Information was what Draco Malfoy craved for.
It was also what he received.
Listening to the endless prison gossip was no pastime of his. Another time and he would have sent a Silencio towards all these people or Crucio-ed them if they so much as opened their damned mouths. Who thought captors and captives shared a deep bond over useless gossip of the outer world?
Whenever any new prisoner was admitted, the others pounced on him like hungry wolves for the latest news regarding the outer world. Draco despised this behaviour as much as he despised their uncouth appearances.
But with time everything changes.
After a month and a half Draco Malfoy was one of them.
But heaven knows that there is nothing a Malfoy does without an ulterior motive or sound reason.
For Draco, his burning soul was reason enough.
His blemished heart was burning with hatred, burning with love, burning with acceptance but most of all burning with revenge.
And as they say, revenge is the sweetest sin...
The day arrived sooner that he had expected.
The day he was going to break out from this hell and avenge her.
And that was the only thing that kept him going.
As soon as the morning bell rang for breakfast, Draco smiled to himself. That was the last day he was going to stay in this godforsaken place.
–Wake up, you moron,†a guard shouted clanging his baton hard against his cell bars, pulling him out of his reverie.
–Just another day, you git,†Draco murmured under his breath.
Draco’s cell was located in the south wing of the Azkaban. It was the solitary confinement wing where the top-priority prisoners were kept. There were only two other cells in this part of the prison. One was occupied by Michael Crater, an old rebel who had fought on Grindelwald’s side long ago. Once a savage killer and a master planner, he was now a bundle of nerves. The chilly weather and the Dementors’ kisses had sucked out his sadism. He seldom spoke; when he did, it was utter gibberish. After three unsuccessful attempts to pry out information from him, Draco had given up. He had not talked to him since.
It was the inmate of the second cell that interested him the most. He had been shifted from the general ward to the cell shortly before Draco had been imprisoned. The guards called him ‘The Fool Breaker’. This was because of the simple reason that he had tried to break out of Azkaban on the very day that Kingsley Shacklebolt had made his first prison visit. It was a foolish act, as the security of the day had been three times tighter. Naturally he had failed and as an added precaution, he was transferred to the south wing.
Draco had been fascinated by him the very first day they met and had been his admirer since. Steelheart, as he called himself, had a very interesting pastime. He had confided in Draco that breaking out had never been his intent.
–Why give up the roof and meals, laddie?†he had said with a toothy grin. –I jus’ like to keep them baboons on their toes. Jus’ love it when they get smacked in their faces. The day the Minister of Magic came for his inspection and I ran away, them all got a blow they badly needed. The Minister told them off nicely.â€
He had been sentenced because of petty thievery and conning. He was the one who taught Draco the sleight of hand: nicking pockets and vanishing objects using wandless magic.
–This art may come handy in your mission, laddie,†he told him again and again.
But the thing that Draco admired the most in him was his wit and humour. The prison walls had been unable to crush his heartiness, which was very much infectious. During the meals and recreation breaks, a large crowd would gather around him to listen to his tales.
–One day the missus asked me to look after the youngest kid. But I'm no good at such stuff. You lads won’ imagine I went to the supermarket with the lad and returned with someone else’s lassie.â€
With that he would break into one of his guffaws, and the whole group would crack up. These were the times that even Draco couldn’t suppress a smile.
Steelheart with his booming laugh and his wild stories (that always revolved around his wife and their five kids) and his strange dialect thus became Draco’s confidant in his plans.
Or, rather, some of his plans.
Breakfast time.
All the prisoners from the south and the east wings had gathered into the mess. As the line moved on with plates in hand, Draco could feel his anxiety rise. Steelheart, standing right behind, him squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
Suddenly he doubled over, clutching his chest and wincing in pain. The guards ran to his aid. But no one noticed the slight nod which he sent in Draco’s direction.
As if on cue, Draco ran towards the counter and grabbing a water jug, ran back there and crouched beside the ailing man.
The guards pushed him away. The head guard sent a Patronus to the infirmary and levitated the now limp body of Steelheart away. Draco followed them anxiety writ large on his face. At the infirmary, the Healers set about their business after informing that there was no danger, while the now relieved guards escorted Draco back to his cell.
In this haste and chaos, the junior Healer didn’t even notice that his wand was missing...
Draco was exhilarated. He had never imagined this would be so easy. As the cool night air whipped about his shoulder-length hair, he gripped the broomstick tighter and closed his eyes, reminiscing on how easy everything had been.
He had used the stolen wand to unlock his cell. From the recreation yard, he had summoned a Cleansweep that the prisoners were sometimes allowed to use. Flying away in the night had been a child’s play. The new defence system was lenient and weak, and this certainly proved advantageous to him.
He smirked in satisfaction feeling the rush of the cold air against his neck and face. It had been ages since he had experienced this feeling.
Freedom was certainly sweet.
Suddenly, he felt something rush past his ear. Opening his eyes he was startled to see five or six people on broomsticks close at his heels.
Panic-stricken, he guided his broom faster, trying to recall his old Seeker skills.
A jet of red light swooshed past his ear, and he decided that he had to retaliate. Blindly, he began shooting curses behind him. He was so engrossed in this assault that he did not see a man coming onto him from the front. Before he had time to react, a jet of light hit him square in the chest.
His grip on the broom loosened and he fell.
–I am going to die,†he thought, –I am going to die such a pitiful death. I will never be able to avenge her now.â€
But then he realised that his momentum had decreased and when he touched the ground, he felt no pain at all.
–I've got him,†a familiar voice shouted nearby.
Draco tried hard to pinpoint it, but his consciousness was fast slipping away and made it hard for him to focus.
–Let’s see who the fool is who tried breaking out of Azkaban,†the voice jeered. Several laughs could be heard in the background.
Draco could hear a pair of feet shuffling closer. Then a pair of hands rolled him over, and a lit wand was shoved in his face.
–Malfoy?†his captor gasped.
Draco opened his eyes a crack before his eyelids drooped of their own accord.
The last thing he saw before he passed out completely was a pair of startled blue eyes and a shock of unruly red hair.
The Prisoner by weasley-malfoy-aficionado
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: Its all JKR's. I am just playing in her world.
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