This was a plot bunny which was choking me until I wrote it. Hope you all like it.
'Miss Granger, please, you're a smart witch! Why would you want to visit this prisoner? He's freaking mad! Even the nut house healers couldn't get near him!' The new Azkaban warden, Friedens, shook his head and stowed/shoved away the file.
'You very well know that I, as an Offender Rehabilitation Officer, can choose any inmate for my program. It doesn't matter what your personal bias towards the person is. My track record proves that I can handle anyone I want,' Hermione Granger huffed. How dare the incompetent idiot insinuate she'd not be able to handle her chosen case?
'I am just stating the obvious. Even the guards who bring him food every day are scared of him. It is a case worse than the ones who've gotten the kiss.'' The man tried to explain, but he knew that it fell to deaf ears. The young woman wouldn't let it go so easily.
'You're just not using the right psychological approach. An inmate is emotionally volatile, so…' her little lecture was interrupted by a loud snort.
'A psychopath, that's all he is!' the warden exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table's surface.
'If you don't let me visit the inmate I will file a complaint at the Ministry and you can be bloody sure this will be the last day in this post for you,' Hermione said in pure annoyance, taking back the large file she had compiled.
The warden fidgeted nervously for a few moments, then in a small voice said, 'Fine, you can go and see for yourself. I take no responsibility for what happens to you, though.'
'You chose the right thing.' Hermione's smirk was victorious. She had gotten what she wanted. Yes, the file had a lot of records of the prisoner's behaviour, but she believed that all the brutes here hadn't tried to act humane towards the poor soul.
She was almost whistling when she approached the guards' lounge. She had gathered some items in the supply cupboard and now she needed someone to accompany her to the cell.
'Hello, Miss Granger, how can I help you?' a burly guard greeted her, a wide smile forming on his lips.
'Hi, Tim. If you could please help me with this,' she pointed at the pile of objects at her feet. 'And I need you to escort me to a cell.' She smiled brightly at the young man; she knew that he had a crush on her. Of course, she felt flattered, but the simple guard was just not really her type. She wanted a more sophisticated man, someone who'd be a mystery, but still devoted to her like a puppy. It was a lot she was asking for, she knew, but a girl could dream of a Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet and give her a fairy tale life, right?
'So, Tim, I want to get to cell number 77 in block E, okay?' Hermione smiled again at the guard, receiving a smile in return, but then he blanched and looked at her questioningly.
'Are you sure it's cell 77 in block E? No mistake?'
'No, it's on the file. Can we go now?' her voice had already a hint of impatience.
'Hermione, please, do you know who's there? I don't want anything to happen to you,' the man said in a soft tone, his eyes pleading with her.
She could see true concern in his eyes, but she still wondered why all the prison employees were so afraid of the poor inmate. So what if he was mentally unstable?
She'd made progress with very unstable patients before, so where's the problem?
'I know very well what I'm doing, but I'll put on an extra shield charm so you don't worry, okay?'
The guard looked more content now and went to fetch the keys. Once he returned he bravely picked up the bags and carried them by hand, not using magic. Hermione had to smile again at him. It was funny how men always felt the need to demonstrate their strength. She wanted a man who was not afraid to show his emotions, instead.
They had already reached block E--the block for short-term inmates. It was less gloomy than the part where the ones which had been kissed by a Dementor were, but still unpleasant nonetheless.
They reached the end of a small corridor and she had to hold her breath as she smelled a stale stench in the air.
'I thought Cleaning Contractor Elves cleaned all the blocks?' she asked the guard, wondering if there had been any misconduct with funding.
'Yeah, but they're scared of this cell. Not even threats can get them to clean it.'
'Which cell is it?' Hermione asked curiously.
'Number 77… we're here.' The guard stopped and started to open the door.
'But this cell is empty. I don't see anyone in there!' Hermione tried to object.
'He's most likely hiding in a corner. If I were you, I'd not go in there.' The guard tried to give her a puppy eyes look, but she ignored him.
'I'll go in there. Are you saying I can't do my job?' she huffed, then took her parcels and stepped into the cell.
She had previously cast a shield charm which would protect her from all possible harm. Of course she didn't believe all she was told, but better safe than sorry.
Putting the parcels closer to the door, she stepped slowly into the damp room.
'Malfoy?' she called out, stopping when her foot stepped on something squishy. Looking more closely, she could discern the shape of a dead rat. How could one live like this? She still hadn't gotten an answer. Had they really let him just die?
'Draco?' she called, looking around the cell and noticing the broken cot, lined with dirty, old rags.
Suddenly a tall, lank figure was rushing towards her. She stilled, knowing her shield would help her avoid all harmful intentions.
She jumped a little when she felt strong arms wrap around her. What the hell was going on?
'You finally came. I knew you would,' a husky male voice whispered in her ear, and she felt eerily comfortable. Well, according to all her psychology books, she must feel that way as he was showing that he had no intention to harm her and he was just a boy who had made one big mistake and needed someone understanding to help him get back in the right way. She was certain that his reaction was due to her great interpersonal skills, right? Though it usually took a longer time even for her to gain the trust of the offender, but miracles happen. And she felt very proud of the way things were going with the so-called most vicious Azkaban inmate.
'I'm going to help you, Draco,' she said slowly, remembering that it is always better to use a volatile person's first name so as to appear friendlier. His arms wrapped around her even tighter, his head resting on her shoulder.
She had to hold her breath because quite simply, he stunk terribly. He was nothing like his well groomed self back at Hogwarts. His hair was long and matted; she could hardly recognise its colour any more. About everything else she couldn't tell yet, as the cell was rather dark and his stench was making her breath hitch. But she couldn't push him away. She patted his back awkwardly, noting that the shirt he was wearing had a layer of dirt on it. Slowly she wiggled out the embrace, never losing eye contact with him.
She had never before seen prettier eyes. Endless, sincere silver pools looking at her like she was the best thing ever to happen to him. And this made Draco look gorgeous in her eyes, no matter the stench and his miserable situation.
'
Draco was in paradise, really. He had not believed his Angel, that's what he called the woman of his dreams, would come to him. She was more beautiful than he had dreamed. True, she wasn't wearing the flowing white nightgown and her curls were spun together in a loose bun, but she still was the one who had plagued his dreams for endless nights. Now he had to find out why she had come and how to keep her here long enough to persuade her that it's worth to come back to him again.
For now, he was happy that he could just stand there and look into her beautiful amber eyes. All the pain and misery he had felt for those two long years were gone now, he felt free and happy, his heart filling with the long lost feeling of love. Yes, he loved her already. His veela senses were going into overdrive. The creature in him wanted to ravish the woman, mate with her and thus bond her to him for forever, but his human part overtook the veela's animalistic tendencies, telling it to calm down or else the mate would be gone in a blink of an eye. Even her presence was making him happier than ever.
When his mother had given him 'the talk' about his true heritage and mating he hadn't believed that his mate would have such a strong effect on him. Now he didn't want lose her. After all he had been through; he thought he deserved something good in his life.
'Draco? Are you alright?' her concerned voice broke into his thoughtful reverie.
'Yes, yes, I am perfectly fine. Thank you for visiting me, I'm sorry I can't offer proper seating.' His eyes darted from her to his dirty, broken cot. He hoped she'd not leave now; there was so much left to say.
'It's okay…don't worry about it. You might wonder why I am here, right?' she smiled at him so sweetly that he wanted to have her back in his arms and forget all the problems in the world. Forget that this cell was dirtier than a London sewer rats' nest and that he was a shadow of his former charming self.
'I am an Offender Rehabilitation Officer, but don't be scared. I'm here to help you to hopefully get paroled quicker, if you do everything I say. Will you?' she asked him, and he was sure he'd do anything for her. The knowledge that she was going to work to help him was both relieving and scaring at the same time. He'd have to work harder to persuade her to like him.
'Yes, I will,' he said it very surely, though he admitted that this vow would sound better at their wedding. If it was up to him, he'd marry her this instant. She'd look so gorgeous in a white gown, sparkling with diamonds and clad in the finest lace. If she'd become his wife, his mind would be in peace and without the threat of him losing it.
The soft hum of the wedding march in his head was interrupted by him realising that he was in fact being dragged out of the cell by her arm wrapped around his. He didn't mind at all. He'd go anywhere for her. But just for her.