Chapter 2
As soon as Hermione came by that afternoon, she could see Draco’s health had significantly worsened since her visit 4 days ago. She had tried to schedule her visits on never staying away more than three days in a row but she hadn’t been able to leave since there had been a emergency case where she needed to advocate for a scared child who was also a Obscuro in front of the Family Court.
But what she saw when she entered had robbed her breath and made her insides clench. His body, too bony and covered in bruises that wouldn’t heal, lay motionless on the bed and she couldn’t make out his breath. Blond long hair covering his face and the blanket, which was supposed to cover him from the cold, thrown carelessly to the floor.
She shrieked in surprise and alerted the guard from outside. The big bald man entered unhurried the cell, shooting her a dirty grin. Anger boiled inside of her but she kept silent, watching him disabling the shield to get to Draco. His rough hands shook Draco’s shoulders.
For a minute Hermione thought he wouldn’t move. But after some tries, Draco slightly turned and his expressionless eyes opened. Hermione let out the breath she had been holding.
She kneeled besides him, stroking his cheek and hoping the confused grey of his eyes would find her. His skin was freezing. But his eyes had noticed her, glassy eyes centering in on her.
“Ma’am, as you see the prisoner is fine. I have to ask you to go to the other side of the shield now.” The guard’s voice, his name was Gary Hermione remembered, sounded unimpressed.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Hermione hissed in an authoritative voice, startling Gary. The men flushed red and stumbled out of the cell.
Good, Hermione thought, that would give her a few minutes before he would come back with his superior.
Without wasting any time, she cast multiple diagnostic spells on him, good that she still knew so many from the war. But she didn’t like the result. Fishing some small vials with light liquids inside of the, Hermione opened them and held them over Draco’s mouth.
Before the man could object, she murmured. “Shh, it’s alright. I need you to open your mouth now, Draco. Can you do that for me?” While slightly pinching his cheeks to open his jaw. After he drank the medicine, Hermione went to cast some healing spells over him.
Draco’s eyes still hadn’t focused, looking confused over the situation. “Hermione”, he muttered in a dream-like and unusual affectionate voice. That made her heart clench for the sick and bruised men in front of her. She knew he needed her. And with that, she had made a decision. He had suffered enough. Draco shouldn’t die for the faults of his parents.
“Don’t worry, Draco. I will get you out of here.” Hermione stood up and fetched the blanket to put it over the blond. And then, with a last sad look in his direction, before the guards would come and kick her out, she left Azkaban.
Draco was dreaming. His body felt warm again and a light, brighter than anything he had seen in the last years entered his vision. He blinked.
The last thing he remembered was Hermione’s face over his, trying to tell him something. But he hadn’t listened, instead he couldn’t do anything else but focus on the warm touch of her hand on his cheek. He didn’t remember when a person touched him last. Without hurting him. She wanted him to open his mouth, so of course he did. But then she was gone. He had known that was she end, his body finally giving up, not being able to handle the bleakness anymore, the Dementors imposed upon him. There was nothing in his heart, and he hadn’t minded his faith.
But now he was here, in a fluffy Queen-sized bed. Staring at a beige ceiling. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t move. He would just lay here and wait until he wakes up. He was surely being punished for being shown a world where he wasn’t in prison. Before he will wake up again, this time probably in literal hell. He’s been there for a while, after all. But why had he dreamed of Hermione?
He was awoken by a shrill voice.
“Master Draco, Dobby will put your food on the bedside table. He can eat when he wakes up.”
Dobby? He remembered that name faintly. A picture of a small creature walking barefoot on a black marble floor flared up in his mind and his eyes shot open. He looked in a pair of expectant eyes.
“Dobby? What are you doing in Azkaban?” His raspy voice not used to speaking.
“Oh, Dobby is so happy Master Draco has finally awoken! Master Draco is not in Azkaban. Master Draco is safe.” The small elf exclaimed excitedly. “Dobby will inform Mistress Granger about it!”
With a Pop he was gone, leaving Draco in alone in a big room he had never been to before. A creamy beige colored wallpaper covering the walls, memorabilia on various side tables and shelves and pictures of smiling people he somewhat recognized hanging on the walls, this room was radiating a homely atmosphere.
Draco wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. However, the dull ache in his right shoulder, broken by another inmate's attack and never probably healed, felt real. And there is no pain while dreaming.