Draco Malfoy walked a half step behind his mother, as the guards led them into the bowels of the Prison. His mother's Patronus, a lithe silver fox, leapt around them, cavorting in pleasure as it accomplished its duty. Narcissa Malfoy was a pillar of strength, her visage firm and cold - only her son noticed the shaking of her wrists, the slightly too stiff posture. Draco knew his mother hated coming here, that it was duty more than affection that had her witnessing her family's shame.
About two thirds of the way down, the screaming started. Prisoners lunging at the bars, screaming, throwing limbs out frantically, trying to get their attention. We aren't here for you. Draco thought, as his unfaltering footsteps continued. Stone and ice, determination and persistence both, Draco thought, feeling the chill like a mountain would. Icy fear would not hurt a mountain, and neither would it hurt him. Draco Malfoy strode with the confidence of someone who's trod here often.
Another floor, and the stones wept blood. The prisoners here would lunge at them, wedging themselves in the bars, pushing so hard that they bled. Draco Malfoy never turned, never looked at the waving arms, the breast stuck in the jailbars. To look would be to suggest caring, and caring was something Draco Malfoy could not afford.
Another floor deeper, the final floor. Reserved for mass murderers, there were dozens of Death Eaters here. Some (like Bones, and the Aurors) would say that this was just punishment. Draco Malfoy could only disagree in his mind, he was far too canny to say a thing aloud. Besides, his father worked for these people's freedom, in the Ministry itself. What more could Draco do?
They stood in front of Narcissa's sister's cell. Bellatrix Black was dressed in widow's weeds, her hair lanky and stringy, greasy too. Her clothes were in tatters, though even in tatters, and emacidated, she had the quiet, graceful strength that kept her alive here, through a dozen long years. And her eyes sparkled with madness. She looked at Draco, not seeing her nephew, just a free child - someone to be beckoned close, then clutched at, held with her long nails at his throat until she was free from prison. A mad plan, too risky to actually succeed. From the twitching of her clawlike hands, Draco knew that she'd try it, if she could just lure him near.
Narcissa sought to distract her sister with pleasantries, the sham of which twisted her words from those of comfort to rough mocking. And even as she talked, Bellatrix had eyes only for young Draco, her crooning voice turning towards him, trying to engage him. A mountain does not go to Merlin. Draco thinks, and even through his confidence, the wreck of a human touches his heart. He hates to come here, knows his mother does too. It's never the Dementors that Draco Malfoy fears - it's the madness. It's the sudden, heartwrenching lack of dignity, lack of anything except desperation. Bellatrix resembles a cornered, starving rat - the type that would as soon eat your face with you still alive, screaming in pain. She'd exult at the suffering. Draco Malfoy loathed her, loathed the beast she had turned into.
When he was very young, he had asked his Mother to tell him about what her childhood was like. Now, he regretted it, as he could easily detect the shattered remnants of a headstrong girl, in this beautiful wretch.
His mother was done talking (Draco had not said a word), and they both turned to head to their next destination.
Sirius Black. The rake of the family, a man with a big laugh, and a crueler wit than most Slytherins. Every time Draco Malfoy saw Sirus Black, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd wind up here himself, be that lost, twisted thing, clinging to life with a stubborn persistence - beyond hope, beyond glee, beyond even simple calm. The Dementors had stolen nearly all of Sirius' mind, his eyes were wild and ferocious at the same time.
They drew near Sirius' cell, Draco with his eyes glued to the floor, not wanting to spend a second more in the man's presence than he must. His mother's sharp inhale (nearly a gasp) draws his attention up, and he sees her fingers to her mouth, her other hand whiteknuckled around her wand.
Inside Sirius Black's cell, there is no one.
Tumult everywhere, as the Aurors sound the alarm. Somehow, they think that he might have just gotten free. Inside the resolute fortress of his mind, Draco Malfoy's noticed the bare chamberpot, and the water bucket that's nearly overflowing. He is unsurprised when they do not find Sirius Black, and more unsurprised when a contingent of Aurors accompanies them back, "Just In Case." Always the suspicion, on everyone's face. They weren't even there when he escaped, hadn't been for an entire year, but... the Aurors wouldn't admit that they had flubbed the lock, that somehow the gaunt, broad-shouldered man had managed to escape without even bending a bar.
As the fortress faded into the sea, into the growing twilight, the sailors sang a jaunty tune that jangled Draco Malfoy's heart, slowly peeling away the layers he had built to keep himself sane.
"Then at last our captain comes on board
Our sails are bent, we're manned and stored
The Peter's hoisted at the fore
Good-bye to the girls we'll see no more
For we know we're homeward bound
Hurrah, we're homeward bound"
[a/n: Draco Malfoy's really not letting himself care about what's happened. Reaction will set in when he's back at Hogwarts. Leave a review!]