A/N: Finally, the other sister (Anya) has started writing a new fic. It deals with some rather dark subject matter, so be warned, if that is not your thing. Otherwise, enjoy!

Disclaimer: don't own anything… blah – de – blah.

PROLOGUE

Draco dreamed of dying.

Fitful memories, combined with horror of the present, arose in him choked screams and thrashing limbs. Slumber had long ago given way to something else. Did he wake rested and fresh? Did his mind rejuvenate during the night, as it was supposed to? Often, he felt more asleep than awake.

Draco dreamed of retribution.

When screams belonging to a friend echoed mockingly through the stone corridors, only silenced when his own overtook them. When he was forced, on hands to knees, to beg for a slice of moldy bread. When he was fucked, pounded mercilessly into the dirt, rather than the rough brick of the wall; blood and bruises came in lesser quantity that way.

His mind sometimes scrambled for purchase. It envisioned how he would kill them, how the tiny rock lying near his grime-streaked face would serve as a formidable weapon against his opponents. He didn't care if that was the Muggle way. His father would never know, after all.

Only weeks after arriving, after only a subtle introduction as to what his life was to become, his father's lifeless body - life extinguished of its own accord - was dumped into his cell. At first, Draco had cried, then he'd screamed. Soon, he'd only stared. When the smell had become nearly unbearable, the body was at last removed. He'd watched with deadened eyes as the decomposing corpse of Lucius Malfoy was hauled away on a cart, without magic. How strangely appropriate, he'd thought at the time. For weeks afterward, the cell stank of death.

Draco dreamed of living.

Suicide, as Lucius had embraced so, was barely an option. Only those no longer wanted managed to rid themselves of life so easily. For months following his father's death, restraints bit deeply into Draco's wrists and ankles, restraining him in all solitary moments. One time, left immobile and alone too long, the skin on his back, buttocks, and thighs rubbed away, along with that of his wrists and ankles. Raw and bloody, afraid movement would simply break him apart, he was released. As the first scrap of food he'd seen in weeks was taunted outside the door, he was told to place his face against the wall and keep his mouth shut.

What fate had befallen his mother? he often wondered. Had someone taken pity on her, extended a hand in compassion or empathy for her situation? Each day that passed as the previous, without her body rotting in his cell, was a good one.

Draco remembered well, the righteous cries for his own blood. Death Eater! Dumbledore's murderer! Child-killer! He'd never killed a child. He supposed the angry voices were referring to his allowing Death Eaters into Hogwarts, one fateful night not so long ago. It had been Snape's wand, not Draco's, that felled Dumbledore that very same night. Not that anyone cared.

Few had spoken for Draco, though none were able to proclaim his innocence, and it was all over within a fortnight.

Years passed. Though to say pass, would imply a level of existence. Draco didn't exist. He endured.

Mostly, he dreamed.

The light stung his eyes as the prison door swung open, revealing a cloudless sky illuminated solely by the moon. It was nearly full tonight.

"Keep moving, please."

Draco walked slowly forward. Humid summer wind caressed his skin like the silky sheets of his childhood, and he reveled in the feeling. It was his twenty-first birthday. He had not been outside in three years.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, as his Auror escort handed him an oddly shaped bracelet.

The Auror's face twitched in annoyance. His response was laden in disdain and sarcasm. "To Malfoy Manor, your grand ancestral home. Where else?"

Before he could say anything further, the Portkey activated and Draco closed his eyes, hoping to quell the rising nausea as his body was tugged unceremoniously along.

"I'm sure you'll find everything as you left it," the Auror said mockingly, upon arrival. Draco blinked as he was pulled roughly forward. The hand on his arm gripped with bruising force, but he quickly found he didn't care as the Manor became visible.

Peacocks, sizes and colors all of variety, milled aimlessly about the grounds. There were no gardens - they had been mowed down by the Dark Lord's followers years ago- and so the birds seemed to have become the landscape instead. A haphazard display of feathers and eyes, all staring as the two newcomers walked toward them. Draco didn't understand. His mother had always been so careful not to let their breeding get out of hand.

Upon reaching the steps, he stumbled, losing his balance as the Auror gave him a final shove. He grunted as his knees rapped sharply against the stone.

"Fucking sick." The Auror continued muttering as he backed away a few paces.

Something sticky and warm was under his hands, Draco realized vaguely, also squishing unpleasantly under his knees when he shifted. Looking down, he found the steps were covered in bird droppings, the once-polished stone underneath barely visible anymore.

"Where are my mother's house-elves?" Draco asked, rising, very carefully, to his feet.

The Auror sneered unpleasantly. "How the hell would I know?" He continued. "You understand the conditions of your release, do you not?"

Nine months removed from his sentence. Another three for good behavior. For six of those twelve, he would spend his time entirely at a location of the Ministry's choosing, which turned out to be Malfoy Manor. Unconditional house-arrest, they'd called it. If he left, if he used his wand for anything more than the allotted spells, if he had any contact with unapproved persons, the conditions of his parole would be considered violated. Your cell in Azkaban will remain empty for the time being, he'd been told. Just in case.

Draco nodded. "I do."

"Good. Welcome home, Lord Malfoy."

The front doors were unlocked, though the shades and curtains were drawn, preventing even a sliver of moonlight from cutting through the looming darkness. Draco didn't wait for the Auror to leave as he entered. Lifting the wand he'd been given, he murmured Lumos. A shiver ran through his body, raising gooseflesh as magic once again coursed through his system. It had been so long. Draco had once imagined life outside of his cell, without magic, reduced to a pathetic Squib who could no longer intone even the simplest of spells. He'd attempted to steal a guard's wand the following day,

"Hello?" His voice echoed hollowly off the walls. Somewhere in the room, a rat squeaked.

With a sense of pervading dread, he stepped forward through the Manor, once the fairytale home of his childhood, later the prison of his youth. It was ironic, really, how in the past years he'd gone from one prison to another. And now, back to the beginning. Whoever said you can never go home again?

There was a line of light underneath his mother's door. Her suite, completely separate from Lucius', had always been well-lit, Draco remembered. Even when torture and murder clouded the very air of their home, when sleep was the only possible escape from such horror, she's always kept her lamps burning.

Draco knocked.

"Come in," his mother's voice rang out.

Narcissa was poised languidly in her favorite armchair, her feet tucked neatly in a pair of cashmere slippers, her reading glasses perched on her nose. She looked up when Draco entered.

"Draco?" she said, clearly puzzled. Meticulously, she turned down the page of the book she'd been reading. "What are you doing here?"

Draco blinked slowly. "Mother," he said softly. "I've been released. You didn't… Weren't you informed?"

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa chuckled, a fond look on her face. "I know Hogwarts has never been your favorite place, but really. Released?"

Blood rushed unpleasantly through his ears and his heartbeat quickened. "I haven't been in Hogwarts, Mother. I've been in Azkaban."

His mother clucked her tongue. "Draco, stop playing games," she said firmly. "I'm really much too tired for this tonight."

Snapping her book shut, Narcissa rose to her feet. "Shall we go the dining room, dear? The elves are preparing something special tonight. Something for your father. He should be home any minute, come to think of it…"

Draco didn't move for some time after she left the room, still chatting softly about the evening's menu. His knees were shaking, quite badly, so he sunk to the floor.

"Munny?" he called. A second later, a house-elf appeared. She was wearing a filthy, flowered pillow-case, the same thing she'd been wearing since Draco was an infant.

"Master Draco?" Her eyes widened, glistening with tears. "Munny was thinking you was dead, sir!"

"Munny," Draco ran his fingers lightly over the carpeted floor. It was rotting away in some places. "What's happened to my mother?"

Munny clenched her fists and began shaking profusely, tears and snot spilling uninhibited down her face. "Miss Narcissa is hurting, Master Draco! Her head is not being right! Munny tries telling her, but she isn't listening!"

"How long?" he asked.

Her wrinkled head bobbed back and forth several times. "Munny doesn't know. Other wizards took Munny away for a long time. When Munny was coming back, Miss Narcissa's head was hurting already. Munny is an awful house-elf!"

Munny began shrieking uncontrollably and beating her small fists, and then her head, into the floor. Draco watched her for a few minutes. He wondered how many times she would have to strike the floor before her skull collapsed. His mother would be quite upset about the mess.

"Go away now," he murmured.

Draco rose unsteadily to his feet and walked to the neatly made bed in the center of the room. He lay down, curling into a tight ball, wishing the comfort of goose-feather blankets would chase away the reality of what he now knew. At some point, he began to cry. Sobs tore through his body with such force that he got sick over the side of the bed.

"Shh," Narcissa's hands were there suddenly, fluttering over Draco, brushing hair back from his face, spelling away the mess. "Don't worry, Draco. I'll talk to your father in the morning. You don't ever have to go back to that awful school." She rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his chest. "Everything will be alright, my darling. I promise."

TBC