Harry's breath quickened, the sound of it drawing Narcissa's worried gaze. He reached out his hand, lost in a dream somewhere far away, "Don't go," he cried. "Please, don't leave me again. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"I'm right here, Harry," she soothed, grasping his outstretched hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

His green eyes fluttered open weakly, tears trailing down his bruised face.

"It's okay," she whispered, fighting back tears of her own, all the while knowing that it wasn't okay - nothing would ever be okay for him.

"She tried to take him away from me," he moaned, a small shudder racking his battered frame. His eyes grew distant and haunted.

Narcissa swallowed the lump forming in her throat and took a steadying breath. "That's not going to happen," she promised. "Just get some sleep. This will all be over soon."

Tears continued to roll down his face, it wasn't clear if he had even heard her. "I'm losing everything," he whispered solemnly. "My memories - they keep slipping away. I don't want to lose him again."

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to put as much of herself as she could into it. It was poor comfort, but it was all she could do for him given the circumstances.

Suddenly, his eyes fixed on her, their intensity burning a hole through her fluttering heart. "Please take them," he begged. "Keep my memories safe for me."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "It won't work," she cried, vehemently shaking her head.

Tampering with memories was a risk she wasn't qualified to take. At her skill level, when she went to put the memories back they would always feel surreal somehow. It just wouldn't be the same. Removing Harry's memories of Draco like that - it would be like watching him die all over again. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Please," he begged, gripping her wrist in wild desperation. "I can't lose him again… not like this."

They were both afraid of the same thing, both clinging to that last tiny spark that kept Draco alive for them. His emerald eyes were pleading with her, tugging at her heartstrings until they snapped.

"Okay," she finally whispered, a turbulent storm of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. "I'll...," she swallowed the sick feeling bubbling up. "I'll do it."

It was either remove them herself or let Bella purge them from him. At least this would be on their terms. Whether those memories ever felt real for him again was another matter entirely. All she could do was hope as she reached into her pocket.

On reflex, Harry tensed at the sight of her wand, shadows of fear dancing in his eyes as she pressed it to his temple. She choked back a broken sob and squeezed her eyes shut against the flood of tears. "I'm so - so - so sorry."

"It's okay," he whispered, his voice trembling in fear and uncertainty.

She probed the chaos of his mind, hunting down memories of her son and ripping them away. Dozens of glistening strands, his very purpose for existing, shimmered as she deposited them into an empty potion bottle. The more she pulled, the more relaxed he became until finally he was left staring at the walls with a heartbreakingly innocent expression on his face.

"Please forgive me," she cried, gripping the bottle of memories to her breast as she fled the room and the sight of what she had done. She had effectively murdered him. She had taken away everything that gave his life meaning, leaving behind only the bits that would make him useful and obedient. He would never be the same again. How would Draco ever forgive her for this?

"This won't do," Bellatrix chided with a disappointed shake of her head. "I think I've broken you."

Harry's gaze slowly drifted towards her, his brows drawn tight in confusion. "Mistress?" he hesitantly inquired.

She let out an angry huff and waved a dismissive hand at him. "Never you mind, my pet. As long as you're willing to serve him, I suppose that's all that matters."

He nodded in agreement, his face relaxing as his eyes lost focus. She grit her teeth against the disappointment of his lackluster response.

"It's time for your lessons," she informed, searching the emerald pools of his eyes for a flicker of resistance, some small fire left kindling in his soul, but there was none to be found. He submitted to her commands and hobbled to the center of the room, complacently waiting for her to begin.

"No manacles today," her eyes narrowed as she focused more intently on him. "I want to see if you're strong enough to stay standing on your own two feet."

Not even the briefest shadow of fear flitted across his face. His demeanor was a calm sea on a cloudless day - not a ripple in sight, just an endless expanse of mirrored sky. It was aggravating. She missed the old Harry, the one who's eyes flooded with tears at the mere mention of lessons, the one who begged her to stop, the one who screamed until his voice ran out, the one whose glare held the promise of murder anytime Draco was mentioned. As he was now, lessons felt like a tedious chore.

"Ugh," she groaned. "Forget it. I'm going to let the Dark Lord know you're ready. Just..." she shooed him away with her hand and left the cell.

"One more week," Narcissa whispered aloud to the shimmering bottle held tightly against her heart. "The Dark Lord has been summoned and we've been instructed to prepare for his arrival."

It was late May already and the garden was lit up in full bloom by the early morning sunlight. Every dew-kissed flower was a stinging blow, a heart-sick memory of all the flowers her son had drawn for her.

Edwin, the Manor's gardener, was making the rounds, his wizened frame hobbling across the rolling lawn, reminding her of the eventual fate of every mocking blossom that poisoned her view - everything eventually withered and died.

She noisily cleared her throat, attracting his attention. His milky eyes landed on her, greasy grey hair lying lank and languid down his wasted chest. He'd been employed by the Malfoy household for as long as her husband could remember. Narcissa had ignored his unsettling appearance because he possessed a natural green thumb that couldn't be easily replaced. Today, however, she found his presence, like that of the flowers, beyond the limits of her tolerance.

"Edwin, please remove the garden beds and replace them with hardscape. I don't want another living thing growing here."

He choked at her unexpected demand, his face purpling in outrage at the absurdity of it. "My lady?" he inquired. "You can't possibly mean for me to go through with that request?"

Her mouth twisted in distaste, her words short and shrill. "I want it all gone."

Lucius let out a heavy sigh as he watched his sleeping wife. Light and shadow danced across her sharp cheekbones, a reflection of the shimmering bottle sitting on her bedside table. Since the day she had taken them, she hadn't let those memories out of her sight.

"What should I do?" he questioned aloud.

Voldemort would be arriving tomorrow and he'd long ago given up on changing Narcissa's mind. When it came to their children, she was more than willing to dig her heels in. He'd briefly entertained the idea of altering her memories somehow, but he couldn't stomach the betrayal or the extent of the changes he'd have to make. It was entirely possible that he would have to remove every trace of Draco and Harry from her just to avoid any lasting risk of psychological harm. Even still, her mind's reaction to those huge gaps in her memory would be difficult to predict. Everyone handled memory loss in different ways. It just wasn't worth the risk. And more importantly, she wouldn't be the woman he loved anymore. The situation was truly very hopeless, but he'd rather die trying to make her happy than live with the consequences of his inactions. She was right when she said they needed to act - Farren's life depended on it.

He gave her forehead the briefest of kisses and grabbed the shimmering bottle off the nightstand. It was time for him to do his part.

Ever since the gardens and lawns outside had been removed, the wildlife had fled, plunging the Manor into a perpetual state of supernatural quiet. There was no birdsong in the morning nor chirping crickets at night. Tonight, he found the silence particularly unnerving as he made his way to Harry's cell, his echoing footsteps like the beating of a drum in the darkness. It was as if the entire Manor existed somewhere outside of reality, somewhere devoid of life.

Lucius cringed as the creaking of Harry's cell door cut through the ominous silence. He glanced back down the hallway, pausing to see if anyone had heard before heading in. The bed had been removed and Harry was pressed as far into the corner of the room as he could get. He shifted slightly, raising his head to watch Lucius with suspicious green eyes.

"Somnium," Lucius intoned, dropping the boy into a powerful sleep without warning.

It was a little-known fact that Lucius was particularly skilled at Memory Charms. This wasn't something they went out of their way to advertise as he often used his talents to further his own ends, but it was precisely this skill that had helped them escape punishment during the Dark Lord's first reign. And, it was precisely this skill that Narcissa insisted he employ to return Harry's memories.

Unfortunately, changing or removing memories was one thing, repairing them was an entirely different matter. If it were a simple task, St. Mungo's wouldn't have an entire floor devoted to caring for people suffering from botched memory charms.

He took a steadying breath, uncorked the bottle of memories, and coaxed one out with the tip of his wand. Then, he closed his eyes, getting a feel for the memory he held before plunging right in, splitting his awareness between the outside world and Harry's disordered mind.

Glistening sweat began to form on his brow as he appraised the situation. He could sense rather than see the gaping chasms littering Harry's psyche. It was almost impossible for him to distinguish between what was damage from the Cruciatus Curse and the jagged edges where his memories of Draco had been ripped away. He kept searching, groping with his mind for a hint of the tattered thread left behind by the memory dangling from his wand tip.

Finally, like a tickle in his brain, he felt something familiar calling to him in the darkness. He followed the trail like a magical bloodhound until he found its end and with an extreme amount of care, he stitched the two memories back together before pulling out the next one.

Hours passed as one by one, he hunted down and threaded Harry's memories back in. The damage left behind by the Cruciatus Curse made it impossible for him to fully restore all of them. Some he found other places for, but others he simply left adrift in the void hoping one day they would find a home.

Harry had to function if their plan was to work and these memories alone would not be enough for that. So, Lucius spun memories of his own creation to repair some of the rifts, tying them off haphazardly with Harry's own broken recollections. They stood like glistening bridges across great chasms of space - a pathway laid out for him.

What started out as a small headache was rapidly gaining steam, but he persisted, pulling as many fragments as he could back together until at some point he happened to stumble upon a cold and slimy presence. It felt like death itself, slithering in the darkness, extending past the edges of Harry's mind and into the outside world. Lucius knew better than to touch it - it just felt so wrong to him. A small crumbling barrier had been erected around it and he shored it up as best as he could before moving on.

Sweat stung at his eyes and he wiped it away with an exhausted sigh, begrudgingly resigning himself to being done. There was nothing more that he could do. If by some small miracle the boy survived this, Lucius sincerely doubted he'd ever be a functioning person again. Maybe it was better that Draco never had to see Harry like this.

The whispering notes of a sad song ghosted across Harry's awareness, coaxing his eyes open with their gentle touch. Narcissa was gently running her fingers through his hair, tears streaming down a face that was sharper than he remembered, as if a long series of hard months had passed without his notice.

A blinding flash of pain ran through his head as he tried to remember why. There was a looseness in his thought process that felt foreign to him, like being swept up and tossed around in a rapidly churning sea. The more he tried to force some semblance of order to his thoughts, the more they would fire back at him, burning through his brain.

He gripped his head in agony, his mouth hung open in a silent scream.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Narcissa questioned in a panic.

He didn't know how to answer her.

"Is it your head?"

Eyes squeezed shut against the pain, he gave the briefest of nods.

"Lucius said you might have some trouble adjusting. Your mind was very broken and he did the best he could, but there shouldn't be any pain. Try to relax. Maybe it's because you're trying to fight the changes he made?"

The word 'changes' was alarming to him, but he followed her instructions, relaxing, letting himself drift in the ebb and flow of his disjointed thoughts. His turbulent thoughts grew still, the pain letting up gradually so long as he didn't try to force things.

He let out a relieved sigh and opened his eyes.

"Better?"

He nodded.

"What do you remember?" she hesitantly asked.

There was a brief twinge of pain, but one memory felt supernaturally clear.

"There's someone I have to kill," he whispered.

She gave him a sad smile and nodded. "The Dark Lord should be arriving today, that's why we gave your memories back to you."

The pained expression on her face made it obvious she wanted to say more, but she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, small tremors running through down her arms.

He did understand the plan though. Through all the disordered chaos that was his mind, those thoughts and the memories they were attached to were like a calm stream slowly meandering their way through, steadying him, giving him purpose.

"Maybe we can…" she started to say, shadows of doubt playing out in her eyes as her resolve began to crumble. He cut her off with a shake of his head.

"It's okay. This is the only way," he reassured, allowing this quiet sense of purpose to settle within him.

She let out a hiccuping sob and wrapped her arms around him, shaking as the full force of her grief overcame her with a flood of tears.

"I can't do this," she lamented.

Her floral scent was so agonizingly familiar that it overwhelmed him. An angelic smile on a devilish face flashed unbidden through his mind.

"Please," he begged, "Let me have this."

If their plan was like a calm stream cutting through the storm, his memories of Draco felt like shimmering islands off in the distance. If he succeeded, the gentle currents of their plan would carry him to those faraway islands - he could see that path clear as day.

"Draco's never going to forgive me for this," she sobbed, clinging desperately to him.