The Azkaban guards were unsure of their next actions. For four years they had been under the impression that Lucius Malfoy lived in cell number six, and now they had discovered that it had been a completely different person, one whom they believed to be innocent.

Stan was too stunned for words that Harry had revealed his true identity. He was physically shaking and vomited on several occasions. Harry and the guards had decided to return him to his cell. Even though Harry had a whole list of new burning questions for him, he didn't think Stan was in any shape to answer them. Plus, he needed to tell Ron and, more importantly, Draco what he had found out.

Harry visited Hermione first, he felt as though she should be the first to know simply because he would not have found out the truth without her. He apparated to her doorstep and knocked the brass letterbox three times. She answered the door within seconds, having obviously been expecting him.

"Well?" she demanded before he had even had the chance to close the door behind him.

"It worked, it's definitely Stan. It was horrible to watch though, and he was sick on my shoes after. Have you got any firewhisky? I could really do with a strong drink.

"Of course, sit down and I'll go get it. I'm sure I have some left over from when Ron-" she stopped herself and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle and two glasses.

"Here," she said handing him a half full glass and then picking up her own. "So it's definitely Stan?"

"Definitely."

"But that means-" Hermione began.

"Lucius Malfoy never went to Azkaban and has had a four year head start in hiding," Harry finished.

"Have you told Malfoy yet?"

"No, I came straight here. I thought you should know first since it was down to you that I found out. Plus I needed some time to get my head together, you know? How do I tell him Hermione?" He studied her face closely, as though expecting the answers to appear written on her face.

"Just be honest, tell him the whole story and don't leave out any details. Well, maybe leave the part about you coming here first."

"You're right," Harry replied, draining his glass and setting it down on a coaster on the coffee table. "Thank you Hermione, for knowing everything as usual. Don't forget, the offer still stands for you to come back. Think about it."

"I don't need to," Hermione said quietly.

"Come on Hermione, you said you would," Harry protested.

"I know, and I have. I'll help, I want to. Just, try not to leave me alone with Ronald please?"

"Deal." Harry grinned. "Thank you so much. You are truly a lifesaver."

He stood up and hugged her, crossed the room to the fireplace and took a handful of floo powder before throwing it at his feet and shouting the address for Malfoy's temporary home.

Malfoy stared blankly at Harry once he had finished explaining the situation with his father, he looked as though he had lost the ability to speak. Harry said no more, he knew that Malfoy needed time to process and so Harry waited for him to speak.

After what felt like an hour of silence, he finally spoke. "Thanks for telling me, Potter. You can go now."

Harry looked incredulously at the blonde haired man. "That's it? I tell you that your father has avoided Azkaban and been god only knows where for the last four years and you say 'thanks for telling me'?"

"What do you want me to say Potter? Do you want me to cry? Tell you how I'm feeling? Sorry but I don't think I'm that sort of girl," he said sarcastically.

"Obviously not but I thought you would be a little more concerned," Harry countered.

"Well I'm not but I appreciate your concern. Like I said, you can go now."

He ushered Harry into the fireplace he had arrived in and threw floo powder at his shoes. When Harry simply stared at him in shock, Draco raised an expectant eyebrow causing Harry to shout 'The Burrow!'

As soon as Harry's figure had disappeared from the fireplace, Draco began to pace in front of it. His mother was still not home and for that he was thankful; it gave him more time to think. He was unsure whether or not he should confront her about the information the guard at Azkaban had given him, and been paid for in exchange for both the information and his silence. Now he had everything Potter had told him on top of that and the whole situation was becoming a mess.

By the time his mother arrived home from dinner with her friends. Draco was still unsure of what he should say, or not say, to her. She closed the door behind her and hung up her coat and handbag before turning to face him with a smile.

"Hello, darling. How was your day? Did you find anything that might help you with Astoria?"

"You could say that," Draco replied through gritted teeth, finally making his mind up.

"That's good," she hesitated, "isn't it?"

"Well that depends what your idea of good is. It's certainly interesting that's for sure."

"Well, what is it?" Narcissa asked tentatively.

"It's about Father."

"Lucius? What about him?"

"The man in Azkaban isn't him. It's that idiot Stan Shunpike. Apparently he and father did some sort of body switching spell before the trial and Shunpike has been serving his sentence for him in exchange for a lot of gold."

Narcissa's jaw dropped and panic crossed her face. "That's not possible, there's no such spell. You must have it wrong," she said quickly.

"There is, it's old and extremely dark magic, but it exists. Potter already performed the reversal spell on Shunpike and he's back to his own body, which means Father is too."

Narcissa clutched a hand to her chest, sank down on to the sofa, and began taking deep breaths.

"I don't know why you're so surprised," Draco said coldly. "You knew didn't you?"

His mother's head snapped up and she looked at him questioningly. "What?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Mother. I had an interesting chat with one of the Azkaban guards earlier. See, Gawain came to speak to me after they had first used veritaserum on who they thought was Father, he told me the crazy story that he had come out with, but said they were sure he was lying somehow. That was before Potter found out the spell and reversed it. As soon as I found out I went to speak to one of the guards about him, I wanted to know if 'Father' had had any visitors in the time he had been there, anyone that might link to Astoria's disappearance. Can you guess what he told me?"

"No, how would I?"

"Because, Mother," Draco said, standing over her, "he's only ever had four visits, one a year, and they were all from you."

Narcissa shook her head. "No. No, that's not right. He's lying. Draco, son, I promise you I haven't seen or spoken or even written to him the whole time he has been in there. I don't want anything more to do with him. You were there at the trial, the things he confessed to, I didn't know about all of the people he tortured, killed even. You have to believe me."

"You're lying," Draco spat. "He had the proof there, all visitors are logged you see."

"Please, Draco," she begged, "you have to believe me. I couldn't even be in the same room as that man, you know that. I told you when he left Azkaban I would divorce him and I stand by that."

Draco eyed her carefully. He thought that he knew his mother well enough to know if she was telling the truth, and he really thought that she was, but all of the evidence was against her. The security checks to get into Azkaban were so thorough; there was no way to get past them without having the right wand. Then again, they had imprisoned the wrong man for the last four years. That was proof that they could be fooled on occasion, but gaining access into the prison as a visitor required the correct appearance and wand check.

Draco sat down next to his mother, who was sobbing quietly, and rubbed his temples. Finding Astoria seemed to be becoming an impossible task. The situation with Stan and his father had only caused more complications, now there were the mysterious visits paid to him by Narcissa to factor in and none of it seemed relevant to discovering who had taken his fiancée and where they were hiding her.

He stood up, walked to the front door, and pulled his coat down from the stand.

"Where are you going?" his mother asked.

"Out. For a walk. I need some space to think."

He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath of the crisp evening air as he began walking down the quiet street. He wasn't sure where he planned to go, but he knew that he needed to walk until things started to make more sense in his head.