Disclaimer: I own noting at all.

A/N: Up until now I have managed a Friday update. However next week sees me disappearing off to Lancaster to spend some time with my awesome girlfriend. Whilst I shall endeavour to stick to my schedule this may not be possible, so if next weeks chapter is a little late I apologise in advance.

Edited by the wonderful saras_girl who is currently stuck somewhere on the M5.

Chapter 4

Fade Away

It's true, I'm missing you

As I stand alone, in your room

Every day that will pass you by

Every name that you won't recall

Every thing that you made by hand

Every thing that you knew by heart

And I will try to connect all the pieces you left

I will carry it on and let you forget.

Silent House- The Dixie Chicks1

Friday May 15th 1998, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

The last vestiges of sleep clung to Draco as he swam back to consciousness. The long shafts of light that filled his room suggested that it was a few hours past sunrise and it wasn't until he spotted two different editions of the Daily Prophet, that he realised he had in fact slept for twenty-four hours.

He raised himself up on his elbows experimentally and was surprised to find that the heavy head, which would normally accompany such an unusually long, deep sleep, was pleasantly absent. He allowed himself to fall back into the warm sheets as memories of the day before began to filter into sleep-clouded thinking and a small smile settled on his lips.

How long would it be before Harry contacted him? he wondered, and he was unable to prevent himself from hoping that Harry wouldn't delay too long. The embarrassment hit him in a small wave when he realised that he was pining after Harry Potter's company but he quickly dismissed it. After all, it wasn't like he had a lot of choice when it came to friends these days.

The war had been hard on everyone, but had been particularly brutal with Slytherin House. Not that they hadn't brought a lot of the trouble upon themselves, but still Draco grieved for the many friends he had lost during this ill-fated attempt at immortal glory.

Crabbe had been the first of course, his own stupidity and malice being his downfall as Draco had always suspected it would be. Still, no-one deserved to go out like that. Vincent's screams as the Fiendfyre had consumed him still echoed in Draco's many nightmares and, he suspected, would continue to do so for many years to come.

Pansy had been the second one to fall, and her death still caused him the most grief. She had tried to do what her mother had asked of her, tried to encourage those inside the castle to hand Harry over to Voldemort. It really wasn't her fault, that by that point, her heart just wasn't in it. She had been hoping, as much as Draco had, that Harry was going to pull off the miracle and save them all.

When he had managed the impossible, she should have been safe but she lacked the security that Draco had of having at least one parent who cared for her welfare. When she had returned home after the battle, Ivanna Parkinson, who rivalled only Bellatrix herself in the fervour of her service to the cause, had ended her daughter's life with a cry of 'Traitor!'

Draco shivered as he remembered how he had found her later that day, spread-eagled on the floor, brown eyes wide and glassy as they stared up at him. It had taken the Ministry a matter of hours to apprehend Ivanna and she had seemed only too happy to admit her crimes with a flourish of pride, or so one of the less aggressive Aurors had informed him.

Draco wriggled deeper beneath the covers, trying to chase away the sudden chill that came over him. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and was only slightly surprised that he was still wearing the thin sweater that he had worn to the funeral. As he buried his face into the crook of his elbow he caught the scent of something, something clean, warm, spicy and reassuring. Something Harry. Within moments, though, the sadness remained, the chill retreated and Draco relaxed again.

Gregory Goyle's absence from Draco's post-war life was painful for a completely different reason. Where Pansy and Draco had done some terrible things in order to survive the ordeal, Goyle had relished his tasks and had applied himself to them with gusto. Draco had lost track of the other boy after they had escaped the Room of Hidden Things and it was only during his interrogation that he had become aware of the full extent of Goyle's actions.

He had decided to take full advantage of his position as a Death Eater within the castle walls, and had snuck thorough the corridors during the truce, finishing off the injured. The realisation that he had spent six years living with the depraved coward made Draco sick to his stomach and with the distinct feeling that even Azkaban was too good for him.

Blaise hadn't even returned for the beginning of the seventh year. His mother, seeing the rising danger, had yanked him out of Hogwarts and deposited him in Beauxbatons Academy so fast that his head had spun; Draco hadn't heard from the other boy since.

Nott was different, though; nothing had happened to him. Nor had Bulstrode been especially affected. They had never been particularly close, though Bulstrode had at times tried to fit in with Draco and his crowd, she would quickly give up. Nott was another matter altogether. In his more ignorant days, Draco had characterised Nott's disinclination towards all things Voldemort as slightly Gryffindorish and had mocked him for it.

When his father's influence had ended with the stint in Azkaban, he had quickly and willingly relinquished his position as one of Draco's friends, preferring to bury himself in work. It had not escaped Draco's notice however, that unlike himself, Nott hadn't even feigned fury at his father's incarceration; instead he had looked rather relieved.

As he thought about it he realised that there was a chance that he and Nott could possibly become friends again in time, the same was true for Millicent. Neither prospect, however; filled him with the level of anticipation, the thought of Harry's friendship did.

The thought perturbed him slightly. He had been more than willing to accept that Harry's friendship was coming to him at a time when he had no other friends left. Not that it was a last resort; it was just that he'd been more open to it in his current situation. The possibility that he would actually choose Harry's company over that of others was slightly unsettling, however.

As his thoughts drifted eagerly towards Harry, his eyes slid shut and he felt the ghost of Harry's warm presence pressed against him. Slowly he felt himself flush, the tell-tale signs of arousal swirling in his groin and he realised why it was Harry's company was that much more interesting.

'Oh!' he thought to himself, pleasantly. He allowed his imagination to play with his memories, turning the whisper of Harry's breath against his neck into warm, enthusiastic kisses. Memory-Harry's body, pressed flush against his, began to rock and grind as Draco allowed his hand to stray to his erection and he happily lost himself in the sensations.

By the time Draco rose from his bed and showered away the last remnants of sleep, sunlight was flooding his room. He stepped out onto the balcony with his coffee, enjoying the warm spring air, and noticed that it was almost midday. He smiled to himself; he hadn't spent that much time just sleeping and thinking since his father had been sent to Azkaban. He couldn't stop the slightly sappy thought that Harry was already having a wonderfully positive effect on his life.

With a sense of wellbeing that he couldn't remember having experienced any time in recent memory, Draco practically skipped down the main staircase. All sense of decorum momentarily forgotten as he went in search of his mother, hoping to share his good mood with her.

The drawing room door was open and Draco was pleased to see his mother sitting calmly on the sofa, a book resting lightly upon her knees. As Draco entered the room, she looked up and smiled.

'Oh, Lucius, I'm so glad you're here, I had a mind to ask you something,' she commented innocently, apparently unaware that she had just caused Draco's blood to run cold.

'You've cut your hair,' Draco heard her say through the rushing noise that was now filling his ears. He watched as his mother's face creased slightly with confusion.

'Wait, you aren't Lucius,' she accused and Draco struggled to find his voice.

'No, mother, It's Draco.' He stood rooted to the spot, not trusting himself to move without falling as his mother's mouth opened slightly and she considered this.

'Oh, Draco, sorry darling,' she recovered quickly. 'It must have been a trick of the light, for a moment…' she tapered off, clearly realising the damage the phrase that she was about to utter might cause.

It was too late, of course, she had thought it, he had thought it, and it had done its damage. She had mistaken him for his father and no matter what the light was doing, that was one thing that Draco never wanted to happen ever again. Swallowing his horror for the time being, he made the effort to sit and speak to his mother for a few minutes before he announced that he had some errands to run in London and would not be back until the evening.

Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco eschewed the Diagon Alley entrance and headed out into Muggle London; nothing he could buy here would be like anything his father might wear. The frustration that he held from his mother's off hand comment meant that the shopping trip was somewhat intense.

Initially he had thought of owling Harry, of asking him to come along, thinking that the other boy's presence might have a calming effect upon him. Even as he thought it the realisation that after only a few friendly words, he already wanted to lean on him in a difficult moment, made Draco feel weak and this only fuelled his ire.

The sheer quantity of purchases Draco made was a testament to just how much damage his mother's careless insult had done. He had learnt at a relatively early age that shopping was to him was what a bottle of good scotch had been to his father. This particular trip, however, would have been better compared to swigging Firewhiskey straight from the bottle, such was the desperation that lurked behind it.

Draco's back was aching and his feet were on fire as he made his final stop that afternoon and he was exceptionally grateful for the reprieve that the hairdresser's chair offered him. As he waited patiently for the professional to assemble his tools he impetuously considered having all his hair shaved off, or having it dyed black. Both ideas, however, were quickly disregarded and instead he settled for having the hair, which had been rapidly approaching his shoulders, cut so it was now in line with his jaw.

Tired and feeling slightly happier that it would be difficult to make the same mistake again, he returned to the Manor and spent a rather tiring evening with his mother. After the unpleasantness of earlier, she had managed to rally her mood and was in rather high spirits. This was, of course, easier for her, as she had no recollection of the event at all.

***

Draco frowned when he realised the next day that his mother was not in her drawing room. Neither was she in the library, nor in her suite. He had just been about to give in and call a house-elf for the information when he heard a pitiful whine, followed by his mother frantically calling him from the conservatory.

This was surprising. His mother had eschewed the comfort, of what at one point had been her favourite room, for several years now. As a child, he remembered Narcissa as a keen gardener and the conservatory had always been her room, filled with raised indoor beds and fragrant, exotic flowers that she would spend hours caring for, frequently with Draco at her side.

He had asked her once, when he was in his early teens, why she didn't garden anymore and at the time she had confused Draco when she had simply smiled sadly and explained that it was no longer the same. So, though the house-elves had continued to tend the plants, the bright, warm room had remained closed, untouched.

As he stepped into the room, he was met by wall of heavily-perfumed humidity and he paused, giving himself a moment to adjust and searching for his mother amongst the deep green foliage and audacious blossoms. When he spotted her, she was sporting a look that was sadly becoming more commonplace with her; her hair was in disarray, clothes askew and eyes frantic as she searched desperately for something, looking under benches and behind bushes.

'Draco?' she called again and the sound was so desperate that it tore at him.

He stepped into the room so that she could see him and used the calming voice that he was being forced to use with his mother more and more frequently.

'What's the matter?' he asked, hoping that they would get past this most recent episode quickly.

'My son,' Narcissa exclaimed, eyes wild. 'I can't find my son.'

'Ummm,' Draco stumbled, suddenly very unsure of how to proceed.

'He was right here,' she explained indicating the space just in front of her, 'and I was feeding the orchids, and then when I turned to him he was just gone. Draco!' she explained, before calling again.

'Okay,' Draco said, taking a steadying breath. Enough was enough; obviously his mother wasn't going to get past these spells on her own; it was time to call in some professional help. He started to come up with a plan to keep her in the conservatory whilst he went and fire-called the Healer.

'Wait.' His mother's suspicious tone snatched his attention. 'Who are you? What are you doing here?' she asked, her panic rising.

'I'm Gabe, Lucius' nephew,' he explained suddenly, thankful for the flash of inspiration and wondering what it was that had caused him to think of his cousin and the passing resemblance they shared. 'I was on my way to see my uncle and heard you calling and I thought I should come and see if you were alright,' Draco fabricated.

'Yes, yes of course,' she muttered distractedly. 'Will you help me, Gabriel? Will you help me find Draco?'

'Of course I will, Aunt Narcissa,' Draco said, continuing with the bizarre little charade. 'Why don't you wait here in case he returns and I will go and speak with my uncle, perhaps Draco is with him?'

'Yes, yes that's a good plan. You are a good boy. I shall wait here,' she muttered, nervously.

Draco's heart broke, as he watched his once proud mother standing in the middle of her favourite room, her posture slumped, making her appear small as her hands gripped and twisted restlessly in her robes. He still had a role to play, however, and he snapped a short bow before making to retreat from the room.

'I shall return shortly, Aunt,' he informed her and quickly left the room. Once out of earshot, he called an elf to him and instructed the creature to watch over his mother, but under no circumstances were any of the elves to go to her. That done, he dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace and cast the sparkling green powder into the flames.

It was going to be ten minutes before Healer Mornay could get to the Manor and in that time he had advised Draco to try to stay away from his mother. He was concerned that whilst Draco had done the right thing in the first instance, further entanglements would only expedite her confusion; so, with nothing to do but wait, Draco collapsed into an armchair.

It was not two minutes later that the elf appeared at his feet to inform him that Mistress Narcissa had left the house and was making her way up the drive. Sighing resignedly, Draco followed.

It would seem that his mother could move rather quickly when she wanted tol; either that or she had been Apparating short distances, because by the time Draco caught he she was already on the outskirts of Codford St Mary and was confronting any pedestrian she came across, asking if they had seen her son.

Draco placed a firm hand on her arm to draw her attention and she span around, eyes wild.

'We found him, he is at home with his father,' Draco explained and he watched as his mother crumpled in a heap at his feet, relieved sobs racking her thin frame. Draco crouched in front of her, noticing for the first time, that she had run from the house without her shoes and her feet were bloody and torn.

'Let's get you home and then you can see him,' he suggested, keeping his voice as soothing as he could manage, as he helped his mother to her feet and then lifted her easily into his arms. Immediately she curled against him, burying her face into his shoulder as he carried her away from prying eyes before Apparating them home.

Healer Mornay was waiting for them patiently when they returned to the Manor and Draco nodded at him to follow them as he carried his mother towards her rooms and placed her on the sofa there.

'Where's my son?' she asked again, as soon as Draco had released her and he exchanged a worried look with the Healer.

'He's in his rooms, you can see him soon,' Draco assured. 'But you've injured yourself. Why don't you let the Healer take a look at your feet first, after all, you wouldn't want to frighten him,' Draco suggested, trying not to think about the sheer absurdity of the conversation.

'Yes, no, of course,' Narcissa said, confusion creeping back into her voice and Draco dared to hope that this current nightmare was about to end.

'Here, why don't you drink this?' Healer Mornay asked, extending to her a bottle of pale lavender, iridescent potion which Draco recognised immediately. 'It will help with the discomfort,' he explained.

Draco watched as his mother unguardedly took the bottle and swallowed the Dreamless Sleep potion silently. Moments later, her eyelids slid shut and Draco fell back into the armchair sighing with relief, as the Healer went to work.

The house-elves regarded Draco curiously as he entered the manor's large kitchen and set about making a cup of tea. Within moments, however, all the elves had made themselves scarce, knowing that when Draco was in the mood to make his own tea, he was most definitely not in the mood to deal with the elves' wounded professional pride and it was best for all concerned if he was just allowed to get on with it.

This would only be the fourth time he had encroached on the house-elves' territory. The last time had been the evening he had been called home from school because his father had been arrested. That had been less over the stress of losing his father and more because he was concerned what was going to happen to them, in light of Lucius' failure.

Draco reached into the top cupboard and pulled out the oversized blue mug that he kept especially for occasions such as this. Quickly, he lost himself in the process of making his tea perfectly. Perching atop a stool at the kitchen counter, he began to poke listlessly at his drink with a teaspoon as he waited for the Healer to finish with his mother. He was determined to keep the day's events from overwhelming him, at least until the man had left.

By the time Healer Mornay entered the kitchen, Draco had finished his first mug of tea and was nursing a second.

'How is she?' Draco asked reluctantly, not certain that he wanted to know the answer.

'She is resting peacefully for now, Mr Malfoy,' the old Healer reassured, as he lowered himself on to a stool and hissed slightly at his creaking joints. Draco busied himself making tea for the other man.

'I won't lie to you, though; her prognosis is not good… thank you,' he added, as Draco pushed a cup across the counter towards him and slid back onto his stool, to resume his intense observation of his own tea.

'She is suffering from permanent spell damage, Mr Malfoy.' He paused, apparently unsure of how to continue.

'She's not going to get better, is she?' Draco supplied, hating the way his voice sounded small and childlike.

'No, she's not; she's going to get worse.'

'But a month ago she was fine,' Draco protested, 'and she hasn't had anyone cast a spell on her since then!' he continued, as if somehow the facts would see just how illogical they were being.

'That is probably what has speeded the progression, unfortunately,' Mornay explained sadly. 'You see, the damage was already there, but whilst she was being cursed? Charmed?' he asked, unsure of just what had been the cause of Narcissa's current state.

'Both,' Draco confirmed bitterly, knowing that his father was fond of both Imperius and Obliviate.

'Right,' the Healer's tone was hollow and remorseful. 'Well, whilst this was happening on a regular basis, her mind was being given frequent breaks from reality, essentially making everything slightly easier to deal with. It is one of the cruellest things about this kind of prolonged abuse; the victim becomes dependent on the abuse continuing.'

'So, you're saying that if I were to continue to put her under Imperius every day, then she'd be okay?' Draco spat, feeling sick.

'No, no it wouldn't help at this stage.' Mornay shook his head sadly. 'Her mind is shutting down, Mr Malfoy.'

'So what do I do?' Draco asked; he could hear the desperation in his voice, feel the tears so close to the surface and he took a deep breath, forcing the despair back down.

'She will need to be admitted, I'm afraid. She is a danger to herself, a danger to you and, more importantly as far as the Ministry is concerned, she is a danger to the ISS2. Hospitalization is mandatory in cases like these, I'm afraid.' Mornay rose from his stool and picked up his bag.

'She will sleep until tomorrow; I will speak to my colleagues at St Mungo's tonight and make sure there is a place available for her.' He paused. 'I can come by tomorrow and take her there if it would feel more comfortable…'

'No!' Draco exclaimed 'No, I shall get her there.'

Mornay turned to leave, but paused and turned back. Reaching into his bag once more and retrieving several bottles of pale blue potion. 'Calming Draught,' Draco thought.

'There is no certainty that she will recognise you when she wakes; if she becomes hysterical give her one of these.' Mornay deposited the bottles on the counter in front of him. 'And fire-call me should you need anything, Draco,' the man insisted and a dry, wrinkled hand landed compassionately on Draco's shoulder.

Draco nodded but didn't look up as the Healer saw himself out of the Manor. He was still sitting at the counter as dawn's first light began to filter through the tall kitchen windows.

***

At dawn Draco abandoned his silent vigil and made his way to his rooms, after having instructed the house-elves to pack a bag for his mother for a fortnight's stay and to wake him the very moment his mother rose. He hoped that he might be able to grab a few hours sleep, the tiredness that had accompanied the war having returned with a vengeance.

Sleep remained elusive, however, and the few moments he was able to catch were haunted by his mother's desperate screams. Eventually he gave up and stepped out onto the balcony with a strong cup of coffee, allowing the gentle spring breeze to offer what refreshment it could as he waited for his mother to wake.

It was with a mix of relief and trepidation that Draco approached his mother's rooms on the house-elves' announcement that she had risen. Knocking at her door, he paused briefly, before heading inside without awaiting an answer. His mother was sitting on the sofa, sipping tea from a delicate cup and Draco was relieved to see the flare of recognition in her eyes.

'Draco,' she smiled, 'to what do I owe this pleasure?' and for a moment Draco was stumped. What was he going to tell her? How was he going to get her to agree to accompany to the hospital?

Draco sat in the armchair near his mother and considered his options. She didn't rush him for an answer and after a moment, he realised that she was staring out of the window. He shuffled in his chair slightly and her eyes turned on him sharply.

'I'm sorry, darling, what were we talking about?' she asked, confused.

'You were asking if I would go with you, to see one of your friends who had been taken ill,' he explained smoothly, trying desperately to cover the guilt he felt for tricking his mother.

'Oh yes, of course,' she agreed, apparently happy with the lie. 'So, what do you say?'

'Of course, Mother, I would be happy to accompany you,' he agreed, the lie sticking in his throat. 'Are you ready to go?' he asked, not wanting to give her the opportunity to forget this again.

'Of course,' she nodded, 'Thank you, Draco, you're a good boy,' she said as she rose and took his proffered arm. As they headed for the Floo, the cold guilt that her casual praise had caused was swirling in Draco's gut.

Narcissa's calm lasted all the way to the elevator at St Mungo's, but as the doors slid shut in front of them, it was as if they wiped away her memory with them. Roughly, she pulled her arm free from Draco's as she span frantically.

'Where am I? What's going on? Who are you?' she yelled hysterically before dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around her head.

'It's okay, it's okay,' Draco soothed, as he crouched next to her and rubbed a calming hand across her back. 'I'm here to help you,' he reassured. 'It's Draco.' As he whispered gentle words to her, he fished into his jacket pocket, pulling out the pale blue vial. 'Here, drink this,' he directed, and before she had chance to question or protest, he poured the potion down her throat and watched its demulcent effects.

Carefully, Draco pulled her to her feet and led her towards the double doors of the Janus Thickey ward.

The nurses were kind as Draco explained the situation. They had been made aware of their newest arrival and made sure all was prepared. Mornay had, apparently, made sure that a private room had been set aside for Narcissa and Draco waited patiently as the nurses led her away to get her settled.

Draco sat in the patient's lounge and took in the ward that was to be his mother's home from now on. Colourful pictures lined the walls of the large room where he was currently sitting in a slightly overstuffed armchair. Shelves filled with books and games lined one wall and one of the Muggle moving picture boxes sat in one corner, with a few couches and armchairs grouped around it.

Despite the apparent comfort of this ward, there was an underlying tiredness to the entire room which Draco couldn't help but turn his nose up at ever so slightly. In addition the all pervasive sterile smell of Mrs Miggin's Magical Mess Remover, combined with a stodgy smell that could only be hospital food, helped him to decide that the moment he returned home, he was going to make sure a substantial contribution was made towards the upkeep of the Janus Thickey ward.

'You can go in and see her now.' The petite blond nurse smiled at Draco, and he tried his hardest not to scowl back.

When he entered his mother's room, it was to see his mother sitting in the wing-back chair beside her bed. A book was open on her lap and she was staring at it blankly. She looked up when she heard him and smiled at him openly. Draco's heart caught in his throat and he knelt in front of her, taking her hand in both of his.

'It's okay, Draco,' she said quietly. 'I know why I'm here; the nurses explained it to me.' Draco looked down, ashamed that he hadn't been able to offer his mother the truth. She caught his chin, however, lifting his face to meet his eyes. 'None of this is your fault, Draco, none of it. You did everything you could.'

'Mother…' he began, but she cut across him.

'No, Draco, you need to hear this, we don't know how much time I have.' Her eyes flashed with panic, as she anticipated the inevitable loss of her lucidity. 'No matter what I might say at another time, I don't blame you for any of this. I love you, Draco, and I'm proud of you, you've always made me so proud. You need to know that.'

The tears that were beginning to appear in his mother's eyes were too much for Draco and he dragged his eyes away, looking, once more, at her clasped hands and allowing the minutes to slip by.

'Sweetheart, I need you to go now,' she said suddenly. 'The nurses here will take good care of me but I need you to go, I don't need you to see me…' she paused, unable to know exactly what label to put on it.

Heart breaking, Draco nodded, determined to respect his mother's wishes. Carefully he rose to his feet and stooped to kiss her cheek, whispering words of love into her ear, before backing out of the room. He hadn't even reached the double doors before his mother's panicked screams started again and the tears began to roll silently down his face as he slipped out of the ward.

He returned to the Manor at sunset, having spent the afternoon sitting on a bench in a small cemetery and looking out over a small town, which existed in the shadow of the monolithic chimneys of a factory. It was there that he had allowed himself to cry, his tears mingling with the fragrant spring rain that had begun to fall, the refreshing droplets cooling his hot cheeks.

As he had returned to his rooms, he severely doubted that there was anything that could calm his frayed nerves, but it would appear that he'd been wrong. The sight of the small, patient barn owl caused the tiniest spark of hope in his chest, and the tightly furled scroll containing a time, date and location, detailed in a loopy, haphazard script, was enough to fan the tiny flame.

1 I know that this was originally written by Neil Finn of Crowded House, but the Dixie Chicks version does have some significant alterations to the lyrics and that is the version which has been quoted here.

2 This would be the International Statue of Secrecy and not the International Space Station, as Narcissa did not train as an astronaut; nor does she have access to missiles that could be fired into near space.