Disclaimer: Yes, my evil plot has finally succeeded, I do own Harry Potter…Muwhahaha….Just let me take off this straight jacket and show you. Seriously, though, every one knows I don'town Harry Potter (yes, I admit it, I don't own Harry Potter). So don't sue.

Author's Notes: This chapter is a little long, I planned to get to something else entirely, but it got kind of long, so here it is. I hope you like it, please review! On with it!

"Chasin' the ghost of a good thing, Haunting yourself as the real thing, It's getting away from you again, While you're chasin' ghosts," The Ghost of a Good Thing, Dashboard Confessional.

Chapter Four

Life on the Edge

The shame itself would have been too much to bare. That Narcissa Malfoy, proud decedent of the Black family tree, could not protect her only child, that he had to protect her. The pain was all most too much to stand, it would have been too much to stand, save for one thing. She had to live, so that perhaps one days she'd be able to save Draco.

Narcissa sadly looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't see what many others saw, she didn't see the fine beauty. Her blond hair that others thought so fine and wonderful to her was nothing more than an illusion, her face was dirty, unfit for others to stare at. She saw the way her nose crinkled and it was horrible. She saw the cold eyes and felt guilty, as though maybe her cold heart had finally frozen over, and she didn't care for Draco enough, and that's why she couldn't protect him.

He was her baby! And right now he was facing what others had faced only in the dark times of Voldemort. He wasn't free like the muggle world, he wasn't rejoicing like the rest of wizarding kind. No, he'd never have that, regardless, and it simply wasn't fair. He'd grow up to be hated and feared because of who his father was, and no one would ever know him.

No one would ever know the Draco she knew. The quiet boy with the small smile and hopeful eyes. No one would know the Draco who protected his mother from even looking at the abuse he had to take. No one would know that little soldier. They'd look at him, at his eyes, and see him. Lucius Malfoy, bane of her world.

It was well after midnight, almost dawn when Lucius returned to their room, fell onto the bed and immediately passed out, a content smile on his face. Oh how she wished to jump onto his chest and smack that smirk off his face. How she wished she could just reach out her hands to that neck and strangle 'his righteousness'. How she'd dream of poisoning his drink the following morning, and they'd be rid of him forever. But the risk was to great, Lucius too powerful. If he found out, which he most certainly would, they would all die.

Narcissa quickly snapped out of her day dream and back into her nightmare. She rushed into the hall and ran. She found Draco in his room with his personal house elf, Theodora, or Theo as she allowed Draco to call her. Theodora was carefully attending to some of the wounds, to the best of her ability that is. After all, house elves were not equal to wizards, so they were not given the same rights in Malfoy Manor. They were only allowed to use magic for their chores.

Narcissa cleared her face of the emotions she felt, looking at her small helpless child. She set to work, freeing her mind of emotions, knowing that they'd only get in the way of her magic. When she was done Draco looking a good deal better. He'd wake up sore and in pain in the morning, and it would take at least a week or so for the wounds to heal. Narcissa ran a hand through her sleeping child's hair.

As Narcissa ran her hand through his hair, she noticed his color was paler than normal, and his brow had beads of sweat. She cast a spell and quickly realized that he wasn't recovered from his fever, which looked as though it could be fatal. She quickly set to work on the spells to correct, but she sighed, knowing all her work could be undone, knowing her only son could die if Lucius got his hands on him again.

After Narcissa had married Lucius and had Draco and Lucius had changed, she had often wished she were a muggle. As horrible and dreadful and nasty as that thought was, she would give up her magic for Draco. She'd do nearly anything to keep him safe. Now she was thankful for magic, without it, her little boy would have died long ago.

Staring at her son and remembering the healing spells and process that had become all too familiar to her, she began to notice the familiar tugging of her facial features. She knew that a look of what would appear to be disgust was guarding her face, she tried to wipe it away.

"Mistress Malfoy?" Narcissa heard a quiet voice ask.

"Yes?" Her voice quiet, yet cold and distant, it sounded strange to her, but she knew that it was what others were well used to hearing from her.

"If I may ask, how is Master Malfoy?" the house elf asked. Narcissa turned to her.

"Draco has been damaged badly, and is not yet fully recovered from his fever, his fever will flare violently if he is hurt again," Narcissa said, her voice void of the emotions welling inside as the words poured from her mouth and realization hit.

The house elf nodded, and seemed to await further instructions. Narcissa simply told the house elf to alert her if her son awoke and to bring him food if he requested when he awoke. She gave her permission to go the storage cabinet right away and to get the appropriate potions and medications for him and told her the dosing instructions. The house elf nodded and went off quickly for the potions and returned. Narcissa gave a curt nod and left.

Narcissa's knees felt weak and she traveled into the bathroom that adjoined her room. She took out a potion for her nerves, and then a sleeping draught. She stood next to the bed, staring in disgust at the man whom she'd force herself to lie beside. The cold hearted beast she'd come to know and hate, fear and abide by. She drank the potion quickly, and fell asleep beside the monster known as Lucius.

The potion had worked wonders for her. Narcissa had been able to sleep soundly without a worry, unlike her only son. She'd have to remember to thank Severus for his assistance. For her husband's best friend, he was a good deal more reasonable and compassionate than she would have imagined had she known Lucius's true self earlier. She respected him, to her utter core, she respected him. People feared and even hated him, and his cool demeanor and seemingly emotionless disguise fooled everyone. He was strong, Narcissa wasn't.

She got up and got dressed, looking at herself, realizing she hadn't even changed into night clothes. She went through her morning routine, all the while thinking of Draco. She entered his room before making her way downstairs.

She found Theodora still in his room, sitting at his bedside.

"He hasn't awoken?" Narcissa questioned.

"No, mistress," Theodora said. Concern was not in her voice and the worry was well hidden in her eyes.

"Have you been giving him his medicine?"

"Yes, he managed to wake enough to swallow it, but it was obvious that he was not really awake, mistress."

"Very well," Narcissa said. She cast a spell that would keep him from starving or becoming dehydrated until he awoke, and went back down to her duty.

Narcissa entered the large kitchen, and the house elves, being well trained, didn't swarm her, but politely awaited her request. She noticed one in the corner, Dobby, the poor thing, was Lucius's house elf. She was surprised at his will to survive, having been his house elf since Draco was born, his other's only having lasted sixth months to a year.

Politely as possible, and with much dignity, the appointed house elf approached her and inquired, "Would you like something Mistress."

"A cup of orange juice will do," Narcissa replied. Coffee would have suited her better, but she knew that is what Lucius had every morning, and for some repressed childish reason, she didn't want to be anything like the man.

Her needs were instantly met, and she was handed orange juice, the way she liked it. She nodded and left the kitchen to face the dragon in the dining room.

The dining room was almost a hall really. It was large and luxurious, as were most things in the manor, except the dungeons, they weren't meant to be comfortable though. The walls were a forest green, the drapes on the large windows were a darker green with gold trim, the carpet was soft, and a dark red. The table held at least forty people, not that they had many occasions where forty people were invited.

"Good morning, Lucius," she said by way of greeting, making her way down to his end of the table where he sat at the head, in a finely decorated chair where he held a copy of the Daily Prophet before his face in one hand the coffee in the other.

Instead of his normal nod, he looked up at her, and there was a spark, or perhaps a glint in his eyes as he set down the newspaper. Narcissa's stomach turned on instinct, she never trusted Lucius when he smiled. He rarely smiled, in the times of the Dark Lord, he smiled often, usually after a Death Eater meeting, and now he only smiled when he had planned something for Draco, or after a session with him when he passed out in bed.

"For once, Narcissa, you are right," Lucius drawled, strains of excitement detectable in his voice.

"For what reason dear?" Narcissa asked. She rarely talked to him, and the smile made he situation a little strained for her, especially considering her suppressed hatred of the man whenever she thought of Draco.

"Frank Thorn has informed me that he has been in Britain for the past three months now, and is planning to stay here in Britain. He says that they are finally ready to move back to his old manor now that he's no longer under suspicion from the Ministry of Magic," Lucius said. "His wife is from America you know."

Narcissa didn't know what surprised her more, that Lucius wasn't mad that his friend had been in Britain for three months and not informed him, that he had mentioned the Ministry of Magic without profanities involved, or that he was making small talk. "Yes. Why was it that he had to go looking for a wife there. I thought he fancied that Rita Skeeter woman."

"No, that woman was down right annoying, just a good shag I believe. She's not even a proper pureblood he found out, if he weren't under investigation at the time…" Lucius said. "Well, our lines are running thin, but…I'm surprised your mother and father didn't tell you, most of our lines took of to America some hundred years ago. Easiest way to escape the filthy muggles at the time. Our lines run strongest there. It's always best to find a suitable wife and line for your children so they don't grow up to be mudblood loving bustards like that stupid Andromeda. Look what she did, disgraced your entirely family she did, it's good thing you disowned years before."

Narcissa nodded, sipping her orange juice as Lucius sipped his coffee and gave a short, casual glance at the newspaper. Narcissa remembered Andromeda. True, she had never been fond of Andromeda, her eldest sister, she had disliked her all her life, she had been raised to. She was odd and constantly put down her parents and their way of life. She had made nothing but trouble for their family, but, Narcissa thought, she didn't hate her, though she tended to disregard the fact that she ever existed.

"They had a daughter, do your remember. About Draco's age. I think it'd be good for the to meet each other, it's about time the boy had some decent, proper friends. Maybe she'll be a good influence on the boy," Lucius said.

Narcissa nodded stiffly. A good influence of Lucius wasn't a good person at all…or not ordinarily. Narcissa wondered how evil a little girl could be though.

"They'll be by next Friday," Lucius said, and then returned his full attention to his newspaper. The cold air of his normal self pressing into the room once more.

Narcissa finished her orange juice, and stood to leave. She was turned when Lucius called to her.

"Narcissa, make sure the boy is ready and prepared to meet our guests then," Lucius replied.

Narcissa kept her mouth from dropping by sheer will power alone, instead she nodded. She had no idea whether or not Draco's fever would be down by then. In the middle of the winter, he certainly would be in no condition to be out and about too much. Narcissa gave a silent prayer to whatever god or goddess was listening that they heal Draco quickly.

Narcissa placed the orange juice glass on a counter in the kitchen and then returned upstairs to check on Draco once more. Theodora was hesitantly putting a cool cloth to the forehead.

Narcissa took the cloth from her and the house elf backed off a ways to allow Narcissa to sit on the edge of the bed. "Leave us for now."

The house elf nodded and Narcissa softly placed the cloth to his forehead, returning her full attention to her son, she heard a soft click.

Looking at her son, she felt tears suppressed. She was a horrible mother to let her son just lay here and die, or to get better and be beaten. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. He was sweating more than before, and his face was no longer calm but disturbed and pained. He moaned and tossed his head. He kept moving, his fever taking over his body.

"Shh…my son…my baby…it's ok…." Narcissa soothed.

Still restless Draco continued to toss and turn, and tried to throw off his blanket. With her other hand Narcissa pushed the hair away from his face and continued to run her hand through his thick blond hair.

"Shhh…my darling, my little one

Do not cry my love for I love thee

I'll be there to see your face again

Do not give up hope my little love

I'll meet you again

Shhh…my darling my little one

I see your face everywhere

I take it with me wherever I go

I'll never leave you love

Look for me my love

I'll return to thee

Don't cry my love, my little one," Narcissa sang softly, holding her baby's hand. She felt tears threaten, and wiped them from her eyes. The soft haunting tune was the same her mother had sung to her. Few would ever suspect Narcissa to even be capable of those emotions, much less to show them in such a beautiful way.

"Mum," Draco moaned.

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Draco heard the soft singing, and he struggled to move or to say something, but his body felt like lead. He felt as though he were being suffocated, smothered and cooked.

"Mum," he finally managed, the words exhausted him.

He had heard her sing, she sounded sad. He knew he must be really ill if his mother was singing to him, she hadn't done that in two years, when the doctor's told her to give up on her son, that there was no cure to his mysterious illness, that he would die. Draco felt a hand in his. He squeezed it as tight as he could, but his fingers barely moved.

He realized he was probably dying. Fear and pain crowded whatever empty space he had left. He was so tired, and drowsy he had little room else to think. I don't want to die, he thought. Tears welled up behind his eye lids, but he didn't have enough strength to open them.

I don't want to die, he thought before he passed out again.