Goodbye always makes my throat hurt...
The damp chill of Azkaban seeped into Draco's bones, a relentless shiver that refused to abate. The narrow confines of his cell were suffocating, the stone walls closing in on him from all sides. He sat huddled on the frigid floor, his fingers tracing the coarse texture of the cold, unforgiving stone beneath him. Despite having a bed in his cell, he resisted sitting on it.
The flickering light of a solitary torch cast dancing shadows on the wet walls. Draco's features were etched with weariness and pain, his platinum-blond hair matted and disheveled. Though he didn't lift his hand to check, a faint warmth on his cheek betrayed the fact that he was bleeding.
He closed his eyes, attempting to escape the harsh reality that surrounded him, but even in the darkness, the memories clawed at his mind. The taste of regret about everything he had done in the service of Lord Voldemort was bitter, like ashes on his tongue.
The scraping sound of metal against stone announced the arrival of the guards. His heart pounded, expecting nothing but more misery when the door opened.
"You have a visitor," the guard declared, a note of reluctance in his voice.
Draco scrambled to his feet, losing balance for a brief moment but steadying himself. Not allowing himself to wonder who might visit him, he followed the guard to a small room. To his surprise, Hermione Granger stood waiting, with a man next to her whom he had never seen before.
Manners dictated that Draco remain standing, even though it took all of the little power he had left in his body. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as Granger hurried over, causing him to flinch when her hand reached the likely bleeding spot.
"What happened to him?" she demanded sharply from the guard, who responded with a nonchalant shrug.
“Sit down,” Granger fussed, pulling up a chair. As Draco complied, the man accompanying her stepped forward. Unperturbed by Draco's dirt-covered hand, he introduced himself. "Thaddeus Trumbleweed, pleasure to meet you."
After days of silence, Draco's voice emerged gruffly. "Draco Malfoy," he replied, then turned his attention to both of them. "What are you doing here?"
“We're here to help you,” Granger declared.
What?
Granger's expression softened as she exchanged a glance with Trumbleweed. Draco, bewildered, waited for an explanation.
"Thaddeus here is a solicitor,” Hermione began, “He's also overseeing the legal matters concerning your parents."
Draco's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but before he could voice his thoughts, Trumbleweed spoke. "Mr. Malfoy, I know this is a trying time, and I want you to understand that we're not here to make things more difficult for you. In fact, quite the opposite."
Draco crossed his arms, assuming a defensive posture. "What do you want, then?"
Trumbleweed sighed with empathy. "We believe there might be a way to expedite your situation. If you're willing to cooperate, provide information that could be of use. Combined with Miss Granger's testimony, it's likely you won't have to endure a lengthy stay in Azkaban."
Draco's eyes flickered between the two people in front of him. "Cooperate how?"
She interjected earnestly, "Share what you know. Help us understand the full picture. It might make a difference in your case, and, well, it could help bring some justice to the situation."
A tumult of conflicting emotions played on Draco's face. "The full picture is that I became a Death Eater, Granger. And then I did horrible things, including having you tortured in my own house.”
“You weren't the one who tortured me!” she heatedly countered.
“I didn't do anything to stop it either.” Though he hadn't raised his voice, his declaration had been just as passionate as hers.
“Could you have?”
Draco didn't reply. No, there was nothing he could have done, and they both knew it. Still, as the unwelcome memories flooded him, the remorse ate away at him.
The room fell into a heavy silence as Draco considered the decision before him. The thought of his parents – specifically his mother – tipped the scale for him.
“No, thank you.” Draco rose, ready to leave the room, but Granger took his arm.
“Why not?” she questioned.
“My mother...”
“Your cooperation will likely help her,” the solicitor claimed. “I have reviewed the cases of you and your parents together.”
“It won't help my father, though, will it?”
Granger's eyes seemed to fill with genuine sadness. “No,” she agreed, “I'm not going to lie to you; it is not looking good for Lucius. He is refusing to cooperate in any way.”
Draco's jaw tightened involuntarily at her lack of decorum, calling his father by his given name.
But he would do anything to help his mother, and Granger played right into that. "What do you want from me?"
Hermione spoke gently, "The truth. Your honest account of what happened, the events that led you down that path. It can make a difference."
“Okay.” Draco agreed.
After the solicitor and Granger set up a new meeting, they said their goodbyes. Draco's throat ached; he tried to push down the hope that started to bubble up in him.
Draco paced his cell, anxiety gnawing at him. The guards had taunted him, cruelly reminding him that today was his father's trial. Draco had pleaded during a meeting with Granger and Trumbleweed to be present at the trial, but the Ministry had denied his request. So, he found himself trapped within the narrow confines of his cell, waiting for news. Granger had promised she'd come to see him immediately after the trial.
The air in the prison corridors suddenly shifted, drowned in cheers, whoops, and the echoes of celebratory sounds. He had known there was no hope for his father, but his heart still dropped as the meaning of the cacophony sunk in.
Moments later, a guard appeared at his cell door. "Daddy's not going anywhere," he declared with a wide, nasty grin.
Draco swallowed hard as the guard motioned for him to follow, and Draco reluctantly complied, his footsteps echoing in the cold, oppressive hallways of Azkaban.
He was led to the familiar room where every meeting with Granger and Trumbleweed took place. The guard left him there, the heavy door groaning shut, leaving Draco alone with the silence that felt more suffocating than ever.
Minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity until the door creaked open once more. Hermione Granger entered, her expression somber and eyes filled with a mix of empathy and sympathy. Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, stood beside her. Shock and anger overtook Draco at the sight of his mother.
Once the epitome of elegance, she now appeared visibly worn, her eyes marked with redness from tears, conveying profound sadness. Her once-lustrous hair had lost its glow, hanging lifelessly around her face. Draco noticed her needle-thin frame, her sleeves failing to conceal the black and blue marks on her forearms.
"Draco," Granger began gently, "I'm so sorry."
His mother's gaze bore into him, and Draco, though his heart ached, straightened his posture. "What happened?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Narcissa spoke, her voice breaking with a mixture of sadness and strength. "Your father... He's been sentenced to Azkaban for life. The evidence against him was overwhelming."
"And what's next?" he asked, his voice strained.
Granger stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll continue working on your case. We'll do everything in our power to help you and your mother."
The heavy door opened again, revealing Thaddeus Trumbleweed and Lucius Malfoy.
“Five minutes,” a guard declared.
Narcissa's composure crumbled as she caught sight of Lucius. Without hesitation, she threw herself into him, her arms wrapping tightly around him as a sob escaped her lips.
Lucius, though visibly weakened, returned the embrace with firm gentleness. His usually stoic demeanor crumbled in the face of Narcissa's pain. He stroked her hair, offering what comfort he could.
Narcissa finally pulled back, her eyes searching Lucius's face as if trying to memorize every detail. "I'm so sorry, Lucius," she whispered, her voice strained with emotion.
Lucius, though still maintaining a degree of poise, looked into her eyes with profound sadness. "Narcissa, my love,” he exhaled. He focused his attention on Draco, “Son.”
Lucius hugged him, a first in Draco's recollection. The hug felt awkward, and Draco was unsure of what to do. After a moment, his father let go, and Trumbleweed asked them all to sit down.
As they settled into an uneasy silence, Lucius spoke with grave determination. "Draco, my son, listen carefully. You need to tell them everything. Hold nothing back."
Draco's eyes widened. "Father, I can't."
Lucius's gaze bore into Draco's, his voice steady. "Your future, your mother's future, may depend on the information you provide. You must cooperate fully with them."
A knock came on the door, along with it a muffled: “One minute.”
Though frail, Lucius stood with quiet dignity, and Draco mimicked the movement. Placing his hand on Draco's shoulder, his father repeated his plea one last time. "Promise me, Draco. You will divulge everything." His throat constricted with unspoken emotions, Draco nodded.
The guards entered abruptly. With callous efficiency, they seized Lucius and began dragging him away. Granger, fueled by her sense of justice, sprang to her feet. She vehemently objected to their treatment of Lucius, her words a passionate defense against the inhumanity of the guards. However, her objections fell on deaf ears, the guards unmoved by her fervent appeal.
The lump in Draco's throat tightened as he witnessed the tears streaming down his mother's face. Her silent sobs echoed in the cold, unforgiving room, resonating with the pain of their fractured family.
In the ensuing silence, Granger's frustration lingered in the air, an unspoken tension that mirrored Draco's internal turmoil.
Just as suddenly as the door had closed, it opened again, this time revealing the guard who had initially brought Draco to the room.
“No!” Granger objected, “We still have time with Mr. Malfoy.”
“Time's up, Miss,” the guard declared stoically as he took Draco's arm.
“I will talk to the warden about this!” Draco heard her exclaim as he was led through the corridors, back to his holding cell.
Once inside, Draco sat down on the bed, allowing himself, for once, a moment of vulnerability. His eyes pricked, his heart thudded, and his throat throbbed.
In that somber space, Draco grappled with the heavy ache of the unspoken goodbye to his father.
The next two weeks blurred into a monotonous routine of meetings between Draco, Granger, and Trumbleweed. The cold and damp ambiance of Azkaban persisted, a relentless reminder of the grim reality surrounding Draco.
Even though he did not get to see his mother again, Granger assured him that she was doing well under the circumstances. Azkaban being Azkaban, Draco struggled to believe her. But since he had no other choice, he chose to accept her words of comfort.
As the day of his trial approached, Draco felt a mixture of anxiety and resignation. The guards escorted him to the familiar room where he now had attended countless meetings. In the silence that followed the sound of the door closing, Draco found himself alone, surrounded by the oppressive weight of anticipation.
Abruptly, the door swung open, and Granger burst into the room with uncharacteristic excitement. "Draco!" she exclaimed, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "Your mother has been released."
Relief washed over him. "Released?" Draco echoed, seeking clarification.
"Yes," Granger nodded eagerly. "She's on house arrest, prohibited from using magic outside the manor's grounds. But she's out, Draco. That's something."
A sense of gratitude and warmth swelled within Draco. "Thank you," he managed, his voice laden with sincerity.
Trumbleweed entered the room, a smile on his face. “After the success we had this morning, I have every bit of faith that we will be victorious again,” he confidently declared.
“You can do this,” Granger ensured Draco as she gave him a tiny squeeze on his hand.
As they filed out of the room, he realized, with a pang, that she had just called him Draco. He still felt the warmth of her hand on his, almost burning his skin. Carefully storing his thoughts for later, he entered the courtroom and stood in front of the Wizengamot.
Thaddeus Trumbleweed and Hermione Granger presented a united front, their arguments precise and impassioned. Trumbleweed wove intricate patterns of defense, highlighting the complexities of Draco's situation. Granger, in her role as a key witness, provided a detailed account of Draco's cooperation and willingness to divulge crucial information.
Draco's eyes widened with surprise when Harry Potter himself stepped forward as a witness. The famed hero, clad in Auror robes, spoke with a measured and objective tone. He acknowledged Draco's past actions but emphasized that he believed Draco had been forced. Potter's unexpected testimony underscored Draco's genuine cooperation and his efforts to distance himself from his dark past.
Lastly, Draco himself was called upon to speak. As he had promised his father, he didn't hold back. He answered every question truthfully, gave up every name, every operation, every location they asked for. He agreed to be prepared to provide further information if the Ministry would seek it later.
The Wizengamot listened with rapt attention, their expressions betraying little of their thoughts. As Draco's final words lingered in silence, the atmosphere in the courtroom provided no hint of the impending outcome of his trial.
At the Minister's signal, the Wizengamot departed the room in an orderly procession, leaving behind a vacuum of uncertainty in the air. Draco's eyes darted to Trumbleweed, who nodded encouragingly, then to Granger, who flashed an assuring smile. The silence persisted as they waited.
Eventually, the Wizengamot returned, and as they settled in, Kingsley Shacklebolt delivered Draco's sentence.
“The Wizengamot has carefully considered the evidence presented and the testimonies given,” Shacklebolt began, "In light of Draco Malfoy's cooperation and the information provided, we have reached a decision."
Draco's pulse quickened, and he clenched his fists, anxiously awaiting the verdict. Shacklebolt continued, "Considering the unique circumstances surrounding this case, Draco Malfoy is hereby sentenced to one year of house arrest."
Relief washed over Draco, and he spared a glance at Granger, who nodded subtly, acknowledging the outcome. Trumbleweed wore a professional expression, but a small smile formed on his lips.
Shacklebolt concluded, "During this year, we reserve the right to call you back in for questioning. Then after a year, we will reevaluate.” It was a looming threat, and Draco knew it. Cooperate or else...
The Minister closed the trial, and Draco was led out of the courtroom. Granger and Trumbleweed followed closely behind him.
Trumbleweed offered Draco a firm handshake. "Do not hesitate to owl me if you find you have need for a solicitor in the future."
His mother came to stand beside him, first offering her thanks to Granger, then she engaged Trumbleweed in conversation.
Granger stepped forward, holding out her hand. Draco took it and found he held on for a second longer than he should.
"Granger," he began, "I'd appreciate it if you could visit. It's not Azkaban, but house arrest can be isolating."
Hermione's expression shifted, a mix of regret and sadness. "I can't, Draco. I won't be able to visit the manor, and with your house arrest, it complicates things. I'm sorry."
Draco felt a pang of disappointment and hurt, an unexpected ache that resonated with the sentiment he had grown familiar with. "Why?" he asked, his voice more vulnerable than he intended.
She sighed, her eyes conveying genuine sadness. "It's not about you, I promise," she gave a weak smile, “But I'll be going back to Hogwarts in two weeks. And... I don't think I can visit you at Malfoy Manor. I cannot go there.” Though it was slight, he heard the tremble in her voice, he noted the redness on her cheeks, the wetness in her eyes.
Suddenly, he felt foolish for even asking. Of course, she wouldn't return to the place where she was tortured. He nodded stiffly, understanding, but at the same time, unable to shake off the sting of disappointment.
After Draco thanked her, he stepped away, signaling an end to the interaction. Trumbleweed asked if Granger was ready, and she agreed. The group exchanged final nods, and then they went their separate ways.
As Draco watched Hermione walk away, a palpable ache settled in his throat, resonating with the bitter taste of goodbye. He grappled with the loneliness that clung to him like a shadow. In that moment, the harsh reality of isolation tightened his chest with a familiar pang of longing.