A/N: It was a Queerditch drabble prompt…but I came to late.
You'd have thought that I would loathe it here, wouldn't you? I thought I would too, for the first days. I nearly made myself mortally ill trying to hate it, hate the walls, hate the stones, hate the people, feel anything. But that's the marvelous part, I don't hate it. I, a Malfoy, a creature of luxury and richness who was weaned on jewels and gold am content, nay, pleased to be enclosed in a prison with shackles of dull iron wrapped around my ankles.
Unbelievable…Yet, I've found that I have a certain penchant for peacefulness, for things dull and routine. The same solace that I found in the banal intricacies of social life I find in the hard rock and thin gruel of Azkaban. It's pleasant not to have anyone expect anything out of you, not to expect you to be involved in the latest plots, to be wearing the latest fashions, to speak in a certain manner, to expect you to grow up and live your life as everyone in your family has done before you.
They say that we, the families who have the power of the High Kings bind society, direct it, make it, but that's hardly true. What King is not ultimately subject to the same fallacies an ordinary man suffers, the blow of cold steel on his neck? What King is not bound to be a King? Bound by the expectations of his people, after all, what is a King but a mortal glorified? A scape-goat covered in gold and jewels, who lives a charmed life until the day it fails to rain and then they turn on him and ask the poor sod what he's going to do about it? We don't control Society. Society controls us. Society dictates that I would be born when I was, would be sorted into the house that I was, society dictates that I would be married to a wench I'd rather have pushed into a lake and raised a child who I'd cheerfully throttle.
But here they can touch me, nobody can touch me! I can hear them at night, their frustrated cries and angry sobs, clawing at the walls, trying in their desperation to reach through these stones and wrap their ghoulish white arms around my neck and squeeze so hard my eyeballs pop out.
But that's the trick! They can't get through, not here. Here I'm safe. Nobody can touch me. Not forces of light or dark, not my hellborn wife or my hellraised son. You understand, don't you? This isn't my damnation, it's my salvation…and yours too.