This is a christmas gift to all HD fans out there. Its very late.
Warning: Slash
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry or Draco or anyone else for that matter. They're too good for the likes of me.
Just Visiting
"I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul will pity me:
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?"
Azkaban Fortress, the wizard prisonsituated on a lone, bleak island off the shores of the North Sea. The sun never seemed to shine upon this dreary place. For it was where the most hardened and cold-blooded criminals were sent to rot away to nothingness and where no innocent had ever set foot in, or so they like to think.
It was not the mere walls, nor the vast expanse of the cruel sea, that kept its convicts in, No. The notoriety of Azkaban, its artistic brutality, rested on its power to force prisoners to continually relive their most dreaded memories, to ensnare them in the worst moments in their lives. For there is neither comfort nor escape from the confines of one's own solitary mind, his tortured consciousness….not until it turns back on itself.
The Dementors, the most foul and loathsome creatures that fed on every good thing and every happy memory in their path, guarded Azkaban. Their hooded cloaks billow with the violent breeze as they glided along the coastline, looking perhaps for wayward seafarers, a feast of young, adventurous souls. Their grisly greenish-grayish skin, sometimes visible, was a physical reminder of the dead inside.
One would think that once the War ended, they would be banished, never to be seen or heard from again. They had sided with Lord Voldemort, who'd promised them the prime share of children (who supposedly have purer and more delicious memories) and one Sirius Black. When the Dark Lord fell, all those who were marked by the Dark Side were judged and sentenced. Dementors had been sentenced, for eternity, to their former jobs, a rather light sentence considering their heartless acts during those Dark times. A more powerful version of the Patronus charm prevents them from ever rebelling again. But they're still at large, if you think about it, still gratifying their horrendous appetites for unfortunate human psyche, still destroying the hopes and dreams of men, their supposedly-undefeatable spirit.
Soft footfalls echoed throughout the narrow passage, going unnoticed by the men and women inside the cells on either side. Those people never noticed anything really (not the footsteps, not the hollow piercing screams at night, not the unbearable stench of human excrement) except for the presence of dementors (then, they would seize up and throw themselves against the bars and clawed at thin air, sometimes at their eyes).
"You!" One of them now shrieked shrilly and loudly, glaring five-foot-swords at the dark-haired visitor, baring yellowed teeth. The escorting aurors immediately stunned the woman with a quick 'stupefy' and she fell back on the mossy floor, unconscious. Kind of hard to believe that barely five years ago, this lady had been quite the socialite. The one who'd been widowed a lot.
Running a hand through his messy hair, Harry Potter, now 27 and utterly famous for his heroic exploits in battle, sighed at the wretched state of the ex-Death Eaters. The aftermath of the War was still evident, even though the last of Voldemort's supporters had been rounded up three months ago – by him no less.
This was only his second time in Azkaban, the first time helping monitor the return of the guards. For reasons too many to mention, he argued forcefully against the reinstatement.
"Mr. Potter, as noble as your arguments may be – and though the majority of the public supports your views – joint research of the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Magical Creatures has shown that Dementor control is dangerously unstable unless they are given a certain...allowance…"
He had sneered at the pompous monotonous bastard and left.
So the bloodshed was not over.
"Remain here," he instructed his companions softly as they reached the corridor leading the lower recesses where high-security prisoners were kept. It was odd that the Ministry had insisted that he be accompanied. Hadn't be proved himself powerful enough? If I could take on Voldemort, I sure as hell could visit Azkaban by myself. He chuckled as he made his way down. They've started being protective only AFTER the war.
This small amount of gaiety (after years of dealing with soul-sucking monsters, he'd grown somewhat immune to the despair) vanished as soon as he reached the 'dungeons' of Azkaban.
It was damp, dark and had an odd smell to it, like a mix of rotten, musty and nasty. It was much quieter as well, more dementors – he could sense them gliding away as he approached, the icy coldness receding.
Harry didn't bother with a Lumos; he had the location memorized: three cells from the end, left side. Anxiety tensed his shoulders and stiffened his back. He kept his head bowed, long locks hiding his glorious face, as he strode down the lengthy corridor in a seemingly relaxed manner.
Harry had no wish to see their hateful, manic, familiar faces again. Too familiar, they were the people he had traded curses with, people he had witnessed kill with a ruthless insanity, people who had seen him kill with the same fervor.
He could almost hear the chanting. Potter…potter…oh look, the golden boy's come to honor us with his presence…the savior Potter's graced us unworthy ones rotting here in Azkaban…probably fancies himself as the light in this darkness…oh, Potter, why had you come here at all? Do you want yourself tainted by us filth...
The taunting voices stopped reverberating in his head as he halted in front of his intended terminus. Cell Number 034, Prisoner 0607871.
Draco Lucian Malfoy.
The iron doors slammed close, shutting out the bright light from the outside. The large stone dungeon which had only recently been reconstructed as the Ministry's courtroom was full of high benches, on which sat several shadowy figures (so many of them), indiscernible in the dim light. Everything was bathed in an ominous silence for a while, before a series of furious whispers lashed about.
The defendant's steps echoed loudly as he was forcefully led by Aurors to a threatening-looking chair, right in front of the highest Wizengamot officials.
"Draco Lucian Malfoy," a cold male voice resounded, almost metallic, reading a very long roll of parchment. "You stand accused…"
Harry listened with increasing dread as the man spewed ever more crimes against the Malfoy heir. He shouldn't have come here today. But, as the case always with Draco, he simply couldn't stay away. Luckily, he managed to salvage his invisibility cloak from war damage.
Draco looked a lot different now: taller, ragged, definitely more gaunt. There was also different about the way he sat, the way his eyes peered over his persecutors. He no longer feigned arrogance nor indifference, the slytherin masks. His eyes shone with raw emotion, a sight few had seen back in their schooldays.
Pride. Anger.
"…and finally, attempted escape from the law." The Wizengamot, now out of hiding, were looking at him with barely suppressed rage.
He glared hatefully at them all. Tossing his once-fine platinum hair out of his face, he spat: "Guilty! On all charges except for Dumbledore's murder, which Snape did. I wish I did! I wish I had killed you all when I had the chance!"
A cry of outrage rose from the side. Several members were on their feet.
"We ought to crucify him!" One of them shrieked, brandishing her wand.
"I'd like to see you try!" Draco shouted back hoarsely, jerking his head to her general direction. "Go on, you self-righteous muggle-lovers! You cowards!"
Pandemonium broke out. Everyone started shouting furiously at once, spawning profanities and curses. Harry lowered his eyes, having never seen Malfoy like this, all-Death-Eater-like and horrid.
"That is enough!" The sound of a blasting cannon silenced most people until, gradually, the whispering died down to a few misplaced murmurs. "No doubt as to your guilt…We, the Wizengamot, pass unanimous judgement: guilty! On all counts! Eighteen life sentences in Azkaban Fortress!"
Like a ghost in his memory, he saw the half-lighted faces wearing terrible smirks at the thought of his demise. Men do so love seeing the suffering of others.
'And I thought we were evil' Draco thought with resentment. "What? No leniency?!"
A surprising number of people stopped smiling and their expressions turned stony.
"Well, it would be useful…" one said tentatively, almost unsure. "To know the whereabouts of Severus –"
"You'd have me betray my godfather?" Draco said mockingly. He would have stood up if not for the chains holding him. "I would never stoop so low as you…"
He looked at the Minister straight in the eye. "Damn you, Longbottom, Damn all twelve of you!"
Like a phantom, Harry followed the Aurors taking Draco away from the frenzied happening in the courtroom and off to join his 'friends' in Azkaban.
Like in all other Ministry's, some paperwork had to be done first before the blond be apparated away. In Malfoy's case, it was a TON of paperwork. Lucius and Narcissa had both perished in battle in the earlier years, leaving their son as sole heir to the family estate. But with a lifetime sentence…
"We need at lest two guards for this…" Anthony Goldstein stopped, unsure of what to refer to his sister's killer. "…filth. I reckon you all heard of his sentencing?"
A chorus of cheery "yeah's" sounded throughout Auror office. A few even got out of their cubicles to see 'Infamous Draco Malfoy', one of Voldemort's elite and, more importantly, their old school tormentor, finally at their mercy.
"Full binding charm," Goldstein explained. "Can't risk letting him escape. Whole Wizengamot's out for his blood…"
"Still making enemies, I see, Draco…"
Completely unexpected, Malfoy broke through the spell enough to snarl and attack the speaker.
"How dare you, Blaise!" he growled, pinning the man to the floor, strangling him. "Your mother's rotting away in Azkaban because of your betrayal! You –"
It took three Aurors to subdue him. The ruckus attracted the attention of other Ministry offices. Jaws dropped at the sight of him, once so refined and moneyed, looking like a rough criminal.
"Enough!" a strong voice cut through the crowd and onlookers were banished out of the office, pulled away by an invisible force. The double-doors melted away from existence, leaving nothing but bare walls. "I told you not to provoke him, Zabini."
With an almost imperceptible nod of their commander's head, the spectator Aurors scrambled away from the scene.
"Sorry, Harry," Blaise had the grace to look ashamed. He glanced at Draco angrily (with difficulty as he just received a nice blue shiner). "I didn't think he'd be able to break through the bonds. Malfoy –"
He broke off for a moment. "I'll get started on the paperwork. Shouldn't be too hard…I did most of the others…"
Blaise closed his eyes as he walked away. Although it hadn't been much, there was an empty space where Draco's friendship had been. He was, after all, one of his few classmates that wasn't a total nin-com-poop. It was the same chasm where his family, his friends, his childhood had been.
Draco's face remained impassive as Harry dismissed the other Aurors, telling them "I'll guard Malfoy myself, if you don't mind". His words were met without protest, of course; he was the Harry Potter, capable of restraining any Death Eater.
He remained silent even when he was led to the specially-made criminal cages, the ones which were magically-sealed and had spikes all over. Malfoy leaned on door, the only part without spikes, his back to Harry, and remained very still. With his head bowed and body slack, he seemed almost asleep.
"I – I really don't know what to say," The dark-haired one started lamely.
"Then don't say anything," The other one snapped, though without the bite. "Otherwise you'd sound wholly retarded."
"Is that all you do now?" Harry asked, going around the cage to speak face-to-face with him. "Aggravate people who try to reason with you?"
"Reason?" He laughed mockingly. "Whatever you're doing, it's not reasoning."
"Yes it is," Harry ground out. "Stop interrupting me. Listen, for once, it doesn't have to end this way –"
"You sound like a lame school boy. I thought for sure –" Harry silenced him before he could finish the statement.
"I knew you, Draco." Harry bit his lip, hesitating. "And I could – want to – help you…get an acquittal, vouch for you. I could tell them what you've told me back then: how you were forced to join, how your father threatened you…"
"I know you did, um, very nasty things. But, as idiotic as this may sound, you must've somehow been forced to do it. I'm sure I can defend you on those charges." He paused for a while, seeing Draco tense, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "All you have to do is ask, Draco. Ask and we'll, well, some may take time, forgive you. Just apologize, we'll take you back to the right side –"
"Right?!" Draco shouted, breaking through the silencing charm. "There is no right side. Both sides have their own ideas of what is 'right', Potter. Don't think the 'Light' is all kindness and honor or whatever; both had murderers in their ranks! And at least we show more mercy to our prisoners! We kill them straight away, none of your questioning or mind-messing! And we don't degrade their pride by making them apologize!"
He glared at Harry through the bars, his voice rising. "And you'd have me grovel to your Ministry? Betray nearly a decade of fighting? I'm not Zabini, not a filthy traitor like him. My pride won't allow me such."
"Listen to sense, please," Harry said desperately. "Forget your pride, Draco. You're not evil; you mustn't cling to the Dark side. You don't want to go to Azkaban (I don't want you to). You have everything to lose!"
"Did you honestly think I'd last as long as I did if I was only, as you say, forced? Would the Dark Lord even allow me to live if I showed the slightest bit of hesitation. You can't receive the Dark Mark if you don't have the desire to, Harry." His voice softened, sounding hopeless. Then his whole pallor turned stony.
"I wanted it. And I also wanted you. That was the hardest choice I ever had to make, you know; I was practically torn in half."
"Well, you chose wrong. If only –"
"No, you really should know better now," Draco sneered. "We never had a future, Harry. We were such naïve teenagers at that time, thinking we had. So, that one agonizing night, I just chose whatever seemed more beneficial for you, though I never really thought about it."
"There!" Harry opened the cage and put his hands on the blond's shoulders. "We can use that in court: you did it for me! I'd be willing to testify –"
"No!" Draco's eyes focused desperately on brilliantly green ones. "Don't you see?"
"I don't want forgiveness."
Brief flashes of sorrowful, apologetic gray eyes passed through his mind. It was the first time in living memory that Draco Malfoy looked ever so defeated.
He had been so lax about security too. Granted, seeing how he managed to break through spells and all – and being taller, Malfoy could've easily overpowered him and escape. His wand had been carelessly placed on his desk, just within reach. He could've been taken hostage as well (No one would dare send a curse if there was a chance Harry Potter would be hit).
But Draco did nothing of the sort.
He politely went back to his cage as soon as they felt the Dementors coming to escort him to Azkaban, bringing their terrible cold to the Ministry. (Several people had still not gotten used to them and fainted on the way.)
That was the last Harry saw of him. Until now.
He entered the cell, forehead creased. With one wave of his wand, the wastes that had accumulated over the months, and the lingering stink, vanished.
The occupant was sitting on one corner of the stone-slab-bed, head pressed to his knees, seemingly unaware of what was happening. His hands, the only part visible aside from his straggly, matted hair, were pale and bony.
"I don't have much time, the Ministry wasn't too keen to let me come here," He spoke in a little more than a whisper. "But I had to come, to tell you something. I owe you that much." He tried to smile at the motionless figure shrouded in oversized ragged robes, but it came out pained. "I'm…getting married..."
He thought he saw Malfoy's head jerk but it was so fast that it might not have happened at all. "It's for convenience actually, some stupid stunt to strengthen our international alliance. Neville tried to persuade me not to do it but I figured, 'hey, I'll never get married otherwise. It might as well be for a purpose'. She's gorgeous and kind and we get along alright. Both of us harbor no illusions that we're…in love…no way…"
Harry shivered. Even with his cloak on, it was still quite nippy. Quickly, he took off the forest green muffler around his neck, expanded it and levitated it towards Draco.
"It'll be nothing compared to what we had."
Hours after Harry had gone, when night had already fallen and everything was bathed in pitch darkness, a slim white hand reached for the blanket.
Warmth. How he wished he could remember the times when the same soothing sensation was always there…to comfort, to reassure, to simply be there. But of course he couldn't remember, the Dementors sucked them dry out of him.
I made my choice, Harry, and must now face the consequences. I already lost my family, my future and you. Don't strip me of the little dignity I have left, please.
End. Happy Christmas!