A/N: Here we go kids, we're in wizard gaol. Note that any differences in spelling or vernacular throughout this fic are due to the simple fact that I'm from Australia, and we do things a little differently in the land down under. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Just a heads-up, there's a section in first-person coming up. This and future segments will be signified throughout this story by "===". See you on the other side!
Chapter Five: Azkaban
Wednesday, May 6, 1998: Late Morning
The dark corridors were lined with cells which had no bars. Those inside were held back only by the most hastily-erected wards. Though the prisoners' wands had been taken away upon their arrest, many were able to collect their wits enough to break through with their raw magical power. However, even though the Aurors on patrol duty were young and inexperienced, the prisoners' wandless magic was not powerful enough to overwhelm the armed men and women in red. Many apprentices and Aurors in training had been moved up the ranks prematurely to make up the numbers lost in the war. This was one of the many ways in which the Ministry was attempting to put itself back together after sustaining such heavy losses.
"Malfoy, Lucius!"
The harsh, business-like voice came from somewhere in the darkness. The summoned man stumbled out of his cell and was met on either side by an Auror who looked no older than nineteen. Around him, Lucius could hear the wailing of many tired voices, see the pain carved into every face. His friends were trapped here. Few had managed to evade capture, melting back into society like oil on a dinner roll. It had been foolish for them to have left him behind, but he would get his vengeance soon enough.
Everyone who had wronged him, taken what was rightfully his, blown apart his perfect family, they would all suffer. Whilst in Azkaban, he had a lot of time to think, especially as there were no longer any Dementors to cloud and darken his mind. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all shades of grey; he would have put forward some interior design advice if he wasn't in such a foul mood.
He was taken through a twisting labyrinth of halls and passageways until eventually arriving at a sturdy-looking black door. He tried to memorise the route he took to get here, but there were so many forks and tucked-away side corridors that the information bled through his desperately scrabbling mind. That was the point of course, but the Death Eater was bereft of whatever common sense he may have once possessed. Even if he had been successful, this path would hardly allow him to escape; it would only take him to some bureaucrat's office.
Throughout his journey, Lucius made no attempts to fight back in any way. He simply allowed himself to be led to wherever the Muggle-loving twits were taking him. Upon their arrival, Lucius was greeted by a sturdy wooden dor. He was not sure what was behind it, and would rather not find out. However, at a slight push from the male Auror, he staggered into the room as the door sprang open to admit him.
"Good morning, Lucius," said a man sitting behind a handsome oak desk, not looking up from the short roll of parchment he was reading. Little of the polished wood could be seen as the surface was almost completely covered in scattered scraps of parchment. Though he spoke in pleasant tones, the words glistened with a frosted sheen. Their razor chill bit into the blonde standing opposite but on the surface he appeared unfazed.
"I would not know, Robards," replied Lucius. "I don't get out much these days. You seem to have done well for yourself, though I cannot in good conscience endorse that." He spoke the last word accompanied by his trademark sneer, taking in the man's black leather eye patch.
Gawain Robards' bearded face twitched into a pronounced frown. He stared up at the prisoner, deliberately not offering him a seat. "Indeed. You have been called here regarding your upcoming trial."
Lucius was surprised, though after some thought it made sense. His assumption was that, having been caught in the act of fighting the members of Albus' little Order, he would be here for the rest of his life. It seemed almost fair if you looked at it from their skewed perspective. He had gotten away with rather a lot over the years proceeding the Dark Lord's downfall. Besides, it would only be a matter of time before his darling Narcissa thought of a way to get him out of this hell. Then his family would be reunited; his son, anxiously awaiting his father's arrival, would no longer have to carry the burden of his absence. The fools had no idea who they were trifling with. The Malfoy's were an old Pureblood family with strong magical power rivalled only by that of their political prowess.
If his mask had not been blown off by a Reductor curse that he had barely avoided, they would never have known it was him in the first place. He got that Tonks girl back though. He smirked at the thought, remembering her body contorting, flying backwards through the air. Internally wincing at the faux pas, he quickly wiped his face blank of all expression. It would not do to appear arrogant in a situation like this. He did not respond verbally to the statement, a small inclination of his head was the only sign that he had heard. His surprise at being given the privilege of a trial did not show on his face.
Robards went on. "It will take place next Tuesday. You aren't allowed legal representation, and you cannot see your family prior to this event."
Lucius was taken aback at this gross injustice, though he supposed that a fair trial was asking too much of such a corrupt institution. He just nodded, unable to think of anything cutting to say in response. It was only a matter of time until he was broken out anyway. He glanced around the small office and got the impression that an especially destructive curse had gone off here. Scraps of parchment, legal-looking documents, and innumerable copies of the Prophet were strewn everywhere, obscuring any surface that was not the cool stone floor. It was chilly, as everywhere seemed to be around here. He wasn't quite sure how they had gotten from Azkaban to the Ministry, but he supposed the answer lay somewhere in undetectable transportation magic.
There was no window, no manufactured weather to colour the space. The only illumination came from some candles dotted around the room. It gave everything an unsettling fiery hue that Lucius did not much like. His eyes finally met those of the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if the placard on his desk was anything to go by. He had been reading a memo when Lucius came in, and upon finishing it, the small arrow-shaped correspondence zoomed out the door to its next recipient.
Robards was handsome in a heroic sort of way, Lucius had to admit. He had a strong jaw underneath his beard, flecked with grey like the rest of his short, thick hair. He was not Lucius' type, of course, but desperate times… Well, you know the rest. It had been a long while since he and Narcissa were given the luxury of some alone time. Ever since the rest of the Dark Lord's forces had used his manner as a base, any chances of intimacy were soundly extinguished. But he knew better than to venture down that road again.
"Is there anything else?" Lucius asked as the memo made its exit. "Stimulating as this 'conversation' is, I think I would rather be in my cell."
"Well," said Robards, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "There is just one more thing." This was going to snap Mr Malfoy's brain like a Bowtruckle. You and your son will be tried together, so I would advise that you cooperated in all future proceedings."
This had garnered the reaction Gawain wanted. Lucius' face tightened and lost the little colour it had left. His fingers curled into fists and unclenched again, groping for a wand that was not there. His mouth opened and shut several times, apparently unable to find strong enough words to convey his fury. His eyes blazed for a second, and with a strangled cry, a small jet of purple light shot out from the prisoner's chest toward the other man. Without thinking about what he was doing, Robards snatched up his wand from the desk and cast the strongest Shield Charm he could muster in the split second he had.
It barely took the curse, shattering immediately, but he hastily erected a stronger one in its place. Robards was breathing hard, shocked but trying not to show it. He thought about how to proceed, weighing up several courses of action that probably wouldn't get him in too much trouble. He could kill the slimy git right here and claim it as self-defence. However, as the prisoner did not have a wand, it would probably be found that he did not pose a big enough threat to condone such drastic retaliation. He could give Lucius a taste of his own medicine, perhaps the Cruciatus or Imperius Curse. Yes, that would be fun, but again, a little too extreme. Making a decision, Robards sent out his Patronus.
The large cat sat expectantly in front of him, awaiting instruction. "For Elphias Doge," he said, running a hand through his beard. "Inform the Wizengamot that Lucius' trial has been rescheduled to commence on Friday morning. Due to his recent actions, the additional charge of assaulting a Ministry official will be added to his list of offences. Go." The cat sprang passed a dumbstruck Lucius and out the office door which opened at a flick of his wand. Alone with the prisoner again, Robards examined him, dark eyes boring into iron grey. "Anything you'd like to say before I dismiss you?" At these words, the two young Aururs that had escorted Lucius suddenly appeared on either side of him.
The blonde man closed his eyes for a moment, then looked to either side of him, scowling. Turning to face Robards, Lucius put on his most intimidating and haughty expression. "You will pay for what you have done to my family. Whether by my hand or another, you will not live out this year."
Gawain smiled, a cruel and twisted smile that would chill the blood of a sane man. "I look forward to it. Now, get out of my office." The Aurors left with Lucius in toe, and Robards leaned back in his chair. With his arms behind his head, he sighed in contentment at a job well done. The fun was only beginning. He patted the tiger as it returned from delivering its message to Kingsley a moment later. It vanished under his fingers, and the additional warmth it had provided him with flickered out as well. Robards closed his eyes. There was work to be done, but that could wait for a moment; he simply wanted to relish this small victory.
Malfoy would die in Azkaban. Though he did not have very much time to put together a case against the bastard, his thirst for vengeance would be all the motivation he needed. There was still hope for the boy, but his father was a different story. Always a supporter of Voldemort, the snake tossed around gold like it was going out of style to maintain his social standing. And Fudge had eaten it up like the grazing cow he was. Incompetence and inaction were the signposts of his leadership, and those shameful qualities would die with the fool. He was powerless during the war, his position not one of sufficient authority to make a difference. But that wasn't the case now, and he would do his best to put Lucius away for life. Meanwhile, the murderer would rot in his cell.
The first thing I see when I wake up is my father. My gaze fixes on his face, begging him to look at me. His nose is directed upwards, and his eyes are half-closed. This is his most haughty expression, and it is usually saved for when he is dealing with Mudbloods or anti-Voldemort Ministry wankers. I can say the name now that he is dead, the power it once held has long been exhausted.
He glances at Mulciber who sits opposite me, but passes by my cell in the endless row. I stand with difficulty and stagger over to the containment ward trapping me here. I press my numb hands to the filmy magical surface and lean against it so I don't fall. My throat is too sore from crying and yelling to be of any use right now, so I do not speak. I simply watch his tall, thin frame as he continues down the dimly-lit corridor until he turns, out of my sight.
I move back over to the bed and sit down. Of course there is no mattress, but I have been sitting here long enough for it to feel almost comfortable. It has been only a few days, but I can already tell there is little chance of me leaving this place any time soon. Mother is doing her best, but she barely evaded the Ministry's attempts to put her in here as well. She had shown the fools her left arm, bare as the day she was born. She questioned them on the counts against her name. Upon their reluctant confessions that no, there wasn't anything they could feasibly pin on her, she was ordered under indefinite house arrest. She had flat-out refused any sort of tracking magic to be placed on her, and as a result, roams Britain as she likes.
From the few Patronus messages she has been able to send me, I know that she is alright and that I should not worry. Of course I do worry though, who wouldn't? My own mother, who I love with all my heart, is trying to bust my father and I out of Azkaban and I just have to sit here in my own filth and wait. There is nothing I can do to move things along, just be a good little reformed boy until mother figures something out.
She also told me not to speak to father if I could help it, and to avoid his eyes should my imprisonment shatter his remaining resolve. I understand that it is better for both of us if he thinks I am safe, but that doesn't make it any easier. It smells like piss and death here, and all I can hear is the sound of people screaming and crying. I do not think it is appropriate for someone of my tender age to be here, but no matter how eloquently I explain it to the guards, they do not appear to care.
What have I done, really? I saved Potter, didn't I? Kept my father from alerting Voldemort long enough for them to escape. I basically gifted him the bloody Elder Wand, what more could they ask of me? I won the war, you could say. I overheard him talking to Granger about it when they thought I wasn't around. Apparently, since I rendered the old fool Dumbledore powerless, its allegiance changed to me. Of course, I was completely unaware of this fact, so when Potter wanted my wand, I was grateful to hand it over. However, had I known what was in my possession, I may have been somewhat more hesitant to just give it up. I think I made the right decision in the end, if only to be rid of the mess my parents made for me.
I love them more than anything, I think. But I'm not so sure about father anymore. The past few years have painted him in a new light I cannot reconcile, the bitter shades of malice and fury transforming him into someone I no longer recognise. War changes people, it seems. Father said it would be so easy, that we would rise above the rest and rule the world along with the dark lord. Now I sit in my cell, questioning everything I once thought to be true. I'm glad there's no mirror in this place. I couldn't face myself in Myrtle's bathroom in sixth year, and I can't face myself now.
We chose the wrong side, and not just because we came out the losers. Everything I believe was fed to me by people who thought they knew better, but now I doubt whether they knew anything at all. How can they have been right? My instincts scream at me to hate mud bloods and blood traitors, but I can't think of a single good reason why. Purebloods are going to die out eventually unless we make peace with muggles. And that Granger… If father had ceased comparing my grades to hers for ten minutes, I probably wouldn't even despise her.
I'm not bad at magic, tests and homework just never came naturally to me. I miss my wand. I have no need of it here, obviously, but the Boy Who Lived was gracious enough to return my beautiful hawthorn and unicorn hair shortly after the battle. It may not be the Death Stick, but it will do, I suppose.
He was kind to give it back, in any case. I can't say I would have been bothered to reciprocate. Why, having a back-up wand in one's possession isn't a bad idea. And I believe he thought he owed me after what I did for him back at my home. He has enough brains to know that much, something which understandably shocked me at the time of the event's occurrence. Then again, he already repaid his debt to me. Crabbe, the fucking moron, would have ended my life if Potter hadn't flown in and saved us both. So really, he could have kept my wand and be perfectly justified in doing so. I don't know what to make of that, so I am going to ignore it for the time being.
He had approached me shortly after the battle, holding out the length of wood. "I think this is yours," he had said, distinctly avoiding my eyes.
"It is," I replied, smirking down at him.
"Sorry." Suddenly he looked up, and his startling green eyes were plastered to my face. The look of superiority I have always worn by default was wiped away in an instant at his paralysing, intense stare. "I shouldn't have taken it. I know what it's like, not having a wand, and it's the worst." He paused for breath while I stood in silence watching him. He continued after a few seconds, knotting his hands together in front of him. "I know we have never gotten on, and I can't say I like you any now, but I will always be thankful for what you did that night. If it weren't for you, I don't know if we would have gotten out of there alive."
He spoke all of this in a rush, wrenching it from his subconscious before he could take it back or have second thoughts. I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him, completely at a loss. His expression had been earnest, he definitely wasn't lying. One could hardly expect a Gryffindor to be capable of such deception. I did not delude myself with the notion that he had forgiven me for six years of animosity and bullying, but it had taken a lot for him to say that. How was I supposed to respond? Was there even a way to show my gratitude and sorrow without being received as disingenuous? How could I make him believe me?
He turned and began to walk away, clearly having given up hope that I would say anything at all. "Wait, Potter!" He stopped abruptly and swivelled his head around to look me in the eye. Speech became difficult again, but I pushed through. "Thank you for returning this to me." The black-haired boy nodded and headed up the Grand Staircase, presumably to that tower he lived in. I had no business being there, my mother was waiting for me outside, and the Aurors would no doubt be knocking down our front door to arrest us once they had sorted things out at the castle.
By that point, I had resigned myself to the eventuality of my arrest. They had already taken father, seized him the second our leader's body crumbled into ashes. As I watched the Aurors bind him, my dwindling resolve burned away like old parchment, leaving behind only a grim acceptance of everything I had done. Of course, father had not been the only victim of their wrath. All confirmed Death Eaters had been detained. I remember that moment well. I think about it often. There isn't much else to do here. The moment my life came to an end. My father was going away forever, and there was no way he would be getting out again. I would have to carry on the family line, take over everything he was involved in. It was a responsibility I knew I could not bear.
Then there was the death of the Dark Lord. The way those crimson slits had widened, his silent scream of fury and pain. His hands were clenching and relaxing convulsively, as if he was groping for something that was not there. I will never forget the look of pure terror he wore. It contorted his face into a creature whose remaining humanity had been completely stripped away. So, when the men in red came knocking, I went quietly, leaving my wand with Mother. At the very least, I can say that I held my head high as I was marched into Azkaban, did not cry out as they threw me in the tiny cell. I did not shed tears immediately, but eventually I broke a little. It turns out Dementors aren't the only way your soul can be destroyed.
A/N: A change of pace, I think. Yes, some first-person narration from the man we love to hate. In this story, I will attempt to give him the arc he deserved but never truly received in canon. I hope to see you all in the next chapter. Have a pleasant tomorrow.
