At first, I was certain that I would turn Lucius' offer down. If I was going to teach at all I wanted it to at least be in a proper school with a proper classroom. I was pretty sure that Lucius would fire me after a week, anyway, because I wouldn't have been able to teach Draco anything. And then I would never be able to work again…I had heard many tales of people who had been sacked by the Malfoys; they gave me a headache every time I thought of them.

Despite my misgivings about the job and confidence that I wasn't going to do it, the more time I spent with Draco, the more I began to doubt both my judgement and myself. It felt good to be around someone who genuinely wanted me there, who needed me. I cherished the way his face would light up when I came to see him and yet at the same time, he never demanded my attention; instead, he would always wait just a little way off for me to go to him.

Draco was clever too. Normally, one would expect small children to be stupid, which is perfectly reasonable as they have had neither the time nor the attention span to learn anything. But I could just talk to Draco about, well, anything and expect him to understand and talk back to me. He was better at holding a conversation than most adults I had met.

Draco was a special little boy and anybody who couldn't see that was a fool.

However, as my friendship with Draco progressed, my respect and allegiance towards Lucius diminished rapidly. I hated the way he treated his child; manipulating his mind and breaking his spirit with cruel actions and harsh words, just like Abraxas had done to him. I couldn't understand how anyone could treat such a precious child so appallingly and still think it the right thing to do.

Although Draco was talking again, it didn't seem to do him much good, if anything, it just made things worse. Sometimes, if Lucius rounded on him suddenly and started asking questions, Draco would become so frightened of saying the wrong thing either the words wouldn't come out at all, or his rapidly developing stammer would overcome him; serving only to irritate Lucius further.

But in November, I finally found the excuse I was looking for to stay…

November 18th 1985

I had been to many of Lucius' parties before over the years that I had known him. Some elaborate, more to show off to people of high prestige than anything else. They were boring and I very rarely attending such occasions, I didn't fit into that world. Others were simpler, where a few select friends gathered to discuss Wizarding politics and Death-Eater issues. That night was one of those

I know for a fact that Lucius made a point of not allowing Draco to attend such meetings, deeming them- understandably- inappropriate.

But there was Draco nonetheless, dressed simply in a thin white shirt (Totally inappropriate for this time of year) and black trousers. He followed silently behind his father, head respectfully bowed towards the ground, although he still managed a small smile when he caught sight of me.

"Sit there," Lucius ordered, his tone snappy and irritable and jerked his head in the direction of the empty seat between myself and Fenir Greyback. The little boy nodded and slowly made his way around the immense table, limping slightly as he went. Draco ignored the stares he was receiving from the others; some curious, some mocking and others just purely sadistic.

"How are you?" I asked as I helped Draco to clamber up onto his seat, "How's everything been?" He gave a quick shrug.

"Okay. Just normal really," he grinned, "I got a new broomstick last week! A Twigger Ninety! It's really fast, but I can fly it and I haven't fallen off yet. Father says they'll have to put me on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts if I carry on the way I'm going," Draco added proudly, his excitement barely concealed, "I want to be a chaser 'cause they get to do the most, but Father says that I ought to train as a seeker 'cause I'm small for my age and fast too."

"Congratulations." Draco ducked his head with embarrassment, but his smile was as wide as ever.

"Thanks Sir," he said shyly, "Father says that if I practise hard enough, he'll get me a proper trainer! So then I'll be the best and win every time!"

I couldn't help but laugh at his complacency. It was okay now, but I sincerely hoped that he didn't carry such high expectations to Hogwarts with him. Certainly Draco was talented, but there would always be somebody better, no matter how good he was at it. But there was no point warning Draco about this now. After all, I too had confidence that he would make it onto the team. Especially if Lucius had anything to do with it.

"And how is your father?" I asked, "How has he been treating you?"

Draco paused, sucking his lip thoughtfully, "Okay," he said again, "but…but Father's been a bit grumpy today," his voice became small and he toyed idly with his fork, "I don't know why, though. He's just like that sometimes, you know?"

"Has he hurt you today?" Draco stiffened and turned abruptly away from me. I knew as soon as the words had escaped my lips that I had over stepped the line. But it was too late now.

As subtly and as gently as I could manage, I pulled Draco's left arm towards me and carefully tugged up his shirtsleeve till it was just below his elbow; revealing several vivid pink marks scattered across an almost completely white arm. These were not recent though. Having had previous experiences in such 'matters', they looked to me to be at least a couple of weeks old. Maybe more. But before I could get a better look, Draco yanked his arm sharply out my hands, glaring at me reproachfully.

"You shouldn't have done that," he muttered angrily, "nobody's 'sposed to see. Anyway, they're not from today, they're from a while back but they haven't healed properly like they're 'sposed to." He frowned down at his arm, as though blaming it, then self-consciously pulled his sleeve back down with a strange tenderness, hiding the blemishes to his otherwise perfect image.

"What has he done to you, Draco?" I asked softly. Draco winced. It was apparent that the memory was still too fresh, too raw, in Draco's mind for him to be able to recall them without it stinging. He started to fiddle with a loose thread on his sleeve, obviously trying to pretend that I wasn't there and that the question had never been asked. "How did you hurt your leg?"

Draco grimaced, "Is it really that obvious?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What does it matter?" The boy mumbled, hunching his shoulders. "What difference does it make?"

"It matters to me," I said, resting my hand gently on his. "You said yourself that Lucius was grumpy today and I can see in your eyes that you have been hurt." I sighed, "If it's serious, Draco, you have to tell me because if you just ignore it, it may never mend properly and you'll always have a limp." My godson looked scandalised,

"But then I won't be able to do Quidditch!" I thought of giving him an 'Exactly-see-I-was-right' look, but settled with saying thoughtfully,

"I see your predicament…so, are you going to let me help you, or not?"

Draco shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze. "It was an accident, Sir. It doesn't hurt anyway so it doesn't matter. Really it doesn't."

"Draco, please…"

"Don't make such a big deal out of it!" the boy snapped, "It'll heal on its own. They always do."

I raised an eyebrow. "So it wasn't an accident?" Draco flushed angrily, annoyed that I had 'caught him out',

"What business is it of yours anyway?" he demanded, sounding very much like his father. "Why should you care about what happens here? It's nothing to do with you!"

"Why won't you let me help you?" I snapped irritably. "Why do you keep pushing me away?" Draco said nothing and looked away, I could see him drawing back into himself; curling into his defensive shell.

I knew the reason Draco wouldn't let me get close; He still didn't trust me. He still thought that I'd run away and if he got close it would hurt too much when 'I abandoned him'. I didn't know what I could do to make him trust me and it was so frustrating. I hated the feeling of utter helplessness that I always felt when I looked at him, but, as Draco said, it was my own fault; I shouldn't have got involved in the first place.

But it was too late now.

For the most part, the rest of the evening was uneventful; unsuitable things were discussed in great depth, (I would just like to stress that I did not take part in such conversations) and everybody drank a great deal. Naturally, I soon became bored and would have left quite a while ago, had it not been for Draco, who I could tell was as bored as myself. It was getting late, also, far too late for such a small child to be staying up and Draco was practically falling asleep at the table.

I toyed idly with the cold remnants of my pasta which was slowly congealing on my plate and contemplated things that are of neither importance nor interest and, as such, shall not be mentioned here. My thoughts ceased abruptly, however, by a dull thud and I saw, to my surprise, Draco sound asleep with his head against the table.

There was silence; all eyes upon the slumbering child, his thumb tucked loosely between pearly white teeth. The picture of childish innocence. Then there was the harsh scrape of a chair being pushed back against the stone of the floor and Lucius rose to his feet. Moving silently around the table, Lucius scooped the sleeping Draco gently up into his arms and left the room without a sound, presumably to put him to bed.

Maybe I had misjudged Lucius after all…

Lucius returned quite a while later, sullen and secretive, and ushered everyone into the drawing room for coffee,

"I'd rather not have him disturbed," he said rather stiffly when I tried to make a getaway to bid my godson goodnight, "I've only just managed to get him to settle."

"Why?" I asked, "He seemed completely out of it when you took him up. I can't imagine that it took that long." Lucius studied me for a moment, then turned on his heal.

"I don't want Draco disturbed."

Of course, I headed straight for Draco's room at the first possible opportunity, just to say goodnight and make sure that he was okay.

Draco was asleep, as I had expected, curled up on top of the bed covers, still with his clothes on. A single candle burned on the bedside table, illuminating the little boy's face.

"Oh Dracom" I whispered, smoothing the sleeping child's hair; Draco's face was stained with tears, his cheek was bruised and swollen and his lip bloody.

The next morning, his limp was worse than ever.

I knew that I couldn't leave now, I was bound to Draco and I had to protect him as best I could.

I was trapped.

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