Aftermath
Summary: Draco isolates himself in his France Château after his Azkaban trial. Why? Because he thought he deserved worse than what he received. An introspective look at Draco Malfoy as he copes with being free, but still caught in the quagmires of his own mind as he tries to come to terms with his sentencing, the events of the war, and his childhood.
Warnings: This fic is going to be very dark. More specific warnings/triggers will be posted at the beginning of each chapter if/when needed.
Characters and events may be AU/OOC.
Prologue
He moved from the cold, damp cell in Azkaban where he'd been awaiting trial for two weeks, to one surrounded by people in robes that were, thankfully, not Dementors. The cage had points that turned toward the prisoner, inhibiting their movements.
This is it, he thought. He was going to Azkaban.
Charity Burbage: dead.
Dumbledore: dead.
Thorfin Rowe: dead.
Katie Bell: cursed into near insanity.
Ronald Weasley: poisoned to near death.
He'd taken the Dark Mark, and all that came with it. His home had been the epicentre of the Dark- Voldemort's movement to eradicate all opposition and create a pure society. Of course he was guilty.
He'd done nothing to stop any of it.
"How do you plead, Mr. Malfoy?" The strong voice of the frail Wizengamot man bounced around the room and agonised Draco's head, which had gotten used to the quietude of Azkaban while he'd been held there to await trial. It brought him out of his futile musings.
"Guilty, Sir." He deserved whatever they gave him. He saw the bushy-haired muggleborn Granger step up to speak, but he couldn't bring himself to really listen to what she was saying. Whether she was speaking to save him or further condemn him, he knew not and he cared not. None of it mattered. The Wizengamot was going to do what it wanted, and it wanted the Malfoys incarcerated. The Malfoy name besmirched. They made sure his father was already incarcerated in that pit of Hell for the rest of his life. They couldn't touch his mother; she hadn't taken the Mark, and her house had been taken over by the Darkest Wizard of all time. She had clearly been the victimised party. So the Ministry was itching to hang him for everything his family had done during the War. His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the bushy-haired woman was replaced with The Boy Who Lived. Draco closed his eyes against the onslaught of colours and the light that was grating against his eyes. He didn't care what Potter said. The Wizengamot didn't care, either; Draco knew that the authority would do what it wanted with him.
He'd accepted Azkaban.
He deserved Azkaban.
"Draco Malfoy, you have been cleared of all charges, so long as you adhere to the following conditions-"
Draco didn't hear the rest.
Cleared of all charges.
Cleared of all charges.
Cleared of all charges.
The words echoed in his ears, pain lanced through his head. The words tasted like acid in his mouth. He didn't hear the conditions as he looked the frail man in the eye for the first time since entering the courtroom.
Draco could, for once, decipher no meaning in the man's gaze. It has been a skill of Draco's, to be able to read people. No longer. He didn't understand. He let himself be freed from the cage before the Wizengamot, felt nothing as, under guard, he was led to one more cage.
The public waiting outside.
"Where do you wish to go, Mister Malfoy?" One of the Aurors murmured to him as they pushed through the oppressive, aggressively boisterous crowd to the apparition point. Draco said nothing until they were in front of the ministry personnel organising his travel.
"The Château in France." Draco rasped, finally realising he needed to speak if he wanted to leave.
"Would you like to stop at the Manor-"
"The Château is sufficient." Draco responded.
"We'll have to Side-Along you, since you had your apparition licence temporarily suspended. Once you're in France we will set you up to get it reinstated."
"Fine. Let's be gone." Draco flinched as the two Aurors gripped his biceps. Disliking the touch immensely. Disliking even more as the sickening disorientation of this method of travel cleaved through him. Within seconds, they appeared at the regulated apparition point in France. The two Aurors expedited the process to get his licence reinstated with little fuss.
"This is where we leave you, Mr. Malfoy." Said the Auror who hasn't spoken yet.
"Thank you for seeing to my safety." Without further acknowledgement, Draco apparated to the Château.
Draco was greeted with disrepair. He chuckled, the action barely given sound from his dry and unused throat. The run down outside of the Château suited his mood perfectly. Some of the windows were broken. The gardens lining both sides of the path to the house were overrun with weeds and chest high grasses. Draco opened the door, and Starry, the main House Elf of the Château, appeared in front of him with a crack that made him itch for his wand.
"Mister Malfoy! We was expecting you later, but we is happy you is here! How should Starry be helping you now, Master?" Draco looked down at the House Elf from his childhood. He suddenly stormed up to his suite and grabbed a large amount of clothes. He didn't want the help. He didn't deserve it. He wanted solitude. By the time he arrived back downstairs, all of the Elves had gathered in the foyer to receive him. Before he even finished clearing the stairs, he was throwing clothing at them.
"As reigning Patriarch of the Malfoy name, I hereby free you from the service of the Malfoys." The cacophony of squeaks of surprise and anger were difficult to be heard over as he spoke, but Malfoy managed. When he finished, breaths were heaving themselves out of his chest, which was rising and falling at an alarming rate. Starry stepped forward hesitantly.
"Mister Malfoy? We is wanting to stay. You is given us clothes, you is freed us, but we is wanting to stay anyway." Draco, who'd been pacing off the energy still building up in him from his actions, spun to face her.
"Why? You're free, you can go."
"We is not wanting to go. We is working here for many, many years. We is liking it here. We is not wanting to leave." Starry said. Draco shook his head in disbelief.
"Fine, fine. Stay. Just stay out of my way."
"Would Mister Malfoy be wanting a meal?"
"I said, stay out of my way." Draco muttered as he passed the receiving line of Elves and made his way back upstairs. Once in his suite, he'd shut the door, locked it, and placed silencing charms on the walls and door. He sat with his back against the door, still feeling swallowed by the space; his short two weeks in Azkaban had certainly taken a toll. His eyes darted around, unable to settle; his heart pounded so loudly he felt it pulsing in his head. He looked down at his left arm, at the damning tattoo that marred the pale skin.
He'd never hated anything more than he'd hated today.
He'd gone free.
He hadn't deserved freedom.
A/N: Hello all! So I'm posting the first chapter of this now because it's been written, ha. I don't know when I'm actually going to be consistently updating it at the moment though. Once I know, you'll know! Just another experiment of mine.