Chapter Text
Hermione Granger and Narcissa Malfoy stood just inside the entrance of Azkaban Prison. It had been an excruciatingly long week. Although Draco had been cleared of all charges for which he was being held, the mountain of paperwork that Blaise and Hermione had needed to fill out and file in order to get him out of prison had been daunting, to say the least.
It had taken the two of them two full, fifteen-hour days to get it all completed properly. The last thing either of them wanted was for the process to grind to a halt due to a clerical error on their parts. Finally convinced that everything was correct, they had filed the paperwork with the Ministry of Magic. Even with the stamp of the Minister of Magic to push things along, it had still taken them another four days to get the approval papers. But they finally had them, clutched in Hermione's hands, as she and Narcissa waited together for the approval to head to Draco's cell and secure his release.
"Alright, Representative Granger," a balding, middle-aged wizard said unhappily, looking at her and Draco's mother with a look of barely repressed resentment in his beady brown eyes. "Everything appears to be in order. If you will follow Warden Whitlock, he will take you to Mr Malfoy's cell."
"Thank you, Warden Abbney," Hermione said in a voice that was as sweet as syrup: anyone who knew her at all knew to beware when she adopted that tone of voice.
"I will be certain to let Minister Shacklebolt know how helpful you were to myself and Lady Malfoy this morning. He was gravely disturbed by the miscarriage of justice that has resulted in Mister Malfoy's wrongfully imprisonment and will be pleased to know just how quicky you cooperated with us to right the wrong that has been done to a member of his constituency."
Hermione watched the man gulp nervously and felt a sense of righteous vindictiveness swell through her. The man, Warden Abbney, had been the polar opposite of helpful: he had left her and Draco's mother sitting in the waiting area for over two hours before he would assist them, then fought her every step of the process. He had done everything in his power to keep Draco there and, after the week she'd had, she was feeling far from forgiving.
She turned her back on the now-sweating man and strode over to the wizard that he had indicated. Warden Whitlock stood nervously by the iron-barred door that separated the visiting area from the rest of the prison.
"If you would be so kind, Warden Whitlock, we are here to release Mister Malfoy from this place. We would appreciate it greatly if you would lead us there."
At the man's nod, Hermione motioned for Narcissa to follow while she came behind the blonde woman and another guard took up the rear. Looking around as they walked, Hermione cringed inside. While the Dementors had been eradicated from the prison at the end of the war, having proven that their loyalties could indeed be bought or swayed, the miasma of depression still hung heavy in the air, a nearly tangible entity occupying the freezing stone prison.
Hermione decided in that moment that, after a much-needed break, she would discuss with Blaise the possibility of turning their unnamed fund - contributed by Narcissa Malfoy - into a foundation focused on examining the cases of prisoners that claimed to be wrongfully imprisoned here in Azkaban. She could not stand the thought of an innocent soul wasting away here in this godforsaken place.
She was pulled from her planning when Warden Witlock and Narcissa came to a sudden stop in front of her. Peering through the wrought iron bars, she felt sick at the sight that greeted them.
Draco Malfoy lay on the cold stone floor of his prison cell. His clothes were filthy rags that barely covered his pale skin and certainly did nothing to provide any warmth at all. They bagged on his emaciated frame: his body had clearly been ravaged by malnutrition and disuse. When they had been in school together, he had always been long and on the slender side, but the lean lines of muscle had still been clear to see, his body the perfect archetype of a Seeker's build.
Now, he was so thin that Hermione could nearly see the bones just beneath the skin of his exposed forearms. His cheekbones were sharp slashes in his face, standing out even more in relief when compared to his hollowed cheeks. The smudges under his eyes were a deep purple, looking almost like bruises, and his breath came in shallow, painful pants.
Hermione heard Narcissa gasp in horror at the sight in front of her: the sight of her only child laying on the ground and appearing to be a mere heartbeat away from death. She rushed into the cell, and Hermione followed with Warden Whitlock and the other guard close behind her. She watched as Draco's eyes opened into slits.
"Mother," she heard Draco gasp at the sight of Narcissa standing before him, and Hermione winced at the hoarse, croaking sound of his voice. She wasn't sure if the sound of his abused voice was more due to disuse or overuse, but it was painful to hear, nonetheless.
Narcissa dropped to her knees on the ground, heedless of the dirt and filth that was sure to irreparably stain her expensive robes, but Hermione knew that the woman couldn't care at all about the state of her clothing; not when it was her son lying on the ground in front of her. From her spot near the door, Hermione could see the woman's shoulders shaking slightly with her emotions and she watched as the witch reached out to pull her son into a tight hug. Draco's arms slowly wound around her waist and Hermione sat there watching as mother and son were reunited after more than three years apart.
Narcissa rose to her feet, and Hermione could see her shoulders straightening and her chin lifting defiantly into the air. She knew from experience that Narcissa would occasionally show her true feelings in front of Hermione's four Slytherin friends and even Hermione herself on occasion, but the woman was more than aware of the two guards that stood watching the scene with rapt attention and the "Ice Queen" of wizarding society would not give them any more fodder for the gossip mill.
"Come, my Dragon," Narcissa said, holding out a hand to help her son up from the ground. "It's time for you to come home."
She watched as Draco remained still for a moment, as if trying to understand his mother's words, then he took her outstretched hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. Before his incarceration, Hermione thought that it would have been a difficult feat for her to help her much taller son to his feet but now, clothes hanging off of his gaunt body, it seemed to be distressingly easy for the smaller, older witch to accomplish. She watched emotionally as Narcissa pulled her son into her side and cradled him to her as if he were a small child.
Narcissa made soothing noises in her throat as she guided Draco toward the cell door, and freedom. Draco came to a halt as his eyes finally met hers, however, and she watched as his pale eyes stared at her in disbelief. He watched her for several moments and Hermione fought the urge to fill the silence between them with words, but she kept silent.
"Why?" he croaked out, looking directly into her eyes.
She felt a bittersweet smile turn up the corners of her mouth.
"Because," she said, "no one deserves this fate, Malfoy. You were a child just like Harry, Ron, and me, and you were given no choice. It's time to stop allowing a dead man to decide our fates for us. We decide what this world will become for here on out, and I choose to make it a world of understanding and forgiveness."
Having said her piece, she took a step towards him and his mother. With a wave of her wand and a quick nonverbal spell, she unlocked the steel cuff that encircled his bony wrist, setting him free. She heard him gasp and knew that his magic, suppressed for more than three years now by the runes etched onto the steel manacles, had begun to flood back through his body; watched as his grip tightened around his mother's shoulders and the woman had to place a hand to his chest to keep him from falling to the ground.
Hermione reached out a hand as well, placing it on his side to help Narcissa keep him upright. His pale eyes met hers once again, and the gratitude that she could see swimming in their silvery depths let her know that every struggle and sacrifice of the past three years had been worth it.
"Thank you, Granger," he said simply, voice still raspy from disuse.
She watched as Narcissa nodded at her as well before leading Draco down the long stone hallway and towards the front doors of the prison, and freedom, at last.
"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said quietly to his retreating back.