) purred out, thoughtfully skimming his long, nasty fingers along the arm of the chair he sat in. Draco made note to burn that chair when this was all over— if it ever would be. "I need someone to replace him."

Draco set his jaw. He wasn't interested. Not in the slightest. He was nothing like his father. Sure, he'd admit, he liked the attention his name and money could buy him, but he didn't enjoy physically harming others to get it.

"I'm no use to you," Draco said, hoping the Dark Lord would agree with him.

Draco stiffened as the Dark Lord stood up and circled Draco, studying him with hungry eyes. "I hear you have exceptional skills."

"I doubt you're interested in the mastery of pitiful secondary school spells."

Draco jumped when he felt the Dark Lord set a hand to his shoulder. He dramatically closed his eyes, feeling those hideous nails dig into his suit, prodding the flesh of his skin, almost threatening to scratch him apart with them. He dared not move away from him.

"On the contrary, there are several ways you could be of use to me, all the while, sitting safely at Hogwarts."

"I'm deeply appreciative of your offer, but I'm really only interested in finishing school," Draco declined politely. "I'm not sure I could properly balance both duties."

"Perhaps you need a little persuasion then."

Draco swallowed hard. That was a threat. He braced himself for what the Dark Lord had planned for him.

The door slammed open and Draco watched Yaxley rush his mother into the room. Narcissa stood up tall and brave, but tears stained her face. Her bottom lip was fat and bloody, from a blunt hit. At her stomach, her wrists were bound together.

"Mother!" he gasped, making to move toward her and comfort her, but the large, inhuman hand of the Dark Lord pressed against his chest, stopping him.

"She's fine, Draco" he hissed amusingly. "For now anyway. I advised Yaxley not to touch her until I've had my talk with you. He's very attracted to her, you see—"

Mother let out a disgruntled yelp as Yaxley set his hand to her backside, groping it.

"How can I be of service, My Lord?" Draco asked grimly, barely moving his lips, vowing to kill Yaxley as soon as he had the chance.

At the trial, they prodded Draco with a number of questions, an effort to understand where his current opinions stood as an actual man, and not a boy who had been forced into doing a sociopath's dirty work.

How do you feel about Muggleborns?

They don't right fit in our world.

Why not?

It's hard to imagine someone shoved into a world of magic after being deprived of it all their life. So many are uneducated, dropped right into the school, immediately expecting to know and follow all the rules that everyone else has known all their life. Seems awfully expectant of them, doesn't it? And it certainly isn't safe for the rest of us.

Draco would live to regret that answer.

?!

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, blinking. "You want me to do what now?" He was in a small office, surrounded by the minister and the Trio that had been making his life hell for the past near-decade.

Minister Kingsley slid a piece of parchment across the desk to him, setting a quill near it for him to sign.

"It's this, or you're to spend the allotted time in Azkaban. I'm sure you don't want to go there."

Draco grunted. This had been a scheme, no doubt. They honestly had no intentions of sending him to Azkaban over a duel in the girl's bathroom. Potter had gotten his revenge that same day, so it was tit for tat. Then there's the fact that he was a child at the time.

No, they needed him to do their dirty work. There weren't enough people to fulfill this newly appointed position.

"And how am I supposed to finish school while doing this extra curriculum?"

Potter crossed his arms, giving him a stern look. "You spent an entire year trying to murder Dumbledore and charm a simple cabinet to allow your fellow Death Eaters a way inside of Hogwarts— and you still did very well in your classes. I think you're underestimating your abilities."

Draco took a seat, suppressing a sigh, reading over the paper. His eyes narrowed irritably. "The F.E.R.R.E.T Program? That's what you named it?"

Weasley's lips formed a wicked smirk. "The acronym's my idea! Brilliant, isn't it? Sometimes I surprise myself!"

Potter stirred in his seat, clearing his throat. "You understand how serious you must take your position, right? One foul move—"

"And I'll be sharing a cell with my father. I know," Draco concluded with a grumble. He was grateful for not being imprisoned, but this community service rubbish was going to be for the pits. "So… Who's my first victim?"

The Minister and the Golden Trio exchanged looks with each other, not finding his sarcasm at all humorous.

"This is a bad idea…" Weasley admitted with a sigh.

"No," Potter argued definitively. "I think it'll do Malfoy well to mingle with some Muggleborns."

"This is a bloody joke! A Pureblood git having to introduce and teach Muggleborns the magical ways seems fitting until it's actually brought into play! Like he's going to teach them anything useful!"

Granger remained silent, looking from her friends to Draco. She, being the only Muggleborn out of the trio, had been the most affected by the Pureblood regime.

And Draco's bullying.

He looked away, too ashamed to even look her in the eye.

"Look, you either want me to do this job, or you don't. We are talking about defenseless children here. And you're trusting me—" he said this loosely "— with them. I am well aware that their future is important to our society, but it's not that I'm going to enjoy this job, which is the point of it, I'd wager. It isn't something that needs a lot of brains to do either, so I'm perfectly capable of performing like a good little solider."

"Malfoy, you claimed to have regrets," Granger said firmly. "You told Kingsley you would prove that you have changed. Unfortunately, this is the only option you're being permitted at the current time. So do you want the job or not?"

He gave her a curt nod, without even thinking about it. He could surely handle a few preadolescent children. It'd be boring, annoying work, but it'd certainly be safer than what the Dark Lord had attempted to force him to do. And he did need to prove to the world that he wasn't the twit he once was.

"And do you intend to put your best foot forward in doing your job?"

Another nod.

"Then stop wasting our time and just sign the bloody papers."