Sorry it took so long to get this out -- but I just couldn't find somewhere I wanted to end this chapter! And then I would find a good spot, but I had so many more ideas and just kept writing … anyways, enjoy! And, of course, don't forget to feed the author! Reviews make me warm and giggly inside ;)

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His hands were shaking ever so slightly as he stood to his feet, idly thumbing through the book in his hands as he searched for it's place on the shelves. It was easy enough to find, but he took some time anyway, the act of searching through the books calming in and of itself.

Lucius still sat with an arm wrapped around his son, and Harry fought the urge to turn around and glance at them. The last thing he wanted to see right now, was the boy who wore his skin.

And it was that boy who was in danger now. He couldn't help but feel guilty, as if this was somehow all his fault. He hadn't asked for this -- would have been happy to remain on Voldemort's black list, rather than somebody else taking his spot. And as terrible as his relatives were at times …. They were still his family. He still cared about them, even if they tended not to reciprocate.

But he didn't have a choice anymore. That was what peeved him the most, beyond all questions of who was who, and what was going to happen now. His control had been taken away. He had never had a lot of control in his life to begin with, and what he did have he tended to guard jealously. And just like that -- snap! -- all of his hard-earned control was wrenched away from him in one night.

Was he being overly dramatic? Was he blowing this all out of proportion? He didn't think so, not if the reactions of those around him were anything to go by. They were certainly acting just as traumatized by all of this as he felt.

Well, perhaps not Mrs. Malfoy. But he didn't know her, could recognize emotions on her face even if he tried. He wasn't sure what to think of her at all, to be honest.

Harry gave a small sigh, pushing the book back into it's place with more force than was absolutely necessary. Something he was sure the ever observant Narcissa Malfoy would notice. She seemed to be aware of everything that went on around her. Even the small things.

Bloody Hell, he wasn't a child! He wasn't 11 years old anymore, frightened of his cousin's size, of the spells older wizards could throw around seemingly on a whim. He was almost fully grown himself, capable of living on his own -- he'd proven that the number of times he had taken up a room at the Leaky Cauldron. And yet, here he was, not even allowed to be in a room alone for more than a couple of minutes. Guarded, as if he was a danger to himself if left alone.

He didn't like this, didn't want to admit that he was starting to believe them. He just wanted …. What did he want? To crawl in a corner and hide there, ignoring everything around him in the firm belief that they would ignore him, as well? It was a fervent wish, but not a very realistic one.

Straightening his back, Harry pressed his lips tightly together, ignoring the sharp pain his leg as he turned around. Probably just another side effect of the transformation -- he had been getting them for the past two days, on and off. Things must have been changing inside, before the outward alterations had made their appearance.

Lucius was speaking quietly to Draco when Harry faced them again, so quietly that he had not heard the sound of their voices before. Now that he knew they were speaking, however, he could hear and small rumble from the older man, but could not discern any particular words. Draco stayed quiet for the most part, every once in a while delivering short, one or two word answers to his father.

Narcissa sat on the arm of what had been his chair, watching with her cool blue eyes. A small frown played on her lips, but she quickly turned that into a smile when she saw him looking at her. Holding out a hand, she drew herself to her feet.

When he made no move to come to her, Narcissa have an exasperated sigh, clearly overly dramatized as she rolled her eyes and made her way to his side, linking her arm with his. Clearly some decision had been made while he was dawdling over by the book, for Lucius rose to his feet now, one hand on the back of Draco's head while his wand appeared in the other.

He couldn't help it -- he flinched back. The last time he had seen that wand in use, it had been … rather painful. Lucius didn't seem to notice, but Narcissa certainly did, and she stiffened beside him, her arm tightening around him. But she said nothing, simply continued watching her husband.

Harry forced himself to relax, unclenching his fist and drawing a deep breath as he closed his eyes, forcing them open and watching as Lucius drew complicated circles in the air, murmuring underneath his breath. He couldn't clearly make out any of the words of the spell, but he did know one thing -- he had never seen this particular spell before. Perhaps they didn't teach it at Hogwarts -- perhaps it was a personal creation of Malfoy Sr.

And so it was with some apprehension that Harry watched Lucius Malfoy end his spell, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor in a nervous tick that Hermione was constantly berating him about. Narcissa made no comment about the nervous tick, but he noticed her glance down at it with a frown, before training her eyes once again on her husband.

Lucius turned toward them, his hand still firmly on Draco's back and his wand grasped in his other hand. He came to stand on the other side of Harry, an arm wrapping around his shoulders as he led them to the door, opening it with a flick of his wrist.

Harry blinked in surprise, before giving a small shake of his head. He shouldn't have been that surprised -- magic was a common enough thing to him by now. But still, he was surprised when the door opened inside a small "living room", a fireplace now cold and looking like it hadn't been used in some time -- wood was stacked to the side, and Harry could make out a few chairs scattered stylishly around the room.

But it was a cold room, filled with none of the life he was used to in smaller houses. In the Manor he had expected this coldness, but not in a room such as this, that should have been cheery and filled with life and love.

Lucius steered him through the door, and Harry put up no fight as he was led through. As soon as they were safely on the other side, however, he made sure to move away from the older man as he deemed safe, casting a glance at the nearest door out of the room. There were two, set on different walls. Both were closed.

Narcissa started moving around the room, casting a spell at the fireplace as she went. Draco collapsed in to one of the large chairs, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping his eyes trained downward.

At least he wasn't the only one unhappy about all of this.

Harry kept his eyes on the dark-haired boy for a couple more moments, before glancing away with a sigh. Draco didn't seem to notice -- he made no outward movement, at least -- and Harry wished he could ignore everything around him so easily.

They were running, weren't they? Running away from Voldemort, away from the threat he now presented the the Malfoy's, and to their son. The son they had raised.

It wasn't that hiding from Voldemort was anything new -- what was Sirius' house, if not a refuge from a maniac who wanted nothing more than his final death?

But Draco hadn't needed to run away before. Hadn't needed to fear for his life before. It was odd, realizing that something as small as a change in costume, could have such an effect on him. On both of them.

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Harry leaned back on his heels, most of his weight supported on his right foot as he watched Narcissa and Lucius move around the room. It didn't take long for the room to warm up from the fireplace, but Harry kept his arms wrapped around his middle, hands clutching at his elbows as he stood away from the others.

Which of these doors led out of the house? Did either of them? Or was the way out further down one hall of another? There probably weren't any wards set up here, at least not yet. What was outside of the house -- were they in the middle of nowhere, or perhaps on a nameless street in some city of another?

He couldn't be lucky enough to be in London -- his life just didn't work that way. But if he could reach somebody else …

What? What did he think he they could do? His friends wouldn't recognize him -- he didn't even have his scar anymore! He had never thought he would actually miss the horrid thing. But without it, nobody would ever believe him, ever trust him. He was, for all intents and purposes, Malfoy. At least as far as the outside world was concerned.

And Malfoy himself -- the real Malfoy -- he looked about as happy as Harry felt, standing there and watching his parents with a sour expression on his face. He could finally see the resemblance between himself and his father -- between him and James Potter that everybody was always talking about. It was strange, seeing himself standing there -- except that it wasn't him. It was Malfoy.

And all he could think about, all of a sudden, was Lucius' words to him yesterday.

"I wish this had never happened."

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Lucius walked through the halls of his childhood home, running his hand along the wall as he sent glances here and there, noticing the changes that time had wrought. This had been his home once, back before all the deals and the money. This was where he had grown up, where his father and mother had slept and kept their love.

They had been different from him, had raised him with an entirely different set of morals than he had come to call his own in his adult years. His mother would weep if she could see him now, could see the man he had become. The decisions he had made. He couldn't go back and un-make those decisions, couldn't undo all that he had done. Perhaps, if he hadn't become a Death Eater, had been brought in to the inner circle of the Dark Lord, Lily Potter would never have chosen him. But perhaps she would have anyway.

Was this Karma? Was this what he got for all those lives he had destroyed, the families he had left in ruin? Was there some dark god sitting high atop a throne within the farthest reaches of the heavens, staring down and laughing at him?

Damn the gods, anyway. They never did anything good for him.

Narcissa would attend to the boys -- she knew how to handle them better, anyway. She already had everything figured out in her head, already knew her place and theirs. It was he who was confused, he who didn't understand. But that was okay. She usually figured things out far before him, anyway. It was part of her charm.

Here -- this had been his bedroom, and soon would be Draco's. The other would be for Harry, and a few quick cleaning spells would take care of all the dust and odds and ends. The pictures would have to go, of course -- and preferably before either of the boys saw them. Even Narcissa had not known the youth he had been when he lived here. School had been different -- there was been rules of decorum to be followed, taught to him by the other boys in his year. Contrary to popular belief, he had not been in Slytherin, but in Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw had been filled with the Old Families, however, and he had been a quick learner as to what was expected of him. His own parents had never kept up with those sort of things -- not because they didn't have the prestige, but simply because they enjoyed the simple life. His father had never worked a serious day in his life, of course, instead retreating to this house and hoping to live in peaceful obscurity.

Ah, the trips down memory lane that this visit was invoking. And these pictures -- himself and his older brother, practically a squib but a good boy nonetheless. Funny, and brave. If he had been accepted into Hogwarts, he would have gone into Gryffindor, Lucius was sure of it. But he hadn't enough magic for them. He had enough to be killed with Witch Hunters, however -- those muggles who knew of their world, and hated it. Invariably they were Christians, although there had been some who simply did it for the money, or some personal grudge they held against magic and those would wield it.

They had been his first murder, and it still left a bad taste in his mouth, remembering the blood and the gore and the wild excitement he had gotten from their pleas for mercy. It had left him shaking and sick afterwards, but for those few moments, he had been God. Or close enough.

Picking a picture frame from the mantle of the fireplace in his old room, Lucius watched the figures moving about inside -- his brother and himself having a snowball fight. The snow had already started melting that day, and the icicles in the background were steadily dripping as they grabbed fistfuls of snow and pelted them at one another, wide grins splitting the face of both his brother and himself. Draco had been the only one who could make him smile like that.

He wished his son could have met his namesake. Could have been forced to endure his teasing and bad jokes, if only for a moment. But Draco had been killed long before Lucius and Narcissa had ever even met.

Gathering the pictures in his hands, Lucius turned away from the fireplace, closing his eyes briefly and breathing in deeply before he continued on his way out.

By the time had reached his parents' old room, he had gathered the pictures from his brother's room, as well, and he deposited them on the bed as he fought not to stare around the room too much. How he was going to sleep in here he still hadn't quite figured out -- especially with that damnable painting on the wall. His father had been against it, he remembered, but had given in with a single look from his mother.

And so the painting of his brother had been made. Those crystal blue eyes followed him now as he walked across the room, plucking ornaments and pictures from the shelves and adding them to the growing pile on the bed to be packed away. He couldn't bring himself to destroy them -- the only things he had to remember his parents and brother by.

"You've changed, Luc." Lucius stopped so suddenly he nearly tripped over his own feet, closing his eyes with his back to the painting. It was a voice he only remembered in his dreams, and even then, it was usually berating him for not protecting his brother -- when he was the one with the magic, with the power to protect those he loved. It had been a long time since he had heard that voice, imagined or not, without the inflection of anger.

"Luc?" Ah, there was the uncertainty that was ever present in his brother's voice, when not making a joke. Those jokes were usually a mask to hide the uncertainty, though, a defense mechanism that had driven Lucius crazy in later years.

"You're dead."

"I know." Lucius turned around at that, surprise evident on his face. He hadn't thought …

"Mom and Dad told me, after my painting was made. I didn't even know you could make a painting like this, with all the memories and everythingof the person it was drawn after. But I guess you did, huh? Mom said they were all over the place at Hogwarts."

Lucius smiled softly at that, watching the animated face of the painting. He couldn't bring himself to think of it was his brother, not yet. And really, he hoped he never did.

"You've changed a lot, Luc. I barely recognized you -- and not just because you've gotten older." The painting furrowed it's brow, eyes narrowing slightly as it took in the entirety of the man before it. He remembered a time when Luc had seemed to small to him, so frail, for all the power he held as his fingertips. Lucius had always been the smaller of the two, the one who needed to be protected most often -- especially since he couldn't use his magic at all until he graduated from Hogwarts. And, of course, there was the fact that using magic on muggles at all was against the law. That was what Lucius had told him, anyway.

Lucius turned away from the painting, lips pursed tightly together as he conjured a box with a quick flick of his wrist. "Life goes on, little brother."

"Well, for some of us at least." There was a twist to the lips of the painting as he said this, watched Lucius was he worked. The box was filled in no time, and Lucius was quick to add a couple more odds and ends from around the room to the box. The painting watched this all with keen interest -- it had been a long time since he had seen anything except the decay of the house around him.

"Mom and Dad were upset when you didn't answer any of their letters. Why didn't you come home, Luc? What happened?"

Lucius gave a heavy sigh, turning his head to stare coldly at the painting. "It is none of your concern. Go back to sleep." The painting would have stepped back if he could, and as it was he gave the image of jerking his head back, eyes wide as he watched Lucius walk out of the room.

What could have happened to make his brother so … angry?

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Narcissa was sitting in one of the chairs when he returned, watching Harry as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Draco lay on the couch, head pillowed in his arms and face hidden from sight. In her hands Narcissa held some knitting project or another, but it lay still and unfinished, as she paid it no heed.

Harry shifted slightly as he heard Lucius enter, lifting his head to glance at the older man before dropping it back down so that his chest almost touched his chest, his eyes partially closed as he stared at the floor beneath his feet. Draco made no response to his entrance, and Lucius reflected with a frown that it was entirely possible that the boy actually had fallen asleep -- he could sleep almost anywhere, in almost any situation. The boy would sleep through his own death if he was allowed to.

Running a hand through his silky blonde tresses, Lucius smiled gently at his wife, moving over to place a hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, before glancing up to smile at him, her eyes tired and the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Just the fact that she had jumped upon his arrival told him something of just how tired she really was. Why don't we show the boys to their rooms? I'll take Draco." Narcissa nodded, rising to her feet and approaching Harry as Lucius bent down and gently picked up Draco. The young man shifted in his father's arms, still small enough that he wasn't really a burden to the stronger man. He didn't awaken, however, simply murmured softly in his sleep.

Narcissa gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling as he turned his too-serious gray eyes on her. "Let's go see what Lucius has done for your bedroom, shall we?" As they started up the stairs, Narcissa kept talking. "You know, I've never been here before. Neither has Draco. This was Lucius' home when he was a boy. I've heard he had a brother, but he doesn't talk about him much. I think he died when he was rather young." Narcissa frowned at the memory, lips pursing together and her brow furrowed in though. Harry watched her for a moment, unaware that his expression nearly mirrored hers.

Nobody would ever guess they weren't related, now.

Narcissa fell silent as they reached the top of the stairs, taking note of where Lucius was standing down the hall. There was a door across the hall, and another further down, set against the far wall. Logic dictated …

Narcissa smiled down at the blonde haired young man with her, motioning for him to step in front of her and they started down the hall. They reached the other door just as Lucius stepped into Draco's room, shutting the door behind himself. Narcissa opened the other door, internally relieved that she had assumed correctly as a moderately sized bedroom was revealed. There were no curtains around the bed, no elaborate decorations -- just a desk, several posters, a carpeted floor, and a medium sized bed with a blanket splashed with neutral colors. Perhaps Draco had taken Lucius' old bedroom, since she certainly couldn't imagine Lucius decorating his own bedroom like this.

"I'll call you when Lunch is ready, but try not to wander, Lucius and I still have some cleaning to do. Just call us if you need anything, alright?: Narcissa waited for his nod before returning the motion, smiling as she stepped out of the room and closed the door tightly. Lucius was just stepping out of the other bedroom as she turned around, and he smiled sadly, wrapping an arm around her waist as they started for the stairs.

"I will return to the Manor and pick up our clothes, as well as the boys'. Is there anything else you'd like me to pick up?"

Narcissa hesitated a moment, mulling over inside her head. "Perhaps one of the House Elves? Just one would be fine."

Lucius nodded, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he started off down the hall at a brisker pace, soon disappearing down the stairs. Narcissa sighed softly, wringing her hands together in a nervous motion she had formed as a child but rarely indulged in now.

Lord Voldemort … he would not be coming after them yet, would he? And even if he did, there were still the wards for him to get through, keeping out any who wished them harm. They were complicated wards -- and had cost them a pretty penny. Hopefully they would protect Lucius until he could get out of there.

Heading down the steps, Narcissa set herself to the task of discovering as much as she could about this new home of theirs -- at least for the time being.

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He felt like a caged animal.

Harry paced the confines of his newest cage, barely containing the urge to let loose a scream of frustration and rage. Was this to be his life, now? Confined to one cage after another, watched closely as Draco Malfoy was allowed to come and go as he pleased in his body?

Slumping back on the bed, Harry stared up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh, brow furrowed slightly as he cocked his head to the side. He hadn't noticed it before, but there was a poster on the ceiling -- Uncle Vernon had one of their records, so he recognized the band. It looked like a poster version of the art on his uncle's record, actually. A muggle band. Had Lucius Malfoy's brother been into muggle things? Maybe even made friends among them? No wonder nobody ever talked about him -- he must have been quite the disappointment to the Malfoy family line.

Of course, he had no way of knowing if this wasn't Lucius' own room as a child. But he couldn't really imagine Lucius Malfoy as a muggle lover.

Which left him with nothing left to think about except the fact he was in another damn cage.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Harry pillowed his head in his folded arms, head tilted slightly to the side as he stared off into nothingness., barely even noticing the wall across from him.

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Narcissa paced back and forth across the small -- by her standards -- room, glancing at the fireplace every once in a while and wringing her fine boned hands together. She was restless -- unable to sit still until her husband returned safely. Even then, she knew the worry would remain with her.

She had never had to worry for Lucius' safety before, not even during his raids with Voldemort. He knew how to take care of himself, and she had never feared he would be taken down by Dumbledore's men or the Ministry. And among the Death Eaters and followers of The Dark Lord, his position had always been clear and defined, one of safety and assurety. But now, all of that had changed. Now, she had something to fear.

And it was not only for her husband that she feared. This house -- it was still unprotected, and it wouldn't take anyone long to deduce they would come here, when their cottage in the Alps was obviously out of the question. The Fidelius Charm was a possibility, but the very idea gave her bad feeling -- look how well it had worked for the Potters, after all. But nothing could be done until Lucius returned.

And so she fretted.

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Draco curled up on the bed that was now his, eyes closed as he breathed slowly and deeply. He could have easily fallen asleep -- his father was always complaining about how easily he slept, no matter the circumstances or surroundings.

But his parents were worried -- he had seen it in his mother's eyes, in the way his father was so brusque with him, as well as with Harry. He kept himself apart from the boy now, as if afraid of what he would say or do.

He couldn't understand the danger, of course. What would Voldemort do? He would lose one of his main followers if he touched Draco -- didn't he understand that? Didn't that occur to him as he was planning their deaths? And besides, all they was Severus' word to go by, and at that moment, that didn't hold much weight in Draco's opinion. The man was a consummate liar.

Shifting slightly on the bed, Draco let out a soft sigh and open his eyes, only to close them again a few seconds later and purse his lips tightly closed. He was so restless -- just wanted to get up and do something. But he couldn't, because his parents genuinely believed their lives to be in danger.

Well, nobody would look for them here, that was certain. It wasn't up to the Malfoy standards -- this room alone was half the size of the smallest room at the mansion, and it was supposed to be his father's old room? The very thought made him shudder.

He had always assumed his father had grown up in Malfoy Manor … had this been a summer cottage? Or perhaps a winter one, where they went for the holidays when his father was home from Hogwarts?

This was all Severus' fault. All of it -- even his changing appearance. If Severus hadn't helped the potters … he wouldn't even be in this mess! He would have been raised as he was supposed to, as a Potter. And as disgusting as that sounded, it was preferable to living a lie. A lie with no purpose., but Maybe it did have a purpose, but he was unwilling to see it at the moment. And that was his prerogative.