a/n:

I've been bad, I know. I have my reasons for posting so late, of course, but I won't bore you with them and will instead humbly apologize and hope you guys accept it. This one's longer in exchange for the wait time, and I hope to have another one up soon. But that brings me to an important question, seeing as this month and part of next will be throwing my schedule 100% off: would you guys rather shorter, more frequent chapters or longer, less frequent ones? I'd love it if you could let me know as an aside in the next review you leave, or PM me with an answer if you're shy.

Thank you to Wowom and Sissysbuddy for being so supportive and patient, and thanks to the rest of you for much the same!

~ Anna (insert disclaimer about owning nothing here)

It wasn't hard to tell why Frank Kerrigan's specialty was Azkaban. He seemed like the perfect person to diminish a criminal's will to live before they even set foot near Dementors. As he loomed over us in the Ministry Atrium, looking very much like an Engorgio-ed Goyle, I almost felt like I was walking to my own incarceration.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, as I stumbled over the hem of Malfoy's cloak.

"Personal bubble, Zabini," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

I had been subconsciously plastering myself to his side ever since I laid eyes on our 'tour guide', and although it had started off innocuously enough, I may as well have been living inside his cloak by the time we reached the security desk.

"Sorry," I whispered back, quietly enough for only him to hear. "It's just … I can feel him breathing on me."

"That's what he does. Get used to it."

I swallowed nervously and took my wand back from the wizard at the security desk. As we passed it, I went for the elevators out of habit, only to be redirected firmly by the elbow.

"Pay attention, would you?" snapped Malfoy. "I'm not going looking for you if you end up getting yourself lost in bloody Azkaban of all places."

We passed through six archways before ending up in a tiny room, barely fit for two. I was sandwiched uncomfortably between Malfoy and our lumbering escort, and once again found myself gravitating towards the former.

"Zabini," he breathed barely-discernibly into my ear, as the room began to move backwards.

"What, Malfoy?"

"You're … pressing into certain things."

I cringed and tried to move away, but judging by his growl of protest, it wasn't helping. And so I stayed pressed into 'things' for the entirety of the ride, until the moving room stopped.

Two things told me we'd reached the prison: the smell of filth and the sudden, crippling indifference I felt towards living. As the door opened to reveal a tunnel lit by torches of blue flame, I could barely push my legs to go onwards.

"Get it together and keep your wand out," hissed Malfoy as he nudged me forward. We were led through the tunnel by Kerrigan, who paused at every corner to check for Dementors.

"Barely any guards left," he said gruffly. "Guess they all left for greener pastures, kind of like your father tried to do. Only difference is he failed."

Malfoy sneered, but before he could think of doing something stupid with his wand, both mine and his flew out of our hands and into Kerrigan's.

"This'll be the room. Enjoy your goodbyes, kids."

I stood in front of a heavy door with a slit of metal bars at the top, through which only someone much taller than me could see.

"You're not coming?" I asked anxiously. It was the first time I'd spoken directly to him.

"Don't you worry, little lady; I have ears and eyes all over this place. Any funny business in that room means you and your boyfriend get thrown into the cell above it."

Malfoy scowled and turned to walk in, before his eyes slipped to mine. He stopped uneasily by the door. "Are you …?" The question seemed to stick in his throat, and I couldn't blame him; it was probably the first time in his life that he had thought to ask me it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I said, with my voice scratchy and my mouth parched.

Malfoy nodded mutely and pushed open the door to reveal a windowless room, with a table in the corner behind which his father sat. Or the remnants of him, anyway. He was almost worse than Skeeter had described him in her column. But even as his hair hung oily and limp, and the outline of a bad tattoo jutted from his neck (Prisoner 73027), Lucius Malfoy held his head like a king.

When he saw his son, he gave a small nod of pseudo-approval. And then he saw me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself grounded.

"Ah, little Heidi," he said softly; almost mockingly. "You've come to visit."

"Something like that," I replied, hoping the weakness in my voice was subtle.

He gestured to a chair, and I flinched from the suddenness of the motion. I saw Malfoy stiffen on my right and flicker his gaze between his father and me. He looked all too aware of the tension.

"Well have a seat, dear girl. Robert wouldn't be too impressed if I put his daughter through any sort of … discomfort."

Malfoy got up and mechanically pulled out a chair for me. I stared at him, staying stuck on the spot until he gave the tiniest nod of assurance.

"Very good, Draco," remarked his father. "We mustn't be rude to girls."

I'd sat at the same table as Lucius Malfoy many times, but never had I felt so drained. Somewhere inside me, I knew all I wanted was to go home. But that somewhere was buried under a deep desire to drop my head down and let the life seep out of me. After all, there was no point to going home; there was no happiness at home … in fact, there was no happiness at all… but maybe death would do the trick. Maybe if I just lowered my head and waited, it would come …

Just as I began to yield to my drawn-out, anticlimactic demise, a rattling got me to look up. A hooded figure was swirling above a glowing barrier, occasionally trying to plunge through with its scabby hands. The sight of it reminded me to fight.

"You've been good to your mother, I hope," said Lucius, his attention now fully on his son.

"Yes, Father."

"And how is your … schooling coming along? You've been working hard?"

"Yes, Father."

"You must remember your deadlines at all times, Draco. They will creep up on you if you are not careful. If you need anything, Severus will help. He is … well-versed in the things that it takes to excel in this field."

I frowned as I listened. Since when was Snape a knowledgeable Healer?

But Malfoy seemed to understand the subtleties of this, for he once again said, "Yes, Father," before rotating to me. "I need a minute, Zabini."

"And where am I supposed to go?" I retorted.

"The other side of the chamber would be just fine," Lucius said cordially.

I curled my fingers into fists and stood up, swaying slightly on shaking knees. The visiting chamber was big enough that I heard nothing but muted whispers coming from the table on the other side of the room. I didn't know what the two Malfoys were talking about, and I didn't care. Dumbledore was wrong. There was nothing in this for me.

After what seemed like hours of back and forth whispers, with Kerrigan peering through the bars on the top of the door the whole time, and the Dementor above us swirling from corner to corner, Malfoy got up from the table and came over to me.

"Are we leaving?" I asked urgently, resisting the temptation to grab onto him for balance, and perhaps even some sick form of comfort.

"He wants to talk to you, Zabini," he said quietly, like he was waiting for an explosion on my end.

"What? Alone?"

Malfoy nodded. My stomach, which was already in all kinds of turmoil, plummeted faster.

"About wh-"

"I have no idea, Zabini," he said.

I swallowed down bile.

"Look … like I said before, I won't force you. But it sounds important."

"I see we're still holding a grudge, little Heidi," called Lucius from the table. "I must say I find it rather childish."

I clenched my fists and stalked over to him, leaving Malfoy in the corner.

"Come, now, I'm giving you a chance to realign yourself with the correct side," said Lucius softly as I sat down. "Our little hiccough last year was … unfortunate. I apologize if I scared you."

"Scared me? You tried to kill me!"

His eyes darkened. "Do not make a scene in front of my son. What happened last year was nothing personal. I suggest you treat it as such."

I sprang from the chair, seeing nothing but red.

"Oh, no, Mr. Malfoy. It was very personal," I said, gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling. The fact that I felt anything through the numbing effects of Dementors was a short-lived miracle. As I backed away with a stumble, the miracle faded.

Malfoy was waiting for me, looking steady on his feet.

"C-can we please go?" I said, shivering violently and not bothering to hide it. "P-please, Malfoy, I've … I've had enough."

He sighed. "Yeah, Zabini, alright. I just need one second."

Malfoy strode over to his father, who got up at the sight of his son. Without warning, the two locked into a hug. I felt like I was watching something from a parallel universe; a hallucination perhaps, or some statistically impossible otherworldly event. Surely Draco and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't hug to say goodbye. It was so … normal.

Only when they let go did I release the breath I was holding. And with the breath left a little bit – the tiniest bit – of my resentment towards Lucius Malfoy. As twisted and callous as the man was, he cared for his son. And that was better than nothing.

I wondered if this was what Dumbledore had given the grand title of 'closure'.

"Don't you have something to say to me, Heidi?" drawled Lucius as he took notice of me once more.

"Uh … I …"

All of the things I wanted to spew at him, all of the pent-up anger that I swore I would unleash the next time I saw him, stayed firmly locked inside. Because as Lucius was looking expectantly at me, Malfoy was looking tensely at him as if he was trying to make sure he wouldn't forget his own flesh and blood when he left. Who was I to encroach on an already crumbling family portrait? I was just a girl with a grudge.

I cleared my throat.

"Good luck, Mister Malfoy."

Malfoy looked at me with a raised eyebrow, while his father smirked.

"Oh, I won't be needing it. But thank you."

Suddenly, the barrier between the Dementor and us dropped. I watched in apprehension as the creature glided smoothly to the floor. It moved on Lucius Malfoy at first, then raised its hooded head like a wolf sniffing the air for prey. I must have changed its mind.

A hollow wail travelled through my ears, growing and growing as it settled in my head. I squeezed my hands over my ears, but it was fruitless; the sound was coming from within me. The creature made me watch it all – everything I didn't ever want to see again. I watched Hermione tumble down, cursed by a Death Eater. I saw Neville with his bloody nose, felt my dismay that this was how I would remember my friends: broken and bloody. I heard my prayer to my parents, and witnessed death – my very first death – as Sirius fell through the veil. And when it stopped, I found myself surrounded once more by the smell of spiced Amber.

"Mwfy," I mumbled.

"Zabini, you're drooling on my cloak."

I ran a clammy hand over my mouth and realized he was right. I lifted my head from his shoulder. My eyes ached from blinding sunlight. We were on a street bench, though which street was beyond me.

"Wh…where…?"

"Muggle London," he said in disdain. He looked at me and snorted. "What an absolute genius our headmaster is, wouldn't you agree? I mean, of all possible people he could have gotten to accompany me, he enlisted the fainting wonder. I swear, you and Potter-"

"Malfoy, you're all puffy and red. Have you been …?"

"No, Zabini, I have not 'been' anything. If I'm red it's because you weigh about a thousand pounds and that Ministry dunce was too busy trying to produce a Patronus to help lug you out of prison."

"Why didn't you just cast a spell to levitate me?"

"No magic outside of school," he mumbled bitterly, wiping his nose with the back of his leather glove.

I blinked at him deliriously, then announced my need for chocolate.

"Are you bloody kidding me? Did you not hear me tell you that you weigh a million-"

"Don't exaggerate, Malfoy: you said thousand. And how can you be that weak anyway? You play Quidditch for Merlin's sake."

"Used to," he muttered.

"What?"

"I quit the team."

"Why!" I gasped.

"Well, after how stunningly well the last match went for me, I decided I couldn't take any more risks."

"That was reckless of you, you know. Flying when you knew you had that thing on your forearm," I said.

"Won't be a problem now. Harper's flying for me in the next match. Thankfully, that was pretty much the last thing I even remotely enjoyed doing."

I frowned.

"How is that good, Malfoy?"

"Nothing left to lose now, is there?" he said with a shrug.

Something in my heart dropped for him.

"That is incredibly depressing."

He turned to me with a half-smirk.

"What can I say, Zabini? I am incredibly depressed."

I didn't have it in me to laugh at that, and he exchanged his half-smirk for a burdened grimace too. Before I realized what I was doing, I reached out my arm and, very stiffly, patted him on the head.

"Zabini, what are you…"

"There, there."

"I'm not a cat!" he snapped.

"Oh, I would never touch a cat," I remarked as I continued patting him.

He flinched. "I dunno how you think this feels, but it doesn't feel good."

I grinned at him as he caught my hand and threw it off in mild annoyance.

"We should get chocolate," I suggested.

"From where? We have to be at King's Cross in an hour. That imbecile won't be taking us back. Told us to walk the whole way."

I shrugged mock-innocently. "Oh, I dunno … maybe that place-"

"No-"

"That we snuck off to-"

"No-"

"In the summer of Second year, when you took a momentary break from being a prat."

"Zabini, that's a Muggle chocolate shop," he said with a disgust-laden voice. "I only went there out of sheer desperation. I mean, they had us in a museum of all places; I was twelve and momentarily insane from the boredom."

I sighed sharply and annoyingly. "But you're in Muggle London now; you may as well get Muggle chocolate. And anyway, you just came in contact with a Dementor. You need it for your health."

"What happened to you not caring about my health because I'm 'one of them' now? That was nice, Zabini, let's go back to it."

I looked at him pensively.

"I never told anyone. Just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'd give you a prize, but I'm thinking that had more to do with the fact that I'd have killed you if you did."

"Look, I'll keep it quiet as long as it's just … just an ugly tattoo you got. But the minute someone gets hurt, Malfoy, I don't care if you kill me or not," I declared.

"Alright, Zabini," he said with an unaffected shrug.

"I'm not done!"

He gestured dramatically for me to continue, then crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. I cleared my throat.

"I just want you to know, Malfoy, that I refuse to raise my wand against you in battle. On principle."

"…Huh?"

"It's what he wants," I continued, feeling the beginnings of a long-held-back rant. "And I won't do it."

"What are you going on about now, Zabini?" Malfoy drawled.

"Voldemort, Malfoy! I'm going on about Voldemort!" I exclaimed, ignoring his flinch. A couple of passing Muggles turned back to look at us. "Haven't you thought about what any of this means for us?"

He crossed his arms, nostrils flaring. "I'm sorry, Zabini. Between putting my mother in rehab and trying to get my father out of prison, I must have forgotten to consider how my choices would affect that other Zabini. You know, the extra one that I barely talk to and don't at all care about."

"I'm not an 'extra Zabini'! I'm the directly involved Zabini who now has to keep a massive secret from everyone she loves so that some Slytherin git comes out of this alive! So cooperate, would you?" I huffed.

He rolled his eyes and, upon realizing I wouldn't take no for an answer, yielded.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Twenty minutes later, we were back on the same bench with a box of chocolate truffles each.

"I asked my father about what you said he did," Malfoy began, taking a bite of a truffle so dark it looked to be pure cocoa.

"Did he admit it?"

"It doesn't matter," he said unwaveringly.

"No, I guess it doesn't," I admitted, brushing chocolate dust off my hands.

"It does leave me with one question though: why the hell are your parents still friends with mine?"

I snorted. "Beats me, Malfoy."

"I'm serious, Zabini. I need to understand."

I sighed and put my box down.

"They're still friends because I didn't tell them that it had been your father. I told them it was a Death Eater I didn't know. What I did was hard enough on them, I didn't want them to feel guilty. I should never have been there that night."

He nodded. "Makes sense."

I went back to my box of truffles, only to discover a pale hand already in it. I slapped it away, like I'd done over three years ago.

"Mine are disgusting. They're burning my mouth," he explained, reaching for them once more. I moved them away.

"I told you not to get the ones with chili pepper, didn't I? And then you argued with me for ten minutes even though I was the one nice enough to buy you chocolate with the last of my Muggle money. Well now you made your bed, Malfoy, so lie in it."

He rolled his eyes. "It's chocolate."

"No, it's a symbol of all your bad decisions," I nagged. I paused to think for a moment. "Hey, Malfoy, does your father know that I'm aware of your … leanings … in the war?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course not. If he did, he'd have…"

"He'd have what?"

Malfoy looked at me seriously. "Well, Zabini … I think he'd have wanted you dead."

And because no one we knew was there to watch us, and because we were both cold and tired and sick of the depression that had slowly crept in, we let ourselves laugh at the absurdity of it all.