Work Text:
Draco Malfoy sat on a very uncomfortable bench in the Great Hall beside his mother. His father had fled as soon as Harry Potter had leapt from Hagrid's arms: very clearly not dead despite what, he later learned, his mother had told the Dark Lord. Knowing the retribution that would rain down upon all of their heads should the Dark Lord defeat Potter, he had decided to save himself, leaving his wife and his only son to face the consequences of his choices alone.
Now the normally impeccable Narcissa Malfoy sat, dusty and disheveled, in a shadowy corner of the large room with her son, waiting for what would come next. As she monitored the activity around the room with eyes that missed nothing, Draco watched as the Golden Trio made their way through the hall, helping where they could and mourning their losses where aid was no longer possible.
He watched as, nearing the massive doors that stood half-ajar on broken hinges, Granger was approached by her two best friends. He watched as Potter stood on her left side and Weasley on her right, and they each threw an arm over her shoulders, sandwiching her between their bodies. Her petite frame was immediately dwarfed by the two taller boys, and he watched as she flashed an exhausted but triumphant smile up at each of them. Then he watched as they made their way out of the hall together, never once looking into the darkened corner of the room where a mother and son sat in silence.
Draco dropped his head into his hands, and a single tear escaped to track slowly down his dirt-streaked face before he ruthlessly brushed it away. It didn't matter how much he regretted the past. He would never have what he most wanted: Granger's forgiveness. There was too much water under the bridge where the two of them were concerned for that to ever happen.
He also knew that, sooner or later, justice would come for him. It wouldn't matter to anyone that he hadn't wanted the disgusting mark that marred his inner left forearm. He had been branded a Death Eater and was therefore guilty by association, and that was that.
"Draco," Narcissa hissed softly, fear and anxiety easy to hear in her voice.
Draco's head snapped up in time to see several wizards approaching them. By the determined and vengeful looks on their faces, it did not take him more than a second to decide what, or rather who, they were coming for: himself and his mother. One of the wizards, a short, stocky man with thinning black hair, stopped at Draco's side before unceremoniously hauling him to his feet and snapping something cold and metallic around his left wrist. Draco could feel the magic freeze in his core as the cuff severed his connection to his magic. Before he could become acclimated to the disconcerting feeling, he was being towed away from his mother's side, her protests ringing in his ears.
As he was essentially dragged to the entrance of the Great Hall, he saw Potter, Weasley, and Granger race into the room. His eyes met for a split second first with Potter's bright green ones, and then with the warm brown of Granger's, before the trio dashed past him. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Potter went up to the tall, bald Auror that held his mother's upper arm in a firm grip. He watched as the two stood deep in conversation for a moment. The last thing he saw before he was dragged through the doors and out of sight was the look of astonishment that spread across his mother's face as she listened to The Boy Who Lived.
It was no surprise to Draco when, emerging from the crushing tunnel that was side-along apparition, he saw the crumbling façade of Azkaban prison looming over him. He had known what was to come from the moment the revolting skull-and-serpent brand had first marred his pale skin, and what would become of him should the side of Light emerge victorious.
Honestly, he couldn't even argue with the jailers about whether or not he belonged here as they tossed him unceremoniously into one of the damp, drafty cells. He deserved to be here, and he knew it just as well as they did. His list of sins was long, indeed.
He had caused one of his classmates to be viciously cursed and nearly killed; had poisoned, albeit inadvertently, another one; had let Death Eaters into a school full of innocent children; had watched as one of his teachers had been killed and devoured by his "master's" pet snake… The list went on and on and Draco knew that no leniency would be shown now to any Death Eater, and certainly not to himself. His only hope was that his mother would be spared; she was not, nor had she ever been, a Death Eater. Her only sin was that she had married one and mothered another.
Draco quickly lost track of how long he had been there, in that small circle of hell reserved for him and him alone. Had it been days? Weeks? Possibly even months? Time was immeasurable in a place like Azkaban, where the sun did not reach his cell and the guards purposely varied their schedules and even his mealtimes to keep him disorientated. The one thing this meant, however, was that Draco had plenty of time to mull over the laundry list of character defects and past sins that made up most of the person he was now.
He wished that he had been strong enough to not become the spoiled and arrogant brat that his father had molded him to be, followed by the weak sycophant that his father had been. Among the thousands of instances that littered his life with regrets, none stood out more than brunette lioness that he had last seen standing at his mother's side. How he wished things had been different: that he had been different. If he had a second chance, he would…
Draco squashed the thought before it even fully formed. It didn't matter what he would do if given a second chance because second chances were not meant for someone like him. The universe had given him one shot at life, and he had thrown it away for a world of privilege and hate. This is where that hate had gotten him, and this is where he would remain.
Draco was pulled from a state of near unconsciousness by the loud clang of his cell doors swinging open. He was certain that he had been brought food only a few hours earlier but figured he had simply lost track of time…again. 'Shocked' did not adequately describe his state of mind, therefore, when into the small, reeking room stepped four people. The two guards were not a surprise, but the tall, blonde-haired woman who stood between the burly wizards certainly was.
"Mother," Draco gasped; the sound came out as more of a hoarse croak than an actual word, but she heard him anyway.
Narcissa Malfoy took the final few steps into the cell, bringing her close enough to Draco that he could smell her. His mother had always smelled of Malfoy Manor's expansive gardens, hints of jasmine and fresh sunshine, and her familiar smell filled his nostrils and drove away the stench of the cell around him and of his own filthy body. She dropped to her knees and Draco saw her pale blue eyes fill with tears before she reached out and pulled him into her surprisingly tight grasp. Although slender in build and delicate in appearance, the Malfoy matriarch had always concealed an incredible resilience and strength just beneath the surface; he let that comforting strength seep through his cold body and warm him now. He vaguely noticed that the fourth person who had entered the cell still stood in the entrance but as the person remained shrouded in darkness, he quickly lost interest.
After what felt like ages, but was likely only a few minutes, his mother released him. Rising to her feet, and once again every inch the regal 'Ice Queen' she had been dubbed by all of Wizarding society, she glanced over her shoulder to the shadowy figure in the doorway. With a nod, she turned back to Draco and held out her hand to him.
"Come, my Dragon. It's time for you to come home."
Home... Home... Home...
Draco didn't really know what the word meant anymore, but it sounded good as it rattled around his head, and he suddenly couldn't wait another minute to be home. Well, to be anywhere other than here, actually. He took his mother's hand and she helped him to his feet, an act that was made much easier to accomplish than it would have been before his incarceration by his nearly emaciated frame. He wasn't sure exactly how much weight he had lost, but he did know that he could now see his ribs when he looked down at his shirtless body. Although he stood several inches taller than her, his mother hauled him into her side; in that moment he was once again a small boy, and she was the only person that could protect him from the world around him.
Speaking soothingly to him, Narcissa guided him toward freedom. It was only when he was nearly at the cell door that the figure in the shadows became clear.
Hermione Granger.
He came to a halt as he stared at her in disbelief. The last time he had seen her, she had been disheveled and dirty. Her petite figure had been just this side of too thin, her time on the run with Potter and Weasley clearly causing her to skip more meals than she could afford to do without. Her normally glorious mahogany curls had been dull and listless from the battle.
Now, she looked…radiant. Gone was the hollowness in her cheeks, and with regular meals and less stress she had gained enough weight back to regain the lithe grace that he had always known her to have. Her hair was bright and shiny and trailed down her back, and his fingers itched to feel those curls running through his fingers.
Upon seeing the face that had haunted him, both sleeping and waking, for so long, a million thoughts raced through his mind. Things that he wanted, needed, to say to her. Apologies for every wrong he had ever done to her, appeals for forgiveness…
"Why?" was the only word that left his lips: a thin, wobbly sound that was croaked out in a voice gone too long unused.
It wasn't the first thing he had wanted to say to her, not even close. But it was all he could think of now. Why was she here? Why was he leaving? Why had his mother so obviously been spared?
He watched in disbelief as a sad smile crept across her face, making her look even more beautiful than she had been the moment he'd first seen her surrounded by the cold steel and damp stone walls that had created his living tomb.
"Because no one deserves this fate: not even you, 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 from here on out, and I choose to make it a world of understanding and forgiveness."
Forgiveness.
Had he not been so dehydrated and weak, he knew that tears would be filling his eyes at the word. He had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined that she could ever forgive him for anything. Although he knew that there was no way that she was forgiving him for all of the things that he needed forgiveness for, he still felt a weight lift from his chest.
He watched as she stepped forward and with a wave of her wand, the steel cuff that encircled his wrist fell with a crash to the floor. He gasped as his suppressed magic flooded his body for the first time in…he didn't know how long. The feeling was so strong and intense that it nearly sent him to his knees. Only his mother's arms around him, and a helping hand from Granger, kept him on his feet. He looked up and his gaze locked with Granger's warm brown eyes.
"Thank you, Granger."
It was grossly inadequate, considering all of the things that he needed to say to her, but he thought that it would have to do for the moment. He had a lot to fix, and even more to atone for, before he could even begin to apologize to the courageous witch in front of him. He was determined to do everything it took to redeem himself in her eyes, and to become the kind of man that could be worthy of her, even if she never became his. Hermione Granger had given him the second chance he had never dared to hope for, and he wouldn't waste it.
As his mother led him down the stone corridor and towards the sunlight that glinted just beyond, he heard a soft voice from somewhere behind him.
"You're welcome, Malfoy."