Draco Malfoy was frowning. Frowning so hard that his entire face looked like it could crack and split in two. His shoulders were hunched and he sat on the cold floor with his back to the wall and his backside freezing. A lock of white blond hair stuck to his forehead in a cold sweat. There was a rhythmic clanging noise coming from the next cell, sounding as if someone was drumming their fingers or scraping something against a metal surface. It had been going on for at least fifteen minutes now. The man in the next cell drummed and clanged and clattered away until Draco thought his brains might pop.
"Stop it," he whispered, massaging his temples. He raised his voice. "Stop it."
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
"Stop it," Draco whined, clutching at his ears, digging his fingernails into his skin and splitting the delicate flesh. "Stop it!"
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
"Stop it!"
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
That was it – Draco snapped and leapt to his feet, whirled round and threw his entire body weight against his cell wall.
"SEVERUS, STOP THAT RACKET THIS INSTANT, YOU ODIOUS MAN!" Draco exploded, banging his curled fists against the wall.
Sure enough, the clanging trailed off to a distant patter before stopping completely and leaving only blissful silence. Draco sighed with happy relief and smoothed his hands through his hair, just as he could hear the beginnings of mumbled ramblings from the man. An old man, a deranged man. A once proud, intelligent man, brought down to a gibbering wreck by the prison called Azkaban. Severus Snape, once Draco Malfoy's teacher and eventful ally in the Dark Arts. Nowadays, all Severus was to Draco was an annoyance.
Unfortunately, the two Dementors standing guard outside Draco's high-security cell didn't take too kindly to the young man's outburst. One turned slowly and glared at him from underneath its hood. Though the creature had no eyes, Draco could feel it staring right at him, burning its piercing gaze into his skull. Draco whimpered and turned away, backing himself into the corner of his cell.
I've got to get out of here, Draco thought desperately. I've got to get out of here. I've got to get out of here.
He wasn't going to end up like Snape, mad in his cell. Draco had only been here just under a year, and there was still time. Still plenty of time before the effects of Azkaban warped his quick young mind. But how? How? There were very few people who had escaped Azkaban at all, let alone from a high security cell with two particularly gruesome Dementors constantly standing guard.
"I'll do it," Draco said in a hushed voice to himself. "I'll get out of here. And as soon as I do, I'm coming for you … Harry Potter."
Harry awoke with a start, his body giving an involuntary twitch that jolted him into consciousness. He groaned, frustrated to be awake as he realized that he'd only managed to sleep for two short hours. He pulled himself into an upright sitting position on his bed, and removed the sheet of newspaper that had stuck itself to the side of his face with sweat. Getting to his feet, he plodded across the room towards an extremely cluttered desk, and proceeded to look for his cigarettes. When he reached out his hands, the first thing he touched was something soft and fluffy. The cat hissed sharply at him before leaping off the desk and onto the floor.
"Stupid bloody thing," Harry muttered of the stray that had moved itself into the Black household and didn't seem to want to leave. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, allowing him to get a slightly clearer look at the desk.
"There you are," he grinned triumphantly as he scooped up the box of toxic refreshments. Now he just had to find his lighter. He patted his jacket and his trousers, searched in all his pockets, but to no positive result. He did, however, feel the poke of his wand jutting out from inside his jacket. He pulled it out and although he couldn't quite see it, he could feel the green glow that his wand continued to emit, all these months after destroying Voldemort. He had at first wondered why the wand had done it. Then he wondered if the glow was doing him any harm, and if it was safe to still use the wand. Then he realized that he didn't really care.
"Incendio," Harry rasped, pointing the tip of his wand at the end of the cigarette. It lit and he happily puffed away on it, tossing his wand to the floor carelessly. Of course, he would get frustrated when he couldn't find it later on, but it was just one of many bad habits that Harry had picked up and couldn't seem to get rid of.
There was a hurried knock at the front door downstairs. Once upon a time, this would have surprised Harry, since the Black house was under a magic barrier, and couldn't be approached or even seen by anyone who didn't know it was there. Now however, the barrier appeared to be fading away. Harry wasn't sure, but he think it began to deteriorate just after Sirius died.
Thinking about Sirius stung, and although Harry wasn't particularly interested to see who was visiting (probably one of those annoying Muggle salesmen, as usual), he shuffled his way to the stairs before slowly making his way down them. It was a great effort, and whoever it was at the door kept banging and knocking with great urgency.
"Alright!" Harry growled as he eventually reached the door. After opening it, he took a few moments to focus his eyes on the figure at the door. He could just make out a gangly young man clutching at what appeared to be an identical figure in his arms.
"Harry," a voice breathed slowly. Harry recognized the voice. But no, it was impossible. It couldn't be…
"Ron?" Harry wheezed, stunned beyond belief. The figure in the doorway shifted about uncomfortably.
"Uh, no," it said slowly. "No, it's Fred."
Harry paused before slamming the door in Fred Weasley's face, and immediately scolding himself for being so foolish. Ron is dead. Ron is dead. He's not exactly going to turn up on your doorstep, is he? Idiot.
"Harry!" Fred called out from behind the door, his voice muffled through the rotting wood. "Harry, please. George has been cursed, he's dying. He needs your help, Harry."
"I don't go by that name anymore," Harry replied bluntly.
"Stop that nonsense," Fred snapped angrily. "Let us in, Harry."
"Why should I?" Harry scoffed loudly, resting against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "George deserves death, for what he did."
Harry thought he could her a sorry groan from behind the door, and it wasn't Fred.
"How can you say that!" Fred retorted angrily, then sighed. "Look, open this door."
"No," Harry refused bluntly, and made to move away. But what Fred said next stopped him.
"I have news from Ginny," Fred blurted quickly, as if he had only just remembered. Harry's heart thumped against his ribcage and he froze in the hallway. His hand hovered over the doorknob. What if Fred's lying? Harry drew his hand back. Then again … what if he isn't?
The burning feeling of wanting to know Ginny's news pushed Harry to finally open the door again. Fred let out a sigh of relief.
"Okay, I'll hear you out," Harry grunted, moving aside to let the twins enter the house. "But I don't promise to help."