A/N: Lucius is imprisoned post-battle.
Azkaban's walls clutched the black, slimy rocks of the desolate North Sea outcropping where the wizarding prison stood. They soared nearly up to the black, stormy, rain-soaked heavens. Torrential waves threw themselves against the tower walls, as if demanding entrance, secure that through the immense passage of time, they would wear the tower's stones down.
But they were up against the strongest magic there was, which didn't follow the rules of erosion.
Inside the forbidding tower, Draco wished he could hear the relentless crashes of the frigid waves against the walls, or watch the salty spray dance among the light. But he couldn't. No one could. There was nothing but silence to hear and dim candlelight to see.
Every surface the prison consisted of black slate and the only light came from candles and sconces. It was disorienting – and if you'd been incarcerated for years or for life – maddening.
Yes, the Dementors were gone. But little else had changed. You were left alone with your silent thoughts in the cold and dank cells, and that was just as debilitating as whatever the Dementors could dish out.
There was nothing to do except eat, shit, shower (once a week) and stare at the walls. Which were too thick to strike up a conversation with a neighbouring prisoner. But at least you couldn't hear them scream when their last thread of sanity snapped.
Even though Draco couldn't tell the time, he daily thanked every god he could think of for Hermione and her granted request for him to complete his studies inside. If it wasn't for the discipline and focus he needed to study in such a hostile environment, and on his own, to boot – he could not have kept the encroaching madness at bay.
He wasn't told when his exams would be. They could be tomorrow, weeks or months away. And he had no way of distinguishing time. So he made a study nest as best he could out of his cell, made the most of his extra candles (which the Aurors only provided after lengthy argument, since 'candles' weren't on the list of educational supplies he was entitled to) and tried his best to memorise every single word in all of his textbooks.
Then one day, or night, whatever, Draco's cell door screeched open and an anonymous Auror filled the doorway. "It's time for your exams," he or she grunted.
Draco had already been awake for what felt like hours, and he was hungry and thirsty. But he dutifully stood, dropped the quill he was holding to the floor, stepped over his textbooks and followed the Auror to his destiny.
Which was the Auror's office.
In line with the Ministry's Department of Magical Education standards, Draco was silently supervised by a robed and hooded Auror while he was given the allotted time to complete the provided exam work. However, instead of giving Draco a minimum number of hours between exams for him to recover, the prison decided he could sit each exam one after the other.
He was nearly unconscious with fatigue by the time he signed his name to the final workbook with a painfully cramped hand, and didn't remember the journey back to his cell at all. When he was shoved inside, he dimly noticed that every book, parchment and quill had been removed from his tiny and inclement home. Then he collapsed onto his sparse cot and didn't stir for three days (by the Aurors' count, because how would he know?).
When Draco finally awoke and spooned the prison's thin gruel into his mouth, he felt a miasma of fear settle over him. He had nothing to occupy his mind with, and already he was sure the narrow walls of his cell were creeping inwards.
He had no idea how much time was left on his sentence.
Then he gritted his teeth and applied his mind to the challenge. He would think positive thoughts. He would plan his future for when he finally left this shithole. He would compose letters to his Mum in his head, even though he wasn't allowed to send any. He even managed to chip a bit of slate off and scratched a very rudimentary piano keyboard, every black and white key, on the wall, and played every song he could think of. Then he started composing them.
One day, an Auror appeared at Draco's door. His heart leapt – was his sentence over? But to his disappointment, it was not.
"Yer Dad wants to see yer," the Auror muttered.
Since Lucius Malfoy wanted to see his son, the Aurors presumed the son wanted to see Lucius. Draco didn't, particularly, but he was still prodded into a standing position and marched between two guards to another anonymous cell.
Lucius was standing, facing the wall when Draco was shoved inside. Draco wondered how alike they look now; what with their hideous mattress-ticking, unfitting uniforms, prison number tattoo on their necks, lengthy, matted hair and stubble. (No barbers were made available to the prisoners, so Draco's hair had reached shoulder-length. It pissed him off.)
Draco cleared his throat. "Father?"
The patriarch of the Malfoy dynasty slowly turned around, patrician nose parked up in the air as usual. Draco scanned Lucius's features for signs of madness, but if he had any, he hid them well.
Lucius sneered. "So it's true."
Oh, gods. The number of times Draco had cowered in front of his powerful father while Lucius dispensed uncalled-for opinions and unwanted physical punishments. Well, the tables may not have turned, Daddy, Draco snarled to himself, but we are most certainly on equal footing now.
"You'll need to elucidate, Father." Draco stayed in the small shaft of light provided by the open door. Open so the Aurors could earwig at their leisure.
Lucius snorted and flicked some of his famous hair back. Once it was silver-white, lustrous, soft and obeyed every command Lucius made of it. Now it was scraggly grey and greasy, with knots and patches of scalp visible. "That you're in prison, stupid boy," he spat. "I was relying on you to look after your mother once you finished school. Now look what you've done."
Draco didn't give his Dad the satisfaction of telling him he was only in for a year, whereas he was in for a bloody long time. "What I've done seems to be exactly the same as what you've done," he observed. "If I've failed Mother, how badly have you failed your wife?"
Lucius raised his cane as if to strike Draco, but it turned out Lucius actually needed it to help him stay upright. He wobbled dangerously, then returned the cane's tip to the ground with an audible strike. It did not escape his notice that his son did not offer any assistance.
"You think you're better than me, don't you?" Lucius hissed. "You're just a milksop, cowering behind your mother's skirts. I should have disciplined you much more forcefully."
Draco raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't think it was possible for Lucius to have beaten him more than he already did; but now, it didn't matter.
"I've always lived in your shadow, Father," Draco said in even tones. "I've always tried to live up to you and your stupidly high standards, and I always thought it was my fault when I failed them. However. All that will change. I will be free of this forsaken place in a few weeks or months. And when I walk out of here, I will not look back. When I re-enter wizarding society, it will not be as Draco Malfoy, snivelling, cowardly son of the dangerous criminal Lucius Malfoy. It will be as Draco Malfoy, son of no-one in particular, who will work hard to redeem himself, stay out of the limelight and contribute meaningfully to society. You, on the other hand, are going to age and lose your marbles in this slate box, without your wife or son to visit. And if you raise your cane to me one more time, I will snap it in two and feed each piece down your throat. The punishment will be well worth it."
Lucius was so enraged he couldn't speak. His cheeks bulged and the blood vessels behind his eyes turned a murderous shade of red.
Draco stepped back into the hallway. "I'm done here," he told the Auror.
He walked away from his father for the last time.
Malfoy Manor
Even though Hermione had written to Narcissa Malfoy, received an invitation to tea and was allowed through the Manor's wards, she still felt nervous. Mrs Malfoy was such a fashionista, and Hermione knew her summer dress would not be up to snuff, no matter how cute it was.
Oh, well.
She rang the doorbell, and the door was promptly opened by a house-elf wearing a sunhat and dungarees. "Is you Miss Her-my-o-knee Granger?" it squeaked excitedly, obviously very proud of pronouncing Hermione's name properly.
Hermione smiled. "Yes, I am," she replied.
"Please to be following me, Miss!" the creature (as yet sexless) chirped, and led Hermione through a number of rooms (not the ballroom) to a set of French doors, which led to a patio outside. Mrs Malfoy was snipping a few white roses that dared to creep too close to the French doors.
"Miss Her-my-o-knee Granger is here, Mistress!" the house-elf bellowed, giving both hostess and guest a start.
"Thank you, Clover," Narcissa said politely to the house-elf. "Please won't you see how tea is coming along?"
Clover bowed so low her nose touched the ground, then popped off.
"Miss Granger!" Narcissa smiled, holding out her hands to clasp Hermione's. "I was so glad to receive your letter! Thank you for visiting. I look forward to getting to you know you."
Belatedly, Hermione realised that Mrs Malfoy probably didn't get many visitors, what with her husband and now son in prison and she herself confined to house arrest. She used to be the matriarch of wizarding society, always fundraising and holding balls or massive luncheons in their large and airy manor. Add one nose-less megalomaniac to the mix, and poof! No one wanted to know you. It was like magic.
"I too, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione replied warmly. "But to be honest, I was mostly concerned about your welfare, now that both your husband and son are in prison."
To Hermione's dismay, tears welled in Narcissa's eyes, and she searched around for a handkerchief to proffer. But Narcissa replied "Oh my dear, I cannot thank you enough for helping my son at his hearing! It's thanks to you that his sentence is relatively minimal. And that he can sit his exams, too. I just… I just don't know how to thank you."
"No thanks are needed, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione murmured. "I wanted to make sure justice was done. And to make sure he had something to keep his mind occupied."
The almost certain probability of Narcissa's husband going mad lay heavy in the air between them, but it seemed she was not inclined to bring the sobering subject of her husband into the conversation.
Narcissa's back straightened, and she invited Hermione to sit at the patio table, which shimmered with a virtual Eiffel Tower's worth of finger sandwiches, pastries and cakes. "I'm afraid the house-elves got a bit excited when they heard company was coming," Narcissa confessed.
"They've done a lovely job," Hermione replied, staring at the tower in awe.
As Narcissa poured the tea, she said brightly: "Now! Tell me all about your friendship with Draco. He doesn't talk about such things when he writes home, so I'm utterly in the dark! Aside from what the newspapers reported." She trailed off.
Our friendship… Hermione paused and searched for the right words. "Well, there wasn't much of one in the years leading up to the war," she said delicately. "But in our final school year, we put our differences aside and began to study together. Then we realised we rubbed together rather well, friend-wise, and then things went from there," Hermione finished, pink-cheeked. She came to Malfoy Manor out of concern for Draco's Mum's welfare. She didn't expect to be describing the ins and outs of their relationship, unorthodox as it was.
"I'm sorry he obliviated you so many times," Narcissa said sorrowfully. "I never knew my son had such fragile self-esteem. But after the war, and with his father out of contact, I really should have talked to him and done something."
Narcissa looked so upset that Hermione begged her to stop. "What's happened in the past has happened," she said. "Draco has the future to look forward to, and I've put out some feelers on his behalf for employment when he gets out."
The 'feelers' were actually full-on arguments with everyone up to and including the Minister of Magic, supported on her side by thick tomes and treatises to justify Draco's suitability for this particular field, emphasising the benefit of having him under an experienced practitioner's wing instead of out in the wild blue yonder getting up to god knew what. She finally succeeded with a probational opportunity which was his to take. Or not.
She really was a busybody, wasn't she?
Narcissa was thrilled, and the two ladies spent a pleasant afternoon chatting, gossiping and scheming (not bad scheming, just lady scheming). Hermione left the Manor with an armful of roses, a basket of yummy food and promises to visit once a month for tea.
She took one last look at the Manor before she disapparated. "Hold on, Draco," she whispered.
One day
Draco was getting some shut-eye when his cell door opened without warning. He cracked open an eye and wasn't initially interested in the Auror announcing his imprisonment was over and he was free to go.
He let the words roll sleepily over his head, and they shortly sunk in.
He was free! Finally fucking free!
His elation didn't last too long, though. After the standard tepid shower and shave with a half-blunt razor, he finger-combed his long hair into what he hoped was tidiness and headed, nude to the musty, dusty locker room, in which the property of the prisoners were stored. Handing over the horrible mattress ticking uniform to what he hoped was a male Auror under those robes, he realised the only clothing available to him was what he was wearing at his sentencing, which didn't fit even then. The Auror offered no assistance, so Draco shoved and pulled and heaved himself into the shoes, trousers and shirt, looping the tie loosely around the open collar. He did dare try on the jacket, and he pulled the shirt out over his hips to accommodate for the embarrassing fact that the trousers were so tight it showed every outline of his anatomy and he was certain the seams would split if he sat down.
At the prison's transportation point, he was given his certificate of release and a box containing his wand.
His wand!
He picked it up and hoped that the odd, foreign effect he felt after being without his wand for so long would soon go away. When his shaking hands were under control, he engorged his clothes until they no longer were at risk of cutting off vital arteries.
What would he find on the other side? he wondered.
His Mum was still under house arrest, so she wouldn't be able to meet him. He had no way of contacting anyone, so no one probably remembered the day of his release.
Would Hermione…?
It would not do to speculate.
The Auror was tapping his or her foot impatiently, so Draco presumed it was time to go. He touched the tattoo on his neck and made sure his hair covered it.
That's two unwanted tattoos forced on his body, now.
With nothing in his hands but his wand, Draco left Azkaban for the final time.
The Ministry atrium was busy with Very Important People Going Places. Draco did his best to fold himself into the crowd, but the cacophony of sights, sounds and smells assaulted his every sense until he felt dizzy and ill.
Heading to a nice, plain wall, Draco casually leaned against it as if waiting for someone, breathing slowly in and out and closing his eyes against the helter skelter. All he had to do was make it to the banks of Floos on the other side of the atrium, then he'd be home. And he'd never have to leave again, if he wanted.
"Is it rather overwhelming?" a sympathetic voice asked. "I hadn't realised that sensory deprivation was still conducted at Azkaban. The bloody cheek of them! It should be outlawed."
Draco pulled away from the wall. He was hearing things, surely? He cast around for a head of wild, curly hair. If he was hallucinating Hermione's voice, maybe he would hallucinate her very presence?
But he didn't need to hallucinate. Standing before him, in a lovely short blue wrap dress and floppy hat that hid some but not all of her beautiful curls, stood the young woman he loved beyond anything and anyone. She had only grown more lovely over the year. Whereas he…
"Your hair!" she exclaimed, reaching out a hand to touch it. Then she stopped, her hand mid-hover. "May I?" she asked with pink cheeks.
"Anything you want," Draco replied with a voice that was croaky from disuse, and smiled when she ran her fingers through the hair that now went past his shoulders. Then she gasped.
The tattoo.
"It's fine," Draco replied. "Doesn't hurt."
"You've been branded as if you were – you were cattle!" Hermione hissed, outraged, but making sure she didn't attract attention to the poorly-suited refugee in their midst.
"Hermione" –
"Well, I won't do anything about it right now," Hermione said darkly before forcing a smile back on her face. "You must be longing for somewhere quiet to go," she continued. Draco was finding it hard to keep up. "Obviously you can go to Malfoy Manor, but I'd rather hoped you wouldn't mind spending a bit of time with me first – we've lots to talk about – but if you'd rather not keep your Mum waiting" –
"You." Draco was certain. "Call me a selfish bastard, but I've really missed you."
Again, Hermione's cheeked pinked under her hat. "Well, good!" she dimpled. "Take my hand and I'll show you the way. Let's send a quick owl to your Mum first so she doesn't worry."
"Are you sure?" Because Draco wasn't. "People will see you with me."
Hermione lifted up the brim of her hat so she could look him in the eye. "I couldn't care less what people think."
Fearless, principled Hermione.
He took her outstretched hand and walked across the across the atrium with her, filtering out the looks and murmurs, focusing only on the girl by his side.
Muggle London
Hermione took him to a nearby Muggle pub that had rooms above, much like the Leaky Cauldron but much less magicky. Hermione stared down the snooty Receptionist who had issues with the guests' ages and who only handed the room key over when she showed him Muggle ID and her credit card.
But once they were in the room, Hermione's confidence buffered. Standing in the middle of the room, she clasped and unclasped her hands while Draco made sure the door was locked and the 'Do Not Disturb' tag was sitting on the doorknob.
Draco turned from the door and let his eyes feast on the beautiful young woman before him. But after a year in prison, he found he did not know what to do.
Eventually he said "I would like to re-ask that question I asked at the Wizengamot," he said. "If you don't mind."
"Why did I defend you?" Hermione asked. She took off her hat and ruffled out her hair. "The short answer is, I wanted to."
"The Hermione I know doesn't do short answers. Long, complicated answers with footnotes that take up many inches of parchment is her standard."
She smiled. "All right then, the better answer is, um, because of your Pensieve memories. Not the sex, although of course it was lovely, except I really didn't enjoy having Professor McGonagall, that creepy Auror and one hundred Wizengamot members view them, by the way – but the reason why you did it."
Draco struggled to think back.
"You went through so much, you see."
"So did you." He stepped forward and gently touched the arm she had glamoured to hide Bellatrix's scar.
Hermione smiled gently. "We're not going to have a competition about who's the more damaged. But everything you said to me helped assuage the anger I felt. I put myself in your shoes. Now, I'm not saying I'm happy about you obliviating me" – she waggled a finger under Draco's surprised nose – "but the stress you must have been under to consider obliviation the only way to have things make sense for you must have been unbearable."
Tears pricked at Draco's eyes and he headed to the window.
Hermione knew he needed a moment, although she dearly wanted to give him a great big Gryffindor hug. "Also, I got Professor McGonagall to find out what the Wizengamot were charging you with and I was really pissed they'd tried to pin sexual assault charges on you. The very idea!"
Draco's shoulders began to shake.
Hermione stepped up behind him and put what she hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder (she had to stand on tiptoe). "I'm so sorry," she entreated. "This must be so much for you to take in and I" –
Draco turned around, and Hermione was relieved to see that he was laughing. He now felt content and confident enough to take her in his arms, so he did. "Never change, darling," he said, and gently pulled her in for a hug.
Now that Hermione was up on tip-toes again so she could link her arms around his neck, she slowly brought her lips close to his. Draco ran his thumb along her jaw and whispered "I can't believe I'm here, Hermione. I've thought about you day in, day out for a year and now that you're here in front of me" –
Hermione completed the connection by joining her lips to his.
Nothing was said for a long, long time.
Later…
"Sorry about the room," Hermione said, waving her hand around their space. "I'm living in at university and there's zero privacy and I wanted to see you without your Mum floating around, even though she's amazing" –
"You've met her?" Draco asked, surprised. They were lying on top of the bed, clothed, watching the sun trace its ancient path around the room. Draco was lying on his back and Hermione was curled into his side, and nothing could be any more perfect.
"Ah, yeah, I was worried about her, what with you and your Dad gone – hey!"
Draco had rolled over to give her a thorough snog and a cuddle. "Every time I think you couldn't a better witch, Hermione Granger, you still manage to surprise."
"Ah, well" –
"Thank you for keeping her company," Draco whispered. "Her loneliness must have been intolerable."
After some more kissing, Hermione blurted out: "I got you a job."
That certainly had Draco confounded.
"Well, it has a probationary period, and I have to admit I had to battle a little bit for them to give you a chance but I think I won them over and the Minister's actually really supportive now" –
Draco interrupted her with a kiss. "Sweetheart, what's the job?"
"Oh!" Hermione pulled some hair behind her ears. "You're going to be a Probationary Obliviator with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You know, because everyone who saw the Pensieve memories" – she grimaced – "noticed how naturally talented you were with the spell."
Draco sat up, then slowly pulled his legs off the bed. He headed around to Hermione's side, knelt on one knee on the floor and took her hand. "Will you marry me?" he whispered, his eyes solemn.
Hermione sat up slowly. "You're not taking the piss?" she asked.
Draco shook his head.
She reached forward to take his other hand. "Can you ask me again when I've graduated?" she asked.
Draco's lower lip stuck out a bit, so she kissed it better. "It will be a long-distance relationship until I graduate from Wizarding law school" –
"Law school? I thought you were going to Healer School?"
"Well, after my advocacy at the Wizengamot, Professor McGonagall convinced me to give law school a try. And I'm really enjoying it! Also, Blaise is happy to have someone he can copy off," she finished wryly. "Anyway, I'd like to be your girlfriend for that time, if that's okay with you, and if you ask me again once I've graduated, I know I will say yes. With all my heart."
Draco got up and climbed back on the bed again. "That's the nicest rejection I've ever had," he observed.
"You've been rejected before? Get outta here!"
"Not often," he admitted, "but enough."
"But this isn't a rejection," Hermione pointed out with her whiplash logic. "You still get to have me until the opportunity to propose occurs again. Best of both worlds, really."
Draco laughed. "I pity the poor Wizengamot when you qualify."
A little while later, Hermione said "I was wondering, did you want to buy some new clothes before you go home? Or…"
"Or…?" Draco prompted.
"Or… stay here and make love? So we can both remember what it's like afterward?"
Draco rolled over and settled his body between her legs. "The two options don't even compare," he murmured, and sealed his choice with a kiss that swept the pair up in passion and longing - all the sweeter for having been apart for so long.
The end.
Thank you for reading!