Hermione flicked her wrist at the burner as her other hand worked the magic out of her hair, her long curls relaxing as desperately as she wanted to. She moved towards her favoured cabinet with a light 'hum', pulling down her jar of Kenyan black tea as the water boiled in the pot. She'd had a long day, shrugging out of her outer cloak, and was ready for this cup to pour its calm into her.
She prepared her tea with a tired smile, ripping the pot off the heat as soon as it whistled and settled into the chair by her discarded bag and cloak at the kitchen table. The world had been looking brighter recently. She didn't know if it had to do with the brilliant lights and happy energy the Christmas Holiday brought with it or if it was something else, but she was loving it. Everything just tasted a little sweeter these days, glowed a little brighter, made her a little happier.
A month had passed since she had sent Papillion to Malfoy, and their correspondence had only increased in frequency and length. What had started as cool indifference had seamlessly shifted into literary dialogue, then emotional unloading, and finally a constant discussion of any topic either one would propose. It was easy, effortless in nature, and left her with a large grin each time. So saying she was eager for each letter was an understatement these days.
At the reminder of Malfoy, she set her teacup down, liquid sloshing from side to side as she rummaged about her bag to extract a letter she received from him earlier that day. She had scolded herself at the excitement she felt when his name appeared in her overflowing inbox in her office. They were friends now, and there was nothing to be enthusiastic over.
However, looking down at the familiar penmanship, she couldn't stop her heart from leaping with emotion from his name alone.
Biting her cheek to stop from grinning, she tore the side of the envelope and started reading. She was very curious to know if he had enjoyed the last book she sent him, yes, but she was also eager to see what else he had to say.
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Granger,
Instead of continuing our discussion of Elf Rights, I promised in my previous letter that I wouldn't get distracted. I owe you a review of your book.
So here it is:
Let me start off by commending you for the power you hold at the Ministry. How on earth did you manage to get this book to me before it could be destroyed? It could have been perceived as a secret key for me to escape one night. It looks like someone is very important out there.
You must be eagerly waiting to know my opinion of the Henri Charriere adventure. Let me start by saying he must have been a Wizard. That or he was a cat in his previous life and still blessed with nine-lives in this one. Because believe me, Granger, he would have sorely needed them all. Nine death-defying escapes spanning 11 years? I'd like to see you convince me that a muggle wouldn't have died a hundred deaths whilst also going around the bend.
Throughout the events of the book, it read both as an adventure story of high thrills and tensions and a savagely graphic account of the misery and inhumanity of the French Penal system. It took me a moment after finishing the book to come to the realisation that this world we live in is huge and that anything is possible. It is a testament to the human spirit on a grander level and our will to survive. Thank you for this, I have truly enjoyed every page.
I must admit I am a fan of humour, but I think you're being sarcastic.
Why escape? Were you trying to equip me with inspiration for getting out of Azkaban? I doubt Potter would like that.
Or did you lend me the book so that I can escape and meet with you? Was this your way of ensuring your precious book is returned to you safe and sound? Or perhaps, you wanted to see me and confirm I am unharmed, safe, and sound. I must say that I'm intrigued by this other side of you, Granger.
Her eyes widened as her mouth hung open at his words. She felt a warmth settle on the back of her neck, slowly creeping up her cheeks as she re-read the last paragraph and bit her lip.
Was Malfoy flirting with her? Did she like it?
No, he would never, at least not to her of all people. He was probably trying to get a rise out of her like he always did, but this time his banter felt different. There was an edge of teasing he hadn't used before that had her squirming in her seat. Hermione was not used to people openly flirting with her and pushed the thought to one side as she returned to the letter.
What an adventure it would be if I could escape from these four walls before my time was up. Would you meet me and keep me hidden if I did?. Speaking of adventure, now that I have finally finished this one, can you recommend any others to keep me sane here at Azkaban while I wait out the days since I don't intend to escape? The books here still haven't been changed. That's why I am entrusting my entertainment to the only bookworm I know; you.
"WHAT!" she bellowed, making her familiar—who she hadn't noticed was in the kitchen—hiss and saunter away. She slammed down the letter and summoned her bag, pulling out a pen and paper. Hermione aggressively demanded the Warden adhere to the book schedule—again; it seemed that they had not taken her last letter into serious consideration. Folding the letter and tucking it neatly back in her briefcase, she inhaled deeply and continued on with Malfoys letter, her anger slowly dissipating.
I know we have discussed meeting once I am out of here, so I think it'd be best if I held onto your beloved books until I am free. That way, we'll get to see each other and talk about what we exchanged in the letters personally.
Christmas is coming up. Any plans with the family? As you know, mother will be coming to see me, but other than that I have very little else to look forward to. When I am sitting in this cell, I sometimes wonder how different my life would be now if I hadn't ended up here.
Have you gotten any further in your next campaign to cloth us better? How is the larger picture coming along? You keep giving me glimpses of your long-term goals but you know I'd be happy to assist with intel if you gave me some more details.
I hope you're doing well and staying warm, Granger.
D.M.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
She put his letter back inside the envelope, grabbed a quick snack, and took herself and her things upstairs, eager to tuck herself away in bed with a paper and pen. She was eager to respond right away that her current temperament reflected the happiness his letter had inspired. With every letter she crafted, it had become easier for Hermione to open up to him. A strange warmth overwhelmed her.
As Hermione wrote, she realised how badly she wanted to place a face with his letters and stopped to try and capture a mental image of him as she considered what else to respond but came up short. She had all but briefly looked at him during his trial, and Hermione shook her head at that memory. No, he wasn't that sneering blond boy spouting ugly words at her anymore, and the proof lay on her desk.
Nibbling on her lower lips, she hoped that Draco was only flirting and wouldn't take her recommendation as anything more than a good read. However, she briefly wondered what he would look like if he escaped from Azkaban.
She shook her head, erasing those thoughts and sealing the envelope as she headed to her small library to select a new book. Stopping at The Handmaid's Tale, she plucked it off the shelf and set it down with the envelope on top, ready to be sent off tomorrow at the Ministry.
Noticing it was past midnight, she climbed back into her cosy bed, and her eyes slowly began to close, images of deep grey eyes overwhelming her subconscious.
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When Hermione arrived at her office the next day, she fully intended to set her things down and march to the mailing office, eager to send her small package to Azkaban. However, as soon as she entered her office, she was swarmed with paperwork to read and runes to translate that needed her immediate attention.
Finally, when the hour hand on the twelve alerted her that it was time to take her lunch, Hermione's steps were heavy as she finally made her way to deliver the parcel, her stomach swimming with nerves. Perhaps it was because the letter in her hand had a more personal touch to it than any in the past. Sure, they had spoken of current feelings and philosophised topics larger than themselves, but this felt different. She didn't know why, but his latest letter had urged her to tell him more about herself. Right now, however, she was worried that he might judge the decision she made on behalf of her parents. As her fist tightened around the book's binding, she realised she was also worried that her new reading recommendation—which was a special book for Hermione—would seem foolish to him.
Whatever it was—be it their ugly history or the topic of discussion this round—Hermione was feeling decidedly unsure of herself and hoped he'd maintain the kindness he had so far shown as he read about her family.
Lost in her thoughts as she approached the counter, she handed over the contents in her hand and paid after being reassured it was in good hands. Turning to leave, she was startled to find Harry standing behind her, eyes furrowed as he watched her carefully.
"Hermione!" His expression smoothed out when their eyes met and he gave her a lopsided grin.
"H-Harry?" She said a little nervously, shuffling her feet.
"I was calling your name. Do you want to head outside for lunch today? I just came back from the Minister's office and need to tell you all about it."
"Of course, where do you have in mind?"
"There's a small cafe tucked in the corner of Marble Arch; their tuna sandwich is delicious." He pulled his arm for her to take it. The sound of tuna made Hermione's stomach churn, but she would go to the moon just to get him out of this place without asking questions. She nodded and hooked her arm in his, walking briskly out of the Ministry.
"Why were you down at the mail office? You could've asked your assistant to do it for you," he said.
Cringing, she looked away and replied, "Important work. I didn't want my assistant to delay the drop-off. Besides, I can do things on my own, Harry."
"Alright, just making conversation." He shot her a roguish grin.
"So tell me, how was your chat with Kingsley?" She arched a questioning brow in his direction while adjusting her scarf snuggly around her neck.
"Well, unsurprisingly, it wasn't work-related. He wanted to see me personally about speaking at an event next year at the Ministry. It would be the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. I think he was trying to feel out how involved I wanted to be." She felt him slump into her and her heart stuttered at the defeated look that clouded his face.
"What's wrong?" She stopped him.
"I don't feel comfortable attending these events, Hermione. You know I prefer to be away from the attention and the press."
"Harry," she began with a sympathetic smile, "We're honouring the dead. They fought with their lives so that we could be living the lives we lead now. They fought for peace, equality and freedom. Don't you think they deserve to be celebrated for their service? This is also an event to honour the scars so many of us carry from the same war."
"You're right, and per usual, what you said was a summary of what Kings and I concluded," he sighed dejectedly. "But I told him I won't be giving any speeches; that was my only condition if he wanted my—our—attendance." Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
"You're shite at them anyways." She snuggled his arm tightly and laughed while resuming their walk towards the cafe. Harry never failed to consider her when he had to go to these events, which warmed her significantly. "I'm looking forward to seeing everyone there."
As they entered the homestyle cafe, a pleasant smell wafted toward Hermione like a snowflake carried by a gentle breeze, instantly making her mouth water.
After placing their order—a plate of fish and chips for her and the aforementioned tuna sandwich for Harry—they found an empty seat in the corner of the cafe, away from prying eyes and dug into their meals.
Taking a bite of the crispy hot chip, Hermione's mind began to wander back to Draco. How would her friends react if they knew she was speaking to Malfoy? That so much of her previous disregard for the man had bled away and she now considered him as someone who was engaging, deep, and a wizard who had been handed a shite upbringing and was now willingly paying for sins he shouldn't shoulder. What would Harry say if she told him she found Draco Malfoy interesting enough to keep up discourse and intriguing enough to make her heart beat faster with every new letter.
What would they think?
"Harry..." She had a hard time saying it, but it was too late. The words were tumbling out of her mouth before she formed the sentences in her mind, and blast it all, but she had already grabbed his attention. "If you had to give some advice, say about... dating? "
He froze, eyes trailing over her face before flashing her a huge grin.
"Why? Are you ready to date again?" He wiggled his brows.
"Maybe." She shrugged and went back to eating.
"Have you found someone?"
"Nope," she answered casually.
"You're not helping," he deadpanned.
She sighed, "If you don't have any useful advice, we can just drop this."
"Fine, fine," he cleared his throat," I would tell them that they should be honest to themselves and take their time getting to know that person well. And if that someone makes you feel special in a way, excites you, or intrigues you, well my advice would simply be, follow your heart."
Bugger, she thought. That's what she didn't want to hear.
Iron bars slamming shut behind him, Draco stumbled into his dark cell as an almost painful shiver ran up his spine, the wind's chilly greeting encapsulating his skin. No matter how much he attempted to dry his body in the showers it was never enough when he stepped back into his open space. Beads of water from his shower slowly dripped off his hair to land on his freshly changed uniform. Wrapping the scratchy blanket around him for extra warmth, he lowered himself to his seat and passed his fingers through his wet hair, shaking some of the water that lingered between his platinum hair and wincing as he combed out the knots.
He pulled out Granger's letter to pass the time before someone came to escort him to see his mother. This letter in particular only added to the mental image he had been living with of her since his last visit.
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Malfoy,
How's the cold treating you?
You made me laugh. Please do not attempt an escape. However, if you happen to accomplish it—I highly doubt you can manage it—you can find me at Grimmauld Place. I have an extra room I can hide you in. I'll be certain to turn down the sheets in anticipation of your stay; Harry says there are decent blood wards on this place and as a Black yourself you'll be in great hands here.
I hate to burst your bubble, but as much as I would like to agree with you, Henri Charrière was not a wizard. However, he may have been a cat in his previous life if only he had been the one to attempt all those escapes. Sadly, Papillon is not based on the true story of only one man. However, it does make for a thrilling adventure.
Regarding the books, I am shocked and displeased that they still haven't replaced them. I raised the issue—loudly—and demanded proof that they complied immediately. Thankfully, I was able to prove this oversight on my own and therefore had no need to use your name or allude to your information in order to file the complaint.
Feel free to let me know when they swap out your books, although I too will be keeping a close eye on the matter. I won't stop until they've done so. I'm sorry I've taken so much of this letter to discuss this, but it grates on my nerves that they can't follow simple instructions. If they thought I'd idly stand by, they have another thing coming.
I've enclosed another book along with this letter, and as usual, I await your thoughts on it.
You can joke about me campaigning for better clothes, but I'll have you know that my first attempt was simply a fabric change—something this simple was immediately tossed out. After speaking to my Director, they suggested I shift the reasons behind your uniform changes. Rather than demanding it as a basic human right, I will be coming at it from the angle of healthcare. Truly, they were so up in arms with my previously approved proposal because of the potential cost Azkaban healers could be, but this is a simple solution to keeping your body covered appropriately in such harsh conditions.
When I began implementing prison reforms, I saw early on that it wouldn't be an easy undertaking. Ultimately, change and progression are slow. I am unsure how often you receive The Daily Prophet, but I just finished doing a press release where I went into depth about my future plans. I know I have given you small morsels up to know about future changes. But at the end of this long path, there is a dire need for the wizarding world to reach into the twenty-first century and provide alternative centres for wizards, like yourself, who received lesser sentencing. Azkaban may be all we know now, but it should not be all our children or their children know. Muggles have been doing this around the world with detention centres.
And this has been difficult. As you can imagine, the individuals that I would benefit the most from in regards to support are short-sighted still and do not see the benefits of such a vast change. Institutions that would cost quite a bit upfront will ultimately be more financially beneficial down the road. For now though, since I am able to bring smaller changes to the fortress you reside in, I will keep my peace and hope that my actions and Azkaban's changes will speak for themselves, attracting the support to me that they should inspire. I don't think I need to change their traditional views for them to ultimately see how right my vision is, so for now I keep going at the slow steady pace I have been.
Plans for the upcoming holidays? I suppose I'll celebrate it like I do every year—with the Weasleys. I've been having Christmas lunch with them for years now.
I'm sure you expected me to discuss my parents. I know you have seen them before. However, they live in Australia and I have not had the chance to celebrate any holidays with them since before the war. Unfortunately, I'm not very much welcomed in their home. The topic surrounding my parents is still a sensitive one for me, but in an attempt to be more open with you as you have been with me, I will attempt to minimise my vague explanation. They are currently healing from a decision I made during the war. I've received mixed reactions from people who know the details, but I firmly stand by my decision, knowing it was the right thing to do at the time. You may understand this a bit, but I did it to keep them safe.
However, I've come to accept the consequences of my actions, and I believe time heals all wounds. If the Weasleys can still manage to find cheer as they live with their child's loss, my parents will come to forgive me one day, too. I haven't lost all hope.
His face sagged reading how Granger talked about her parents. He didn't know why but he wanted to flee this place and help her make things right. As much as he had once despised the actions of his father, he couldn't imagine both his parents not speaking to him or not wanting him as part of their lives. His jaw clenched, did her parents not know what she had done for the wizarding world? Granger was smart, and whatever reasons she had to do what she did, he was sure it was to keep them safe, he believed her wholeheartedly on that point. He would patiently wait till the day she opened up to him so he could comfort her appropriately.
I hate to end this letter on a depressing note, so I'll focus back on the best part of the holidays. It's my favourite time of year, and as much as I love to receive, I am a big giver. What would you like? Is there something particular in your mind that I can send you? Don't hesitate to tell me please, friends give, so please let me.
I also hope you're doing well there, Malfoy. Don't worry about me; worry about yourself and your sanity. It's much more important than asking how I am but rest assured I am doing well here, at least a little better than before.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
P.S. Since you once inquired about Ron and me, and I would hate to assume, do I have any angry witches to worry about if I send you a Christmas gift?
"Please," he scoffed, "Pansy would be the last before this hell hole and I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot broomstick now."
A slow smile tugged at his lips. Granger wanted to know about his dating life or lack thereof, he thought bitterly. A sense of relief washed over him as he was reminded that she and Weasley were not together. He was certain the relief came solely from the freedom and privacy writing to Granger inspired, knowing that no one would be privy to their conversations. He slammed the letter down onto his desk as a dark cloud reminded him that Granger was too good for him anyway.
He pushed away from the desk, wood scuffing against the rock as he lay on his firm bed—the springs squeaking underneath his weight—as he tried to focus on his mothers visit and not Hermione as she danced around her kitchen. Draco crossed his hands under his head, unseeing eyes on the ragged stone above him. The eerily quiet of the fortress—only interrupted by his breath—forced his mind right back to the little witch that continued to keep him up most nights.
Yes, she was too good for him, but he wouldn't stop thinking about what life could be like with her. He'd had over a month to imagine all types of domestic scenes where Granger was involved and this moment was no different. He saw himself sitting there, enjoying a cup of tea with a smirk on his face as she danced around the kitchen with the spoon. He would laugh when she begged him to join her, whining that he couldn't possibly leave such a buttery piece of apple pie alone for too long. But he wouldn't be able to resist the soft pout of her lips and the light smudge of flour on her cheek as she swayed to and fro, her hair flopping from side to side in the large top knot on her head. And just like last month when he stood stupefied by her, she would look so serene and at peace with herself that he knew he had to have her. Because even though he was becoming intimately familiar with the pain and loneliness she still carried, Draco couldn't help but yearn to be part of it; part of her world. The longer he saw her, the more he wanted them to fill each other's void.
Even before he had seen such a carefree moment, he knew his heart was in danger. The ease with which they conversed, the intelligence between her words both direct and refreshing, and how very little she let him whine and complain. Granger was a breath of fresh air, of life. She was the sunshine that rose when the real thing never seemed r to where he was. She was a buoy of kindness amongst the hostile thrashing of the Northern Sea.
Some people might say he's crazy for daydreaming about a life that was so far out of his reach, but for Draco it helped. Shutting his eyes, he let out a soft sigh to steady the rush of emotions, knowing he needed to remain calm for the upcoming hour with his mother. When he had first seen Granger in a towel, he'd had a typical male reaction. Now the longer they spoke and the more her name, words, and memories gave him respite from this horrid place, the more he longed. And that longing helped him get through the days and nights of unending grey. All he had to do at times was close his eyes and his imagings shifted from himself sitting with her nearby while she talked, read, laughed or slowly swayed to the soft music playing in the background. The more lascivious thoughts had him waking up to chocolate eyes and lazy mornings, limbs entwined and sheets twisted beneath them, skin on skin.
Yes, he wanted that and fuck, he wanted so much more.
It wasn't long before a guard broke his reverie and ushered him into the visitation room, Draco had to force himself to take slow, measured steps in his excitement to see his mother. It had been nearly a month since his mother's last visit, and he was eager to see her again. Other than Hermione, his mother was the only person with whom he frequently kept in touch.
Rounding the corner of the maze that was Azkaban's inner rooms, Draco knew Narcissa had not been an outwardly loving mother early on in his life. She was always present, but she was not one to tuck him into bed at night to read him a book, nor was she the one who played with him and kept him company as he grew. However, she was never far. While Narcissa sat nearby with her tea, the house-elves ran around with him in the gardens. And it was like that most of his life, her showing him love in her own ways, in her learned ways.
The older Draco got, the more obvious it became that his father's decision-making focus was based solely on his rankings as a Death Eater. Very little else mattered to him, as long as Lucius Malfoy didn't fall out of favour with The Dark Lord. This is when his mothers own outward demonstrations of love shifted. Although in the past it had been in the form of gifts and acquiesces to his demands, her letters became more pointed, her guidance more mature.
He was certain his mother had saved his life many times from a simple reminder to not boast so loudly about his place in the Inquisitorial Squad, reprimanding him when he didn't eat, and ultimately ensuring he didn't have to give the final death blow to the Headmaster. As early as fifth year, when they were able to sneak away from the megalomaniac and his simpering father, his mother would show her affection in how she spoke to him, held his hand, and aided him in staying calm and collected.
She was his protector.
He knew it had not been easy for his mother to deal with the consequences of being part of the Malfoy family and the subsequent aftermath of the war. Yet, she was as outwardly put together now as she had been his whole life. A true testament to resilience and change, just like Granger.
Passing through the magical blue barrier around the visitation room's rotting wooden door, Draco was immediately met with fierce blue eyes. There she was, looking as pristine as ever with her blonde hair pinned in a low chignon, clad in expensive black robes and simple diamond studs adorning her ears.
Once she had completed her assessment of him, Narcissa smiled tightly from the lone table at the centre of the room, her gaze never wavering from him, until the guard spoke, "You have one hour." He let go of Draco's arm and slammed the door behind him with a loud bang.
Draco loved his mother immensely, but they would never show that love publically. He could count on one hand the times they had hugged or said they loved each other before the war, but things drastically changed after his incarceration. He presumed to see him locked up and so out of her grasp had her shedding some of her natural hard exteriors in exchange for a connection with her child, no matter how short-lived. Now Draco looked forward to hugging his mother. He would always remind her in his letters and in person, how much he loved and appreciated her and Narcissa did the same.
Narcissa didn't waste a moment, rising elegantly and making a beeline towards him. She enveloped him in a tight hug, her hands coming up to stroke his hair back in a motherly manner.
"My dear Draco, I've missed you," she whispered against his ear. Pulling back slightly, she tilted her head," And, you smell good."
He laughed at the commentary and gestured towards the table for them to sit, only wishing for a moment he could be back in her sitting room at home.
"You look much better too. Have you been sleeping better?" Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone as she scooted her chair closer to him, her eyes filled with emotion. The heavy cloud of sadness was ever so present in their meetings, dampening the only real human contact he had being locked up in this place. Draco was never able to shake this feeling off him. No mother deserved to see their child in this state, and he wanted time to fast forward so he could finish his sentence and only inspire joy and happiness in his mother's life. Realistically, he knew his mother would still experience the sorrow she felt when visiting him again, but he would do his best to never be the cause once he was free.
She suffered enough.
Shrugging, he replied, "We're allowed weekly showers now." Inadvertently, his mind conjured an image of a head full of curls, fighting his instinct to smile." I'm fine, mother. I can't complain."
"I'm glad." Narcissa analysed her son's face again and fixed her blue eyes on him, "You look… happy."
Draco was a little surprised by the curious observation of his mother, he felt better in some ways, but happy was not the word he would think to associate with his situation.
Maybe?
"Sorry, poor choice of words," she waved her hands, "How are you doing, really? Have there been any changes beyond the weekly showers? I see you cut your hair, that must have been a relief, I know you were worried about what sort of message that would send to the old guard."
Could he not be free of her shining auburn eyes for one moment as he stared over his mother's shoulder. Everything she had been doing for the prison had been well received by him, but he couldn't exactly tell his mother the right people already knew about this satisfaction. "I was relieved to cut it. And the weekly showers, even though the cold cells freeze us at first, have made me feel more human."
"I can't wait for you to get out of here, not long left." A relieved smile parted her lips.
"Yes. Soon you won't have to travel far to see me." His throat tightened, if he wasn't so selfish, he would ask his mother to never return to this place, but the thought of no longer seeing her, even once a month brought tears to his eyes. Deciding to change the topic, he cleared his throat and asked, "What have you been up to this past month."
"I've been...busy. I was recently asked if I would like to plan the next Ministry Gala for the Fifth Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts."
"And?" He raised his eyebrows.
"I said yes, of course," she furrowed her brow, and all the weight she was carrying finally appeared as fine wrinkles on her forehead.
"Why would you say yes?" He straightened up in his seat, clasping her hands firmly in his.
"Draco." Her face softened at the angry tone of his voice, knowing it was anger for her not at her. "I am the best, but beyond that, the world out there is different. It would behove them to acknowledge the rising import of the Malfoy Black name once again. So many have come to forgive, this will be just one more step in that direction." She adjusted slightly in the seat, probably crossing her ankles and throwing her shoulders back slightly. The graceful smirk on her face almost made him reconsider his next words but he persisted.
"I don't want anyone to hurt or take advantage of you, Mother."
"No one will."
The conversation between the two continued to flow naturally until time ran out, and they had to say goodbye. She elegantly withdrew a few papers from her bag and thrust them into his hands.
"Reading material," she said, answering the questioning look he gave her.
Nodding, he kissed his mother goodbye and turned to leave. She caught onto his wrist to halt his progress.
"Mother?"
"One last thing, Draco. Andromeda would like to accompany me for our next visit on Christmas—-"
"No," he interrupted sharply.
"But—-"
"Goodbye, Mother." He moved to the door before he fully grabbed the handle, and in an effort to soften the end of their conversation, he looked back and whispered. "I love you."
He made his way back to his cell with the guard. He didn't fancy anyone apart from his mother coming to see him. However, he wouldn't allow anyone to see him in this state; the look of pity was something Draco couldn't stomach. One person was more than enough. Even Theo, who was on his list as an authorised guest, didn't make personal visits at Draco's request. He kept their friendship to parchment and pen, uninterested in having anyone see him in prison garbs and probably emaciated as he was.
Tucked away in his cell again, Draco threw the papers his mother had given him as he paced furiously in the small space, teeth grinding and jaw clenching so tight it hurt. He knew she had waited until the last possible moment to ask this of him and he hated that he couldn't give her this one thing. However, this probably wouldn't be the last time she asked and he knew he had to be firm; he had no intention of seeing anyone but her in this formidable place.
He froze and pivoted his body towards the moving image on his table. His breath caught as he picked up the newspaper and stared down at the witch who had so often occupied his thoughts lately. There she was, splashed on the front cover of The Daily Prophet shaking hands with a portly man in a pointy hat, smiling proudly at the camera. Every hair on his scalp stood on end and every skin cell tingled as he looked intently at the moving photograph of the attractive woman. Yes, Granger was indeed very beautiful. Her warm chocolate eyes and her beaming smile instantly made Draco forget why he was so angry.
He couldn't take his eyes off her full, pink lips. A sudden flush of warmth spread straight to his groin and he shuddered in pleasure when his mind's eye reminded him of Granger in a towel.
Deciding to read the article later, he carefully tore around her image and tucked it underneath his pillow.