Hi guys! This is my first fanfiction... I have to warn you, english is not my mother language. I have to write a story of a secondary character for school and I chose Draco Malfoy. I sincerely hope I did not messed up the character...

Anyway! Enjoy and please review :)

The fall of the wand resounded all over the empty room. Everything seemed to stop when Dumbledore's Army came to the rescue of Lucius' enemies. Aurors invade the Department of Mysteries, crying with warrior voices and casting spells, but Lucius was unable to hear them, see them or even care about them. He felt as if he was seeing a movie in a slow-motion, a movie in which he did not take part. Harry was gone. He had won, whatever he thought, and he had beaten one of the most powerful magic families, the Malfoys. But he did not just defeat them, he also destroyed their reputation, their pride and their honour. Everything was now far away from them. For the first time in a very long time, Lucius felt despair. The sound made by the fall of the stick remained in his head for a while, as a symbol of his own overthrow. He could hear his heart pounding in his entire body while he was trying to focus on a solution. But the consequences were so cosmic that the only thing that came over and over was a burning desire to run away. By his triumph, Harry reversed the seizure. Nothing would be easy for the Malfoys' anymore.

Lucius was on his knees, his hands supporting his weight. If it was possible, his face would seem even paler than usual. His long shiny hair had lost its luster. It looked more like a decrepit broom now, attached to his scalp with less and less will. His black sorcerer's cape was covered with a thick layer of dust and had lost his noble splendour. His own body was giving up, exhausted by so many injuries, inflicted upon himself by the paths his life had taken. But his brain was intact, active, searching desperately for a way to get out o the situation. A way to survive. He had to stay alive, not only for him, but also for his family. They were probably the only ones who he placed before his own safety and comfort. For a man like him, as loaded as he is a coward, it was the best conceivable compliment. He could not even think of what would happen to them if he was not smart enough to calm Voldemort's fury. Voldemort, the one whom he had always revered and respected. The one that once he had tried so hard to bring back. The one whom he did anything to please, became his sole obsession, his sole fear, his sole reason to run as far away as possible, because Voldemort's rage was as great as his power.

His first thought was of his boy, Draco. He was still in Hogwarts, full of his own preoccupations, doing kids things, like he had once been himself. He recognised a part of himself when he heard his son talking about his life over there, the people he was related to, things he did, and especially his way of thinking. Mother Nature had blessed him by creating a human being as elegant and sneaky as he hoped. At that precise moment, he knew that he had ruined any chance for his son to have a normal and apple pie life.

A breath swept the room.

The idea of his son running away, living in fear, recalled him to his senses. His knees were able to support him again and with a shaky hand, he took his noble walking stick that hid his silver plated wand. He used it to help him walk quicker and came first to tell Voldemort of the series of events that had happened. Maybe if he was able to turn the story in his favour… Maybe he could just for one second make Lord Voldemort believe that he was still useful and there would be no need to make him pay for everything. Even if he knew it was impossible he had to believe or surrender immediately, because it was superfluous to fight if there was nothing to fight for.

As soon as he was out of the building, an unknown man who was passing by touched his shoulder in his rush. Lucius had never been a patient man, but this time his nerves were on edge. He was seeking any reason to let off stream. It took only a few seconds for him to take out his wand and cast a death spell. He smiled. His overflowing powers ran through his veins and he knew that he was still strong and had not lost his worth. But above all, he knew that although he was nothing but a failure, he was still better than those needless parasites. For that, Avada kevadra was definitely his best ally.

However, Aurors were running after him. He tried to planewalk, but didn't succeed. One of the men, tall with hair tousled by the battles, who was trying to stop Lucius, managed to rip his wand away. The spell hurt the Death Eater, pulling his arm back and he could feel burns on his fingers. Now, he was more powerless than ever. Without his wand, he was as weak as a muggle. For him, that was the greatest insult. The other Death Eaters who did not escape the Department of Mysteries, meaning everyone except his sister-in-law and the Dark Lord himself, were escorted each one by two wizards. While he was walking, held by the arms, he saw the faces of the ones who finally caught him. They were all there, all of the people he had bullied so intensely during his entire life, lowering them below the pet category. He knew that his money would not help him anymore. There was only one possible outcome, and it was to be sentenced to Azkaban. In a strange way, it was a kind of relief. There, he would stay alive and even if he would be punished by other prisoners or even by the Aurors, that would never be as painful as what Voldemort was preparing for him. The fact is that the mere idea of his punishment made him feel dizzy and nauseous. So yes, in a certain way, as unexpected as ironic, they were just going to save Lucius.

On his way to jail, he found himself breathing normally again. His heart resumed its ordinary pace and resigned to escape. Pointless. He knew that whatever he could try to do, it would only deteriorate the image that You-Know-Who had of him. The moon in the sky was brightening and no clouds hid it. Its round form matched perfectly in contrast to the shadow of the stars and its pale light illuminated the wild sea. His hands gripped the bars while his face pressed against them. The waves broke, splashing against the steep rocks. The cold wind froze his bones as if freezing his future expectations. His body was wet because of the moist air, but nothing mattered anymore. It was the death of his body and heart. The brief sense of relief he felt, had flown at the time he had crossed the look of the prisoner in front of his cell. It was a middle aged sorcerer who had been sent to Azkaban by Lucius, to be punished instead of him. It was the kind of person who had real reasons to make him live hell, if he was lucky. Lucius was not. That must be what people meant by "evil for evil".

Months went by and he had not seen a familiar face for ages. He had lost weight as quickly as he had lost hope. His muscular body had turned to a skeleton over time. His proud face had fallen in on itself, leaving large bags under his enfeebled eyelids. There, he did not have a lot of food and the little he got was inedible. But during a rainy night, Azkaban was attacked. From where he was staying, Lucius could just see active, running, slipping shadows. Cupping well his ear, he could hear the last sighs of the slain and feel the vibration they made when falling inert on the floor. In a burst of fatal green lights, he found his cell open as did the other Death Eaters. He was called again by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Called for his own punishment.