Title: Hallelujah

Author: Vick Weasley

Original work can be found on: /s/3539272/

"Maybe there's a god above, but all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya yes it's the lyrics but it's the perfect description"

Additional warnings: Rated M for sex and violence. The fanfic was written before Deathly Hallows, canon until book 6.

I am not J.K. Rowling, and Vick is not J.K. Rowling. Sadly.

I. The Assassin

For the price she paid for her stay, the conditions of the wizard baiting place were good. A small building with peeling walls, near the sea, with eight rooms and three guests, no cockroaches or insects – and most important, separate bathrooms. The old lady who owned the place asked for only 50 Sickles for the night, and even though she had the appearance of an evil queen, she made great cookies for breakfast.

The day was too beautiful to go to Azkaban, she knew this. The sea was so bright and blue that it mixed with the sky in the horizon. But it was an occupational hazard. For three years she did this path twice a week, to talk to the prisoners. There was something bizarre in talking with the most feared assassins, rapers and malefactors from the wizarding world, but she felt strangely attracted to the confusing, shining and uncanny labyrinth of their minds. She felt like the protagonist of one of those muggle criminal tv shows, trying to solve mysteries, when she listened to her "patients" stories and tried to find the motivations behind their actions.

She hadn't known Azkaban during the time of the dementors, though she had some encounters with them in her third year at Hogwarts and during the War. From that time, all that was left were the pictures, which she also didn't look at. After Voldemort's fall, a true hunting for death eaters and allies started – the prison was reopened, under the supervision of the youngest son of St. Mungus' Head. The Doctor Gerald Marris did a revolution in Azkaban, giving the prisoners a new condition – even to those condemned to life imprisonment.

The cells were now more comfortable, leaving behind the pattern of medieval dungeons the place had before. The prisoners had rights of healers and specialists, among other benefits. But still the security measures were increased by almost one hundred percent: no one could have wands or any other magical object unless explicit authorization, animals were forbidden to avert animagus, apparating, portkeys or fireplaces were strictly forbidden not only in the island, but in the city around it as well. The quilometers radius were protected by spells that prevented any ship, aircraft, broomstick or swimming person from approach or divert from the prison.

When Dr. Marris, in recognition of her good work in the HQ, invited her to work in Azkaban which she had a hard time to accept. There was a lot of familiar names within the prisoners, which could cause a loss in her professionalism. She thought a lot during the time he gave her. She passed nights awake imagining how hard it would be to treat the men she knew at Hogwarts, or relatives from friends that went to the dark side, among others.

Once she went to dinner with Harry and Ginny and explained the situation to them. She saw his green eyes become serious, looking to his hand interlaced with his wife's, as if staring the wedding ring in her finger. She, with that face all freckled up that reminded her – and oh God, how did it remind her – of Ron's, simply nodded and said that both would support her in whatever was necessary.

She owled Dr. Marris the next morning, saying she accepted the job. A week later, the principal himself showed her how to get the ferry, introduced her to the baiting place in the small town of Rosyth, in the North Sea coast and told her that all her stays would be paid by the prison. She should stay there from Tuesdays to Wednesdays and to Thursdays. The Mondays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were free.

Those free days were, normally, used to analyze the patients, with her logical thoughts to understand the motives. Some diagnostics were easy, going for extreme ambitions, phobias, or psychological break downs. But others – Bellatrix Lestrange, for example – had worse problems, such as schizophrenic symptoms, psychopathy, and a series of disturbs. A few were damaged by the excess of Imperiattus, others for the number of murders committed. A delight for psychiatrists.

Her work was impeccable, as much as any other she did in her life, and it was worth the admiration. She had received a lot of compliments and awards for it, which she was proud of. She helped hopeless wizard's to stand up and go back to the society when they could. The only way out of Azkaban was a document with her signature: Dr. Hermione Granger.

-X-

The ferry crossed to the island after fifteen minutes by the quiet sea. Hermione got off, acknowledged the guards with a nod, and entered the big iron and wood door. She felt her heels knock during the stone way and stopped by the second door. She put a lock of her hair behind the ear, when a big man, with purple robes and a reddish skin caused by the sun approached her.

"Good morning, miss Grange" he said with a smile. She straightened up and saw him took a wand from his robes. He was one of the few that could have one in that place.

"Good morning, Malcom" Hermione answered, smiling back "Seems like it's not going to rain this week, huh?" she said. She was observing the wizard pass the wand through the front of her body and opened her arms so he could do the same in her sides. She, as well as Dr. Marris, were inspected by Malcom every time they came or left Azkaban. If in possession of magic objects or non-authorized potions, a red spark would appear at the top of his wand.

"Nope, the weather is incredible good these days" he said as he finished the inspection. He put the wand in the door's lock. The noise of crashing iron announced the locks were opening. "I'm even using a charm for the intern cooling" he winked, pulling the knob so the door would open.

"Maybe and air-conditioner would be easier" she comment, chuckling too. He did a confused face. Even after all this time living in the magic world, she forgot they didn't use muggle inventions frequently.

"Have a nice day, Malcom" she said, entering the fortress. He smiled, shaking his head slightly in thought, and closed the door as soon she passed it.

The main hall of Azkaban was one of the most illuminated, because of the bay in the roof, open in sunny days like that. Following to the end of it, there was a large courtyard where some prisoners, always under the supervision of the security guards, could take some sun and do some activity. One of the doors led to the visits room, the other to the warder's accommodations. The reception, for the visitors, was in a desk right in the center of everything.

Hermione stopped in front of one of the doors, touching it with her hand. When the door opened, she went in and stared herself at the mirror. She didn't look so tired today, which was good. It meant things were slowly getting better. She felt a shiver when the cubicle moved. Her room, and all the others medical offices, was in the east wing of the second floor. It was the brighter and ventilated, thanks to the big windows in the stone walls. Thanks God. She didn't like close places.

She left the elevator, still paying attention to her heel's echoes while she walked down the hall. In that floor there were six doors, three in each side. Opposed to this elevator there was another, the one they used to bring the prisoners to the appointment. She entered the second door in the right, where the words "Dr. Hermione Granger" hanged from an old gold plaque, a bit worn out by the time. She took a deep breath. All the other plaques were polished and shining. But she brought this plaque from the other office, where she attended the aurors. It was a gift from Ron.

The room was, as always, with the windows open. The lighting was so bright she wouldn't need to light up the candles. She left the purse on the table, held her curly brown hair in a bun at the top of her head, and she put the coat over her black pants and sleeveless shirt.

Her office was plain and beautiful. She decorated it herself. She hadn't brought a lot of thing because she didn't think there was any need to impress the prisoners. There were a mahogany table, big brown chairs, a couch and an armchair. In a cabinet opposed to the window there were potions, files and whatever equipment she found necessary. There weren't ornaments. To be honest, the only real color in that place came from the little golden sculpture on the table – a ballerina she received from Harry and Ginny after the dinner she told them the job proposal – and from the red hair of the wizard in the picture frame.

"Good morning, my love" she said, touching his smiling face in the picture that didn't move - Hermione decided to do a spell for it to look muggle-like, there's no way she could concentrate seeing he moving, smiling and throwing kisses. Like this, he would always be there to take care of her, motionless, making her happy with his presence. "It's a marvelous day. If you were here, I bet you'd want to swim in the sea. But you would be hexed away", she chuckled, still touching his cheeks with her thumb.

Hermione talked to Ron's picture every day (she did it at home when not in Azkaban). This made his absence bearable. She wanted him to know everything that happened in her life, so he could protect her wherever he was. Stretching, she found her glasses in her purse and put them. Then she got the files Dr. Marris had left for her, with the info of the patients she'd see today.

"I'm going to talk with Julia Heiss, honey" she said distracted while perusing through the papers of the lady "Condemned to fifty years, for misrepresentation, and because she used the Cruciatus curse in her own brother. Nice." She raised her eyebrows, while taking some notes with her quill.

She took the next file and for the look of it, Marris had new patients for the day. Hermione never talked to Julia Heiss. Much less with Theo Thompson, nineteen years old and life imprisonment. He did a massacre of two hundred and fifty muggles in London subway station, also he killed thirty two half-bloods on vacation in the city. There was an accusation of rape; a twelve years old girl, it said, during the Hogwarts invasion. Confessed Death Eater. Possible psychopathy & criminal personality. She also wrote "safety line?" which was a line the warder draw between her and the patient, so they couldn't touch her if things got violent and nly her could go through the line. She felt safer with it, but avoided asking for it most of times. "Well, look," she started, flashing the picture before picking the last file. He was smiling, as always, and she reciprocated it "I'll also talk to…" she stopped.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, 26, condemned to life imprisonment for using Cruciatus and Imperius in over two hundred wizards and muggles, for connections with Tom Marvolo Riddle as a Death Eater, for attempting murder of Albus Dumbledore, and for the brutal killings of more than one hundred and fifty people, including the aurors Liam Houston and Ronald Weasley.

-X-

She glared the clock on her pulse. Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine. The pointer moved a bit. Another minute passed. Between a patient and another there was fifteen minutes. She was glaring at that clock for ten.

Julia Heiss had blond, curly, thick hair, almost light brown. Spoke shyly, looking at the ground. The polyjuice potion intoxication – for using it for far too long, pretending to be her brother's wife, who was dead, and who worked at the Ministry – made her lose weight, her bones were prominent and gave her a fragile look, as if she was made of paper. Incestuous tendencies, depression and beginning of anorexia. Moderated violence and strictly passional. Her small and trembling letters occupied only one line.

Theo Thompson, on the contrary, had big black eyes, attentive, and he still had acne. Even though he was a teenager, while the little time they talked – she'd need to put half an hour more in his sessions – Hermione noticed a personality that leaned him to criminal actions. He made the massacre looks like so much fun. In his words "a lot of muggles, made me itchy" and chuckled. Voldemort brainwashed his brain to the muggle phobia usual of that time. The purebloods, such as Theo himself, were easily corrupted by it. They didn't talk of the rape because the session only last two hours and Hermione thought this was a subject for later.

And in five minutes, she'd talk with Draco Malfoy. The murderer of her fiancée, her best friend, the one who killed her life. It wouldn't be as satisfying as it was if he had killed thousands of people. Treat him. Find out what was inside his sick mind.

When she tried to remember the first time she really saw Malfoy, a Potion class from first year came to her mind. Snape was teaching the difference between the roots and how they could create distinct potions if mixed to the same ingredients. He made exactly eight questions that began with "Does anyone know…?" or "Can anyone tell me…?" for which she raised her hand every time. She and Malfoy. As if they were in an invisible competition. Snape being who he was, Malfoy was favored, and he answered – correctly – seven of the questions. The last one was given to him, as a gift, and was the hardest of them all. Even then, he answered it right. She was smart and tried to prove this to everyone. To Snape. To Harry, Ron and to the spoiled boy with blond combed hair.

Maybe it was the closest moment they ever had, besides the time she slapped him. They never really talked, or anything beyond insults. She never even thought of him after his imprisonment, forgot he was the man who killed Ron.

Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine. Once more the pointer moved. Two minutes left.

-X-

Beard. Beard!

It was light, bypassing his face, thicker in his jaw and below his lower lip, connecting with the hair that outlined his upper lip. It was darker than his hair, though, and there wasn't any sign of it in his cheeks, that still was as smooth as the rest of his pale skin.

Who would've guessed that Draco Malfoy, the most hairless person in the universe as a teenager, could show a beard in his face?

The blond, almost platinum hair was messy, as if he didn't comb it for days. He was fit and strong, his arms were visible to the sleeve of the shabby shirts, but his legs were hidden in the baggy pants of the prison's uniform.

She noticed his dry lips, a bit chapped for dehydration, and that he moistened it with his tongue from time to time. He also saw his marks, big dark bags under his eyes and small eyelashes. He didn't have creases or age marks at all. Probably because he never smiled. But she wouldn't dare to glare directly at him, she wouldn't find his eyes. All she saw was the entirety of it, grayish and bit of blue that reflected the lights outside. He kept his hands clasped on his lap, looking like someone who'd make prayers. But he wouldn't, of course. Not in a million years. He would never ask for anything from God no matter how desperate he was.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy" was all she said, looking away to the old parchment at the table. The Draco Malfoy on the picture was as static as the Draco Malfoy in front of her. He only blinked, and took deep breaths sometimes.

"Granger" he nodded. His voice was deep and masculine, indifference still present on it.

"How are you?" she browsed through his criminal data, not really reading anything. She didn't need to acknowledge that this was Ron's murderer, it was glued to her mind anyway.

"Fine. You?" she could hear him moving, adjusting to the chair and took a deep breath, raising her eyes and staring to his face.

"I'm very well, thanks. I'm going to tell you about the treatment and you're going to tell me if you agree with the methods and possible medication you might use", she handed him the parchment. The ink was in the center of the table. "If you agree, sign up in the place I marked an x. If not, explain me the reasons and we'll work on modifications. Or you can ask for Dr. Marris."

"I'm not afraid of him" he hold the quill, sliding the smooth part through the fingers of his left hand. His nails were short, a bit bent to the side of his long fingers.

"The treatment consist in fifteen sessions of two hours each, that can be readjusted if necessary. You're going to see me Tuesdays and Thursdays and you must trust me" she breathed, knowing trust was the last thing they'd have "and you must tell me everything, be honest in every question I make. We'll talk about your childhood, any possible trauma or abuse suffered during your life, about the reasons behind your crimes and mainly your feelings after you committed them, and your days in here. I will then analyze the facts and we'll see if you need medication, or your future in Azkaban." She exhaled slowly after saying this, adjusting the file in front of her, suddenly concentrated in this task as if it was the most important thing. Would anyone have future condemned to life imprisonment there? Any possibility of job, any chance, when Azkaban was in the curriculum? She didn't think so. Much less someone without family, money, or anything for the matter, like Malfoy.

After the war, after Lucius' death, after Narcissa's suicide and the fire that consumed the Malfoy Mannor, Draco had less than her, less than anyone. Draco, the annoying boy that showed his teeth irritably every time someone vexed him, that spat "filthy mudblood" to her face, the little boy that thought he could have the world because of his name and money, was now nothing. A prisoner in Azkaban. Only one patient.

He was in her hands. His future in Azkaban depended on her. And she – medical ethics damned to hell – would do everything she could to make it horrible. Everything to hurt him the way he hurted her.

"You know, Granger" he suddenly said. She looked at him, stopping her task with the paper, and found his eyes. Blue and grayish eyes could easily be described as the water color, but Malfoy's were the color of ice. "If anyone told be five years ago I'd be sitting in this chair as your patient, I would've done this."

She felt her face burn when he raised his right hand and gave her the middle finger, and she tapped the table's wood to forget the anger and shame that came to her in that moment.

"You are sitting in a chair, you are my patient, you're going to sign this paper and respect me" she retorted, clenching her teeth, tapping the table more strongly "So put this finger in a place that suits you better and don't do this ever again, or you're really going to talk with Dr. Marris."

Malfoy smiled. Or something like that, as the corner of his mouth moved up in a sarcastic way, as his entire being. He then lowered his hand, opening all his fingers and got the blue quill, almost as blue as the veins that appeared through his wrists.

"I am not afraid of Marris, as I said before" he took the terms closer, reading all the letters. The smirk wasn't in his lips anymore, but his eyes still showed it somewhat, glowing with irony. He breathed deeply before moistening the quill in the ink. "You won't be good with me just because we're friends, will you, Granger?"

She stopped tapping the table, narrowing her brown eyes like a cat.

"With friends like you, I'm even better."

He smirked again, and all they listened was the noise of quill scratching the parchment.

To be continued….

Translator notes: Hello, guys! Hope this story is going to be amazing to you, because it's one of my favorites. I'll try to translate everything as soon as possible, but I still have two stressful months of college before vacation. If you find anything not understandable, please ask me and I'll try to explain to you.

Thanks to everyone that wanted to read this on tumblr, I talked to the author and she felt honored. I'll try to show her all of your reviews, too!

And a special thanks to Farah (tumblr user sexymalfoys) for helping me out on this.

See you soon!

Snippet of the next chapter:

"Congratulations, Granger. How many times you were a Death Eather?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How many times did you talk to the Dark Lord?

"None, but…"

He interrupted her, raising his sleeve and showing his arm. The Dark Mark was there - all Voldemort's followers found out it was impossible to remove after his fall.

"How many of these do you have?"