Prometheus
"He is humanity's striving for the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. His efforts to improve human existence resulted in tragedy…"
Hermione Granger stepped from the slippery boat and onto the slick rocks of Azkaban's shore. She looked up at the monstrously large tower before her. The wails and cackles of prisoners inside sailed on the howling winds and roared over the crashing waves.
"This way." A guard summoned her forward.
They carefully walked up the uneven cobblestone walk to a dwarfed wooden door. The guard had to duck himself in; she barely dipped her head. They were met by a stern, tall, dark-haired woman with two guards flanking her. The room was claustrophobic. The dark stone walls and floor were wet and smelled of salt and mildew.
"Ms. Granger, I'm Marie Hedgeflower. I'm the Warden for Project Tartarus." She stuck her hand out to shake Hermione's. "I understand you have requested to meet with one of my prisoners."
Hermione dropped her hand. "Yes, I'm Draco Malfoy's representative from Shadid and Miller. I have been hired by a third party and require a meeting with him."
"Of course, for your safety, we will be sending in two guards with you," she replied coolly.
"I appreciate the gesture, Ms. Hedgeflower, but I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. Will he be restrained?"
"Of course. This is a prison."
Hermione fought against narrowing her eyes at the condescending tone. "Then unless you believe he's able to break through your restraints, I'll be meeting with my client privately."
"Very well. You will be required to sign a waiver, stating that if any harm comes to you, neither myself nor my staff are liable. As you are going to a restricted section of the facility, you are required to sign in as you arrive and before you leave. You are not permitted to bring anything to the prisoner, and your person will be searched before and after your visitation. There will be no physical contact. If there is an emergency and you are not able to defend yourself, you will cast a Periculum charm. Is that understood, Ms. Granger?"
"Absolutely," Hermione clipped. She did not like this woman, and she was obviously not happy Hermione was here.
Marie stared at Hermione as she addressed one of her guards. "Simon, bring Ms. Granger to Holding Three. Best of luck, Ms. Granger." She walked past the wooden desk with her hands clasped behind her back.
"Ms. Granger, if you please, your forms are just here," an elderly woman called from behind the desk. "Once you've finished, Simon will check your briefcase and frisk you."
Two guards, one leading and one following, escorted Hermione to a tight, twisting stairwell that felt like it went down forever. The rocks were slick and the air felt thicker the further they descended. A few times her kitten heels slipped on the steps, but she was able to catch herself against the wall. When they finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, she adjusted her jaw to pop her ears. She tried not to think about how far under the ocean's surface they were and how immense the pressure must be on the stone walls. The atrium was dark and had four doors along the curved wall in front of them. The tall guard pushed open the third door from the left.
"Wait here," he huffed.
Holding Three was a small circular room with a wide metal table in the middle and two metal chairs opposite each other. The walls were impossibly tall for how far down they were, and the smallest bit of sunlight bounced down from the open ceiling. It felt as if she was at the bottom of a manhole.
Attached to the tabletop was a small metal hoop. She sat at the table and looked to the door across the room. She heard muffled grunts and dull thuds. She placed her briefcase on the table and stretched her arms out across. She couldn't reach the hoop. This calmed her heart rate: at least he couldn't reach her if he wanted to. She jumped out of her seat when the door across from her burst open.
Simon wrestled a male prisoner into the room. He pushed him hard and pulled the chair out. The prisoner thrashed his bound hands at him and snarled loudly. Hermione's hand was slick around her wand as she realised this feral man was her client, Draco Malfoy. Simon pushed him and pointed his wand at the metal hoop on the table. It moved like putty and tightened Draco's restraints to the table. He growled loudly and pulled at them violently.
Without a second look at her, Simon walked out the door he came through and slammed it behind him. There was a deafening clunk of the lock. Draco quieted and kept his head down between his shoulders. His breathing was shallow and rapid. Blood drizzled out of his mouth onto his scraggly beard. The dingey grey-and-black striped jumpsuit hung off his boney shoulders. There were grizzly red scars scattered across the exposed bit of his chest.
Hermione wiped her hands on her trousers and pulled her chair out to sit, cringing at the loud metallic scrape across the floor. He gave no notice. She pulled her briefcase to the edge of the table and pulled out her prepared documents.
She cleared her throat and shuffled her parchment. "Mr. Malfoy?" she croaked.
No response.
"Mr. Malfoy, I'm Hermione Granger. Do you remember me?"
Nothing.
She sighed in frustration and her anxiety prickled, waiting for an altercation. "I'm here to represent you. I was hired by Narcissa Malfoy. I need you to answer some questions."
Was he deaf?
"Mr. Malfoy! Can you hear me?" She raised her voice.
His head snapped up at an unnatural speed. His hair stuck to his slick forehead and cheeks. It was its trademark white-blond, but it was dull and dreaded at the root. He had an unruly blond beard that reached his prominent collarbones. His skin was nearly translucent; she could see the dark blue lines of his veins in his chest and hands. His face was gaunt, his pupils were blown wide in lifeless eyes. They seemed to look right through her.
"Do you remember me?" she asked again.
He blinked multiple times and tilted his head. He studied her without moving a muscle.
Her throat felt thick, and she regretted turning away a guard. Whatever was sitting in front of her was not Draco Malfoy.
His cracked, bloody lips pulled back over his teeth and threw himself out of the chair at her. She pitched herself back so quickly she tripped over her chair. He barely made it halfway across the table. His body was contorted by his wrists still being attached to the tabletop. He gnashed his teeth at her and growled in frustration as he pulled harder. His skin started to break around the heavy metal shackles.
She started hyperventilating and pressed herself against the wet stone wall.
He panted and heaved himself at the table, looking directly at her.
Her curiosity couldn't be stopped by her fear. She took a tentative step forward, and he stilled instantly. The light cascading down directly onto him made him blink and squint his eyes.
When was the last time he'd been in sunlight?
He seemed to hear her thoughts because he craned his neck to look up at the source of light.
While he was distracted, she took another slow step, getting a closer look at him. She was immediately hit with the heavy sour scent of valerian root. Her shoulders dropped. She was furious.
"Periculum." She cast the red beacon through the open ceiling.
Malfoy slumped against the table. Simon was through the door within ten seconds.
"Hold him," she ordered Simon. She ground her teeth at how roughly he pushed Draco's already complacent head against the table. "Legilimens." She pulled his memories from his time in Kutaisi.
Draco's face and body went slack after her invasion was complete. "We're done here. I want to see Marie." She addressed Simon as she returned to her side of the table. "I'll be back in two days, Mr. Malfoy," she told Draco as Simon wrestled him off his chair and unhooked him from the table and floor. Draco's body was limp and uncaring, as if unaware that he was being dragged against the sharp ground.
Marie Hedgeflower's office looked completely out of place to the rest of Azkaban. The room was furnished with large, warm wooden furniture. Bookcases lined the light grey, dry stone walls. Behind her desk was a floor to ceiling window that looked out over the perpetually angry ocean vista. She looked up expectantly as Hermione entered the room.
"What can I help you with, Ms. Granger?" she asked with a small smile.
"How long has he been receiving potions? And for what purpose?" Hermione demanded as she approached the desk.
"As you can see, Mr. Malfoy is a highly deranged man, and he must be sedated to protect my staff and himself. It's merely protocol, I'm sure you understand."
"I shouldn't be able to smell valerian off him when I'm a metre away. I want his dosage reduced for our meetings. He barely knew I was there, let alone where he was," Hermione snapped.
"That's not advisable. I can't simply reduce his dosage just because you want me to. There are people I must propose this to, wait for the approval. It's a whole ordeal. The downfalls of bureaucracy, I'm afraid," she smiled widely at Hermione.
"Send it in or else the next time I come, I come with a cease and desist," she threatened.
Marie sighed and stood. She walked around her desk to Hermione as she spoke. "Ms. Granger. You're not the first lawyer to come here and threaten me. Your words do not frighten me, nor do your petitions. This facility, and Project Tartarus, are both Ministry backed. If you have a problem with how it is run, I'm not the one to get snippy with. I, along with all my staff are here protecting the world against the evil you put in here. So, why are you representing a Malfoy?" She asked and folded her arms across her chest.
Hermione didn't answer. She was breathing heavily from the arrogance of this woman, she could feel her cheeks and ears were red.
"I will send in the petition, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. Draco Malfoy is one of our highest security prisoners," she stared down at Hermione. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Hermione gritted her teeth and turned to the door. "Yes, actually," she turned. "He gets two extra meals per day. There will be no more starving my client."
Warmth and the sweet smell of sweat enveloped him. A pleasant heaviness rested on his shoulders, and a light tickle of a balmy breeze brushed against his cheek. His slack mouth eased into a gentle smile. Everything was aglow in the soft orange of sunrise.
Steel grinding against wet, uneven cobblestone ripped him from the fleeting dream. His fingers and toes were naked and numb. A blinding light burned his eyes and killed his dream.
"Get up," a man's voice snarled as his collar cut off his airway.
His legs were fatigued and didn't properly support him. The gruff man pulled him along the wet, rough ground, his ankles getting skinned along the way. He couldn't be bothered to fight back, his mouth was fat and slow. His eyes were bleary, and the soggy walls around him were a blurred vision. He was being pushed towards another steel door. Panic filled his chest but couldn't reach his head. The last time he went through one of these doors, he'd been beaten and cut across his ribs. The dull throb across his chest screamed at him.
Getaway! Run!
He thrashed his shoulders hard away from the big hands gripping him too hard. When his damp, knotted hair was yanked so hard there might've been blood, he gnashed his teeth and snarled loudly. He fought against tripping around his shackled ankles by leaning his weight on the man. He was pushed forward, nose-first into the metallic door. The copper tang of blood flooded his throat. He choked and sputtered as he was pushed through the door, the sound grating against his back teeth.
His head hung heavily, his wiry beard brushing his sternum as he was pushed into a cold chair. Warm, bloody drool dripped onto his frozen toes. His wrist and ankle shackles were chained to the ground and a table he hadn't noticed.
A muffled voice came from across the table, but his head was heavy. He needed sleep. He desperately needed to sleep. There was more muffled slow babbling.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed. But his tongue wouldn't follow commands. He looked up at the murky vision before him.
The room was round and wide. It was tall and bright up high.
"Mr. Malfoy! Can you hear me?" The woman's muted voice broke through the fog.
The snap inside him was chilling. Colder than this room or his numb appendages. The walls and table were kaleidoscopes, nothing was still. She had no shape, but she was a threat. She knew that name.
He pulled back his top lip and snarled as menacingly as he could muster.
Dangerdangerdanger.
Her voice ceased. He gritted his teeth and let the bloody saliva roll out of his mouth.
Something pale on the table flinched and disappeared underneath it. It scared the shit out of him, and he lunged at her until the bindings on his hands and feet stopped him. His stomach hit the metal tabletop hard, and the scrape of metal chairs pierced his ears. He snapped his teeth at her and pushed as hard as he could against the table. His ragged growl ripped up his raw throat.
GET HER. SILENCE HER.
The room filled with a bright red light, he stumbled back from it. The door behind him screeched open. He was surrounded. No escape. Trapped.
"Draco! Don't struggle!" A familiar voice rang through his hazy memory. His jaw fell open lazily as he looked up at the bright ceiling or lack thereof. Was he finally dying? He couldn't tell. His shoulders went limp at the command and he didn't struggle as his cheek sharply connected against the cool table.
"Hold him," said the woman.
A grip tightened on the back of his neck and shoulders. An intense stinging penetrated his upright temple. Anxiety rolled in his stomach but didn't make it to his brain. He tried to gather his focus to shut down the stinging, to block it out. A pathetic, wheezy whimper slipped from his mouth as the stinging drove deeper into his mind, cutting the mist that cloaked his memories. Precious memories he couldn't grasp, but nevertheless belonged to him. His to keep him warm. His to protect.
Then it was over. The invasive stinging pulled out of his temple and the grip loosened behind him. His head throbbed, and the room danced more than before as he was pulled upright. The blinding light from above was fading as his head lolled backward and his wrists slid off the table by his sides.
The woman was talking, but his mind couldn't sort out the words. His eyes were heavy, sleep finally invading his senses. Even as he was dragged across the cutting floor.
Hermione sat in her office and transcribed her meeting with Draco Malfoy. She sighed loudly and rubbed her face as she considered how difficult negotiating with Marie Hedgeflower would be. She wished she was dealing with Azkaban's general Warden, Norman Martingale. At least he was slightly more agreeable.
The day had drained her of energy and her vision was bleary. She would review Malfoy's memories in the morning.
Hermione inhaled sharply as she entered her flat, unprepared to see Harry and Ron in her living room. Her hand instinctively clutched the wand in her purse at the sudden surprise.
"We don't want this to divide us—" Harry stood from the sofa.
"Me most of all, Love," Ron nodded, also standing.
She exhaled, trying to slow her erratic heart rate. Her purse and wand dropped heavily onto the kitchen counter as she eyed them with suspicion.
"But this Malfoy case? Hermione, this is too far." Harry shook his head.
Hermione clenched her jaw and looked at Ron.
"He's right. He was in Voldemort's ranks, he tortured children. He deserves what he got."
Hermione took off her cloak and hung it on the wall. She kicked off her heels and forced her voice to be even. "How did you find out?"
"I saw your petition to have his potions reduced for visitations on Shacklebolt's desk," said Harry.
At least it was on the right desk. "Have you ever been in Tartarus?" She bounced her gaze between the two of them.
"No," Ron responded. "But—"
"Harry?" Hermione cut him off.
"Yes." He maintained eye contact.
"Recently? Do you know what they do to their prisoners? I do. Do you know what those people are being put through? It's inhumane," Hermione seethed.
"Do you forget what they—Malfoy—wanted to do to our world? To you? Have you lost sight of what we sacrificed?" Harry's voice rose in volume.
"The war is over, Harry—"
"And I'll make damn sure another doesn't start just because you have a soft spot for the underdog!" Harry bellowed.
Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pulled him back. "We don't want to fight you, but you must admit how bloody insane this is."
"I don't want to fight you either—" She started again, aghast at Harry's sudden anger.
"Then you have a choice to make. Keep the world that we sacrificed everything for safe, or side with the people who want you dead," Harry offered darkly.
Hermione stood rooted in place across from the two men. Ron looked tired. Harry looked furious.
"They're people, too. To let this happen would make us as bad as them. I can't leave him there." Hermione felt her eyes well up. She didn't want to divide herself from her family, but she couldn't live with herself if she walked away from the brutality she'd witnessed. "Please don't try to stop me. You know I won't. You don't have to support it, but we're family. Please understand. I'm not blind to who he is, but he doesn't deserve this. No one does."
Harry looked away from her, his face disgusted. He walked straight to the Floo without a response.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked at Ron. He looked at her sadly and walked to their bedroom. He emerged with his pillow and a blanket and closed the guest bedroom door behind him. She stared at the closed door before letting out a quiet sob.
Hermione grabbed her wand and pulled her shoes and cloak on. She walked out the front door of their home and Apparated to the office building. If she was going to create such a problem with her family, she better know what she was getting into.
Draco felt warmer than he could remember feeling. Too warm. His body was slick with sweat. His skin stuck to the scratchy sheets. His eyes cracked open, and he was blinded by the soft glow of the morning sun. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. He was in a whitewashed room, he couldn't quite place why it was familiar. He groaned and stretched his arms to either side of him. His right arm bumped against the wall, the other thudded a head of shoulder-length brown hair. She was laying on her side, facing away from him.
He retracted his arm quickly and sat up to get away from the strange woman. The sheet slid off his body; he was naked. The sheet slid off the stranger and exposed her bare backside. Her skin was a flawless, warm brown and looked smooth as silk.
Draco's attention was broken by a loud bang on the closed door opposite the bed.
The woman sat up immediately and turned to him with fear in her eyes.
"Go, go!" She whispered to him with an accent Draco's panicked brain couldn't place.
Her eyes were a striking, light caramel. Draco's heart constricted harder than it had with panic.
"Draco, the window!" She hissed as she crawled out of the bed towards a pile of clothing. She called something to the door in a language he thought he knew…
His throat was flooded with a foul, sour liquid. The warmth was gone, but the sweat was still sticky on his skin. He was being held too tightly around the jaw. He sputtered and coughed up the fluids invading his lungs. Draco tried to lower his head to spit it out and cracked his eyes open to see a pair of feet before him. He was on his knees before his tormentor. There was no energy in his body to be angry at his demeaning pose. He needed to breathe.
"Don't think so, boy," a man in front of him snarled. He grabbed Draco's hair at the scalp and yanked his head back, forcing the regurgitated liquid to slide back down his raw esophagus. The man laughed darkly. "After all this time, Princess still can't get it down."
A second voice from behind Draco laughed. He flinched. How many people were here? Draco's breathing was ragged and broken. He gritted his teeth and stared at the rough, cobbled floor between the man's feet. He wanted to tear at their windpipes with his teeth. He wanted to claw their eyes out and hang them with their entrails.
But he was so tired.
"C'mon, Simon. I think the bitch in 28 could use something down her throat." The man behind Draco sniggered as he walked around him toward the door.
Simon pulled open the door; the loud, metallic screech rattled Draco's teeth.
"That's a grand idea. She's been particularly loud today, hasn't she?" Simon cackled as the door slammed shut.
Draco could drown out the screaming and wailing of the other prisoners. He had learned if he didn't, he'd go mad. But whoever was in cell 28… Whenever she was 'visited' by the guards, he couldn't block that out. She would beg for help, beg them to stop, call for her parents.
"No, no, no—please don't!" Her panicked, raw voice carried down the cold corridor.
He curled on his side and covered his ears with both hands.
"Help me! Some—" Her cries were cut off, then followed by two men laughing.
Draco squeezed his eyes closed but couldn't stop the petrified sobs coming out of him. He rocked his body and prayed to whatever deity was listening that he finally died from the potion they forced down his throat.
"Mr. Malfoy? I'm back." Hermione tilted her head to try to make eye contact with him.
Draco's head wasn't heavy today, but he kept his gaze down at his wrist shackles. He didn't appear to hear her.
"I've put forth a petition to reduce your potions for our meetings. I'm going to ask you some simple questions to start off with, okay?" She needed to know where his threshold or if he even knew where he was.
"Draco, do you know where you are?"
His gaze didn't shift.
"Do you know what year it is?"
She bit down hard on her cheek when he didn't respond. How was she supposed to do her gods-damned job if she couldn't even talk to him?
"Which school did you attend from 1991 to 1998?"
He blinked but remained unfazed. Hermione sighed quietly.
"I know this is unpleasant, but I must do it this way until your potions are reduced," she needlessly explained as she rounded the table to him, ready to extract more memories.
His body trembled as the wispy strands left his temple. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning whiter than his nearly translucent skin. He grunted violently behind clenched teeth but didn't fight against her.
That was positive.
"Draco run, now!" Narcissa shouted over the commotion and grabbed Draco's hand with a death grip as they ran away from the fight. Lucius stumbled after them, still watching the battle behind them.
"MALFOY!" A hoarse voice shrieked through the crowd. Draco dropped his mother's hand and turned around. Lucius stopped and turned to face a man Hermione did not recognise. The stranger barrelled towards them. "TRAITOR! AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Narcissa's hoarse scream was drenched with horror and grief, and Draco's eyes widened as he stopped dead to watch Lucius fall. As the man looked up at him, Draco grabbed Narcissa's arm and Apparated.
"Where are we?" Narcissa was panting hard. Her hair was a mess, and her face was smeared with soot and streaks of tears. She stood behind Draco's shoulder, looking down the street opposite of them.
"Nice. It was the only place I could think of." Draco peered from the glass storefront.
The storefront stood in a tight street of tall, old buildings. It was dusk. Narcissa tugged his arm out the door and down the street. They kept a brisk walk and shed their outer clothing. Draco's suit jacket was left strewn over a cafe chair. He wound his tie around a fist and threw it under the next cafe's clothed table. Narcissa's extravagant cloak was tossed inside a rubbish bin. They rounded a corner into an alley.
Narcissa cried freely, using her tears and the sleeve of her robe to clean her face. Draco was stoic, wiping his dry, sooty face with his sleeve before rolling it to his elbows. He raked his fingers through his knotted hair. Narcissa took the clip from her hair and smoothed it as best she could before dropping her head. Her shoulders shook. Draco took her in his arms and rested his cheek atop her head. He looked closer to the beast Hermione had met earlier, dead inside.
Narcissa stepped back and sniffed. She wiped her face and brushed off the front of Draco's Oxford. She handed him her hair clip. "Here, put this in my hair. We'll go to the flat. Are you okay?"
Draco nodded. Narcissa studied him for a moment before turning around and handing him a bundle of her hair.
The flat was large and white. It was high up and overlooked a dark teal ocean shrouded by darkness from a disappearing sun. Draco walked through a set of white French doors to a bedroom. He stepped into an ensuite bathroom and closed the door.
He slowly unbuttoned his Oxford, watching himself in the mirror. He shifted it off and leaned over to turn the shower on. He unbuckled his belt, and his shoulders began to shake. He dropped to the floor, his back against the wall and sobbed into his hands.
Narcissa wore black slacks, a white, button-down blouse, sensible leather boots, and a navy pea coat. She sat on a long, white leather couch in the sitting room while Draco walked out of the kitchen with two bowls of soup. He wore a black wool jumper, fitted black trousers, and a pair of black desert boots.
There was a black leather bag on the low coffee table. It was full of Galleons.
"We can't stay here," Narcissa said as she took a bowl from Draco.
He nodded.
"We have to go somewhere we won't be recognized. If Potter won, the Aurors will be after us. If we—If the other side won, they'll be after us as deserters." She stared off into the room and took a spoonful. Her eyes flicked to Draco when he didn't respond. "I'm sorry to do this so soon after…" She took a deep breath. "But we need a plan."
Draco nodded and swallowed. He wiped his mouth and placed his bowl on the table. He walked over to the large globe. "It has to be random. We can't be in Britain or France, they'll expect that. We can't take that with us,'' he pointed to the medicine bag and sighed low. "The Wizarding world isn't safe."
Narcissa's elbow rested upon her knee. She rubbed her temple with her fingertips and nodded. "Yes, that thought occurred to me, too. We have to be Muggles."
Draco sighed loudly through his nose. "So—-"
He was cut off by a loud bang on the front door. His eyes were wide with surprise. Narcissa sprang to her feet, backing towards Draco.
Another bang.
She ran past him to the huge globe and spun it. Not hard enough, when she stopped it with her finger it landed on the country of Georgia. She leaned forward to read the city and grabbed Draco's hand. He reached his other arm around her and shifted the globe to have North America facing the room. The door splintered under the next bang.
"Your wand?" Narcissa rushed out.
"Yes, go, go, go!" Malfoy whispered, his eyes glued to the exploding front door. They twisted out of the room before the intruders entered.
"Sir, I would like some assistance with a petition for Project Tartarus within Azkaban." Hermione approached Dick Miller, the law firm's senior partner, the morning after witnessing the Malfoy's escape, feeling horribly conflicted. As of last night, Hermione was confronted with the fact that Draco was just as scarred as she was from the war.
"Tartarus? Is that where prisoners are held below Azkaban?" he asked as he sipped his tea.
"Yes, I'm representing a particular… Veteran who is being heavily sedated. I've asked the Warden of the Project to reduce his dosage so I can speak with him during our meetings, but I think they're curbing it." She followed him as he walked to his office.
"Hmm. What are the paradigms of Tartarus?"
"All I was able to find in the public record is that its prisoners are being held below the ocean's surface. I didn't see anything about capacity, intake requirements, or hygienic standards." She sat in a chair across from his desk.
He sat in his leather desk chair. "Well then, Ms. Granger. It would seem you may have to go find information about it that the public isn't privy to."
"The Warden said that it's a Ministry-backed project, but I don't know who I would start with." Hermione furrowed her brow in thought.
"Why not start with Harry Potter? He's head of the Aurors, he must know something." Dick raised his eyebrows at her.
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. He was very adamant that I don't take this case."
"When someone's guarding a secret, isn't their instinct to derail people who go snooping?"
Hermione met his eyes. "You think Harry would lie to me?"
"I don't know the man." Dick raised his hands in defence. "I don't know your relationship. I'm just spitballing ideas."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Sir. Have a nice weekend."
"You too, Hermione."