AN: Happy New Years Eve! Hopefully 2021 treats you all the way you deserve. This chapter is almost late because it was kinda hard to write, Draco's perspective was just not coming easily to me today. Poor Draco, I really can't let him have a win, can I?

And to everyone who commented about Ella and Widget, thank you! Ella won't be appearing again, she was just a wise drunk girl who offered weirdly accurate advice. Widget, however, will keep appearing even though I'm not entirely sure how important he/she will be... Anyway, happy Thursday, happy New Years, and happy 2021! May the new year be filled with wonderful surprises and success.

-..-

The trek up to the front gate felt miles long. Draco pulled his cloak tighter around himself to try and fight off the icy wind, but it seemed to cut straight through to his bones. His nose burned from the salty sea air, and he told himself it was the chill and not fear that caused his body to tremble. Azkaban had always been a formidable sight, but knowing what lay in wait for him behind it's unforgiving stone walls made it even more sinister.

He inhaled a deep breath to try and clear his mind, his occlumency shields falling into place with an iron will and calming the whirlwind of panicked thoughts circling his mind. Give him twenty minutes, he thought, and you can be enjoying dinner with Hermione in a Merlin-blessed warm restaurant. Just twenty minutes.

As the auror at the front gate scanned his wand and verified his identity, Draco felt a twinge of sympathy. No one could pay him enough to stand in the cold for hours on end. He nodded his appreciation and entered the prison. Draco huffed in frustration and buried his hands deeper into his cloak pockets. He had forgotten that the inside of the fortress was just as cold and heartless as the island it was built on. Regretting his decision to forgo wearing a scarf and cursing the man who summoned him to such a Salazar-forsaken place, Draco walked the familiar path through the depths of the winding hallways. Although dementors were no longer used as prison guards, the prison itself was still functioning and used to house the prisoners that remained from the war with Voldemort.

Buried in the depths of the prison were the worst Death Eaters and prisoners of war, and his appointment brought him to the hall containing cells of Voldemort's most loyal followers. Draco stopped before the last door on the right and steeled himself for what lay beyond the sealed door.

There was a scuffle of movement in the darkness before him, and he caught a glimpse of tattered stripes moving through the singular stream of sunlight illuminating the cell. His face remained carefully impassive as he took in the withered appearance of the once great man held within.

"Hello, Father."

The once aristocratic face of Lucius Malfoy twisted into a cruel, hollow smile. "Draco, my son." His voice was hoarse from what Draco assumed was years of screaming his indignation at the Azkaban guards.

Disgust settled deep in Draco's stomach as he gazed at his father's haggard appearance. Thin and frail, Lucius was a far cry from the highborn pureblood he had once been.

Lucius leaned against the barred window of his cell and gave Draco a critical once over. "Don't you look… muggle," he rasped with a sneer.

Draco did in fact look quite muggle. He had worn blue jeans and a casual shirt from some random muggle shop beneath his robes specifically to anger his father, and he was satisfied to know it was working. "Yes, I've decided to try and repair our family name." He clenched his fists tightly in his pockets and forced himself to meet Lucius' gaze. "I have approached new forms of business in the muggle world," he said. His lips twisted into an irritated grimace and he added, "After all, no wizard will do business with Malfoy Co. anymore."

His father sneered, his prominent cheekbones and sunken face making the expression look ghastly. "How quaint," he said. "Doing business with muggles and saving the family name. You have grown into quite the philanthropist."

"Why did you call me here, Lucius?"

Lucius grinned at Draco's frustrated tone of voice and said, "I have called you here as my heir to ask a favor of my dearest son."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "After everything you've done, what gives you the right to ask me for anything?"

Lucius's laugh was derisive and rasped painfully from his throat. "After everything you have been through," he murmured, "how dare I? After raising you in a life of luxury and giving you everything your silly little heart could desire, how dare I?"

His palms ached, and Draco was sure his nails would pierce the skin if he clenched his fists any tighter. He tried to reign in the rage burning in his chest. He refused to give his father the satisfaction of knowing he could still anger him. "Get to the point," he said through gritted teeth, "or I will leave."

"I humbly ask you, my dearest son," Lucius said with the still mocking sneer, "to assist me in a mutually beneficial endeavor. You see, I too wish to revive our tarnished family name and restore it to its original position of honor amongst the Old Families."

Draco slowly and pointedly looked around Lucius' cell, then to the locked door, then to his father's decrepit form. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

Lucius grinned viciously through the bars of his cell, and the cruelty in his eyes sent chills down Draco's spine. "We rally the troops, of course."

"The troops," Draco echoed quietly. "The troops which are, in case you failed to notice, imprisoned in the cells around you." He could feel the rage building inside him as he spoke; his hands began to shake with the force of it. "The troops with have failed in, not one, but two wars that nearly brought our entire world to its knees." He met Lucius' cold gaze with vicious hatred in his eyes and asked, "Those troops?"

Rather than looking angry as Draco had expected, Lucius merely clicked his tongue and shook his head as though disappointed. As though Draco had missed something obvious. "No, Draco, not them." He waved his hand dismissively and muttered, "Those fools are quite useless now."

Draco clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to say, 'And you aren't?'

"The troops we need have been in contact," Lucius said cryptically. "Due to my unfortunate circumstances, I will need you to meet with them on my behalf."

"How the bloody hell have you been contacting them," Draco demanded. "You're in a high security prison."

"Language," Lucius admonished, "and I have my ways. You of all people should know that."

Draco shoved aside the twisted panic that rose in his chest at the reminder of the sort of things Lucius Malfoy was capable of. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Instead he asked, "Who are they?"

Lucius smiled slyly. "All in good time, my son."

Draco fought against the bile in his throat. He wanted to yell, to throw curses, and to tell this man that he had long ago lost the right to call him son. But the words were stuck in his chest alongside his cowardice and dashed hopes.

"For now," Lucius said, oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil. "For now, you shall wait. Continue to build our assets and return our family name to its former glory by whatever means necessary. When the time is right, I will call for you again. You will stand by my side as before and assist us in ushering in the era of the Old Families once more. Voldemort was too abrasive, lacking in the cunning ways of Salazar that can be so vital in a societal upheaval. We will not make the same mistakes again."

Draco fled Azkaban.

He scarcely remembered the journey between his father's cell and his flat, but when he finally landed, he vomited. He stared blankly at the mess in his floor and wiped absentmindedly at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The words of his father played through his mind in an endless, jumbled loop. The promises, the insinuations, the horrible unspoken promise.

A scream of anger ripped itself from his lungs so violently that he fell to his knees, the sound of his rage reverberating off the silencing wards on his walls. Waves of emotions crested through him too quickly for him to control or suppress. Anger. Disappointment. Overwhelming fear.

He curled in on himself, the cool temperature of the floor against his face doing little to calm him. His breathing was ragged, shredding his throat in wheezing pants that caused his heartbeat to thunder in his ears.

Everything he had run from. Everything he had left behind. Everything he had suffered and buried in his past.

His father wanted to…

He vomited again.

Through the chaos of his thoughts and the roaring in his ears, Draco was deaf to the sound of his fireplace igniting. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders - he hadn't realized he was shaking - and heard the soft sound of Pansy shushing him. She rocked him gently back and forth, murmuring words of comfort he could barely hear and stroking his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep the emotions locked inside.

His fireplace lit again and spat out Blaise and Theo.

Pansy must have called them.

How long had he been in the floor?

He vaguely felt them help him to his feet and over to the couch, the feeling of their hands on his arms and shoulders so distant. He was falling into himself. Into that dark pit inside that threatened to swallow him whole. He almost wanted to let it.

Draco fell gratefully into the cushions of his sofa and listened to the muffled voices of his friends as they discussed where he had been and how to help him. He vaguely considered telling them to clean the vomit from his floor, but it took all of his strength to stay awake. He felt a heavy weight settle over him - possibly a blanket - then his strength ebbed to its last dredges, and he allowed sleep to claim him, his dinner plans with Hermione entirely forgotten.

It took several days for Draco to return to some semblance of his normal self.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy were crucial in helping to anchor him to reality and provide stability during his emotional upheaval. They had all helped each other through so many tragedies during their school years that they had developed a routine of sorts. Pansy provided the cooking; it had been her escape growing up to help the house elves in the kitchen whenever her parents were fighting. They were always fighting.

Blaise provided the escape, knowing his mother's forgotten Italian villa would give Draco a much needed breath of fresh air, peace, and quiet. No traumatic memories were attached to the place for any of them. It was one of the few places left that they could find solitude and escape.

Theo kept Draco company and ensured he didn't spiral into another panic attack. He was able to distract him whenever the shadows loomed and thoughts of Lucius began to creep back in. He was a pillar of quiet support and had a knack for knowing just what kind of distractions Draco needed most.

Draco was comforted by the presence of his makeshift family and found the weight of his father's words lessening each day, but the small reprieve came to a screeching halt when he remembered the dinner date he had missed.

"She will flay me alive."

Pansy rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from the copy of Witch Weekly she was flipping through. "Don't be so dramatic."

Draco scrubbed his face and grumbled, "Dramatic? I asked her to dinner and then stood her up. She hasn't heard from me in days."

"It's not like you did it on purpose, mate." Blaise watched Draco pace with an amused smirk and said, "If you keep this up, you'll wear a hole in my rug. It was quite expensive, so if you don't mind -"

"Really, Zabini? You're worried about the rug?" Theo scoffed as he poured himself a glass of one of Blaise's many bottles of expensive wine.

Blaise tossed him a glare and said, "You would as well if you had bought the damn thing."

"I will buy you ten of these rugs if you can focus on the issue at hand," Draco said with a scathing look in Blaise's direction, but he had been on the receiving end of Draco's ire far too many times for it to have any effect.

"What do you want us to say," Pansy asked as she tossed aside her magazine. "You royally botched a date which I'm sure isn't a first for you. Just apologize."

Draco ignored the slight and said, "It wasn't a date." His gaze snapped up from the floor when he heard all three of his friends begin laughing uproariously.

"Not a date," Blaise wheezed as he wiped at nonexistent tears. "That's a laugh."

"It wasn't," Draco insisted. It only caused his friends to laugh harder.

"Spare us," Pansy said when had finally composed herself, though an amused grin still lingered on her lips. "We all know this was supposed to be a date. You were just too afraid to call it what it is."

Theo patted Draco on the shoulder as he passed him and joined Pansy on the couch. "It's alright to admit it, Draco. You have the hots for Hermione Granger."

Despite his best efforts, Draco's cheeks flushed slightly. "How mature," he sneered. "The hots for Granger. What are we, twelve?"

Blaise rolled his eyes and drained the rest of his wine glass. "This is dramatic, even for you. And coming from me, that says something. Quit pussy-footing around, apologize to the witch, and shag her. If she's not out of your system after that, then you fancy the bird."

Pansy scoffed in disgust and threw her magazine at Blaise. "You are the most useless man," she said. "No wonder you can't keep a witch."

"I could keep one if I wanted to," Blaise argued indignantly.

"Seems like rather flawless logic to me," Theo said.

Pansy's objections and Blaise's shouts overlapped into indecipherable nonsense that did nothing more than frustrate Draco even further. He loved his friends, but sometimes he considered the moral implications of strangling the three of them.

Just as he was considering the best location to hide the bodies, Theo slapped Blaise over the back of the head and effectively silenced the argument.

"Apologize," Pansy said firmly. She walked over to the fireplace, careful to step around the empty wine bottle on Blaise's precious rug, and frowned at each of the men. "Do nothing foolish. No flowers, no monologues, and no lies. I saw how excited she was for this dinner, and that should give you enough confidence in the fact that she will most likely forgive you." She grabbed a fistful of floo powder and muttered, "That dress was perfect, too."

"I should probably floo home as well." Theo rose from his chair and passed Blaise's his empty wine glass. "Sooner rather than later," he said with a pointed look at Draco. "I agree with Pansy, but your opportunity to ask for forgiveness is not without a time limit."

After Theo left, Blaise and Draco sat in amiable silence. Draco knew his friends were right, aside from Blaise of course. He needed to find Hermione and apologize before his opportunity passed him by, but the shadow of his visit with his father still lingered over him like distant storm clouds.

He needed to address his father's insanity before he could progress any further with his friendship with Hermione.

The quiet voice in the back of his mind reared its head at the word 'friendship' and hummed. Was that what this was? They had reintroduced themselves and agreed on a fresh start, but was friendship what he wanted? And what did Hermione call this?

Shoving the questions back into the recesses of his mind, Draco shook his head and sighed. There were too many things to worry about and not enough time in the day to worry about them. One problem at a time, he told himself. He knew what needed to be done, but Draco was beginning to feel that today would be one uncomfortable conversation after another. After making plans to meet up with Blaise later that night for drinks, Draco left through the floo.

He had considered every angle of how to deal with Lucius' plan for another reckless attempt at world domination, but the conclusion he had come to was not the one he wanted. With no small amount of annoyance Draco knocked on the office door labeled "Auror Potter". Despite having come to a peaceful armistice with his old school enemy, Draco's ego was outraged at having to ask the man for help. He attempted to swallow his displeasure as the door swung open.

Harry Potter's infamous green eyes took in the disgruntled man outside his door with an air of curiosity. "Malfoy," he greeted with a raised eyebrow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Draco released a small breath when Harry didn't immediately close the door in his face. "Evening, Potter. I'm in need of assistance in a very delicate matter."

Harry hummed as he took a step back from the doorway and gestured for Draco to enter his office. "A delicate matter?"

Giving the contents of the office a cursory glance Draco took a seat across from Harry's desk. He noted the lack of pictures and memorabilia with a sliver of surprise and filed the information away for future analysis. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "It would seem Lucius has decided to revisit his old hobbies." The corner of Draco's mouth quirked up when he caught Harry rolling his eyes.

"I swear, the amount of persistence is almost admirable." Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, but when he saw Draco's raised eyebrow he emphasized, "Almost. It's borderline sad, really. What convoluted plan has he concocted now?"

"That's the issue I came to discuss." Draco shifted in his seat and chose his words carefully. "Lucius claims to have a contact outside of Azkaban that is capable of rallying troops. He has decided that his dearest son shall redeem the family name and spearhead the third, and clearly successful, attempt at asserting the dominance of the Old Families over the wizarding world."

Harry almost laughed at the dramatic flair Draco gave Lucius' words. Almost. The threat of Death Eaters rising again and reattempting to overthrow the British Wizarding Government was all too real and had been the source of a three year long headache. Most of the stragglers from the Final Battle had been rounded up and sent to Azkaban within months of the death of Voldemort, but the few that remained were to be tracked down by Harry and his team. Adding an already imprisoned Death Eater to the list seemed… unnecessary.

"I understand being concerned about your father considering he was one of Voldemort's Inner Circle members, but there's not much he can do from inside a prison cell." Harry jotted down a few notes on a roll of parchment on his desk and added, "There is no possible way for him to contact anyone outside of the prison without alerting the guards and aurors."

Draco knew this would be the response he would receive from any other auror which was why he had gone straight to Harry. Sure enough, after a lengthy pause full of note taking and mumbling, Harry resolutely met his gaze.

"I'll look into it. I can't promise I'll find anything," he warned, "but I can promise to keep an eye on things in case anything develops."

"That's all I ask." Draco stood and shook Harry's hand but paused before he left the office. This was a gamble, but if anyone would be able to give him sound advice, it just might be Harry. "Another question, if you have a moment." He hesitated but still asked, "Hypothetically speaking, if… if you accidentally stood a woman up for dinner because of a… delicate, personal matter, would you explain to her why you weren't able to attend? Or would you merely apologize and leave it at that?"

Harry stared at him for several tense minutes with unreadable eyes, long enough that Draco began to consider leaving the office without his answer. Finally, Harry said, "I would suggest doing both." He spoke slowly, and a slight frown marred his brow. "If you don't explain yourself, she'll think you blew her off. If she hasn't punched you yet, then apologize. Profusely. Grovel, but don't over-explain or it comes across as insincere." He adjusted his glasses and leveled Draco with a calculating, warning look and added, "And never lie. She hates it when you lie."

Before Draco could respond, Harry had shut the office door and left him alone in the hallway with his thoughts. Draco began to walk towards the atrium, mulling over Harry's advice and considering the implication behind the words. He was just as confused when he arrived at the floo network. "Surely he doesn't," Draco muttered to himself before shaking his head firmly. There was no way the Witless Wonder knew who he had been talking about.