(mild scenarios of self harm ahead; please skip the part marked * if you're uncomfortable)

For the first time in seven long months, the thought of his mother flashed in his mind. For the first time since, the great battle of Hogwarts, his mind had drifted to his mother.

Draco had not heard from her ever since.

After the war, everyone knew the Malfoys had managed to get away for their support of the Dark Lord. While turning away just when the war had begun, their loyalties hadn't gone unnoticed by the Ministry. While Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to Azkaban for two years, a lot less than what Draco had thought he should have been given, Narcissa and Draco had managed to get away with strict house arrest and probation. If it weren't for McGonagall, Draco would've still been at the Manor, probably rendered mad. She had been the one to come to him, despite all their differences, and had collected Draco from his barbaric house, telling him all about his eighth and last year at Hogwarts. While Narcissa wasn't too pleased with her son attending Hogwarts, McGonagall had taken little to no concern in account; considering that Draco was now eighteen and could make his own decisions.

It was only this thought that made McGonagall somewhat bearable to him. The fact that she had practically rescued him from the hellhole he used to call home when he was younger. The fact that she had saved him (without even knowing it, or maybe she did) from not only his crazy mother but also himself.

He had thought about killing himself many times. The shame of living with his past was always more than pretending everything was going to be alright one day.

False hope was better than the guilt of his actions in the past.

*

He had come too close to taking his life one day. The shredded glass from the table lamp he had just broken after his mind had had enough— enough of his father's manipulation and Voldemort's pathetic attempts for him to take the ugly death mark.

The glass was too tempting, sharp and crystal clear; almost as if an invisible voice was urging him to take the sharp object and slice it through his skin. He had been close, very close.

The glass was firmly pressed against his wrist. One more thrust and he would have been dead.

That was the thing everything changed for him. When he realized that he had to get out of this hell and out, on his own.

Draco had never admitted the events of that night to himself. It had always been too unbelievable, too pure and at the same time, too frightening.

The moment he had closed his eyes, ready to cut himself, he had seen her.

*

He had denied it, of course, but that didn't mean that it was any less than reality. He had been shocked, as to why the vivid image of none other than Hermione Granger had flashed before his eyes rather than anyone else— his mother, heck, even his sodding father. But no, it had been Hermione, the girl he had called a mudblood and tormented all his life; enjoying the satisfaction of seeing her crying and getting uneasy. It had brought him pleasure— all his life, after all.

It wasn't only Granger that made the whole ordeal odd, it was something she had said for the briefest of moments before completely vanishing from his brain.

"Draco."

And that had been all.

His name, only his name.

He didn't know why he stopped after that, the piece of glass had fallen out of his hands the moment he had opened his eyes. Draco had sprang as far away as he could from it item, eyes wide— the reality of the situation dawning upon him; what he was about to do, what he could've done to himself if it hadn't been for her.

Draco remembered screaming till his lungs gave out that night. He remembered getting his knuckles bloody when he had punched the wall mirror several times in agony. He remembered screaming and screaming till his voice was hoarse, till his throat was parched.

The saddest part was that nobody had come to check up on him in the aftermath.

And now, as he stood in front of the Manor he had spent his entire life in, his hands shook visibly and the numbness in his eyes completely gave him away. He didn't know what had he come looking for here in the first place but Draco know that if he had questions, this was the most likely place in the entire of Britain that would provide answers. It wasn't because of the vast libraries in it, no, but for the woman who resided within.

The only living family Draco had left after the war— his mother, Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco had taken his time with the dark mark, hoping that the pain will go away sooner or later. However, that hadn't been quite the case. Instead of going away, the pain had skyrocketed to its absolute maximum, the pain had taken a toll on him badly— Hermione had become increasingly concerned about him with every passing day, she didn't deter when expressing her concern and quite honestly, (even if he never admitted it) he couldn't see her cry, not over him at least.

Her watery eyes and tear stained cheeks after the pain had washed over him was more painful to encounter than the actual pain of the dark mark itself.

So he had promised himself that he would do something about this ugly scar on his arm, if not for himself then for her.

It was utterly terrifying that he had grown to care for her so much, even putting her above his own self.

Oddly though, he liked the idea of it.

"Whenever you are ready, Draco." Professor McGonagall patted a small hand on his shoulder. Draco turned towards her, truly thankful that she had not sent him to this god-forsaken place alone.

"Thank you, professor." he confessed with an uneasy expression. The nerves were just bundling up like wires in his whole body. "I mean— not just for this but, but for coming along with me, too."

One could tell that McGonagall had grown quite fond of the Malfoy heir in a handful amount of months. She now called him by his name, taht was big. But then again, it wasn't so normal after all, it was her duty to make her students feel at ease. Draco blamed tye decency on his frequent trips to Digon Alley in the past for her, an honest favour.

"I think it's time now," with hands shaking and brain about to burst with all sorts of thoughts, he knocked once on the large dark double doors. Draco had worn his family ring today, hoping that it would be of some use— the purpose was rightfully served when the doors swung open at once, letting him step inside. He recalled his father mentioning how the ring could grant access through all the doors of the Malfoy Manor, and he had used it right to his benefit.

"After you," he balled his fists turning to McGonagall who passed him a tight-lipped smile, mostly in courtesy before she lifted the him of her long green robes to step inside the gloomy place. Draco took a deep breath, his eyes screwing shut. The last time he had been in this place, he had promised himself that when he gets out of here, if he gets out of it, he will never look back, never return to this haunted place.

"Hermione." Draco found himself mumbling her name under his breath, an attempt to not only calm himself down but also remind himself that this was for her; he had to be good for her, he had to be alright for her.

Gathering all his courage, he put his shaking hands in his pockets and took a step inside the large mansion. The cold breeze hit his face the instant he planted his feet on the dust covered black and white tiles.

Draco had not once seen the Manor unclean. For as long as he could remember, his mother had always made sure that the last bit of the place was tidied and cleaned thrice by the house elves. He remembered his mother ordering around those small dwarfs to give their absolute best when it came to the Manor.

And now, it was so unusually unclean.

McGonagall looked equally uncomfortable as Draco. She kept on eyeing the place with disgust but did a good job of speaking nothing about it. Clean or not, it was still home to Draco, at least at some point, it was.

Draco took his time in giving the place a quick once over— dirty floors and cobwebs decorating the insides as if it were a new fashion. Dust was heavily caked onto any type of furniture he could possibly lay his eyes upon— no way in hell, could anyone ever stay here.

And then he heard it, from upstairs.

"Draco? Darling, is that you? Or is it Lucius? Oh, how I have missed you, Lucius!" the voice was feminine, high pitched and utterly emotionless.

Narcissa had been aware of her husband being sent to Azkaban, then why was she calling his name

Had she gone mad while he was away?

Draco looked at McGonagall uneasily, he blinked. "Is that—"

"Yes," he confirmed her suspicions. Clearing his throat, he grabbed onto the dusty silver railing of the staircase. "It's mother." he climbed a step before turning around to face his teacher. "I can't do this alone."

To say that Minerva was shocked by his balant confession was an understatement. When his eyes practically pleaded for her to help him, there wasn't a chance for no. While she was naturally strict and rule abiding, Minerva McGonagall had a pure heart under all her tacky crust— a heart that couldn't see her students in pain, and whether that be Draco Malfoy or anyone else, it was just as simple as that.

"Well, I signed up for this." and it was true, quite literally. The moment Draco had decided to do something about his unusual situation with the ugly death mark, he knew that the only person who would be of some sort of help would be the headmistress. Even though she wasn't his first choice, it was her or no other. Draco could either let his pompous ego takeover his senses and be a total brute when it came to seeking help from her or actually do the right thing for once and tell her immediately, hoping that it would not go on vain. Draco would be lying if he said that he didn't want this particularly odd situation to work to his favour— secretly, he had been hoping that McGonagall would take this opportunity to acknowledge how much he had changed and that, he was still, trying his utter best. Maybe it had solely been for Granger but she didn't have to know that. He had wanted her to know that it wasn't the worst idea in the world to let him back at Hogwarts, and that he was a changed man.

He didn't know why did he feel the need to prove himself to the headmistress or anyone for the matter, while it had simply been otherwise in the past. All he did know was, however, that Hermione Granger was inevitably helping him become a better man.

How very chivalrous.

They climbed the stairs in silence, the loose floorboards creeking with every step they took.

And then, they were at the end of the long, silvery spiral staircase, face to face with several rooms on this floor. Draco was about to push open the first room's door when the same voice made him pull back. "Oh, Lucius, please don't keep me waiting, darling! The tea is getting cold! Please have a seat before Draco comes!" it was almost a sing-song gesture from her which made Draco flinch.

"I think it's coming from there." his teacher muttered, nodding towards the room far down the dusty hallway.

Draco made his way towards the farthest room at the end, heating faint thuds to confirm that McGonagall indeed, was right behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Draco swing open the door, to what he remembered, was the drawing room of the floor, instantly wishing that he hadn't in the first place. It seemed like a whole eternity had passed between the mother and son when he finally registered to his surroundings— in the middle of a dust painted room with threads of cobwebs hanging from the ceilings, there stood Narcissa Malfoy in a torn emerald green gown that seemed like one of the house elves had worn it if it weren't for there small figure. Her eyes were unnaturally bright— happy, even. Dark circles graced her features like second skin and her once straight, over her shoulders hair was a braided mess— as if it hadn't been brushed for at least a week. Her pale skin was almost white; an ashy colour that would remind someone of death.

"For Merlin's sake mother." Draco took long strides towards her, wand at the ready. He looked around to locate a handkerchief and immediately transfigured it into a long green cloak. He draped the cloth over her shoulders before looking up at her, his heart ready to burst at any moment now. "Oh, it's you Draco." she sounded happy, almost enthusiastic to see him. She cupped his face in her cold hands and Draco crouched down to meet her at eye level from where she was now sitting on a velvet chair. His fi hers wrapped around her wrists as she continued to stroke his face in a motherly manner. "Oh Draco, I've missed you, my boy, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, mother." He all but croaked. It was horrible to see his mother like this, in this hellhole. "Mother, you can't stay here any longer. What have you done to yourself?" on cue, Draco turned his neck to look around the bizzare place and then, her face, it had lost all it's beauty and now, it looked as if it were merely a matter of time when she'll leave him forever.

"Oh no, I don't live here no," she smiled at him, it was gruesome. "Would you like some tea?" she cooed, her head snapping to her right, as if she were eyeing an invisible tea trolley. "And where is your father? I told him to be here before you come." Narcissa huffed.

Draco's chest tightened a little more with every passing second. One minute felt like a whole eternity. He didn't know what to decipher of this situation. He had so many questions of his own before he got here, but now, seeing his mother like this, he had new ones, all far worse than the previous ones.

"You wait here, I'll go get him." She smiled down at his pale face, her eyes gleamy, "Ah! Minvera!" she acknowledged the headmistress at the doorframe with a nod, "Please make yourself at hoke while I fetch Lucius. A moment please—" and she was already walking away from him.

Walking away when draco grabbed her by the shoulders suddenly and practically pushed her back in the soft velvet seat.

"Father is in—" he choked on his words, tears stung his eyes, "Father isn't here, he's—" choke, "He's in—" another choke, "Azkaban."

Narcissa seemed to regard his words for a moment with dull eyes until she finally felt his words sink in and boy, did it feel horrible.

"HE IS IN AZKABAN! HE HAS BEEN ALL THIS TIME! STOP! STOP IT! HE DID THIS TO ME, TO YOU, TO ALL OF US! STOP TAKING HIS NAME!"

Draco covered his ears as he yelled, not having a care in the world of he was too loud or if his mother was staring at him like her life had just ended then and there.

"Stop, please." he begged in a softer tone one last time. His head slumping down agsint her chest. "Just stop."

A minute of silence and then, "They told me, that- that he was here- and that- I have to find him. They said- he's alright- and that—" and finally, she gave up, fresh hit tears streaming down her face as she hurried to cover her eyes with her hands. "They told me- if I- if I could find him, I would be free and that- I could have you back- have you both back." he let her vent, even though he had so many questions, he let her vent.

Because maybe that's what Narcissa Malfoy wanted more than anything in the world right now.

"You're alright mother, you're alright." he lied.

No she's not, look at her, you fool, she isn't going to survive any longer if this state of her continues.

"You're alright." he lied to her again.

At the farthest corner, Minerva regarded Draco with tearful eyes, even she had had a breakdown after seeing the mother and son's relationship before her own eyes. It had just been too much to witness.

"Who is they, mother?" Draco stroked her face, his eyes trained on her.

"What?" she managed to speak over her tears.

"You said 'they told me'. Who is they, mother? Who told you all this? Who left you here in the Manor? Who let you out in the open?" his voice was gentle, almost as if he had been speaking to a child.

Narcissa frowned, wiped her hands on her tear struck face, "Everyone."

Draco looked back to see his professor being equally confused by this confession.

"What do you mean by that? Who is everyone?" his patience was wearing thin by every passing minute. "Tell me, mother. Who is they? Who is everyone?" he spoke harsher than before earning a flinch from her side. It was only then that he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, Minerva gave him an apologetic look when he looked at her, as if urging him to be polite.

She was his mother, after all.

"I'm sorry for my outburst, mother." she said with clear sorrow in his slate grey eyes. "I only mean what is best for you, your safety is my top priority and I am concerned at the moment. I am conceded because whoever this person or persons, God forbid is, is lying to you. Father isn't here and nor was I until now, I wasn't simply here. I'm sorry but they've been lying to you, whoever this...body is." Draco stuttered for a word to put to this traitor and settled for that, feeling slightly better with himself for being so bloody rational at a time like this.

Narcissa didn't answer him.

She only let her eyes wander to his pale forearm, she touched his skin, making him grunt in response. For what it was, he didn't tell her to stop.

"They have been calling you, too, I see now." a soft murmur.

His ears perked up in alarm.

She was looking at his death mark, lightly grazing her fingertips along the edges of the nasty tattoo.

"What— who has been calling me for what? What do you mean?" she didn't speak.

"What do you mean, Narcissa?" McGonagall had finally decided to intervene and boy, was it a time to intervene.

Narcissa only blinked down at the haunted back ink on her son's forearm, and then, she looked up with a smile on her face.

"The Dark Lord." and then, her eyes rolled back to her skull, completely void of life.

She was dead.

---

Hello, I missed you all.

I'm back with another chapter after two weeks so pelase, be a darling and review it for me and vote pls!

Did you seen this coming? Oh well, no you didn't, because there's another huge chunk of it missing! Don't worry! All in good time!

Leave your theories below xx