Harry can feel Draco trembling as they step into Azkaban.
It’s not just the coldness of the place, the damp walls and iron, the halls that still seemed haunted with the ghosts of dementors. It’s not the sound of the wind through the towers, the crash of waves against rock. It’s not even the shadows, stretching out towards the two of them, chased away only by the lantern that the guard carried as he escorted them through the prison.
Harry swallows, glancing a look over at Draco, the way he gripped Harry’s hand so tightly that Harry knew he’d find tiny cuts on the skin, made with nails pressed too deeply into the soft flesh. Draco’s breath becomes more and more labored as they approach a set of corridors, all heavy stone and dark metal, the flickering light from the lamp casting everything into sharp relief. Draco looks almost petrified, his eyes fixing to one cell near the back.
“I never got to see the water,” he breathes, quietly, so only Harry could hear him. “Thank god for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry manages. Draco shakes his head.
“It feels strange,” he murmurs; Harry can feel the rapid flutter of his pulse through the thin skin at his wrist. “Like it’s calling me back. Like someone will grab me and lock me back up again.”
Harry just squeezes Draco’s hand tighter, pulling him away from the cell he used to live in, for 2 desperate years after the end of the war. “I’ll die before I let that happen,” he says, and Draco’s face relaxes.
They turn another corridor, the keys on the guards’ belt so loud compared to the utter silence of the place. Harry supposed the heavy silencing charms drowned out most of the noise, the waves doing the rest.
“What’s your name?” he asks; the guard turns around, appearing almost startled at the question.
“Jimmy.” Harry gives him his warmest smile. “Thanks so much.”
Jimmy just nods, leading them through another set of corridors. They walk in silence for a few minutes, Draco’s hand still firmly clasped in Harry’s then -
“Here,” Jimmy says, setting down the lantern. He gestures at a small cell at the end of the corridor. “See those squares on the floor?”
Harry looks down at his feet - he can just make out the faint outline of a box near the cell door, made out of cut stone only slightly paler than the rest of the floor.
“Stand inside of it. The silencing spells don’t affect you if you’re in them.“ He hands Harry a small button, the surface worn from use. “Press it if you need me. I won’t be able to hear you.”
Harry nods. He turns to Draco, his breath catching in his throat as he sees the terror on his face, catalogues the wild toll of his heart.
“We don’t have to,” he says, voice low. Draco cuts terrified eyes to him, his face made paler by the dim lighting. “Seriously. We can just go. Leave right now. Go home and we’ll make dinner and put on a movie.”
Draco swallows, hard. His hand still hadn’t left Harry’s - Harry squeezes it tight.
“It’s fine,” Draco says; his voice is remarkably smooth despite everything. “I’m fine.”
Harry nods. “Do you want me to wait?”
“No,” Draco whispers. “I need you.”
Harry doesn’t even hesitate. Draco steps over the line and he follows, into the square at the front of the cell.
Narcissa Malfoy stares back at them. She’s changed - there’s silver in her hair now, her skin even paler, devoid of the glittering jewels or fine silks that Harry’s always seen her in. He can see the thin bones of her shoulders and her arms: beside him Draco flinches back so much he almost steps out of the box.
“Mother,” he says, and even though he tries Harry can still hear the barest tremble in his voice.
“Draco,” Narcissa replies, in measured tones. She still looks like a queen, Harry thinks, her gaze piercing as if she was the one on the outside staring into a cage.
Draco swallows, hard and for the first time Harry truly sees how similar the two of them were. It was the same blonde hair and silver eyes, sure, but it was also the way they carried themselves, ramrod straight, masks made of marble snapped down over their true faces.
This could have been him, Harry thinks, watching Narcissa delicately clasp her hands on top of her lap. A broken prince in a rotting cage if he has been sentenced. Bile rises in his throat and he swallows, the silence between Narcissa and Draco like a blade.
Please, he breathes, watching Draco’s face, a mix between terror and desperate hope. Please don’t turn him away, scorn him like Lucius did -
“Why,” Draco chokes out, the words painful and raw. There are tears in his eyes, though his face remained as impassionate as always. “Why did you make me take it?”
Narcissa closes her eyes, the closest to a flinch that Harry’s ever seen. “Would you believe me if I said I was trying to protect you?”
“It hurt,” Draco breathes, and then the walls are coming down and Harry could hear the 14 year old boy inside of Draco’s voice, abandoned and neglected and in pain. “God, it hurt. Some protection, Mother, forcing me to kill and torture, having me be tortured myself - “
“We didn’t know,” Narcissa says, her voice still even. “We thought it would be the safest course of action. Given the direction the war was heading.” She clasps her fingers together. “Pardon me, Mr Potter, but if not for sheer luck the War would have been won by The Dark - Voldemort. At least the Ministry would be merciful enough to let you live, in the case that they managed a victory. With Voldemort there was no such protection.”
“Protection?” Draco echos, his voice deathly soft. Harry presses a hand to Draco’s lower back, a steadying anchor against the rising tide. “Is that what you think you gave me?”
Colour stains Narcissa’s cheeks as she says, “The Ministry would not want to kill someone so young, especially if they thought he was pressured - “
“Wrong,” Draco grits out, his body shaking. “You were fucking wrong, Mother. They were going to execute me. Set an example. Harsh measures, so this would never happen again.”
Narcissa blanches, her face leeching of colour. She clasps a hand to her mouth, eyes welling with tears. “Draco,” she manages, before her voice breaks. “Draco, I didn’t - I thought it would keep you safe.”
Draco stares at her for a long time, his expression haunted. Harry watches him, the single tear that slid down his face, the way his cheekbones were stained with a beautiful, rosy pink, his hair appearing almost silver in the dim light. He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Draco’s; Narcissa’s eyes flash as she tracks the movement.
Draco stares back at her, hard and defiant as he deliberately links their fingers together. “Problem?” he asks coldly.
Narcissa doesn’t hesitate. “No,” she says, and then the tears start flowing, dripping down onto the stone floor of her cell as she sobbed. “No. Draco. My darling Draco. How could I have a problem?”
“Father did,” Draco says, his voice trembling.
Narcissa manages a watery smile. “Draco. My beautiful boy. You look so happy.”
Draco’s lower lip wobbles. “I am,” he says, and then his voice breaks. “Mother, I - “
Narcissa just swallows, hard, her eyes shining like Draco’s. “In the Manor,” she begins, then has to press a hand to her mouth to compose herself. “In the Manor. By my dresses - the silk ones that you always used to love to hide behind. There’s a loose panel with a star carved on it. You’ll find a box behind it.”
“Yes.” Narcissa smiles, suddenly looking very young again. “Your father, before...before everything. He’s different, from the man I loved. I promise you that, Draco. I promise he used to be better.”
Draco shakes his head, eyes bright. “I can’t see it.”
Narcissa closes her eyes. “Our rings are in there. The ones he used to propose. I would like...I would like you and Harry to use them. When you get married.”
“Mother,” Draco begins, but Narcissa cuts him off.
“Remember,” she whispers, a mother’s whisper, all the lullabies and hugs and blankets pulled up to chins. “I’ll be there with you. Always.”
“Mum,” Draco chokes out, and then he’s sobbing, his arms reached out as if to touch Narcissa, separate by the impenetrable spells that lie across the bars. Harry swallows, hard, then steps out of the box.
“Jimmy,” he says; the guard comes over right away. “Jimmy. Can you lower the wards?”
Jimmy looks uncomfortable, eyes darting back and forth. “Sir - “
“Please,” Harry says, his heart breaking as he watched Draco and Narcissa sob. “His mother is going to be executed tomorrow. Let him say goodbye.”
Jimmy sighs, flicking his wand. “Okay. 10 minutes,” he murmurs, then walks back.
Harry steps back inside the box to see Draco’s hand reach through the bars, grasping Narcissa’s, both of them pressed up against the doors. Narcissa was stroking Draco’s head, her tears mixing with the soft sounds she was making, Draco shuddering in her arms.
“I love you,” she says softly. “You’re going to be wonderful - you know that right Draco? You two are going to be so happy together.”
She looks up, her eyes locking on Harry’s, eyes silver-bright and fierce. “Take care of him.”
“I will,” Harry says, and then Narcissa is pulling back slightly, just enough to look her son in the eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, and then sniffs. “I give you my blessing, Draco.”
“For what? Draco breathes back. Narcissa just smiles.
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