DISCLAIM!
ALMOST follows DH, but i took a few things and switched em. haha, and by a few i mean A LOT!
Draco Malfoy sat at the one window of his cell looked down at the choppy waters that surrounded Azkaban. The cell was square and grey, with a cot, table, mirror and little shabby run After the war, the prison had been turned into a metal facility for the criminally insane under the orders of the new minister of magic, Arthur Weasley. Draco's mouth twisted into a frown as he remembered the events of the war. He had been here for 2 years, and that was all there was to do, sit and remember.
He only had to do one thing. One. And he failed, miserably. Someone had to come to his rescue, clean up his mess. Draco clenched his fists. He had obeyed whatever the terrifying lord had told him, and Snape, one of the few people who had actually like him, had taken all the consequences.
He had done what he was supposed to, followed orders, and what had it gotten him? A life long sentence in a water surrounded shit hole.
His fathers cell was a few levels up, on floor 7. That was where all the serious supporters of Lord Voldemort, Draco's frown turned even more sour at the mention of the "lords" name, were kept. All witches and wizards on that floor were sedated, under heavy magic to keep them calm and manageable. Draco was only on this floor thanks to his mother, who had begged The Order, claiming he was only a child.
Draco looked down at his hands.
"Only a child..."
Draco wished he could go back. He wished he had been on Potters side. At least Potter had stood up for something. Draco had just followed, very un-Malfoy of him.
AGAIN, Potter had come out on top. He was now a greater hero that Dumbledore. And what was Draco? A failure.
There was a knock on the door. Draco turned. It was nearly noon, time for lunch.
A rather round male nurse bustled into the room with a tray. His name tag said "Trevor." Draco found this rather humorous, they man did look like a toad. He recalled some Gryffindor named Longbottom having a toad named Trevor. He always lost it, Draco had been the cause of the boys distress over the lost toad many times.
Draco smiled grimly. The days at Hogwarts before his miserable 6th year, when he had been King of Slytherin always caused some happiness in him.
"Good day Mr. Malfoy, its bat-ear soup or Troll's delight for lunch today. What'll it be?" Trevor said polietly with a large grin.
Trolls delight was a sort for hodge-podge of potatoes, meat, and anything else that was in the kitchen. Commoners food. Draco longed for the food from the Manor, always rich and of the best quality.
"Bat-ear soup please." he said with a scowl. Draco had decided he didn't like Trevor, too jolly. As Trevor set down the soup, Draco bumped into the table knocking it onto the floor
"Oops, i suppose you're going to have to clean that up...pity." Draco said crossing his arms. Trevor merely smiled.
"No problem at all!" He said as he whipped out his wand. Draco felt a pang of jealousy. He hadn't been able to hold his wand, let alone do magic, for 2 years. Trevor was definatly moving himself higher on Draco's list of people he despised.
The mess disappeared and Trevor refilled a bowl with the purplish soup. He gave Draco a plastic spoon and a glass of water and turned to leave with is trolly.
"Have a nice day Mr. Malfoy, see you at dinner!" Trevor said with a grin. Then he stopped, remembering something. "Oh yes, almost forgot. You've got a new therapist! Lovely little lady, shes going to be making a round to see all her patients in about an hour. Enjoy your meal." And with another of those insufferable ear to ear grins, he was gone.
Draco huffed, Trevor had to be a Hufflepuff, irritating git. But a new therapist? That was something interesting. The last one had been some silly mudblood, all about using muggle techniques. Ink blots, all sorts of nonsense! Asking him about his feelings. Draco shuddered just thinking about it.
Ignoring the soup, Draco moved across his tiny gray cell to the mirror. If thats what you'd call it. It was more very very reflective plastic, mirrors were a little to magically powerful to be allowed to prisoners.
He was still a Malfoy, he had to spruce himself up if he was to receive a visitor.
Draco still loved to primp, although looking at himself for too long made him fell ill, too many failures looking back at him. His hair was grazing his ears, no longer slicked back. It was still vella-blonde, but it was coarser. It clashes terribly with the red uniforms that he had to wear, Gryffindor red... He had gotten some of the weight he had lost during the last two years of school back, but he still retained the high cheekbones and pointy chin of a Malfoy. His eyes were still grey and cold, the ultimate reminder of his Father.
Draco looked away quickly. It was his father who had gotten them all into this mess in the first place!
Draco sat down to eat quickly, trying to take his mind off hating his father. The soup was bearable, but far from delicious. Millicent Bullstrode, whom resided in the cell next to him, had told him how wonderful the food was here compared to Hogwarts when they had been allowed out for Christmas. Draco had just shot her a dirty look and she had clamped up.
It was needless to say Draco didn't really have to many friends here. Zambini was okay, he knew not to aggravate Draco, or try to bond with him. There were only a few Slytherins from his class here at Azkaban. Most of them got away, and didn't commit crimes to get them in here.
Draco didn't really think he belonged here either, but attempting to kill Dumbledore had boiled the blood of the Wizarding population.
With a sigh he finished of the soup and downed the water. The bowl, glass and spoon disappeared as soon as he was done. Draco used to be startled by this, but now it was just another part of the boring routine that had become his life.
Technically they should have released him already. Draco didn't really hate mudbloods or muggles, and he was fine with renouncing Voldemort and what he stood for. He would give anything to remove the ugly mark on his forearm, that he hid always. But he was a Malfoy, and the name Malfoy went hand in hand with evil.
It also didn't help that he enjoyed toying with the therapists, saying awful things about wanting to kill every muggle on the planet. He knew it was futile to try to play the game and be released. Life would be just as bad on the outside. As if he would be able to walk down the street without people glaring at him.
Potter and his trusty followers had never been able to forgive him for his attempt to murder their Dumbledore, or for the many times he was a stupid bastard. Weasley certainly had a hand in his punishment. He had badgered his father to ensure that Draco got sent here. Draco crossed his arms and glared at the wooden table. Weasley. He hated that red haired prat. Always following around Potter like a shadow, thinking he was great because he was friends with the "Boy Who Lived." Draco never really forgave him for seducing Potter, turning him against Draco. How different things would have been.
Draco lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling with his arms behind his head. There was a cobweb over his bed. Draco sighed. He knew it was pointless to sit here and think about wanting to kill Weasley, there was no way he was going to be able to harm anyone in this cell. It was also pointless to think of the what-ifs of his life. The first year of his time at Azkaban he had sat around wondering how things could have turned out.
He shut his eyes and forced himself to sleep, forgetting he was expecting the new therapist.
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Draco's eyes shot open as soon as he heard the key in the door. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. Placed on his face the trademark Malfoy smirk and turned to face the door.
Inside stepped a small woman with deep red hair. Her skin was milky white and a dusting of freckles ran across her small slightly upturned nose. She had on a pair of expensive looking cream robes and heeled shoes. A clipboard was tucked under her dainty arm. Lastly Draco looked into her eyes, they were green...Slytherin green.
Those pretty almond shaped eyes bore into him. She wasn't scared at all. She looked as though she had mentally prepared herself for this meeting.
"Hello Mal-Draco, I'm Dr. Ginevra Weasley. I'm going to be your new therapist." She said with a forced smile. Draco smirked.
Finally something interesting.