My heart was heavy with disappointment as I trudged back to my classroom to tell Draco. I know that I hadn't promised a positive outcome but the guilt that was creeping its way into my throat told me that I might as well have done.

Draco's head jerked up immediately as he heard the door swing shut behind me; his eyes bright and hopeful, a pleasant change from the dull grey they had been only a while before. His face fell, however, when I shook my head, my expression glum. Draco sighed and slumped forward so that his chin was resting on the table.

"I'm sorry," I said, resting one hand on the boy's shoulder and kneeling down to his level, "I did try, but there was never anything that could be done, not really. We'll just have to make the best of it, huh?"

Levering himself up onto his elbows, Draco nodded and gave me a small, brave smile, showing a new gap where a tooth had just recently fallen out. I returned it and ruffled the boy's mob of silvery hair, making Draco giggle and swat at my hand.

"Good boy. How about we read have some more of that book we started the other night?" Draco nodded eagerly and within seconds, the book was thrust into my hands; 'Goodnight Mister Tom' the title read, 'by Michelle Magorian'.

I had been into the town a couple of weeks previous and had picked up a few children's books I thought Draco and I could read together. Not having read this particular one before, I had very little idea of what the story would contain, although it became apparent early on that it had not been wise, on my part, to suggest this particular book, considering the delicacy of my student's situation and his sensitivity towards it. Nevertheless, Draco seemed blissfully unaware of his resemblance to the protégé or perhaps it was simply denial, but either way he appeared to enjoy it. And so, despite my foreboding, I read to him.

We settled ourselves comfortably into the ludicrously large armchair in my sitting room. When Draco was curled up in my lap with his thumb in his mouth and a clear view of the text, I began to read;

"Willie ran up the pathway towards the cottage, through the graves and under the oak tree, his shoes squelching. They ran into the hall, Tom's boots clattering on the tiles. He shook the rain from his overcoat and proceeded to undo his boots.

Sammy stood on the mat, shaking his fur by the front door and looking out at the sheets of rain that were now whipping across the graveyard…"

As I read, I though subconsciously of how I could build Draco's confidence, particularly when it came to speaking, as that seemed to be where the main problem lay. Even when Draco did mange to speak, it was nearly always as a stammer or a faint whisper that one had to stoop to hear. In my (somewhat limited) experience, I had reached the conclusion, that the most stressful problem any child faces was knowing when to talk and when not to, and knowing what to say should the occasion arise when your adult actually wanted you to speak.

Perhaps a change of scenery would do the trick…a holiday…

"Willie heard the paper being torn and turned to watch him. He knew the letter was from his mum. He checked again that his wet socks were pulled up and stood very still.

'Dear sir or madam,' it read, 'I asked if Willie could stay with god-fearing people, so I hope he has. Like most boys, he's full of sin but he's promised to be good. I've put the belt in for when he's bad and I've sewn him in for the winter-"

There was a sharp intake of breath and I felt Draco tense considerably in my arms. I impulsively held him a little bit closer.

"Are you okay?" I murmured, "Do you want to stop?"

Numbly, Draco shook his head. No. I sighed and continued,

"Tom folded the letter and put it into his pocket. He found a belt at the bottom of the bag. It was a brown leather one with a steel buckle.

Willie stood with his back to the fire and stared uneasily up at him.

Tom was angry.

'While you're in my house,' he said in a choked voice. 'You'll live by my rules. I ent ever hit a child and if I ever do, it'll be with the skin of me hand. You got that?' "

"What does that mean?" Draco asked suddenly, pointing to what I had just read, "That bit there."

I reread the passage that Draco indicated- 'I ent ever hit a child and if I ever do, it'll be with the skin of me hand.'

"It means, um…it means he doesn't hit, but if he had to it would be with his hand instead of a belt or a stick."

Draco thought about this for a moment, brow furrowed in a slight frown as he did so. "Oh…why?"

"Why what?" Draco gave me a withering look as though it were obvious.

"Why would he only use his hand? If he only did that, it wouldn't really hurt after a while." Poor little Draco and his tainted view of morality.

"Well, that is precisely why, Draco. He doesn't want to hurt. He doesn't want to hit unless it's absolutely necessary."

"But you said it was wrong to hit no matter what the circumstance," Draco said petulantly. "Why would he suddenly think it was right if it's completely wrong?"

I could tell he just wanted to argue now. Well, that was fine. I could play that game.

I shrugged exaggeratedly. "Some people think it right, some people think it wrong. Who am I to tell them what to think?"

Draco pouted; this wasn't how he wanted it to go. "You tell me though," he pressed. "And Father. Father doesn't like it when you tell him to stop, it annoys him. He thinks you should mind your own business. "

"Your father is a very stubborn man who refuses to listen to anybody who says differently from him."

Draco looked smug. "But you do try an' tell him what to think, though, don't you?"

"And does it do either of us any good?" I snapped. "Have I made even the slightest bit of difference to this godforsaken situation?"

Draco looked away awkwardly. "But at least you try to," he said. "The other's, Father's other friends, they see me but they pretend they don't. They're scared of Father, see? But you're not, Sir, you stand up to him even if it doesn't make much difference."

That night, I pondered Draco's words for a long time, lying in bed and talking to the ceiling.

Was I scared of Lucius? I had never really considered it, but I didn't think so. To be honest, he had never really given me any reason to be afraid, or perhaps it was because I knew that I was a bigger threat to him than he was to me, considering Lucius had a reputation to uphold and I was quite content without one.

But surely if I wasn't afraid, why didn't I simply to something impulsive and drastic and let that be an end to it? I could kidnap Draco, immigrate to Australia and we could completely change our identities, living our lives as kangaroo farmers…

Somehow that didn't really appeal to me and, to be honest, I didn't think Draco would think much of it either… but you get the gist.

Perhaps I was afraid. But only a little, of course.

Maybe it was because I had known Lucius for so long or perhaps it was because Draco never spoke of her, but I never really thought much about Narcissa's relationship with her son. In fact, I never spared her much thought at all…

Narcissa was a very aloof woman, always going about as though she was in a dream. That's why Lucius married her- she was a fairy princess; a pretty toy to bring out on occasion to show off with, but not real enough to be worth a great deal of thought and attention.

Narcissa was young too, far too young to be a decent mother. Thinking upon that for a moment, I suppose Lucius can't be held entirely responsible for his terrible parenting methods, considering both his own parents and the fact that he practically brought Draco up single handedly. Perhaps that's why Draco always remained faithful to his father no matter what, because, as unfortunate as it seems, Lucius was the only parent that the boy had…

May 24th 1986.

It was Friday night and Lucius was working late at the Ministry. By rights, I should've been at home by then, but this weekend I had decided to stay on as Draco was very anxious to show me how his Quidditch training was going.

I had left Draco to his own devices, to do whatever he normally did on a Friday evening and I assumed he would be playing or reading to himself in a secluded corner somewhere. But then…

"Draco get mummy another drink, Darling."

I couldn't help but watch with interest as Draco accepted the empty glass from his mother without a word and went over to the liquor cabinet to refill it like an obedient servant. I could tell from a mile off that it was brandy her innocent little boy poured for her, but by the way Narcissa drunk it, it could've been water.

Draco knelt at his mother's feet and laid his head in her silken lap as she petted and caressed his hair absently, all the while humming tunelessly to herself. Every now and then, Narcissa would call on Draco to refill her glass and he would obey without word or protest and then kneel down again.

But after the fifth cup had been handed to her, she tugged Draco onto her lap.

"My pretty Dragon," she crooned, placing kisses on her son's passive face, "My beautiful Angel…" I would've thought that this kind of affection would've had Draco skipping over the moon, but he simply remained still and silent as Narcissa showered him with caresses and meaningless words. He looked bored and tired, as though this were a chore; something unpleasant that had to be put up with.

"Lucius…" Narcissa murmured suddenly, her touch becoming less and less gentle and her kisses looked vicious and desperate.

Draco winced as her teeth nipped at his skin and her lips tried to meet his. "Stop it," he told her, turning his face away slightly. He spoke firmly but with a gentleness that one usually reserved for small children, stupid people and annoying teenagers. "You shouldn't do that, Mummy."

Narcissa gave a short dry laugh that was more of a sob than anything else, "Why don't you love me anymore?" she cried, banging her fists against Draco's chest. "Why, Lucius? Just tell me! TELL ME!!"

"Stop Mummy, stop! It's Draco!" Narcissa froze and the way she looked at him…it was like she had never seen her son before.

"D-Draco?"

The little boy nodded, "Yes Mummy."

Narcissa let out a deep, sad sigh and moved her hair behind her ears. "Oh, Draco. What is going on? You don't understand either, do you little Dragon? This is no place for people like us, Draco, we must stick together. You understand that, don't you?" Draco said nothing, and it was clear from his expression that he most certainly did not understand, "we have to get away from here," Narcissa murmured, brushing a finger gently along Draco's chest. "Just you and I. We'd be fine, you know, we don't need anyone else…" she sighed again, "get me a drink, Draco," She pressed the glass into her son's unresisting fingers, but Draco didn't move.

"Mummy… I-I don't think you should have any more…"

"Just get me a goddamned drink, won't you?" Narcissa snarled, shoving him off her brutally. The force sent Draco crashing to the ground and the glass shattered on impact, sending shards of glass everywhere. My godson flinched and instantly scrambled around trying to pick up the glass, wincing as the sharp pieces bit into his skin.

Narcissa jumped unsteadily to her feet, cursing as she wavered precariously on her heels until she finally got some sort of balance, "You're just like your bloody father!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face, "Useless! Completely useless!"

She turned awkwardly on her heel and scurried from the room, sobbing loudly. Draco watched her go; devastation set in his silver-grey eyes, and then silently went back to his task.

"Hey." I knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder.

Draco jumped, eyes wide with alarm and promptly dropped the fragments he had collected, "Sir! I-I…"

"Oh Dragon," I sighed, tucking his hair behind his ears, "why didn't you talk to me about this? I could've helped you…"

"It's not her fault," Draco whispered, his voice edged with defence. "She doesn't know…She just gets upset sometimes," he bit his lip and turned away, "I want her to be happy."

"Does this happen often?" I asked, almost dreading the answer that I would receive.

But Draco shook his head, "No. Not like that anyway. And only on Fridays, when Father's not at home. Sometimes she starts crying and won't stop, others she's just angry and… I don't like it when she's angry 'cause she throws things an' it's scary."

A horrible thought swept through my head. "She doesn't…"

"No," Draco said quickly, glaring up at me. "She doesn't hit. 'Least…she doesn't mean to and not often either. That's the trouble, she doesn't know what she's doing and she loses control. It's not her fault. Really it isn't!"

This wasn't good, and I hated the thought that it had been going on every Friday and I hadn't known about it. What if I hadn't stayed this time? How far would she go in the future? The thought made me cringe inwardly,

"Does your father know about this?" I asked seriously, although I knew from the boy's expression the answer I would receive. "Draco, you have to tell him! He'd stop it, you know he would, and this can't go on."

Draco looked at me in alarm. "Please Sir, you mustn't tell! He'll be so angry with her, Sir! I don't want her to be anymore sad than she already is! Please don't tell Father, it won't help a bit, anyway. When she gets sad, she gets worse and she calls me Father. I-I don't like it when she does that. I don't like it when she forgets me," he whimpered as the glass cut him again, but clutched the shattered pieces resolutely in his hand. Fingers darting across the carpet to retrieve more,

"Here, let me," I waved my wand and the glass disappeared. Draco watched me enviously, wishing that he could fix things so easily. "You know that your father would be furious if he knew that someone had been hurting you, don't you Draco?"

Draco scowled down at the carpet, self-consciously rubbing his arm. "He would just make her sad," he repeated, stubbornly. "I don't want her to be sad…"

"I know, Dragon, I know. But it's not up to you to make her happy. Allowing her to kiss you like that won't make her happy Draco. Maybe it will at first, but it won't last."

Draco looked at me with sad eyes and wiped his sleeve across his nose. "I guess…but then she'd be angry at me. I tried pushing her away once, but she started screaming stuff at me and she threw her glass at the wall. She usually breaks something and I have to clean up, else Father would know…"

Draco took a deep breath and gulped hard before continuing. "Once, I cut my finger an' a piece of glass got stuck in it an' I had to get it out with a needle an' it hurt a lot. She wouldn't do it, you know, if you were here," he added almost reproachfully, "Or Father. She only gets like it when it's just me, other times she just stays away an' reads an' drinks coffee a lot. She doesn't like to talk to people. She…she doesn't even eat with us anymore…" A choking sob caught in the boy's throat and he crawled clumsily into my lap; allowing me to comfort him with gentle words and soft caresses.

I hated to see Draco like this and I knew that I was as helpless as he to put and end to all of this. There was nothing either of us could do…

Suddenly, the sound of the front door being slammed carried across the room, making Draco jump.

"I've got to go!" he whispered, his grey eyes slightly panicked, "I ought to be in bed by now…" He scrambled unsteadily to his feet, ran to the door, the hesitated and turned uncertainly to me, "You-you won't…"

"I won't tell. You have my word."

The boy breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thanks, Sir."

I nodded and waved for him to go before he was caught.

I wondered idly, as I trudged up to my rooms, whether there were any more secrets hidden in this manor and how far would I be drawn before it was too late?

A/N: Wahey! Update!!! does the update dance now we've got past this, updates will be more frequent. :)

Thankyou to all you lovely people who have reviwed! Baby!Draco chibi dolls for all!!!

Lily xxx