Chapter Four: Storm
Draco Malfoy was terrified. He knew the difference between when things weren't good and when things were not good. This was even worse; things were bad. How he had gotten in this mess he had no idea, but he now found himself locked in a dingy cell, unarmed, looking nothing like himself. He knew it would do no good to scream, they all screamed here. Driven mad by the presence of the Dementors, the captives of Azkaban found little reprieve from their nightmares, even in their sleep.
At first he had convinced himself he had been given polyjuice and that it would wear off and the whole mess would be sorted out. That had been two days ago. Last night he had managed to transform into his animagus form and sneak through the bars but he had been caught and detained before he reached the edge of the wards. It was excruciating trying to fly with a broken wing. He tried requesting Kaelyn only to be told she had already spoken with 'him' and that it had been her opinion that he be 'kissed' and then strangled for good measure. He then requested to speak to the victims advocate, to which he was told he'd be better off dying lest 'Draco' got him with an Avada Kedavra when no one was looking.
Running out of ideas, Draco tried to think back to the last thing he remembered. He and Blaise had been in the south of France. It was their last trip before heading home. The note had them meeting outside of a pub. They approached the figures, he saw a flash of silver, heard a purr of 'Draco', and faded to black. He only hoped his friend was alright. Thinking on his friend he wondered why no one had realized he was missing, but then it hit him that someone had gone to great lengths to get him out of the way; but whom? And why? He felt defeated. Cold. Sore. Dirty. He ran his fingers through his hair and stopped. Why was it so long? In his younger days he had grown it to his shoulders, but when Kaelyn had rescued him, she'd insisted he adopt a new persona and had practically scalped him. These days he walked around with dirty blond locks stuck in a never ending bedhead look. It was quite appealing actually. This hair was to his shoulder blades, and platinum blonde. Malfoy blonde. He looked at his hands. They were still long fingered and delicate, but they were somehow older. He moved up his arms. They were much the same, the faded dark mark still in place on his left arm.
Looking over his entire body (Merlin how he wished he had a mirror) he deduced that he simply looked...older. More aristocratic. When he tried to ask his name, the guards had just laughed and walked away muttering about Malfoy scum being put in its place. But it made no sense. He had been cleared. He was liked. Everyone knew he was not his father, and he had in fact, been the deciding vote to have Lucius kissed. Had something happened while he was out? Had he been forced to do something terrible? He must have for Kaelyn to speak so of him. Succumbing to despair, Draco curled up in a ball, and tried to think of happier times.