Chapter 4 – Late Fall: Amendment
Draco
Dementors.
As much as I would never admit it to anyone, the dementors scare me as much as they do Potter. Their hooded faceless faces staring down at you, their bony fingers reaching, their gaping, soul sucking mouths just waiting to get a hold of your shiny little fragments of life that you keep chained away. I don't trust them. I never have. Not when I got here. Not now.
The sub-freezing temperature of my holding cell alerts me to their presence long before their ragged breathing and hands hitting up against the indestructible metal bars. I am sitting, tensed, waiting, long before they can catch me by surprise. I have vowed to never sleep in their presence, a vow I have done admirably at keeping, and plan to continue. I have no control when I am unconscious, and trust a filthy soul sucking demon to take full advantage of that. So I wait.
A rattle of bones and metal alert me to some change in their movement. They have stopped outside my cell. The reason is unknown to me, and I am immediately suspicious to their intentions. Surely they would have told me if I were being Kissed? Surely my last meal wouldn't have been tasteless gruel? Surely I would have gotten a final owl or floo? Nevertheless emotions win over logic every time. I begin to feel the bubble of panic rising in my chest, threatening to spill out with every exhale.
The door creaks open forebodingly and I am left with no protection against the skeletal horrors. One sticks its emotionless, featureless head, through the doorway and beckons me silently. I rise on instinct, numb. I follow, but not closely for fear of being overwhelmed by the dementors emotional power. I am painfully aware of the dementor following behind me. We proceed down the frigid pitch dark hallway to a large wooden door. The dementor ahead of me slides a key into a thick metal padlock and pushes the door open. It beckons me into the room on the other side of the door.
The room is unsurprisingly empty. The fireplace flares to life, sputtering green flames at me. Admittedly I am startled. The voice in the fireplace is one I have never heard before, but it issues me instructions. I am to open the letter that sits on the window ledge and follow it's instructions. After barking orders and warnings at me for several minutes, the voice bid me goodbye.
The letter itself was the most shocking of all events of the day.
Draconis Lucius Malfoy,
It has been five long years since the end of The Great War. We, the ministry, have at this time, decided to re-evaluate the actions of individuals convicted in the war. We hope to amend any mistakes we might have made in our hasty arrests and convictions. Considering your arrest status, and the fact that you were placed into Azkaban Detention Centre rather reluctantly by some parties, we have decided that your case will be the first to be reviewed. On this 27th day of November you will be escorted to the Wizengamot courts. Please be prepared for a long arduous process, and be aware that this does not ensure your release. Best of luck.
Regards
Your Minister for Magic
Kingsley Shacklebot
What. The. Bloody. Fuck.
What does this mean?
I'm being retried?
Does this mean I might finally get out of this hell hole? Does that mean you're going to be there? I'm going to get to see you one more time.
A clock on the wall screamed the time and a large man walked in the door. He gave me a once over and stalked over to the fireplace. He grabbed a large handful of floo powder and handed it to me. He shoved me roughly towards the open hearth. This was it. The day I have been waiting for, for over five years. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, yelling:
"Wizengamot Courts"
