Schematics and Surrender

After Draco had rejoined Jacobs in the main area of the Auror Headquarters, it only took a few more minutes for Holly the house-elf to return and tell them that the Head Auror was ready for them.  She led them to the Head Auror’s office and gestured for them to go inside.

Scrump was sitting behind his desk in his office chair, looking intrigued as they came in.  With long black hair, brown eyes, a large nose and a scar that ran from the tip of his nose diagonally across his face to the left corner of his jaw, he definitely looked like he had been through hell and back.  There were other scars along his neck as well that looked like suction cups and Draco found himself wondering if Scrump had been attacked by a Grindylow at one point.  Or a squid.

Scrump had asked for Jacobs to give them privacy, suggesting that he stay just outside the door to keep guard.  The Auror nodded and saw himself out.  When they were alone, the Head Auror gestured to the chair opposite his desk with a wave of his wand.  “Come, Mr. Malfoy, please sit.”  Scrump waved his wand and a teapot lifted off of his desk, pouring tea into a waiting cup in front of Draco’s chair.  “Don’t be shy, my boy, there’s no need for that.”

Draco bristled at the term ‘my boy’ but kept quiet and sat, as invited.  He must have looked hesitant about the tea because Scrump smiled a little, trying to reassure him.  “It’s Earl Grey,” he explained.  “I do have to ask you a few questions, Mr. Malfoy, in order to assess if it’s safe to allow you access to the prison.  There is a drop of Veritaserum in there.  But the effects should be quick.”

Draco sighed.  He was getting rather used to taking this potion, having been forced to ingest it by Voldemort before, as well as during his trial.  By now, he was familiar with the way the compulsion would sweep over his body, manipulating his muscles so that he was forced to sit in place, and the way his mouth would dry out, with his tongue feeling leaden.  

“I understand,” he said.  He reached for the teacup and brought it to his lips.  He did appreciate the taste of an Earl Grey and as the Veritaserum was flavourless and odourless, it didn’t affect the taste of the drink.  The Truth-telling potion took immediate effect; it was as if he was a prisoner in his own body.  His muscles no longer obeyed him, constricted by the serum.  His mouth grew parched as though he hadn’t had a drop of water in days.  He smacked his lips together and moved his now-heavy tongue around his mouth, running it along his teeth.  It was an odd sensation, similar to a numbing spell he had once cast on his lip accidentally in first year.  He smacked his lips together again and cleared his throat, spreading his legs in the chair as he tried to get more comfortable.  

“Right,” Draco said, his voice not sounding 100% like his own due to the heaviness of his tongue and his altered mouth.  “Please ask whatever you need to.  I have nothing to hide.”

Scrump leaned back in his office chair, satisfied with the effects of the potion.  “What is your name?”  It may seem like an easy question, but anyone under the effects of a Polyjuice Potion would have no choice but to reveal their real identity behind their corporal masks.

”Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

”And how old are you, Draco?”

”I will be eighteen on the fifth of June,” he replied.

”Ah,” said Scrump.  He snapped his fingers and a quill flew from his desk up his ear, waiting.  “Write down all of his answers,” the Head Auror commanded.  The quill flicked its feather and instantly began scribbling on the nearest piece of empty parchment.  Then, to Draco: “Happy early birthday, my boy.”

Draco, compelled by the Truth-telling potion, sneered.  “Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies,” said Scrump, not looking apologetic at all.  “Why do you want to go to Azkaban, boy?”

“To ask my father about signing over access to the trust,” Draco had replied.  Easy question.

“Why do you need this access?”

“I would like access to the funding in order to finance my community service project.”

“Do you have plans to break your father out of the prison?”

Draco smirked.  The question was asinine.  “No.”

“Do you know of any plans to break him out of the prison? Have any of your former Death Eater accomplices contacted you about Lucius?”

“No, I do not know of any plans.  And no, I do not have contact with any of the former Death Eaters.  Most of them are in Azkaban with my father.  The few that have escaped have traveled to America, I think, wanting to lay low.  Or have a new life, if they can.  They don’t write.”

The Head Auror looked to the locked door.  “How do you feel about Jacobs?”

“Well, it’s only the second day of having him,” Draco had said.  “But so far, he’s managed to hit every nerve I have.  Quite annoying, really.”

He heard a chuckle from his Auror on the other side of the door.  He was glad his assessment seemed to be amusing.

“Do you plan on attempting something against your Auror?”

Draco had scoffed.  “If I wanted to, it would have been done already,” he said.  “No, I do not want to make attempts on Jacobs’ life.”

“Do you trust your Auror to keep you safe?”

“I trust my own wits and skills to keep me safe.  Having Jacobs looking out for me is just a bonus.”

There were a few more arbitrary questions.  The last step of the validation process was to allow the Head Auror to inspect his wand, as the security wizard had done.  When that was completed, the Head Auror stood up and shook Draco’s hand.  

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Malfoy.  Could you send Jacobs in after you, please?  I’ll only need a few minutes of his time.”  

Draco nodded and left the office, allowing Jacobs to slip past him to enter.  After the door closed behind his Auror, the muffled sounds of talking vanished.  They had put a Silencing charm on the door - interesting how they had done it for Jacobs but not for him.  Draco found the whole thing mildly annoying.  He rolled his eyes and sauntered off back down the corridor down which Holly had lead them, heading back to the main waiting area of the Auror Headquarters.  He sat down in one of the chairs and picked up a copy of Witch’s Weekly from the side table, flipping through it half-heartedly.  He had just reached an article comparing the two newest sporting brooms when he heard a male voice, clearing, as if to get his attention.  The Slytherin looked up to see Ronald Weasley standing over him.  The redhead was dressed in Auror robes, which looked like a black trench coat adorned with gold stitched trim.  He, like Granger, had seemed to heal from his minor injuries sustained from the Battle.

Draco smirked.  “Nice uniform, Weasley.  Was it donated?”  It was too easy to rile up the redhead, whose jaw tensed at the insult.  If Weasley wasn’t careful, the poor bone would crack under the pressure.

“Still the same arsehole even though you were pardoned?” Weasley returned.  “I should have known a snake doesn’t shed its skin so easily.”

Already bored with the conversation, Draco sighed and ran a hand along his jaw.  “What can I help you with, Weasley?”

”Hermione just Memo’d me.  Said that she had a run in with you this morning and that she wanted to go for lunch,” Weasley said. If looks could kill, Draco would have been dead on the floor.  “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Draco answered.  “We had an exchange, that was it.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, by the way, Weasley, congratulations on getting a girlfriend.”

”She told you about that?” Weasley asked.  Draco’s smirk returned.

”She did.  Does that bother you?”

Weasley tried to shrug it off, feigning aloofness.  But it wasn’t working.  “Look, Malfoy, I don’t want you even looking at her, do you understand?  She’s been through enough.  It’s time that she’s happy.”

”And you think she’s going to be happy with you, do you?” Malfoy countered.  “Do you two share a room back at your Mum and Dad’s?  What a shame, it looks like you’ll be living with them forever, seeing as though you can’t afford your own place.”  He stood up and adjusted the collar of his shirt, making sure it remained crisp and flat.  Weasley had always been a specky git, but they were both around 6’1 in height.  Their eyes connected, grey-blue and darker sapphire, and both wizards were glaring.

”The Ministry has actually set Harry and I up in a shared flat,” Weasley said through clenched teeth.  “As a thank-you for having joined the Auror program.”

”Did they, now?  My, my, it’s a wonder what the Ministry does these days,” Draco said, amused.  “I mean, for all of Shacklebolt’s talk of equitable treatment and opportunity across our nation, there are some people who are having to fight tooth-and-nail in order to rebuild their lives, but for others, it’s Here, have a cozy Ministry job!” he mocked.  “Here, have a home on us!  No, really, we insist, it’s the least we can do!  Well, at least you and Potter will get to stay together.  Can’t you do anything without the Chosen One at your side?  Even now?  It’s pathetic, Weasley, really.”

Weasley looked smug.  “The Ministry is doing what they can to support their employees, and the improvement of magical society,” he replied, choosing to speak to Draco’s earlier comment rather than his barb at Potter.  “But unfortunately for you, we don’t offer helping hands to criminals.”

“I’m not a criminal,” Draco replied.  “I’ve been pardoned and I’m working towards rebuilding my life.”

”That doesn’t mean you’re not a criminal,” Weasley countered. “That just means that you’ve gotten away with it.”  He sneered down his crooked nose at the Slytherin and Draco didn’t back down, stepping even closer.  “Tell me, Malfoy, how is your dear Mummy now that your father is in Azkaban again.  For the second time in about two years, right?  And how is your dad?  I can imagine, as a repeat prisoner, the Dementors will love to have him.  Personally, I think that, under the circumstances of your father’s crimes having affected so many families, they should let spectators observe the Dementors sucking out his soul.  Call it vindication, or justice.  I would pay a Galleon to watch, myself.”

The former Gryffindor opened his mouth to say something further but was stopped when a voice called his name.  

“Ron!  That’s enough!”

Malfoy made to look over Weasley’s right shoulder, the redhead turning around at the same time, and their eyes fell on Granger, standing in front of Holly’s desk.  Her face was bright red, livid, and her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. She looked formidable.  If Draco hadn’t heard her sobbing through the door when he had left, he wouldn’t have known she had cried today, at all.  Her makeup was fresh, her face wasn’t swollen or puffy.  She looked like she was ready for war.  

Sometimes, her talent with magic and the ability keep composed scared him a little.

Weasley had the decency to look sheepish.  ”H-Hermione!” Draco watched the redhead stammer.  “H-how long have you been standing there?”

”Enough to hear that you want Lucius Malfoy’s potential death to be a spectator sport,” Granger replied.  “That’s disgusting.”

”Oh, Hermione, I didn’t really mean it,” Weasley said.  “But you know what he’s done - you know how many people have lost family members because of…”

”Of course I know what Lucius Malfoy has done,” Granger snapped.  “But he’s already suffering by being given a life sentence in Azkaban.  It’s essentially purgatory, where the likelihood is that he will go mad before he meets his death in that dismal place.  Isn’t that enough?”  She paused, pursing her lips.  “In any case, talking with his son about his father’s potential death in the middle of the Auror Headquarters office is A: not appropriate, and B: not the place.  You may not like him, Ron, but in case you haven’t noticed, Draco has been through enough, too.  His dad is in prison, his mother is also doing community service under constant surveillance.  He can’t even sneeze without the Ministry knowing about it.  Let him be.”

From the look on Weasley’s face, Malfoy was sure that the Gryffindor was still reeling over the fact that Granger had addressed him by ‘Draco’ and not ‘Malfoy’.

”And you,” Granger added, now turning her attention to Malfoy.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Your meeting is still ongoing?”

”Meeting? What meeting?” Weasley asked.  Draco ignored him.

“Scrump is talking with Jacobs now, but I said my piece.  We will see what the Head Auror decides,” he replied.

”The Head Auror decides…” repeated Weasley, trailing off.  “Hold on a minute, what are you doing having private conversations with the Head Auror?

Draco was annoyed now. “Not that it’s your business, Weasley, but my Auror and I are asking if we can go to Azkaban so that I can see my father.  There’s something that I need.”

Weasley’s ears reddened.  “What? Absolutely not!”

Granger stepped forward and put a cautionary hand on Weasley’s shoulder.  “It’s out of our hands, Ron.  We need to leave it alone.”

”Leave it alone?” Weasley repeated.  “You’re his Advisor, Hermione.  Go and advise him that Malfoy is nothing more than a murderous, slick git who probably has a curse up his sleeve ready to break his father out of that prison the second he goes in.”

Malfoy chuckled darkly.  “Weasley, you have no idea what you’re saying.”

The redhead rounded on him and drew his wand.  “You really think I’m going to let you walk out of here with permission to go to Azkaban?  Where all your little Death Eater friends are?  Over my dead body!”

”That can be arranged,” snarled Malfoy.  But the blond didn’t draw his wand.  “If you curse me in here, an innocent citizen, they’ll take that new jacket of yours, Weasley.  They’ll strip you of your Auror title before you’ve officially begun.  How embarrassing would that be? I don’t think I could live with the shame, and that’s saying something.” 

Granger drew her own wand and wordlessly cast a Shielding charm between the two wizards.  “He’s right, Ron,” she said calmly.  “If you cast even one spell, you’re done, here.  Don’t let your anger get the better of you.  Put your wand away and let’s go to lunch, okay?  Let’s just forget it.”

Weasley looked between his girlfriend and where Malfoy stood, snarled under his breath, and retracted his wand.  Granger broke her Shielding charm and didn’t look back at Malfoy once as she left the Auror Headquarters through the large main door, heading onto the floor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

“You don’t have to believe me, Weasley,” Draco heard himself say as they continued to assess one another, hesitant to trust.  Draco was prepared to draw his wand if Weasley did so, again.  “But I am trying.”

”Just don’t talk to her,” Weasley said.  Draco watched some tension ease out of the redhead’s shoulders.  “Don’t talk to her, or me, or Harry.  Stay out of our lives.”

”Believe me, I have no intention of being involved,” Draco replied.

In that moment, Jacobs emerged from the Head Auror’s office.  He strode down the corridor and entered into the main waiting area to see the two younger wizards at a stand-still.  “Ah, Auror Weasley, lovely morning.”

”Lovely,” Weasley repeated.  He didn’t remove his eyes from Malfoy.  

Jacobs cleared his throat.  “Now, now, what’s this?  Malfoy, come along.  Our business is done here.”

Draco help up a finger, gesturing that he needed a second.  ”Give me a moment, Jacobs, I just wish to say something to my old school friend, here.”  His Auror looked between the two again, puzzled, but didn’t pry and went through the same door has Granger had.

”What do you want?” Weasley demanded.  Draco held out his hand.  Weasley looked at it, repulsed.  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

”You’re supposed to shake it.  Are you daft, Weasley?” Draco snapped.  “I’m trying to be a good sport, here.”

He watched as the Gryffindor contemplated what to do for a few moments, staring at his hand as though it were a wild, venomous beast.  Finally, the redhead looked resigned and placed an outstretched hand into Draco’s.  “Right,” said Weasley.  “We can agree to be at an impasse.  This does not make us friends, or even allies.  Do you understand?”

Draco sneered.  “I don’t think we could ever be friends,” he said honestly.  “But - let’s say - in the spirit of being acquaintances, could I offer you one piece of advice?”

Weasley stiffened, on guard immediately.  “And what’s that?”  He tried to pull his hand out of Malfoy’s but the blond held firm and pulled him forward so that Weasley had no choice but to step closer to him.  The blond could now hiss into the Gryffindor’s ear.

”When you’re with Granger, you know, in bed - she really likes if you suck on the spot on her neck immediately under her right ear.  And if you bite her earlobe, she’ll be purring for you like a kitten, mewling in seconds.  Just thought you should know.”

He pulled his hand from Weasley’s, whose ears had started to redden again, but whether it was from embarrassment or anger, Draco couldn’t tell.  Whatever Weasley was feeling, it wasn’t strong enough to move him from where he had frozen in place.  Leaving his former adversary with that little food for thought, Draco walked around him and out the door to join his Auror.

”What did you say to him?” Jacobs asked as they began to walk down the corridor towards the enchanted lifts.

”I wished him success on his new relationship,” Malfoy answered simply.  “He’s had a hard time with girls, Weasley.  Needs all the help he can get to charm them.”

Jacobs chuckled.  “That bad at it, is he?”

Malfoy smirked.  “He shouldn’t be too bad now,” he replied.  “I gave him a tip or two.”  They entered the lifts and pressed the button to return to the main lobby of the Ministry.  “What did Scrump say?”

”He’s going to send an owl this afternoon so that the Dementors are notified of our visit.  We can go to the prison tomorrow.”

”Excellent,” Draco replied.  “Well, I guess there’s nothing left to do today but go back the Manor.  I’m sure Mother would love to hear about everything that’s transpired today, including my little run-in with Weasley.  Thanks for coming along with me to the Ministry, Jacobs,” he added.  “I’m not sure I would have gotten Scrump’s approval without you.”

Jacobs grinned.  “Did I just get a ‘thank you’? I’m shocked.”

Malfoy shrugged.  “It’s happened on occasion.  But not often.  Count yourself lucky.”

They reached the main floor and exited the lift, continuing through the Ministry until they reached the phone booth they had taken to enter the political building.  M-A-G-I-C was dialled and the phone booth began to ascend.  When they had returned to the streets of Muggle London, they retraced their steps to the Leaky Cauldron.  Jacobs offered to buy the both of them lunch; beef and potato stew served in a bread bowl.  It was hearty and the flavours weren’t bland like they had been as of late. Perhaps Tom, the owner, had hired a new chef in the back.  Draco finished his entire serving.

They passed through to the back of the Leaky Cauldron and used the Floo Network to travel back to Malfoy Manor.  As they were swept into the black and green void that was comprised of Floo flames, Granger’s words kept repeating in his brain.

We can’t be together.  We realized too late.  I wish I was brave enough.   He wished he had been brave enough to do more, back then, to have claimed her for himself.  The idea of Weasley fucking Granger was enough to make him retch.

Which is what he promptly did upon exiting the fireplace and stepping into the grand foyer of the Manor.  His mother, who stood just off-side of the fireplace, wrinkled her nose and turned up her head.

”For Salazar’s sake, my dragon, what’s gotten into you?” 

Malfoy quickly used the Scouring charm to clean up his mess from the hardwood floor.  “So sorry,” he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I don’t know what came over me.”

But he did.

Visions of Weasley taking Granger, her moaning for him, coming to completion underneath him, plagued Malfoy for the rest of the day.  And when he retired for bed, he did not rest.  He regretted telling Weasley about Granger’s sweet spots.

-

The next afternoon, Draco and Jacobs Apparated from Malfoy Manor to the front gates of the prison.  The moment his feet touched the rocky terrain of the isolated island, Draco’s former cockiness was instantly replaced with a sense of foreboding that he had only ever experienced in the presence of the Dark Lord.  The air was cold here, thanks to being isolated in the middle of the North Sea, and the salty spray of the ocean felt like ice pellets, breaking into shards when the droplets burst against his face.  While he had dressed warm for the occasion, in a thick cream knit jumper, it wasn’t enough to avoid the biting chill and Draco muttered a curse under his breath as he cast a Warming Charm over his body.  It did little to help, the dampness could still be felt in his bones.  Both he and Jacobs could visibly see their breath.

The Auror had moved to stand at the front entrance of the prison; wrought iron, heavy and black doors stood about twenty feet high.  Draco tucked his wand into the back pocket of his trousers and approached Jacobs, moving to stand at his right side.  His footsteps were not audible over the sound of the crashing waves, but Draco continued to feel the crunch of the rock underneath the soles of his shoes.  

“Well, that was a ride, wasn’t it?” Jacobs asked with a gruff chuckle, referring to their Apparating.  Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh yes,” he answered sarcastically.  “I just love the feeling of getting sucked through space.  Why didn’t we just fly here?”  He was annoyed that the last part of his sentence came out almost as a whine.  

Jacobs raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look Malfoy directly in the eye.

“You’re not a fan of Apparition?”

Draco shrugged.  “It’s not that I’m not a fan, I can’t deny that it’s faster.  I’m just more at home on a broom.”

Jacobs nodded knowingly. “Oh, that’s right,” he allowed.  “When I was reading up on your file, it did say something about you playing Quidditch during your school days.  A Seeker, weren’t you?  And a good one.  Why didn’t you try to go professional, then?”

Draco gave a wry laugh, surprising himself.  

“Did you seriously just ask me that?  As if I ever had any choice?”  He laughed again.  “When I was younger, I pursued the idea of what my parents wanted me to be.  They liked that I played Quidditch, although they were disappointed if we lost to Potter and the other Gryffindors, but to them, the sport was just a hobby.  They wanted me to get the best grades, be the top of my class - to make something of myself.  And then when I was older, I was forced to follow the Dark Lord’s path.  Not that I really excelled at that, either.”  Draco still had nightmares about the night where he had had Albus Dumbledore cornered and had failed to kill him.  “There wasn’t much room for me to make any of my own decisions.  That’s why, as much as I despise the idea of community service, I’d rather pursue that and try to rebuild my reputation, to do something for myself for once, over being - ”

He looked up at the prison again and gulped.  It was ominous and imposing.  Every so often, a group of Dementors would fly off from the roof of the prison to patrol the skies.  And the Slytherin was sure that, if they took away the sound of the waves beating against the shore of the island, they would be able to hear the rustling of Dementor cloaks inside the prison.  He didn’t know how many Dementors were stationed at Azkaban, but whether it was ten or one hundred, it didn’t matter.  The idea of being jailed here, like his father, subjected to torture by these creatures and the sucking of your soul if you had done wrong, terrified him.  He realized just how lucky he was to have received the sentence of community service.

“ - sent here.”

Jacobs stepped a little closer, raising his eyebrows at the younger wizard.  

“You alright?  Only, you’ve gone a bit pale, Malfoy.  What happened to “Be brave, Jacobs, we’re going to Azkaban,” the older wizard teased. “Not so brave now that we’re here, are you?”  

Draco watched the Auror reach into his robes, fiddling for a moment.  The older wizard produced a flask.  Now, it was Draco’s turn to be surprised.  He raised an eyebrow of his own and spoke with a sneer.  “Don’t tell me that you actually drink while active.  Jacobs, are you daft?”

The Auror frowned.  “I carry it with me when I need a bit of courage,” he said.  “It’s not alcohol, Malfoy.  It’s Felix Felicis.  If I drink a bit of that, I feel more brave before going into a sticky situation.  Do you want a nip?”

“Liquid Luck?” Draco asked.  “Are you even allowed to drink that on the job?”  When Jacobs didn’t answer, Malfoy took that as a ‘no’.  Still, he accepted the offered flask from the Auror and popped it open.  It was odourless, so Malfoy wasn’t sure why he brought the opening of the flask under his nose.  But part of him was cautious.  How could he know that Jacobs was to be trusted?  “How do I know this isn’t some secret poison?  I know a lot of people wished I was dead right now, rather than serving.”

Jacobs rolled his eyes.  “Malfoy, if I wanted you dead, there would be other ways to do it than giving you a nip and a tuck of a potion I have in my robes.  And while it would be convenient for you to be gone, seeing as you do know of my affair, it wouldn’t serve me any good.  I’d be investigated for your murder and once I was found guilty, I’d be sent here.  And I do not want to be sent here,” he added, gesturing to the prison in front of them.  “The small windows, the lack of natural light, the cold and the damp - the Dementors.  I don’t know anyone could be here for a week in this place without going mad, let alone years.  And I don’t want to join them.  So, we will chalk up the fact that you’re still alive to pure self-preservation.”

The moment was interrupted by the rumble of distant thunder.

“And here I thought you were starting to warm up to me,” Draco teased.  “It’s good to know that that’s where you’re drawing the line, Jacobs.  Self-preservation over Malfoy murder, got it.  Well, cheers to that.”  He lifted the open flask to his lips and took a few sips of the potion.  He wasn’t prepared for how sudden the impact would be upon his body. A warmth enveloped his body like a blanket, there was a slight tingle to his cheeks and a fire in his heart.  He felt his body relax.  “Whoa.”  He looked up to the roof of the prison to see that the grouping of Dementors were returning.  “I’m surprised they haven’t come to greet us yet.”

“Most wait until you pass through the front door,” Jacobs said as he took the potion flask back from the Slytherin.  “But you needn’t worry about that today.  They should have received the owl from the Head Auror.” 

“But let’s say for argument’s sake that they didn’t receive it,” Draco said.

Jacobs shrugged. “Then, you’ll need your wand at the ready, Malfoy.  Dementors aren’t very good at discerning friend or foe on their own.  Not very bright, you see.  How strong is your Patronus charm?  If they choose to take us, it’s the only thing that will buy us time once we are in there.”

Draco grimaced.  “I’ve never learned how to cast one,” he admitted.  “I’ve never been able to produce a happy memory strong enough to make it corporal.  Just a few light wisps.”

There was a pregnant pause between the two wizards and Draco watched as the Auror’s face slackened with surprise.  “Well,” he said after a moment.  “I wasn’t expecting that.”  Jacobs took his wand from his robes.  “Lucky for you, I’ve got a Patronus that’s strong enough for the both of us.  Just stay near me as we enter and keep your wand at the ready, anyway.  We never know what awaits us in this place.”

Draco could feel the Liquid Luck thrumming in his veins in tandem with his pulse.  He could do this - as he had reminded himself, he wasn’t going to let anyone or anything intimidate him ever again.  He had lived the majority of his adolescence in fear.  It wasn’t going to happen anymore.  Sucking in a breath, he took his wand out of his back pocket and held it in front of him.  “I’m ready.”

Side-by-side, the two wizards approached the large metal doors of the prison.  There was a rectangular recessed handle on each door, about two feet in length.  Jacobs waved his wand ornately, muttering, and Draco saw trails of magic ripple throughout the doors.  The thunder grew louder as the Auror worked - a storm was imminent. 

“Enchantments,” he murmured, not heard by Jacobs over the bellow of the sea.

“Only Aurors know how to get in,” Jacobs replied, projecting his voice so that Draco could hear him.  “Makes you wonder how that crazy aunt of yours knew how to get out, doesn’t it?”

Draco hadn’t thought about his aunt once, visiting this place.  But now that Jacobs mentioned Bellatrix, the sound of her deranged laugh echoed in his mind.  Malfoy felt the warm of the Felix Felicis push it away as quickly as it had come.  Her memory would not make him falter, not today.

After a minute or two, Jacobs had cleared all of the enchanted wards and reached forward with his free hand, wrapping it around the recessed handle on the left-hand side.  He needed to use some force to combat the weight of the door but after a strong tug, he managed to pull it open enough that he and Draco could slip inside.

It was all but mute inside the prison.  Thanks to an advanced Silencing Charm, the thundering skies and crashing sea could not be heard indoors.  The only corridor of the prison was about thirty-feet wide and the prison cells were stacked on top of each other, from floor to ceiling.  In front of the cells were smaller corridors that allowed the prisoners to walk.  At the end of the main corridor, there were sets of stairs that connected each smaller corridor down to the main, and there were two doors.  One was marked as a ‘Lavatory’, the other as ‘Beyond’.  There were sconces aflame on the brick walls between each prison cell, giving some light.  But besides the small slivers of windows in each cell, and a narrow, tall window on the far end of the main corridor, there was no other light source.  It was colder in here than it had been outside and Draco felt threads of dread tugging on his body.  The Felix Felicis was doing well at combatting his fears.

Although he could feel the creep of despair pulling on his body, and felt their cold, Draco could not see any Dementors.  “Lumos,” he said quietly.  The tip of his wand ignited with a soft, warm glow.  Draco took a few steps away from Jacobs and peered into the nearest cell.  A man, looking more dead than alive, was hunched over.  Wearing a jailed uniform that was in tatters, his sunken cheeks flickered with his breath as he muttered inaudibly.  Seeing the light from Draco’s wand, the man turned his head to look at the visitor.  Malfoy was shocked to see how lifeless his eyes looked - there was no spark there, no light.  Just dark pupils.  His arms were covered in welts, as if he had been burned.

“Come away from there,” Jacobs ordered Malfoy.  “You don’t need to see that.”

From the top of the prison, in the darkness and shadows, Draco saw movement.  Dementors, floating lazily in the air as if they didn’t have a care in the world.  The Auror noticed what Draco observed.  “They received the owl,” he explained.  “That’s why they’re at bay.”

Still, Jacobs held up his wand and spoke loudly to the Dementors.  “I, Willick Jacobs, am an Auror with the Ministry of Magic.  I am here with a guest, Draco Malfoy, to visit inmate, Lucius Malfoy.”

A Dementor drifted down from the ceiling slowly.  It was not threatening in its movements.  The Auror held out his wand to the Dementor, who took it in its skeletal hands.  Draco could see its leeching open mouth from where he stood and it almost made him sick.  The Dementor turned the wand over thrice in its hands and it glowed white momentarily. 

“What’s it doing?” Draco asked.

“Verifying,” Jacobs responded, not taking his eyes off of the Dementor.  It handed the Auror’s wand back to him and pointed with a bony finger up to the third corridor on the right hand side of the prison: Lucius was up there.

One of the prisoners screamed, the sound echoing off Azkaban’s walls, and it made Draco jump.  “Follow me,” Jacobs said.  “I’ll take you to your father.  After that, I’ll let you sit outside his cell and give you some privacy by waiting outside.”

“How long do visitors have?” Draco asked as he fell into step behind the wizard.  He watched as the Dementor who had verified them drifted upwards to the fifth corridor of cells on the left side of the prison.  With a crook of its hand, one of the cell doors opened.  

“No, no, please,” came a voice, pleading.  A witch. Her voice was like gravel, dry and harsh.  “Please.  I want to go home, I’ve done my sentence.”  As Draco continued to watch, the Dementor dragged the witch out of the cell by the back of her jailed uniform and into the corridor.  She was old, appearing to be in her late eighties.  What on earth had she done to be put in here?  She tried to crawl on her hands and knees away from the guardian of the prison, but the Dementor held tight to the back of her collared shirt.  

“Please,” she begged again.  “Please, I never killed him.  I was framed for it, the whole thing.  The murderer has been free the whole time, these last sixty years, oh please!  Have mercy!”

Draco paused in his stride.  Jacobs noticed and tapped him on the shoulder.  “Don’t watch,” he advised.  “It’s a frightful thing.”

But Malfoy couldn’t help it.  The Dementor lifted her slowly so that the woman was as tall as she could be while still kneeling.  As she continued to plead and beg for her life, the Dementor tilted her head back by cupping her chin with its free hand, as gentle as the caress of a lover.  It lowered its cloaked head until it was a foot away from the witch’s face.

And then came the sound, like a hollow tube would make if air was pulled through it.  Except there was a sinister depth to it, a foreboding magic.  Hollow and breathy, the Dementor’s suction stopped Malfoy in his tracks and he blatantly watched as this older witch had her soul pulled from the very depths of her being.  She continued to sputter and beg until her body went limp, and the Dementor only stopped when a small orb of wispy light passed through the lips of the witch.  Malfoy watched as the wisp was inhaled by the Dementor and then the witch crumpled to the floor of the narrow corridor, dead.  A few other Dementors floated down from the ceiling and helped the initial creature carry her body down from the corridor and through the door marked ‘Beyond’ at the far end of the prison.

“What is ‘Beyond’?” Draco asked of his Auror.  Jacobs grimaced.

“I have never been through there,” the Auror admitted.  “But I’ve heard from those that have that you enter a corridor through that door.  The first room in that corridor is an office.  All the wands of the prisoners are stored there, kept under another set of various hazards and enchantments.  If an Auror ever does come on site to assist with guarding at the prison, they operate out of that office.  Then, the next door you would see leads to a records room, where all the files on any prisoner ever kept here are stored, again under a multitude of enchantments and hexes.  And the last door at the end of the corridor is said to lead to the outside of the prison.  But we have never found the bodies of the deceased prisoners in the North Sea - so how the Dementors dispose of the bodies, we aren’t exactly sure.  We don’t typically ask many questions.”

They started up the stairs on the right side of the main corridor, going up the switchback staircases until they reached the third level of prison cells.  The corridor in front of the cells was made of the same rock and stone as the rest of the prison.  On the left side were the prison cells, themselves, with iron bars as thick as the front doors of Azkaban.  On the right, there were iron railings that lined the corridors so that people didn’t fall off the exposed rock into the main corridor below.  The sconces flickered with orange flames and Draco squinted at the contrasting bright light.  As he and Jacobs walked past the prison cells, some prisoners would babble nonsense in their direction whilst others lunged physically at the bars and tried to grab at them.  One managed to grab hold of Jacobs’ robes.  The Auror turned around swiftly and with a quick poke from his wand, the prisoner was sent flying backwards into the wall of their cell with a shout.

“Bloody awful place,” he murmured to Malfoy.  They reached the last cell of the third level and Draco peered inside.  His father sat on his bed, a meager wooden slat of a thing with a pillow and a thin blanket that would do nothing to keep out the cold of the prison.  Lucius was dressed in his striped prison attire, although they had allowed him to keep his black velvet loafers - Draco wondered momentarily if his father had bribed one of the Aurors that brought him to Azkaban to let him keep them.  Lucius’  hair, normally tied back immaculately with a silk ribbon, or cascading over his shoulders, was swept back and fell limply against his back; the crown of his head showed signs of grease, a sign that he had not been able to shower.  But it was his father’s face that shocked Draco the most - although having only been in the prison for two weeks, his cheeks still held their fullness but had lost some of their healthy flush and his facial hair had grown out considerably into a scruffy beard.  And his father’s eyes were more dim, less lively.  His father had been broken by the Dark Lord, but there was something about a Malfoy’s fire that couldn’t be fully extinguished.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” Jacobs greeted, stopping in front of the cell.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is - ”

“I know who you are,” Lucius replied.  Although his father’s tone was clipped, it gave Draco such a relief to hear his father’s voice.  “My wife sent an owl to me just the other day, saying that both she and my son have now acquired Ministry guard dogs.”  Draco watched as his father eyed the Auror up and down.  “I must say, I’m happy that they’ve received community service as their sentencing.  I wouldn’t want them to be in such - ”. Here, the elder Malfoy looked around his prison cell inspecting it just as Draco had done to the exterior of the prison, and sneered.  “ - a dismal place.  Nasty, all these cobwebs and rats, and the cold - it’s dreadful.”

Lucius then surprised Draco by speaking directly to him.  “Son.”  The word was a command.  Draco stepped closer to the cell door.  He looked to Jacobs and motioned for the Auror to stay.  Although the Felix Felicis made him confident that he would get the answers he wanted today, it didn’t shake his nerves around his father’s formidable presence.  Even behind cell bars, Lucius Malfoy was as dangerous as a serpent, poised to strike.

“Yes, father.”

“Why did you come here today?  You know, you happened to catch me at the most opportune time, I’ve just had some medication.” He purred the last word.

“Medication,” Draco repeated.  “Since when do you take medication?”

“Since some medi-witches visited from St. Mungo’s last week and determined that I may have something called post-traumatic stress,” Lucius said with a smirk.  “Can you imagine that?”  

“I believe it,” Draco replied.  “How do you feel on them?”

“A bit lighter,” Lucius admitted.  “Not so - dreary.  And dark.  But really, Draco, you know that I never wanted you to see me like this.  So why have you come?  To see your father as the shadow of what he once was, disgraced by society?  Fated to be imprisoned here for the rest of my life…”

Draco knew where he got his flair for the dramatic.  He cut his father off before the elder Malfoy could continue.

“Pride isn’t everything, father,” Draco interjected.

“Pride is the only thing,” Lucius corrected.  “When you have nothing else in the world, pride in your character is the only consolation.”

“Ah, I see,” Draco quipped.  “Well, has this brought you pride, father?” He gestured with an arm, waving it in the direction of the cell.  “Forced to abandon your wife and son by becoming a convicted felon in the most notorious wizarding prison, for the second time in two years? Do you have pride in the countless Muggles and Muggleborns you murdered in order to serve the Dark Lord?  Because I don’t - I have nightmares about the fact that I even tortured people.  I couldn’t imagine how I could look myself in the eye in a mirror and feel anything but pride if I did anything worse.”

His father walked closer.  “Tell me, Draco, when did you develop a bleeding heart?  Calling them Muggleborns.”  He laughed, lightly.  “Have you turned over a new leaf?”

“Times are changing, father,” Draco replied.  “The wizarding community is calling for equity and justice in all aspects of the nation.  If I’m to truly show the public that I repent my actions in the War and want to do the community service as I’ve been instructed, I need to try and change along with society.  We can no longer live being so narrow-minded.”

Malfoy wrapped his free hand around one of the iron bars.  He felt a pang in his gut as the feeling of the little boy, the one who had just wanted his father’s acceptance, soared inside him for a brief moment.  “That’s why I’ve come, father,” he admitted.  “I need access to the trust in order to start the new chapter of my life.  I need your help by granting me your signature.  I need you.”

The little amused smirk that his father had had while laughing had vanished.  Draco assumed that his father realized he wasn’t joking.  There was a flicker of emotion across his father’s face - was that regret?  Pain?

His father’s mouth set in a hard line, trying to be determined.  “Be that it may, Draco, you’re still a child with limited knowledge of the real world,” he replied.  “And if you were smart, which I know you are, you’d go back to Hogwarts and finish your schooling rather than funding some venture of yours.”

“I’m of-age, father,” Draco replied.  “I have been for a while, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Still,” Lucius replied.  “I would be stupid to allow you full access to the trust.  Salazar forbid, something wrong would happen and you’d leave your mother destitute.”  

“Maybe a lump sum, then, Mr. Malfoy?” Jacobs interjected.  Draco jumped, having almost forgotten that the Auror was there.  “Something to give your son support without jeopardizing the entire trust.  Show faith but keep the assets safe, so to speak.”

Lucius’ eyes, the same blue-grey that Draco had inherited, flickered to the Auror.  Surprise crossed his face.  “That’s actually … not a bad idea.”  He turned back to his son.  “I assume that you’ve already talked to your mother about this, and if I know my wife, she has said that if I say no to your little venture, she’d say yes.”

Draco smirked.  “Always have a backup plan,” he said, smug.  “But your signature means more at Gringotts, father, you know that.”

“So, you’re here more as a courtesy than a necessity,” Lucius said slowly.  “That pretty speech earlier about needing my help was just for show, was it?”

Draco shrugged. “Let’s not talk about specifics,” he replied.  “For my part towards community service, I want to open a bookshop.  Partial proceeds from this bookshop would go towards restoring the Hogwarts Library and I would even donate some of the books to the library itself.  I want to teach children about magic and history through literature and the enjoyment of reading, like I had as a child.  And I want to have a place where people can educate themselves on magic, all forms of it, so that they know to wield it safely, instead of being afraid of what they don’t understand.”

“You did always love your schooling,” Lucius mused, more to himself than to his son.  “Go on.”

Draco continued.  “Father, the Dark Lord created a cage and you have been a trapped bird for a long time,” he said.  “If you assist me in this, it could be part of your redemption.  You could contribute something towards the good of society.  Your chance to have pride in something that matters.”

Lucius made a face when the word ‘pride’ was manipulated against him. “When did you grow soft, Draco?” he asked quietly.  “I would never have expected you to want to act like this - to do something like open a bookshop of all things.”

“I was always too soft,” Draco replied.  “At least, for this way of life.  I never wanted any of this.  I mean, I liked being in Slytherin in school because it meant that I could get away with a little more… and I even liked being associated with dark wizards, before I could truly grasp what that meant.  But I didn’t want this life path.  I didn’t ask to be a Death Eater or to be put in the Dark Lord’s service - but I took the oath and the Mark so that you and Mum wouldn’t be murdered in front of me.”

His father’s face remained an unreadable mask.  “Yes.  Yes, I know,” Lucius said.  He watched his father run a hand through his slick, disheveled tresses.  

“Draco, I know that I called you an embarrassment when you fainted after you took the Mark in front of the Dark Lord.  But the truth was I was a fearful man and terrified of the repercussions that our family would have had had you not been brave enough to take it.  My pride got in the way of seeing what was important, and I lost sight of it.  Family - family was and is the most important thing.”  

His father sighed.  “Did you know, Draco, that your mother and I ran through the Battle for you?” Lucius continued.  “We were both Disarmed at this point but we didn’t care - we were dodging curses left, right and center just to try and find you.” 

“Spare me, father,” Draco replied with a snarl.  “You’ve never cared about me.”

”That’s not true,” Lucius retorted.  He stepped forward until he could press against the very bars of his cell and reached one of his hands through the bars to touch his son’s shoulder.  “Your mother and I - We couldn’t bear the idea of losing you.  You may hate me, Draco, for how removed I tried to be when it came to raising you.  How I tried to deflect your affection, your admiration.  I thought that being cold, removed, would make you strong.  But everything I’ve ever done was to try and spare you.  I didn’t want you becoming one of the Dark Lord’s pawns.  I suppose I failed in that regard.  I do not want to fail you again.  You there!” Lucius snapped at Jacobs.  “Do you have a quill and ink on you?  Something that you can conjure?”

Jacobs nodded and stepped forwards.  In the blink of an eye, he had procured blank cheques, a quill and ink from the pockets of his robes.  Draco wondered if he had put an Extending Charm on his pockets.  He handed it to Lucius through the bars.  The elder Malfoy quickly wrote in the account number for the trust and an amount of 210,000 Galleons, equivalent to just over 1 million British pounds.  He handed the cheque to his son and the quill and ink back to Jacobs.  He then sighed. 

“Go, before I change my mind,” he said softly.  “With these medications, I’m not thinking like myself.”

Draco looked down at the cheque.  “Father, I - ”

”Go!” Lucius barked.  “And don’t come back.   I never want to see you in here again, Draco.  Do you understand?  I’m lost to this world, I’ve accepted that I will die here one day.  No one will pardon me for my crimes.  But you don’t need to see me reduced to this.”

Draco squared his shoulders.  “Yes, father.”  Neither one of them having ever been fond of sentiment, Draco turned promptly on his heel and departed from the side of his father’s cell, with Jacobs following quickly in tow.  Together, they traversed the corridor and descended the switchback staircase, with Malfoy stuffing his father’s cheque into the pocket of his trousers.  Jacobs presented his wand to the Dementors once more, signalling that their business was done here, and one of the gruesome creatures gestured with their hand, allowing the prison doors to open.  Draco followed dutifully behind Jacobs as they left the prison, not looking back at the Dementors, or the other prisoners, or his father.  Always look ahead.  Jacobs said nothing and offered Draco his arm.  They Disapparated.  

When they rematerialized at their Apparition point at the front steps of the Gringotts bank, Draco realized that hot tears had formed in his eyes, threatening to fall.  He quickly blinked them back and cleared his throat.  His wand tucked into the back pocket of his trousers, he adjusted his cream jumper and resumed the steady, straight domineering posture that was a trademark of the Malfoy name.  

“Right, Jacobs, ready to go in?”

The Auror observed him with an understanding gaze.  “Y’know, Malfoy, it’s okay to be upset,” he began.  “Knowing your relationship with your father, all of that must have been hard -”

Draco cut him off with a glare.

“Jacobs, if I wanted your particular advice on my relationship with my family members, I’d have you be my therapist.  Now, let’s get on.  There’s a lot to do today and I’m eager to start rebuilding my life.”  And with that, Malfoy ascended the steps and entered the wizarding bank, not bothering about if the Auror truly followed him or not.