Chapter 1

April 2000

He could feel the dementors approaching, as they did on a daily basis. The air around him grew colder, icy, and his brain was telling him to be mournful. Draco would always be happy, however, and he knew so deep down in his blackened heart. The actions that landed him in Azkaban would forever hold a warm spot in his soul. That memory would never leave him, not like the other, although few, happy times he had had in his brief 20 years of life. Every time he had gotten that scum, Potter, in trouble. Every crack he had taken at Weasley. Every time he had called Granger a mudblood and seen the look of utter shock and horror on her face. All these memories were washed away, swallowed by the unhappy aftereffects of each event, as the dementors tried to drain him of all the happiness he had ever felt, to get him to a point where he'd be lost forever and they could finally take him. All except the event that earned his one way ticket to Azkaban. The satisfaction that his hand-crafted spell was a success and at least one, if not two, of the people he despised most in this world would suffer until the end of their time was enough to keep him alive and jubilant. He might not have reached his entire desired effect that night, but the outcome was acceptable enough to allow him to continue onward. True, the effects of being surrounded by dementors at all times showed in his physical appearance as much as his mental state of mind, but as long as he knew that they were suffering, he'd be ok. As long as he was ok, they'd continue to suffer. It was a vicious cycle that created a warm fuzzy feeling inside Draco's chest whenever he took the time to think about it, which was often.

As he sat slouched against the wall of his cell, he turned his head toward the door as it creakily slid open, something only a dementor had the ability to do. He expected to see one of the foul creatures on the other side, but the sight of a human greeted him instead. As a smirk grew on his lips, he rose to his bare feet, taking a few slow steps towards the petite figure before him. He could sense she was terrified to be there, she was practically shaking and it wasn't from the frosty atmosphere of the wizard prison. With his chin tilted down, his sunken eyes looked more dangerous than ever, his once pure white hair now a dirty disheveled mess that added to his sketchy demeanor. "Fancy seeing you here, am I getting a cellmate?" he teased. He saw her physically shiver before she recovered quickly, no doubt not wanting him to see how disturbed she was by him.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," came Hermione's shaky voice as she took one step into his cell and the dementors that escorted her there closed the door behind her. No one except for the Minister himself knew she was there. She had requested this special meeting as an attempt to reverse the damage that Draco had done. She had her wand, while Draco, now a prisoner, had none, and this time she was confident she was safe alone with him. She had the advantage should he have another outburst. She cast her patronus, a silvery otter which swam around her and her own appearance instantly warmed. She was hoping she wouldn't have to use her wand against Draco, but raised it at him and sent her patronus charging at him when he made a jerking movement towards her. His laugh filled the cell and echoed down the dark, damp, and dreary hall as he fell to the floor again and raised his hands up in surrender. She took in a deep breath, her free hand gripping the ball in her pocket that was still a deep crimson red, reminding herself that she had faced worse that the pathetic coward before her.

"Easy there, Granger," he said with another laugh, slowly bringing himself to a standing position again, leering at her, barely blinking. He raised his hands in defense, reminding her that he had no wand.

"Step back," she commanded and he did so after a moment, lowering his hands. "I'm here for one reason and one reason only. You will answer my questions or," she paused, swallowing hard. Even though hatred for him coursed through her and seemingly spewed from her, the thought of death via a dementor still sent a chill down her spine. "Or you'll finally get your last kiss."

"As if you have the authority to bring about such drastic events," he scoffed, still cocky as ever given his current circumstances. He crossed his arms over his chest. If it had been a year earlier and he were still in his Malfoy finest suit and his hair perfectly manicured, he'd had seemed to be someone to be afraid of. No, as Hermione told herself, with his dirty prisoners frock, his unshaven and dirty face just made him look… crazy. "Where have you manners gone to, Granger? Not even asking a dear old friend like me how I'm doing before getting down to business? I've seen better days," he answered her unasked question.

"You'd be surprised by the authority a war hero has," she spoke more confidently this time. "Not just anyone can come for a visit to Azkaban, Draco, you know that. Yet here I am."

"Indeed, here you are. Curious, very curious indeed. Tell me, Granger, did your buddy Potter pull a few strings? Or maybe that lovely Weasley bloke?" The confused look that flashed across her face was enough to tell him that she was still under his spell and he relished in this fact. Her patronus disappeared as her mind became fuzzy.

She quickly shook the confusion from her head, not backing down, trying desperately to remain strong. This might be her only chance. She cast her patronus again and it took a lap around the cell before returning to hover around her. "Tell me why. Why did you do it?" she commanded of him again, not lowering her wand though her hand was shaking. "We saved your life, more than once, and yet you still held such a strong grudge that you plotted such a horrible revenge. Even when you knew there was no escape and you'd end up here forever, you still went through with it. Hadn't the war taught you anything?"

With little else to remember other than the events of his triumphant day and those leading up to it, Draco couldn't really answer her question. The truth was, he couldn't remember why he had done it any longer, he just remembered what it was he had done. He remembered the plotting, the joy it brought him, and the execution. The months he had spent in Azkaban made him think of little else, it was if his final spell had partially rebounded onto himself. While Hermione couldn't remember a specific aspect of her life, he could only remember one. "Does why really matter when the how was so calculated?" he answered, not wanting her to find out his fault of non-remembrance. "Let's discuss the how."

"Let's not."

"Oh I think we will, or we won't be speaking at all. And according to you, if we don't speak those tricky dementors will finally get the best of me," he countered, calling her bluff on her earlier threat. He could tell she was hungry for information and he was thirsting to relive his greatest accomplishment. "Now, shall we start at the beginning or retell the end and work backwards? You know the end is my favorite part, I believe I'd like to start there." He once again took a seat on the dirty floor of his cell, keeping his eyes on her in case she'd react negatively to his retelling. "Oh yes, the part I like best starts with two simple words." He smirked, both sensing and seeing the fear on her face. He could care less if her wand was pointed straight at his head, he was in his glory. Folding his legs in towards his body, he raised his own hand as if he had a wand himself, pointing his finger instead. He cocked his head to the side and held his silent pause for a few beats. "Oblivi Kedavra."