Chapter 1
Every taunt damaged him, every beating, another reason to give up. He never wanted to see Dumbledore’s life drain out of his body. He never wanted to let Dark Lord win. He never wanted see Hogwarts crumble into ashes. He just wanted to save his family from the Dark Lord.
So, when Dark Lord died, he rejoiced. So, when Potter won, he forgot about everything and found peace. Peace that didn’t last.
Hours after the Dark Lord’s defeat, the Ministry regrouped and attacked the remaining Death Eaters. The Malfoys, Lestranges and others were sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban. Including him.
Two months wasn’t long for many but, within the first day of his Azkaban stay, Draco felt insanity dancing in his head. The dementors neared every time he tried to be hopeful. Darkness enveloped him into an endless void. He could barely get himself to eat. Only Kadence, one of the three keepers that took care of the prisoners, updated him on what went on outside of Azkaban. Kadence flung Prophet stories and pictures into his jail cell daily. He did it to taunt him but, Draco didn’t care enough to let that bother him.
“They are catching more of you fucking scum of th Earth everyday,” he shouted, sneering. “Maybe one day they’ll stop wasting our time and kill you all like they did your mum.”
Draco had nearly fell to the floor as he scurried to get those precious newspapers.
Ignoring the idiot that threw the papers, Draco consumed story after story of how Hogwarts was being rebuilt, of how badly the few Death Eaters who escaped their sentencing were treated the minute they left the court, and of the saviour Harry Potter. So many stories of his former nemesis.
His petty hostility toward Potter didn’t seem so important after he faced the Dark Lord. After Potter not only tried saving him from the Dark Lord but, also from sentencing as he claimed that Draco was a pawn and could have easily been manipulated into following the Dark Lord. It had been too kind of him, leaving a bitter taste on Draco’s tongue and clearly the judge’s as well. The judge declared Potter biased but had reckoned Potter’s testimony meant something. Draco sentenced to 5 years in Azkaban with the promise of execution if he fucked up at all. Draco now owed Potter. He hated it.
Despite Potter trying to get away from reporters (as the many, many pictures showed), reporters tracked his life like a vulture would a corpse. The newspapers reported on Potter’s every move without fail. Draco read about the endless job offers Potter received, fans swarming his house every morning, awards he received for his bravery and gossip about his lack of a personal life.
He learned that Hermione returned to Australia to stay with her parents and help them recuperate from their memory loss. The Weasleys locked themselves away in a mansion in Brazil with the money the Ministry gave the family for being such a large part in defeating Lord Voldemort. Apparently they decided to leave for a “vacation” to the place Fred had always wanted to go for some reason. But, a photo of the family was enough to showcase their grief, their faces long and unhappy.
Somehow, Potter managed to end up very, very alone in his grief with millions of flocking reporters. Draco tried to stir up some pity for him but, he wasn’t exactly in a position to pity anyone. He had a pail to piss and rusted iron bars with an occasional rat to keep him company. Dementors didn’t count. So, maybe learning about Potter’s new life was the only hobby that truly keep him going. What would Father say if he heard that one, Draco thought to himself. His laugh died in his throat.
After his morning of reading and carefully placing newspapers in the corner of his cell, Draco followed his routine and recalled his losses. Most people would get tattoos as reminders of those they lost, but Draco didn’t have that luxury. Instead, he dug his sharp nails into the palm of his hand. Each finger represented someone different, and he felt more relief than pain seeing blood trail his nails. At least, Mum and Father don’t need to live in this terrible hell anymore. Execution has some benefits. Tears ran down his pale face, creating streaks on his grimy face. It didn’t matter who saw him cry anymore.
Goyle has been killed by the Dark Lord shortly after Potter was said to be dead and Crabbe died a pitiful death. He mourned their deaths as the only true friends he ever had. There was no one was left to care. No one was left to know. See, the old Draco Malfoy wanted his family back. That Draco Malfoy wanted his life back. That Draco Malfoy didn’t want to hurt anyone. He desperately missed the warmth of his magic and the sound of rain. But hell, he was one of the only people alive who had helped the Dark Lord rise. He knew some people didn’t deserve redemption and he was one of those few.
The dementors neared toward the afternoons. Draco had gotten used to them. In fact, he couldn’t help smiling. He found solace in their very warranted torture.
Suddenly, a loud clanking sound resounded from the bars of his cell. Draco slowly opened his eyes and glanced over at the bars of his cell to see Kadence standing there, bothering his misery. His towering, lean figure wouldn’t have been terrifying if he wasn’t the only person Draco ever got to see. His midnight black robes hung on him awkwardly and his wand looked more like a knife. The hood of the robes covered his eyes, revealing only his sharp jawline.
“What,” Draco croaked.
“Respect Malfoy,” Kadence replied sternly. He paused for a moment. “You have a visitor.”
“What?” Draco repeated. He squinted at his keeper, trying to detect any lies through the sheer power of will.
“A visitor, you fucking piece of shit! I will tell him to leave if you can’t enjoy your good fortune,” he exclaimed. Kadence continued to shout, but Draco tuned him out.
It had been weeks since he had seen someone else’s face other than Kadence. He hadn’t even seen his own face in weeks. At this point, even if the Dark Lord came back to visit him, he wouldn’t have minded. Draco shuddered. No, not that.
He stood up slowly and cautiously as he approached Kadence. Draco put his hands in between the cell’s bars and Kadence chained them. When the door opened, Draco stumbled out of his cell and he had never felt more alive. His eyes ravaged for information around the prison. His ears filled with moans of torture and screams of insanity. The farther he went away from his cell, the quieter it got until it was almost eery. He noticed Kadence shuddered as they past one of the cells. They approached a giant, black door and, with a small flick of his wand, the door swung open. His heart ached at the sight of the magic. He so desperately want to feel the wand in his hands.
The door revealed a cramped room of bright lights that made Draco squint and cover his eyes. Kadence threw Draco onto the cold, hard ground. Automatically, he curled within himself to brace for impact. He heard Kadence thank someone and then slam the door behind him. The sound resounded across the room.
Draco slowly picked himself up from the ground, his limbs barely moving as one. The lights made him lightheaded. After a solid minute of rubbing his eyes and silently squinting, Draco finally realized who his visitor was. And, for some reason, his cheeks flared from embarrassment as he looked him in the eyes. Then, without his permission, a grin stretched his face.