Disclaimer: If I own Harry Potter then you will turn into an fish in 3...2...1...No? Well, I guess that settles it then. I don't own Harry Potter, or anything else of J. K.'s I don't own.

"I can't seem to fight these feelings, I'm caught in the middle of this, And my wounds are not healing, I'm stuck in between my parents." Broken Home, Papa Roach.

Chapter Three

Fallen Cradle

Draco cowered in the backseat of the limo. His father was much too disgusted to look at him, for which Draco was very thankful for, for he could get punished for showing such fear. No matter what he tried to tell himself, he was coward, and he could stop himself from showing his fear of that man. The man who was supposed to be his father. His worst enemy.

It was a silent drive, quiet, dreadfully quiet. Draco wasn't sure which would be worst- the screaming of what was to come, or the silent anticipation, knowing that he was too angry to even speak. When they were near the manor, Mr. Malfoy stepped out of the car, and Draco stumbled after him. Mr. Malfoy walked around to the driver's seat, pulled out his wand and muttered, "Obliviate!"

He then muttered another spell Draco didn't hear, and the man drove off very fast in the direction they had just come. Mr. Malfoy then turned to his son and gave him an absolutely murderous look. He grabbed the young boy's collar (the boy was wearing loaned clothes from one of the neighborhood parent's children) and roughly walked him up to the gate to Malfoy Manor.

Draco, still not completely recovered from his bout of sickness, stumbled and fell repeatedly trying to keep up with the man's pace. He didn't complain, whimper, or cry out, he wasn't stupid, he couldn't show fear or pain. He couldn't. Not now, not now. So he bit his lip until it almost bled and tried not to further enrage his father.

Mr. Malfoy simply had to put his hand to the gate for it to allow him to enter, it recognized his magic, his pureblood, his signature. Draco looked back for a moment at the loss of his freedom. He could barely even remember why he'd run away. It had been stupid, he knew, and now he'd pay, he'd pay much worse than he would have paid before. All he'd wanted was something to eat, but he knew when it had gotten dark that there was no turning back, that he'd been lost, and almost in more danger from going back then from the freezing cold.

Draco knew he should have just accepted his punishment, after all, there were many worse things his father could have done to him, things he would probably do now. It was a new form of punishment, just as confusing as all the others. After four days, the little boy had needed nourishment, and unable to ask for it without angering his father, he had went out to get it. It should have been perfectly okay. Mr. Malfoy had been out. Draco knew where the stables were kept, where fresh apples were kept. The snowstorm wasn't supposed to have hit when it did, and unable to make it back in time to the dark, and without having made it to the stables, Draco knew there was no turning back. He couldn't face his father. His father who he knew would have returned to find him missing, disobeying. Running off seemed the only option.

The walk up to the manor seemed to take longer than normal. Even barely able to keep up with the man in front of his pace, the walk took forever. Inside a small, stupid voice that fought for control of his legs screamed, run, run!

Inside his father walked him up the stairs, Draco's eyes frantically searched for long blonde hair down every corridor. Light blue eyes that sparkled when they looked at him, and that was only when they looked at him. He looked unsuccessfully. Outside the study Lucius fiddled with the lock on the door angrily, trying to remember the appropriate spells.

"Lucius," said a soft voice cautiously.

Draco's heart swam with hope as his mother approached. She was a young, beautiful woman, despite her aloof nature, and Draco trusted her. He trusted her as much as he distrusted everything else. He distrusted his father, he distrusted the sky to stay up, he distrusted the ground beneath his feet to remain solid, he distrusted himself, but he trusted her for all she was worth.

"Lucius," she said in the same calm voice, reaching out a hand to touch his arm as he muttered spells and profanity under his breath.

Narcissa, despite her normal attitude towards the rest of the world, truly hadn't wanted the life she lived, nor had she expected it. She hadn't loved Lucius, true, but he had never seemed violent, not until Draco was born. Not until 'his legacy' came into being. Not until he started to drink more often, not until he had married Narcissa.

He had never been particularly loving or caring, but when she married him, she had hoped that she would have a family that she could finally care for. She had hoped that they could stay out of the way of the Dark Lord, of risky affairs, of this. When he came back with the mark on his arm, she had been terrified. It wasn't even so much of his allegiance to the Dark Lord, but the look in his eyes as he told her. He told her what he did, of his becoming of a true Death Eater, and the look of hatred and triumph in his eyes. He said he'd done it for her. But even then, she'd believed that she could live normally.

True, he had never harmed Narcissa, but there were times when he had come close. When he had begun to 'train' Draco, she had interfered, he almost cast the killing curse on her, before screaming at her, telling her to mind her own business. She knew then that she'd never escape, and to keep Draco alive, he'd have to wish he were dead.

Narcissa hadn't neglected to notice the anger Lucius had had over Draco's disappearance. Narcissa had hoped her baby would find his way far away from here, that he was alive, and one day she could escape and join him. But Lucius was crazed in his obsession to find and punish Draco, and she hadn't seen him with that look in his eyes in all her memory, and she was afraid. No, she was terrified, but she'd never show it.

"Lucius, please…" she said stronger.

Draco's eyes widened as his father pulled back his hand and slapped her, she gasped and staggered, almost falling to the floor. She held her left cheek where'd he hit her, and wiped the tears that had come from the sting of the slap with her other. Draco cried out, and tried to go to his mother, but with what seemed hardly any effort, Lucius took his grip on Draco's arm, and pushed him behind him, Draco fell on the arm, nursing his torn muscle.

"Narcissa!" he almost hissed, the name going neatly into the hiss. "Do not question me. Is it not our purpose to carry on our lines? Is it not why we are together. You wanted that child, and now he must be taught, disciplined. You dare not question me, Narcissa, and there is no 'if you do' to this Narcissa. There will be none. Our lines will not be ruined by the likes of that boy." His voice was deadly low and there was no arguing with it.

Moments passed, and Narcissa removed her hand. There was a dark red mark, that was changing colors, it would be a bad bruise. "Please…"

Lucius's eyes filled with anger like now other, he raised his fist this time, ready to bring it down.

"No!" Draco cried. He jumped and defended her, jumping on his arm.

Lucius could have easily knocked Draco off, or swung him as well, the little boy being a good deal underweight even before he fell ill. The shock was the only thing that prevented the little boy and the fist from colliding with the fair haired woman. Lucius roared with anger, and threw Draco off him.

Narcissa was fighting tears, something she had done only too often now, alone, at night. Draco could see her coming to save him from the looming man above him, his attention focused on her rather than her father. The spell of fear he'd had over his father all these years temporarily broken.

"Go!" he shouted. His voice sounding older than him. "Go!" he cried. Lucius hit him. He cried, "Please, go!"

The shame and guilt of having his mother see and unable to stop it welling up. In shock and fear Narcissa fled. Draco cried out, his father hitting him. If only someone knew, he thought.

In that moment he realized that he could not trust his mother the way he thought he could. He was alone. He didn't doubt that she loved him, he wouldn't, but she was not his savior, she wouldn't always be there. He was alone. He realized the trust he'd known was nothing more than a thin hope, a whispered promise.

He was alone.

Author's Notes: Gets down on knees Reviews, please! Stands up, brushes off, and regains some dignity, then snorts, (like I have any), smiles. I mean cough I would be very pleased if you would grace me with your reviews coughs.