Prisoners of Azkaban, Probationary Diaries August 2009, Prisoners #19-09-1979 and #09-01-1960

oooOooo

August 27, 2009

That bloody berk. Draco. Shows up for breakfast yesterday. The one ally of Harry Potter who was never apprehended and never imprisoned Apparates to Hogsmeade in broad daylight to visit the most infamous ex-prisoners of Azkaban without employing even a Disillusionment Charm.

Waltzes into our kitchen. Asks how we are. And when he discovers that you have fulfilled the conditions of your probation, he proclaims a party and proceeds to drag us into bed for an orgy that lasts all day and most of the night.

Well.

He is a Malfoy.

(And both of us went willingly.)

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.

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…He is no more sane than you and I. How could he be? The Chosen One loved him. He dropped his disguise for Draco. The Boy-Who-Lived became the Boy-Who-Died to save his lover's life.

Still, in my bitter waking hours at Azkaban it would have been a comfort to know that he succeeded. That another life entrusted into my care was spared.

—I know.

I know.

I was never as angry at Harry as in those final moments of his life. When I believed his love had not saved, but killed all of us.

Now, eleven years later, I realise that maybe he [ink splodge]

Maybe there was no other way.

At least, in the end [ink splodge]

Though none of us, neither you nor I (nor Harry or Draco) thought that [ink splodge]

In any case, I have forgiven him.

Both of them.

A relief—a respite—I did not expect. But that way, I can give him—and you—both of you—my blessing.

…considering who I am, that term is sacrilegious.

Not my blessing then.

But certainly my approval. And my gratitude.

It is logical. It is the best, and, as matters stand, the only solution.

You will have your life.

I shall have my death.

And both Draco and I will have you.

(In a way.)

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…You and Draco are still asleep, curled around each other like kittens in a basket. Scrawny grimalkins, comforting each other—and thus, myself. So I mustn't sneer. Particularly since I'm the scarecrow who woke ensconced between you. Extricating myself from your embraces was quite the slithering feat.

If not Slytherin enough.

Here comes Draco.

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…I don't know if Draco lost all Slytherin subtlety during that decade in his lighthouse, or if his tactics have become truly devious now.

He shouted at me until you came running. Then he shoved my diary at you.

You took it, but you didn't read it. (You have always respected me.)

I nodded.

You have the right to know.

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…Your reaction would have been the ultimate joy of my life once. Now it destroys all my hopes.

You cannot be without me.

You—crumbled. My mind shuttered, I waited for Draco to comfort you. Neither his endearments nor his embrace helped. You rocked back and forth; your eyes empty; your mind counting something I cannot fathom.

Suddenly you stopped.

"I understand," you said.

We went back to bed then. What else was there to do?

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A/N: Many thanks to Mia Madwyn for her support and for looking this over.