Work Text:
Former Death Eater and convicted killer of the Late Minister of Magic—Kingsley Shacklebolt— Draco Malfoy, who was sentenced to 13 years in Azkaban while awaiting further trial, has allegedly escaped from prison.
-More on pg 16.
In all manner of appearance, Draco might look out of place in this dingy and dimly lit room he currently found himself a resident of, but the chipped walls and weary furniture’s gave more of a reflection to his current being than any opulent room in the manor would.
Speaking of manor, the place is most likely teeming with Aurors expecting his arrival. Surely, they don't think him to be as foolish as to attempt such….at least not immediately.
....Italy is nice around this time of the year…. as he trailed his finger along the dusty table, Draco thought of debts owed. He could pop by to see Blaise, but even that might prove a little too predictable for him. Still, he'd always lived up to others’ expectations especially in the wrong. With a crack, the room was empty once more, as undisturbed as before save from the clean trail left on the table.
Wanted Death Eater and killer Draco Malfoy spotted two months later in Wizarding Italy.
One can only assume what heˋs planning and why heˋs still on the loose. The British Ministry when questioned about the security breach in their most infamous prison, and what steps they plan to take in apprehending this dangerous criminal, declined to comment. Now my dear readers, one must not forget that this is not the first ti……
-More on pg 5
“Draco…” he said walking into the office—not bothering to shut the door— and threw the newspaper onto the table, “…you shouldn’t have come here,” as he circled around his desk to grab a drink, the dark-haired man spared a glance to the the the blond who sold facing the grand windows “…at least not so soon.”
“Perhaps…tell me, Blaise—did you know that prisoners still get the news even on an isolated island?” his gloved hands came to a cross behind his tall back, revealing a very familiar cane in its grip. That tall back seemed to hunch over as though heavily burdened “…a couple weeks—months if you will, but do you know what arrives faster?” –A scrunching of leather.
With each word out of Draco’s mouth gaining momentum, he continued, “Do you know what arrives faster Blaise?” Draco still hadn't turned away from the windows, closing off what emotions Blaise might have glimpsed.
The raven abandoned his drink on the table, circling around to come standing by his friend “You know why we couldn’t. It was still—” he tried explaining, but Draco cut him off.
“—letters Blaise, letters arrive first.” He sounded tired, “I trusted you to take care of her.”
“If you would just…”
“Tell me!” Draco yelled, “Tell me why I had to find out my mother was dead not even a year later.” His voice was rising now and with it, the ground began to tremble, and the windows rattling, “…killed by an oh so righteous ministry—not even from you, but from…from a footnote in someone else’s letters three years too late.” And with that the trembling came to a sudden halt.
Draco turned to face Blaise, and the raven took a moment to observe the new man standing before him. No longer the boy who demanded attention with grand gestures and cruel pranks, nor someone who whined and made it everyone’s problem when things didn’t go his way. This Draco was oppressive in his silence, deep like still water, despite the waves he’d just commanded.
Lost in his assessment, Blaise was entirely unprepared for the can that lightly struck his shoulder and flinched, “You’re lucky I hold fondness for you, and you continue to prove useful Blaise.” He cast his gaze to the polished floor, listening as crisp footsteps retreated past the open door. Malfoy knew his way out. ‘Bastard ruined his flooring. Guess it’s time for a décor change and to rework his wards’ he thought with a sigh, sinking right to the floor.
Sometime in the past
If Draco was any less of a coward, he would have fought against his father’s hand holding onto his shoulder presenting him like cattle. This far along and Draco was just coming to the realisation that his father was a mad man trying to redeem himself to an even crazier master.
Three words. Three words from him was all it took for the glass to shatter.
“Greyback has expressed interest in the boy.”
“Yes, my lord.” Three words and his person was signed away. His own father didn’t even look at him.
The floor was swirling and the room seemed to rapidly expand and constrict around him. He paid no attention to what was being said or not said at the table; his ears seemingly padded with cotton and yet, it contained an entire ocean. He scrambled to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor, the sound dull in his ears. This couldn’t be happening—he was a Malfoy and a Black, surely, he wasn’t someone easily discarded like rubbish, made to pay for someone else’s shortcomings. He tried to look around the table, hoping, praying that someone—anyone, would protest against this despicable ordeal. But all was quiet on the western front; they were happy Lucius was being put in his place…using his son. The next thing he knew, there was a flash of red, then nothing else.
He awoke in snippets; at times he could feel gentle fingers running through his hair, other times he was woken by voices raised in arguments. When Draco came to, he was in his bedroom, tucked beneath the blankets. His fingers entire body felt heavy, numb and yet his nerves felt like they were pulled taut and set aflame.
He turned his head towards the sound of his door being pushed open, then just as quickly, averted his gaze to the canopy.
“Draco…”
He sighed, “where’s mother?” He had no need for the excuses of a wretched man not fit to even be called an animal.
“She’s gone…away to France.” At that Draco’s eyes snapped to his father now sitting beside his bed. Lucius who could be described as having airs of a peacock was sullen, his once shiny hair, now stingy and dirty. Draco didn’t care. His mother was gone without him.
Wasn’t he her little dragon? Why would she leave him to such fate? Was he so replaceable and worthless to the adults around him? Why, why, why was he cast away?
“She didn’t want to.” He didn’t care. “She loved you.” Then she should have stayed. She would have taken him with her; fought them to be with him.
The last thing Draco heard as he succumbed to sleep was an hollow apology.