A/N: I am infinitely sorry for not updating for so long. I have no excuse but my forgetfulness. Thank you so much to my readers and editors and I will try to be better about updating!

The scream was ear-splitting. It conveyed pain beyond the understanding of the man watching. It came from a woman. She lay some feet away from Draco, writhing and screaming, her hair flying and covering her face. Draco could not move. He wanted desperately to help her, to go to her, to find out why she was screaming, to know who was causing her pain. He pitied her but wanted to rescue her more than anything. He tried to move, but he was frozen. He could not so much as lift his foot.

In an instant, a flash of realization hit him: he was holding a wand, pointing it at her. He fought against his invisible bonds, fought to lower the wand, to end the curse he knew he was shooting her with. He yelled for help, for someone to take her out of harm's way, or to take the wand from him, anything… But there was no one around. Now that he thought about it, he realized that nothing was around. He stood on a white floor in a white room that seemed not to have walls, windows or doors. He felt like he was confined in a loony-bin; the room appeared completely sterile and spotless. Draco screamed and struggled fruitlessly, did anything he could think of to end the torture he was inflicting upon the woman. He uttered shield charms, counter curses, finite incantatem… None of it worked. Tears streaming down his face, voice hoarse, Draco knew he would not be able to save her. Suddenly, the screaming stopped. The woman lay still. Her head rolled to one side, hair continuing to obscure her face. Arms splayed out, legs bent, she felt no more pain. And Draco ran to her. The moment she had fallen silent, his bonds were broken. He ran to her and knelt at her side. She had no pulse. Draco needed to know who she was. He had a burning need to know whom he had killed. He was shaking with terror and couldn't explain why his hands were moving of their own accord as he turned her head and moved her hair. Narcissa's lifeless eyes stared blankly past Draco's arm. Face covered in miniscule scratches and a black bruise beneath her right eye, she was finally at peace. Her once striking face was tired and prematurely lined and her hair had developed a gray streak. Draco let out an anguished cry, a sound beyond any he could possibly have know he was capable of emitting. He fell, sobbing, over his mother's body. And then he was jolted awake.

Draco was breathing hard, coming back to himself slowly. He realized he was crying. Suddenly he was met with intense shame and frustration. He had fallen prey to his nightmare yet again. Almost every night he saw the same images, found himself in the same frighteningly white room. His victim, however, was different every time. Sometimes he had reoccurring victims: Pansy, his father, Blaise, Potter. Others only appeared once: Dumbledore, Granger, Snape. For the first time, on this very night, Draco had dreamt of torturing and killing his mother. The one person he loved most, the one person who would continue to love him… Draco was disgusted. He loathed himself for the contents of his subconscious mind. Nightmare though it may have been, he couldn't stop his body from shaking; his terror would not cease even though the minutes slipped by.

…

Not half an hour later, Draco stood outside the Manor. It was early morning, just before dawn. He had come here, but he didn't know what he meant to do. Apologize and reconcile? Tell his parents that he'd never come back? Tell his father how he felt about him? Draco raised a fist slowly and knocked, arm shaking. He hardly made a sound, so he knocked again, more surely this time. After a few minutes he heard motion just behind the door.

"Who is it?" Lucius' voice was sharp and accusing.

"Your son."

"If you're my son, what form does your patronus take?"
"A ferret," said Draco disdainfully.

Lucius opened the door and stood staring at his son. After a moment he stood back and let Draco enter.

"Why have you come back?" Lucius' voice was crisp and business-like. There was no affection, no relief, and most certainly no joy.

"To see my mother." Draco returned the favor, his voice just as cold.

"Do you know what you did to her? She was in a right state for weeks. And you have the nerve to come back here."

"This is my house."

"Not if I have anything to do with it, Draco." Lucius led the way into the sitting room and turned back to face his son.

"What ever does that mean, father?" Countered Draco, feigning innocence, as he stooped in the doorway.

"You haven't been the same since the war. I don't know what happened to my son."

"I'm still your son. I've just grown a conscience. And some humility," Draco spat.

"My son wouldn't sit locked in his room, moaning and crying, because of God-knows-what."

"God-knows-what? Maybe because I was forced to torture innocent people? Or because the Dark Lord was using me as a private plaything? Or because he was dangling my family's lives in front of me as bait? No big deal, nothing to get worked up about, right?" Draco's voice shook as he said it all. All that had been hanging over him, all that had sat on his shoulder. "Maybe because my father didn't care at all? Only cared for his own skin?"

"How dare you, you – "

"Or did you forget already? Did you forget the mark on your arm? Did you forget the blood on our floors, the bodies in our courtyard? Draco's voice was shaking with anger and rising steadily. "Or were you too drunk to register any of that?" He was practically yelling now. "I would've left long ago, but how could I leave my mother in your care?" Draco had tears in his eyes now.

"If you leave now," began Lucius in a deadly voice, "I won't tell her you were here. She won't have to suffer again."

"But I want to see her! I want her to hear what I'm saying!" Draco's voice grew louder and higher as he spoke.

"Get out."

"No!" Draco yelled defiantly, though all he wanted to do was run away. He turned and ran, but not to the door. He headed for the stairs, for his parents' bedroom. "Mother! Mother, I'm home!" He sounded entirely hysterical now.

Narcissa emerged from her room and stared in disbelief at her son.

"Draco?"

"Yes mother, it's me. I've been having a chat with father." Draco glanced over his shoulder as Lucius stormed up the stairs.

"Impedimenta!" Shrieked Lucius as Draco yelped in shock and was blasted back a few feet; he landed against the wall, immobile.

"Lucius! What are you doing?" croaked Narcissa in fear.

"Go back to bed!" commanded Lucius. "This is between our son and me."

"No!" She called in anguish. "Draco!" She made to walk towards him, but stopped in her tracks.

"Goodbye, mother." Draco had regained mobility. His voice was calm. He shoved past his father as he stomped off down the stairs.

"Deletrius!" Cried Lucius savagely.

Draco was suddenly soaring through the air, and before he could throw out his arms to stop himself, collided with the front door.

"Draco! Lucius, how could you?" There were tears in the desperate woman's voice.

Draco got up, using the wall to support himself, and opened the door. Blood was beginning to stream down his lip and his forehead was throbbing. He glanced back at his mother, but couldn't see her. She was hidden by the banister. The blood now flowed steadily from his bottom lip. Draco slammed the door and walked towards the front gate unsteadily. The sun was just beginning to rise and it cast a brilliant light over the Manor. He was in a daze, entirely unsure of whether what just happened was real. Draco reached the gate and looked back. He wondered if his mother would be alright. He disapparated, yet again not knowing where he was going.