Hello!
A few things before we get to the chapter! From now on, chapters will be posted every five days. I'll let you know when the next chapter will be at the end of each chapter (yes, I've written "chapter" far too many times).
Next, we'll meet today for the third part of this story: "Healing". This part will be eight chapters long :)
Lastly, for the occasion, this chapter has been illustrated (I advise you to read it entirely before going to see the illustration, so as not to be spoilered!) As I can't put an image here, you can find it on my instagram "novafrogster", on Wattpad, Twitter or Ao3 (links in my bio).
And here it is, enjoy reading!
Theo had counted the days. Since he had received Blaise's letter, he had been circling in his cell, impatiently waiting for the blessed day of his release. He would be free on May 15, 2005.
He had already imagined how it would happen:
Blaise would come and get him with one of the prison wardens. The spells containing his magic would be removed, he would be escorted to the warden's quarters where he would retrieve his belongings–at least, if they hadn't been stolen–and finally, he and Blaise would use a portkey that would take them to France.
He had even dreamed of it.
So when the door opened on a guard, alone, Theo's dreams were shattered. His face broke down.
"Get up, Nott. The aurors are here to get you back."
"Isn't my lawyer here?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"I don't know," the warden replied nonchalantly.
Theo nodded and followed the warden out of his cell. He didn't look back. He was leaving it forever. He almost had tears in his eyes.
The guard drew his wand and closed the door behind them, before pointing it at Theo. He didn't flinch, didn't back away, didn't get scared when he saw him do it. He closed his eyes, waiting for the spell that would give him back his magic. He had prepared himself mentally.
A slight warmth developed in his centre, then in all his limbs. He had never experienced anything so pleasant in his life. At least, he kept himself from thinking about the things that made him feel that way.
He still remembered how the reverse spell had made him feel. He had felt so cold, so empty... For the first time in his life, for seven years straight, he had lost his magic. It had dissipated.
When he opened his eyes again, the guard was already walking back to his quarters. He frowned. Wasn't he supposed to lead him to the exit? Or to the visiting rooms?
Although he never had access to them because of his status as a Death Eater, Theo knew they existed. Prisoners locked up for minor crimes were legally allowed to have visitors. He had been so jealous when he found out.
He had imagined what visits from his friends, or Harry, might have been like. Harry. He hoped to see him as soon as possible. He was eager, he couldn't wait any longer. He was nearly bouncing with anticipation.
He had imagined many times what life would be like without Harry, thinking that he had no interest in waiting for him. Many nights he had nightmares about it, mentally drawing the woman or man who would have replaced him.
Eventually, he had preferred to take the path of hope and condemn the path of fear. He wouldn't have lasted long without going mad if he had tried to rethink Harry's life without him. He had chosen to dream of theirs, of the one they would build together. A good way to hold on.
And since Blaise's letter, he had been meticulously counting the days that separated him from their reunion.
His heartbeat quickened as they reached the warden's quarters. He hoped so much that Harry would be part of the Auror team coming to get him.
The warden opened the door and glanced behind him to make sure Theo was following.
"They're waiting for you in there," he muttered simply before turning back.
Theo didn't wait another second to enter. He was much too impatient and excited.
When he met his best friend's eyes, his breath caught in his chest.
It was over. Over.
oOo
The rain beat against the windows of the manor, the wind shook the shutters and curtains, and the storm rattled the walls. Yet Theo had never felt more serene in his life. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he felt at peace.
"We're married," he repeated for the tenth time, sobs in his voice.
"Yes," Harry laughed, hugging him to his chest.
They were lying in their bed, in the middle of their room, in their manor. With their bare legs intertwined under the covers, pressed together in the silence of the night, the Potter couple had never felt better in their lives.
They had got married the very same day he was released. May 15, 2005. Theodore still couldn't believe it.
"I'm free, Harry. I'm free," he repeated, not quite believing it.
"And you'll stay that way, I promise you. I'll do anything to make sure you're safe, that everything goes back to the way it was before and that you can live the life you've always dreamed of."
Theo nodded, his face nestled in his new husband's neck and he couldn't stop more sobs from escaping his lips. He had been through hell, he could hardly believe that he had come out of it. He was alive, his health hadn't deteriorated too much, he had his wits about him and– and he was married.
"I love you, Theo, I'll never leave you, I swear," Harry whispered in his ear, holding him even tighter.
oOo
The morning was rather warm. The sea wind wasn't blowing too hard, and the sea was calm.
Draco's eyes were fixed on the outside, huddled against a cold stone wall just below the window. He liked to listen to the sound of the waves. It soothed him. He didn't need to think, to entertain his mind. He was calm in those moments. At peace.
Suddenly, the door to his cell opened and he turned abruptly toward it. Seeing one of the wardens standing there, Draco immediately cowered inward, his eyes charged with fear.
"Get up, Malfoy, we're going to give you a good makeover," the guard smiled wickedly.
Frank. Or maybe John. Draco had never been good with names, especially when the wardens' voices mixed when he was in their quarters.
Upon hearing this one's words, a weight dropped in Draco's stomach. He was terrified. Those words could only mean one thing: he was in for a rough time. Usually, they only dealt with him on alternate days and they had already done so the day before. So he didn't understand why this was suddenly changing.
He began to shake, unable to get up. This wasn't usual. This wasn't usual.
"Don't make me repeat myself," Frank–or John–growled as he took a step toward him.
This only made Draco panic more.
"Please," he muttered helplessly.
He always let himself go, usually, but this day, it wasn't meant to be. He should have come for him the next day.
Not today. Not today. Not today. Not today.
He repeated it to himself like a litany. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He had got used to it only happening on alternate days. Not today.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't usual. He didn't want to. He couldn't.
The warden seemed to understand that he wouldn't move, as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at him. Quickly, Draco felt his consciousness slipping away. He was no longer in control of his movements.
A puppet. A rag doll.
He felt his body stop shaking, then rise and move toward the man and he couldn't stop it. Without being able to control them, tears dripped from his eyes, then down his cheeks, as he left the cell. His panic was still there, but his body was unable to express it. Only his tears were witnesses of his inner state.
He then lost himself in the meanders of his mind, as if he had fallen asleep.
When he regained consciousness, he felt as if he had slept for several hours straight. The light in the room dazzled him and he closed his eyelids as soon as he opened them.
"Open your eyes, Malfoy," spat one of the wardens.
The shorter one, he recognised from his deeper voice.
"You have fifteen minutes," he added before Draco heard a door slam.
He opened one eye to get used to the light and checked to make sure he was alone. He opened both eyes and took in his surroundings. His heartbeat quickened as he realised he was no longer in his cell. He didn't know this place. He was facing the unknown.
The room was small and completely white. The contrast with what he was used to was striking. He was sitting on a wooden chair, next to which was a small black cloth case.
He wasn't in his cell and this made him panic. He didn't feel well. He felt nauseous.
When he turned his head to the right, he saw his reflection. For the first time since the beginning of his imprisonment, he had access to a mirror. What he saw there left him speechless. He didn't recognize himself.
His face was so thin that it was frightening. His beard fell to the bottom of his neck and rose to the top of his cheeks. Purple circles surrounded his lifeless eyes. His hair fell to his shoulders. He was so pale he was almost transparent. He looked like a corpse.
He looked away with tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe he could look like that. He had done his best to stay sane but had never been able to do anything for his body. He thought he looked simply awful.
He turned his head to the other side and faced a dilapidated shower stall.
Then he realised why he was here.
Blaise's letter must be about a year old now, which meant... he would be out of Azkaban the next day. He thought he would faint as he realised this. He was being brought here to be presentable. He would have access to a shower. He would have to wash himself. He would have to clean up the wounds inflicted by the guards over the years. He would have to hide everything.
The realisation made him shudder. His hands were shaking on their own. He would be released.
"I don't hear the water running, Malfoy," the warden suddenly exclaimed as he knocked on the door of the makeshift bathroom. "Don't make me come clean your aristocratic ass myself!"
Draco had to hold on to his chair to keep from falling, he was shaking. He was terrified. He wasn't used to being here. He didn't know this place.
However, judging that it was better for him to move, he bent down to pick up the small toiletry bag that was at his feet. He closed his eyes painfully as the movement stretched one of his back wounds, but reached for it.
He did his best to steady his hands to open the zipper. It contained a small piece of new soap, a toothbrush, a sample of toothpaste, the most basic repair balm and... a razor blade.
Once again, Draco thought he would faint. His hands began to shake and the rest of his body quickly followed. His blood pounded in his ears. His vision was blurry. His thoughts were screaming at him to run, but he couldn't.
He stared at the blade, not believing it.
Had he just been given the opportunity to finally end his torment? His hell?
He couldn't believe it. It was impossible.
He was hyperventilating. He was suffocating. There was suddenly not enough air in the room.
He dropped the kit on the floor without even noticing it.
"Holy Merlin, Malfoy, hurry up!" the guard shouted.
Draco was startled so violently that he fell to the floor. He dragged himself across the cold tile floor of the room to the shower. His mind was foggy, his thoughts were melting. He couldn't see straight.
The water from the shower turned on by itself and fell directly on his dirty prison clothes. It was hot, but he didn't care. Perhaps his skin would take on colours that would contrast with his dreadful pallor.
He wanted to scratch his skin, to tear it off. He took off his clothes one by one, without realising what he was doing. The blade was forgotten, there was only panic.
The water had turned grey at his feet, but he didn't care. He simply tried to calm his breathing. His still raw wounds made him groan in pain at the water, but he did his best not to make too much noise. Dried blood mixed with the greyish water and flowed into the prison sewers.
He reached for the soap that had slipped from the toilet bag and rubbed it between his wet hands. It had no smell, but it was enough to wash the grime from his hair and most of his body.
He wanted to drown under all that water. The blade was once again flashing at him. He couldn't think of anything else. He was in a loop again.
He could stop everything. Right now, if he wanted to.
If he wanted to.
Did he want to?
He wondered as the hot water continued to drip on his numb body.
His friends were waiting for him, out there. Blaise was waiting for him. He had told him so. He had fought for him, for his release.
His mother was waiting for him. He would find her, he would be able to hug her, to promise her that he would never leave again. He had to do it for her.
He would no longer be alone. He would no longer be alone. He would no longer be alone.
He stared at the blade, glowing in the artificial light of the room, and promised himself that he wouldn't use it for anything but removing his ugly beard.
A few tears rolled down his cheeks, but he ignored them.
Tomorrow he wouldn't be alone.
oOo
The long-awaited day had arrived. Draco was already shaking.
He couldn't believe he would go out. In fact, it terrified him. He would be free. Free.
The very thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It was inconceivable. Impossible. He was absolutely sure that he couldn't do it. It would be too difficult. It would be too much effort. Too much change.
Where he was, he had no obligations. He was alone. Almost at peace. He could spend the day without doing anything. No one expected anything from him. He almost had the feeling of being safe.
But outside...
Things would be so different. He was terrified of it.
Everything would be so big, so open, so vast. He would be able to do whatever he wanted. If he wanted to leave his house, his room, he would be allowed to. If he wanted to talk to his friends, he would be able to. If he wanted to send mail or read newspapers, he would be able to. There would be so many possibilities...
He felt that he was incapable of doing so. He had become accustomed to all these prohibitions, to these limits and to his daily life. He didn't do anything, he just got into his head and that was enough. He was no longer used to the rest. He had become incapable. He was afraid.
"It's time, Malfoy," the lilting voice of one of the wardens said, before he suddenly opened the cell door.
He turned abruptly towards him, looking terrified. The warden looked at him sadistically, as if he was about to punch him in the face. But Draco knew that wasn't the case.
He hadn't treated some of his wounds the day before for nothing. They wanted him in good shape. At least, the closest thing to a good state. They wanted to make a good impression, in case any journalists came across him, that must have been an order from their superiors. That was what he had imagined.
He had been able to shave, wash and remove a few bruises, just enough to make him at least presentable. His most serious injuries would remain hidden by his clothes.
He stood up with difficulty, under the guard's bored gaze, cleared the dust from his clothes–although it didn't change their appearance much–and approached the door. He had imagined that Blaise would come and fetch him directly from his cell, but he had obviously been mistaken.
The guard raised his wand in his direction and Draco immediately cowered in terror. Had he misunderstood? Was he going to be hurt again? He was shaking.
He heard the warden snicker evilly.
"Don't move," he ordered.
Draco closed his eyes as tightly as he could and hid behind his arms, terrified of suffering again. But all he felt was a gentle warmth invading his limbs one by one, and he understood.
His magic was being returned.
He blinked several times, struggling to believe it. So he really would be freed. This was no hallucination. He gulped.
"Come on, let's go," the warden growled as he resumed his walk to his quarters.
It took Draco a few seconds to calm his heartbeat and regain his composure. His breathing was ragged.
He took one last look at the cell that had housed him for seven years before following him. He knew the way by heart, he could have gone without the warden, with his eyes closed. He could have walked backwards to it. He had memorised the path a hundred times. He could have drawn an exact map. Except that this time he would be going there for a completely different reason, and that was enough to make his stomach twist. He wasn't ready. This wasn't usual.
The warden opened the door and left him alone. He walked away. The last anchor to his daily life was gone. He felt like he was falling into a void, like he was dropped in the middle of the ocean. He no longer knew anything. He was lost.
"Hey, mate," his best friend's voice said with emotion.
He raised his head when he heard it and met Blaise's eyes. He was standing in the centre of the room, hands in his pockets. In the exact spot where Draco had stood weekly, surrounded by the prison wardens, their bottles of alcohol and the smoke from their cigarettes.
His eyes filled with tears.
"You look miserable," Blaise said, sounding half embarrassed, half scoffing.
It still brought a smile to his face. The first one in a long time.
He didn't know what to say or do. He was completely lost.
His friend must have sensed this because he offered him a compassionate smile, before handing him a crooked coat hanger. Draco frowned, but Blaise merely replied with a movement of his chin towards the dilapidated object.
Realising it was a portkey, Draco reached up and grabbed it. Blaise probably thought it best to get out of here quickly. Draco wasn't sure of it.
A few seconds later they were out of Azkaban.
He felt his belly button being pulled back and his head began to spin violently. The only thing he knew was that the portkey would take them directly to France. Maybe even to Granger's house.
Granger. He'd hardly thought about her since Blaise's letter. He hadn't wanted to think about the consequences of his release. He had preferred to ignore it and forget. She hadn't existed for a year, and now she appeared in his mind like a fly on the potion. He would have preferred her to remain buried in the meanders of his mind.
When he felt the ground beneath his feet, he reopened his eyes–which he hadn't been aware of closing–and faced Blaise again. His friend's lips began to move, but Draco didn't hear a word he said.
He was completely out of it. His head was still spinning, he was nauseous and felt like his knees could give out at any moment.
He felt so lost that he hardly noticed Blaise grabbing him by the arm to move him. He associated the feeling with the wardens dragging him through the dark corridors of Azkaban. A feeling he knew. He tried to hold on to it.
His thoughts weren't clear. His mind was whirling, his thoughts were unclear, and his body didn't feel his own. He focused on the grip Blaise had on his arm. He felt terribly weak.
His feet were moving on their own, the images that flashed before his eyes were blurred and jumbled, the sounds were cut off or jerky. He didn't know where he was. He had lost his rhythm, as if the portkey had only moved his body, leaving his mind behind.
After a while he stopped. His feet weren't moving, but he was upright. He was facing something, or someone. His arm was tied up in ropes. He wasn't sure of anything.
The voices around him mingled. He could only understand one word in ten.
"...Swear... Always... Guarantee... Malfoy..."
He heard his name several times, but it did nothing to help him regain his senses. Someone was holding him up, he felt hands on his hips. Or maybe his shoulders, he wasn't sure.
He didn't even know if his eyes were open. He was exhausted. The journey had made him completely inert.
The smells were different as in prison, he was sure of that. The smells of dust, dirt and rot had disappeared. The smell of the sea too. It smelled... good. It was so unusual that Draco lost himself in the smells. He no longer paid attention to the rest.
The smell of nature, of flowers... It was sweet.
Someone had just grabbed his wrists. Or his hands.
"...For... Sickness... Separates..."
Something slipped on his thumb. Or at least on one of his fingers. Something cold. He could feel the magic surrounding him. Powerful. Overwhelming. Soft.
"Say yes," someone whispered in his ear.
He wasn't sure he understood. Someone was talking to him.
"Say yes, Draco," he was told again.
So he did.
"Yes."
His throat was dry and sore. His knees were shaking. He could feel himself going.
He tried to open his eyes, to fight against the unconsciousness that invaded him. He was sure that this moment was important, without really knowing why. He had to be there. He had to do something.
But he couldn't. The journey had exhausted him. He felt powerless, drained. His magic was there, but at the same time so weak. He was tired. He wanted to sleep.
He opened an eyelid and met a caramel gaze. Or maybe whisky. It was a pretty colour.
And that's it! See you on Tuesday 01/11 for the next chapter! Don't forget to check out the chapter illustration!
Thanks to Acciobraincells for her support.
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