IMPRESSIONS chapter twenty-eight

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, except for stuff you don't recognize.

Summary: An emotionally, physically, and mentally wounded Draco needs someone to help him, whether he wants to admit it or not, after his father lands in Azkaban, his mother is committed to St. Mungo's, and his entire world crumbles. Romance/Angst.

Author's Note: Please review! THANKS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS!!!

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Hermione paid no attention to him as she rapidly unclasped his cloak and stuffed it in his lap. "You have been nothing but a prat to me all day, Ronald Weasley! And I did not ask you for your cloak!" she said savagely. "I'm sorry for lying to you, but you deserve it after the way you've acted! I need to talk to Draco, now, so you can have a good time with Harry!" With that, Hermione stood and dropped a few knuts on the table to pay for her drink, grabbed Draco's unsuspecting wrist, and pulled him bodily after her, leaving an agape Ron in her wake.

She said nothing until they were far outside the Leaky Cauldron, and then it was only an apology when Draco eased his wrist from her hands, wincing and breathing raggedly.

"What was that about? Weasley's been a prat?" asked Draco once he'd sufficiently recovered from the effect of Hermione's skin on his own.

"Yes. The worst kind," said Hermione tightly.

With a rush of jealousy and anger, Draco remembered Weasley's arm snaking around Hermione waist, back in the pub. "So as soon as I pissed you off, you went running to Weasel?"

Hermione flushed. "I was angry… I made a mistake."

"Dumbledore and Snape talked to me today," said Draco, changing the subject abruptly. "I'm going to die. It's official."

Hermione went very pale. "W-what?"

"I think you heard me," said Draco, turning away from her and stuffing his hands in his robe pockets.

"But—isn't there something someone can do?" asked Hermione desperately.

His lips twisted into a leer. "Yes. You can."

Hermione bit her lip and went very red. She looked down, avoiding his piercing gaze. "Right, of course."

"Am I that bad?"

"It's not you, okay?" said Hermione shortly, wrapping her arms to her body and giving a little shiver as a gust of wind blew down over them. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

He glanced at her but didn't say anything for a moment. "Cold?"

She hesitated before responding. "A little."

"How cold?" he asked lightly.

She smirked in a way reminiscent of himself. "Cold enough."

"Want my cloak?"

She ran her tongue over her lips as the wind began to chap them. "Yes, please."

He unclipped the silver Slytherin crest and lifted the cloak off his shoulders, setting it on hers gently.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured. He merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Dumbledore told me what you told Snape…" she said quietly.

"And what did I tell Snape?" Draco asked, giving the impression that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"That…" Hermione paused. "You are going to leave everything to the Order."

He waited a few moments before responding. "I did."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Give a thrill? Help some people out once before I die?"

Hermione said nothing. "I… I'm really sorry, Draco," she said, casting her eyes down as they walked the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

"About what?" his tone was clipped and he knew very well what she was talking about.

"Saying that I hated you… And for letting Ron…" she trailed off.

"Do you hate me?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I never have. Just thought you were misguided."

"I see."

"But I… I don't know what to do about the curse… I mean, how long have you got if you aren't cured?" she asked, her voice in a whisper.

"Snape said a month."

"Oh… That's not very long," said Hermione wearily.    

"Don't have to tell me."

They walked in silence for a few minutes until Hermione jumped back in surprise as Dumbledore materialized in front of them. He looked very grave indeed, but he gave no sign of surprise to see Hermione and Draco walking together. "Mr. Malfoy, I have received permission for you to visit your father. He will hopefully be allowed to lift the curse."

Draco's mouth opened in surprise and Dumbledore continued. "I have just come from Azkaban myself, actually. They would prefer it if you came now."

Hermione beamed. "That's wonderful!" she said happily.

"How did you know my father cast the spell?" Draco questioned, his eyes narrowed. He shot a look to Hermione.

"I surmised a guess, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore calmly. "Miss Granger had nothing to do with it."

"Right," said Draco tersely. "Am I going now?"

"I think it would be best, yes. I apologize for interrupting your afternoon," said Dumbledore blandly.

Hermione backed away, the joyful smile still on her features. "Good luck!"

Draco ignored her and turned to Dumbledore. "Shall I apparate?"

"One cannot apparate to and from Azkaban. I took a portkey; we will do the same," said Dumbledore, flicking his wand at a stick on the road. It zoomed towards them and Dumbledore caught it, muttering, "Portus." He held out the twig to Draco. "Take hold, now."

Draco reached out a hand and touched a finger to the stick, his face impassive.

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The onrush of cold wasn't something that Draco expected when they touched down on a frozen island. In the distance, there was a tall, imposing, stone building. It seemed as though it would crumble any moment; the bricks were blackened and scarred as though they had been struck by lightning on multiple occasions.

A gust of wind whipped down and Draco unintentionally shivered, thinking wryly of the cloak he had placed on Hermione's shoulders. Noticing this, Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured a dark green, woolen cloak that arranged itself on Draco's shoulders.

"Where are we?" asked Draco curiously, observing the harsh waters and cold desert-like island.

"A small island in the North Sea," Dumbledore explained. "It obviously has concealment charms and Muggle-repelling charms on it to keep them away."

"Right. And it's being guarded by Aurors now that Dementors are gone?" asked Draco matter-of-factly.

"For the most part… However, some of the top-security prisoners, such as your father, are being guarded by the Dementors that have remained loyal to the Ministry," said Dumbledore. "Now, Mr. Malfoy… Are you ready to go on?"

Draco nodded tersely, schooling his features into blankness.

"Let us go on then."

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            "Mr. Malfoy, Headmaster Dumbledore," a short, slightly podgy man in purple robes greeted them at the entrance of the crumbling building. He was balding and had very light blue eyes. He gave the impression that he was perpetually breathless. "You have appointments?"

            "We do indeed, Master Bogsworth," said Dumbledore gravely.

            "Well… The boy'll have to be checked, of course," said the man knowledgably. "But I reckon that you're okay for clearance."

            "Thank you, Mr. Bogsworth," said Dumbledore courteously.

            "Come in, then," huffed the man, removing his short, thick wand from his bright, plum colored robe pocket. He performed a tricky little wave and the strange, obsidian-like doors suddenly glimmered with pearly light.

            "Them doors are charmed, see, so that they remember the people and the wands that pass through. I gotta do a little spell that tells'em who I am," he said importantly to the pale boy.

            Draco looked at the man, showing no sign of interest at all. Mr. Bogsworth, failing to hide his annoyance, turned back to the doors and touched one with a finger.

            The doors swung open rapidly to reveal a musty hallway. Striding forward, Dumbledore indicated for Draco to follow himself and Mr. Bogsworth into a large room.

The dark, rank chamber was barely lit in the corners with blue-flamed candles. There was a congregation of purple-robed men and women, all with grim expressions as they sat on stools with half-empty mugs, wands at the ready.

They all looked at the three wizards that entered. "Front desk, Bogsworth," said one of them, a square-jawed, gray-haired man, in a bored tone.

The bumbling guard nodded, embarrassed. "Right, of course, forgot…" He ushered Dumbledore and Draco around. "Back through the door!" he said cheerily.

Shooting a look at Dumbledore, Draco did as he was told and reentered the dank hallway. Bogsworth tapped the same door twice with his wand and opened it a second time to reveal a gleaming white lobby. "In here, please," he announced.

Raising his eyebrows, Draco walked into the marble-tiled room with leather couches and giant, oil portraits on the walls.

Draco glanced over to the nearest wall and saw a golden plate, which said:

            AZKABAN WIZARDING PRISON

                        FOUNDED 1216 B.C. BY JORGES WOE

"WE KEEP ALL THE BAD ONES, NO MATTER IF FRIEND OR EVEN YOUR SONS!"

            Draco wrinkled his nose at the terrible motto and turned his attention back to the room at hand. It was very nearly deserted, and there were only a few, pale witches wearing black robes in the lobby area.

            Behind a tall counter, one dark-haired witch and two large-boned wizards sat, all in purple robes. On each of their chests, a golden badge gleamed. Engraved on the badge was a wand surrounded by chains—which Draco supposed was the logo for the prison. Under the engraving, their names were printed in large, block letters.

            Dumbledore strode towards the desk and said, "Mr. Bogsworth, I think we will be just fine from now on, thank you." The pudgy man nodded and left through the same door and Dumbledore turned his attention to the witch. "Ah, Miss Creole."

            "State your full names, sirs," said the witch, yawning.

            "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said Dumbledore instantly. "Draco?"

            "Draconis Lucien Gabriel Malfoy," said Draco in a cool tone, looking around his surroundings with an expression of distaste.

            "Please pin the badges on your robes, sirs," said the witch, handing them two badges trimmed with fluorescent orange that had their names squeezed onto the small surface.

            They did as they were told. "We are here to visit one Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "It is of grave importance."

            "Very well, Headmaster. I will call a guard in and he will escort you to Prisoner Malfoy's cell."

            Draco bristled at the thought that his father was referred to as 'Prisoner Malfoy,' but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.

            "You may wait in the sitting area," said the witch, removing her wand from her pocket and tapping a piece of parchment.

            Dumbledore steered Draco over to the sitting area. "It shouldn't be long. I will accompany you; there's no telling what your father may do," said Dumbledore.

            Draco ignored the old wizard until a surly-looking man in the customary purple robes stalked towards them. "Dumbledore? Malfoy?" he inquired shortly. "Follow me."

            The two wizards rose and followed him out the same door—indeed, the only door they had seen so far. Once in the depressing hall for a third time, the guard glanced at a slip of parchment and tapped his wand in a complicated rhythm on the entryway.

            He paused before opening it. "You were cleared the instant you said your name, in case you were wondering. There are so many Dark Detectors around here, you have no idea. However, they are not always completely truthful themselves, and if you, Malfoy, try anything--!" He let the threat hang in the air, and the aristocratic blond glared at him. "Let's go, then," said the man heavily, opening the door to allow Dumbledore and the Slytherin inside.

            Draco was surprised. He had thought that it would be a long row of cells, dimly lit, the stench of rotting flesh. But when the door was opened, there was a plain, simple, white room with a wall of impenetrable glass dividing it down the middle. There was a singular chair on one side, made of hard, dark wood and with manacles on the foot and arms. On the other side, there was merely a bench and a table.

            "The glass is merely a construct," their escort explained. "It's to keep him out of this half, but you can still hear him and talk to him. Normally, with family, there'd be no need, but since the man is known to be pretty violent…"

            "And if we would like to be closer to him?" asked Draco tightly.

            "Well, Dumbledore's been here plenty of times. If you want, he can remove the glass," amended the man.

            "Thank you. Will you be leaving?" asked Draco coldly, surveying the man with the arrogance that identified him as a Malfoy.

            The wizard waited a few moments. "I will be leaving this room, yes," he said. "Now, the maximum length of the visit is an hour. Please abide. Now, I'll check on you in another fifteen minutes or so. Prisoner Malfoy should be escorted inside the cubicle in just a few moments." Without another word, the man turned and left the room.

            Draco said nothing for a few moments. "Are you sure this will work?" he asked finally.

            "One cannot be sure of anything except oneself," said Dumbledore serenely. "But I do hope most earnestly it will."

            Draco thought over the Headmaster's words in the remaining seconds that he had before Lucius was led into the room. His head snapped upwards and his eyes narrowed; the only outward sign he gave of mistrust as he father walked in, managing to look regal and imposing even in ragged robes and with unwashed skin.

            Not a hair was out of place; Lucius was vain, no matter what his condition, he would never allow himself to stoop to the level of a common prisoner. However, there were a few signs that Azkaban had gotten to the narcissistic man. His cheeks were hollowed and he had shadows under his eyes, and his eyes were oddly vacant. His hands constantly trembled, though he hid it well.

            He walked slowly to the chair, with squared shoulders and straight posture. He sat down, staring down everything with a look of disgust twisting his features; the face that looked so much like Draco's. "Son," he acknowledged, ignoring Dumbledore. "What news have you of the Estate?"

            "The affairs are in order," said Draco coolly. "A sum of twenty-two hundred galleons was paid to us by one Mickellus Hannigan, and twenty-five percent of Agnes Beech's nibbler plantation's revenue was added to our commercial vault in Gringotts."

            "I see. And of Narcissa?" Lucius inquired mildly.

            Draco's jaw tightened; Dumbledore looked on gravely. "I think I will leave, for the time being," said the old man, rising and walking out of the room. Both Malfoys ignored his parting. "She is doing well. Her headhealers tell me she is making progress with recognition of family. She still believes she is Narcissa Black, however," said Draco.

            "I would never have married her if I knew insanity was a possibility," said Lucius dismissively. "What are you here for, boy?"

            Draco glanced down. "The curse," he muttered.

            "Look at me."

            Draco turned his eyes toward his father. "Yes?"

            "Did you ever give any thought to why I put the curse on you? And I won't ask how Dumbledore knows," said Lucius.

            "You told me it was so you could control me," said Draco dully.

            "Not all, son, not at all!" said Lucius, leaning in, his eyes glinting madly. "Draco, I need you to uphold the Malfoy name! That entails all duties to which we have been bound and to which are inherent!"

            "So you want me to take your place at the Dark Lord's side?" asked Draco coldly.

            Lucius deflated. "Son… I will not have you join the Dark Lord until you choose to," he said. "But I do expect you to do everything required of you."

            "Why do you hate me?" asked Draco finally, running a hand through his silver-blond hair.

            At this, Lucius let out a derisive laugh. "Where did you get that madness?" he asked, peering down at his son.

            Draco's eyes narrowed. "Do not lie to me, Father. I have done sufficient study of the curse to know of what conditions must be had for it to be cast."

            "Ah, yes. The one complication of the Permeus Surpos," said Lucius wisely. "And the little-known loophole."

            "What?"

            "My son, while the curse recognizes true love, as you no doubt have found," Lucius shot a look to his son with the classic Malfoy smirk, "It does not recognize true hate. And therefore, it is not necessary to actually hate the person whom one is trying to curse."

            "Then—you mean…"

            "Yes. I do not hate you," said Lucius, finishing the sentence for his son. His visage darkened momentarily. "But you are incredibly irksome. And disappointing, at times."

            "Then why would you put the curse on me at all?" Draco burst out, losing control of his emotions. "Do you know the hell I've been living?"

            If it was even possibly, Lucius looked slightly regretful. "There was no other way, Draco."

            "No other way?"

            "I need you to do what is needed. You need to support the Dark Lord," said Lucius seriously.

            "But I thought I could choose about that!" Draco said angrily.

            "Boy, I am not going to force you to become a Death Eater! Are you moronic? But you will, regardless of your beliefs, aid Him!"

            Draco's eyes darkened. "Right. So, to make sure I'm a good little lackey, you curse me."         

            "Yes. Obviously, I would have preferred to use the Imperius, but that is so easily detected… And, of course, it wouldn't have worked with you anyway," said Lucius, sitting back in his chair.

            "Why not?"

            "Use your head, boy! You have much to strong a will to be coerced into doing something with the Imperius. Therefore, the only way was what I did."

            "That's ridiculous. There are controlling potions, charms…"

            "Yes, perhaps. But none of them are lasting," Lucius reminded his son coolly. "And you obviously wouldn't take a potion if it were controlling you."

            "Fine. So, you used the Permeus Surpos. Why did you want to keep me from Granger? And how did you find out?" questioned Draco, letting go of whether his father's reasons were logical or not.

            "I was sent an anonymous letter," said Lucius dismissively. "Probably one of your little jealous girlfriends."

            Draco's eyebrows rose. "I see. And Granger?"

            Lucius' mouth went into a thin line. "That stupid mudblood knew too much. And you were spending too much time with her, far too much time. If I didn't know better, boy, I'd say you were beginning to forget that she was a mudblood, and starting to fancy her."

            "So you thought the appropriate solution was for her to be forced to love me, or have me die?" Draco asked humorlessly. "That's hardly initiative for me not to try and 'woo' her, as it were."

            "What are you talking about, 'or die?'" Lucius asked coldly.

            "Don't you know, Father?" Draco spat. "Or in your detailed research, you didn't find out about that little aspect of it?"

            "What are you talking about?" Lucius inquired again, more angrily.

            "I'm going to die in a month if the countercurse isn't performed," said Draco in a monotone. "Nice job on that curse, that."

            Lucius went slightly paler. "What?"

            "You didn't hear me?" Draco's eyebrows rose. "You have been many things, Father, but you were never one to be slow to understand."

            "You're going to die?"

            "Yes, I believe that is what I said," said Draco coldly. Both Malfoys' heads snapped towards the door from which Dumbledore had just walked in.

            "I thought it appropriate to discuss the purpose of our visit, Mr. Malfoy. Of course, only if you two are ready," said Dumbledore graciously.

            "I believe we have discussed all we need to," said Draco, speaking before his father had the chance.

            "Very well. Mr. Malfoy, we are here for you to lift young Mr. Malfoy's most unfortunate curse," said Dumbledore, walking towards Draco and standing behind him.

            Lucius still looked dumbstruck from the realization that his son, the last remaining Malfoy other than himself, might die. "I can't," he said, grinning manically.

            "What?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

            "I can't! My wand, it's gone!" said Lucius, standing and looking about himself wildly.

            "Excuse me?" Draco hissed.

            '"The Permeus Surpos is a curse that can only be lifted by the wand that cast the curse!'" Lucius said, as though reciting from a book. "And my wand was snapped!"

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            Author's Note: I AM NOT HAPPY WITH THIS CHAPTER. It just didn't flow… Oh well, I hope you enjoyed it, at least. This was an important chapter, what with the underlying reasons and all that. Now the burden of curing Draco rests solely on Hermione's shoulders. Don't worry, he won't die! Or… Will he? I'll have you know, it is very tempting…

            For the record, if the interaction between Draco and Hermione seemed forced and awkward and unrealistic, IT WAS MEANT TO BE THAT WAY.

Anyway, THANK YOU ALL for your reviews, they're so incredible and I'm so excited about 550! Anyway… I'm sorry if this chapter was slow in coming, this was the most difficult to write for me.

PLEASE REVIEW, IT MOTIVATES ME TO WRITE! Ar-Zimraphel…