Even without the Dementors, Azkaban carried a damp, biting cold. The dark, icy waters crashed over the rocks at the Apparition Point, splashing a light spray into Draco’s face. He’d never been here before and already wished he hadn’t come. Even with the assurance of Voldemort dead and gone, this place reminded him too strongly of the Dark Lord’s oppressive presence.

Hermione strode back to him, Auror coat flicking in the wind. “The hallway’s clear. Follow me.”

Draco complied, trailing her down the stone hallway. Cells on either side contained various prisoners. Draco knew wards blurred those outside the cells into indistinguishable masses, but walking past their unseeing gazes was nearly as disturbing. Goyle Sr. huddled into the back of his cell, and Draco quickly averted his eyes.

Hermione motioned him to halt hidden back in the hallway as she turned the corner. “Proudfoot, Savage, circle around and cover the Apparition Point. Dismissed.” The guarding Auror's footsteps faded into the distance, and Hermione nodded for him to follow. She took the secrecy measures further than Draco would have dreamed, for which he’d be eternally grateful.

At the end of the hall loomed a solid iron door, unlike the barred fronts of the other cells. Draco swallowed. He knew what lay behind that high-security area.

Hermione turned to Draco. “You only have to whisper ‘Help me’ and I’ll be there instantly. Other than that, your conversation is your own. Remember, inside the cell, Lucius is not restrained from moving, seeing, or hearing in any way beyond the chains. Do you understand?”

Not trusting his voice, Draco nodded.

She held out her hand. “Your wand, please?” Numbly, he handed it over, knowing it would do no good inside. Muttering incantations, Hermione scanned him multiple times over. “You’re clean,” she announced, worry creasing her brows. With another wave of her wand, the cell door creaked open. The dank hole gaped before him, and Draco found himself reluctant to step inside.

“I’ll be right here,” Hermione reassured him softly. Oddly, the thought did calm him.

Draco stepped inside. The heavy door clanged shut behind him. Only faint slats of light crept in through a barred slit high on the wall.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” The familiar voice came like a slap to the face. Draco’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark. He could only see pale blonde hair glinting from the back of the cell. Chains rattled as his father crept closer. “It’s been a long time, Draco.”

“Hello, Father.” He barely managed to keep his voice from quivering. “It’s good to see you again,” Draco lied.

Lucius chuckled. Finally, Draco could make out the cell. Despite chains dangling from his father's hands and feet, he relaxed on a stool pressed against the bars separating him from his son. Draco realized he could reach out and touch him, if he wanted. His hands remained in his lap.

“I’m assuming this isn’t purely a social call?” Lucius drawled easily. “Not just abusing rank to visit your dear old dad?”

Draco barely stopped himself from swallowing--Lucius knew his son’s tells. “Unfortunately not,” he replied evenly. “Nott and Macnair turned traitor and I wanted to see if you knew anything about it.”

“Turned on your little Slytherin Squad, did they?”

“My what?” Draco choked out, caught off guard.

“Your squad’s been the talk of the town, Draco, what with three defections, a murder, and a Weasley.” He smiled coldly. “You’re doing an excellent job redeeming Slytherin’s name.”

“I’m glad you think so, Father,” his son replied easily, refusing to rise to the bait.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "And you think it's working?"

"Currently, the Death Eaters are doing a better job tarnishing Slytherin's name than we are in restoring it. So no. Not yet."

His father snorted. “I’m surprised you think any pure-blood worth his salt would care what your useless squad of blood-traitors does."

Draco clenched his jaw. "They cared enough to kill Murstow over it."

A laugh burst from his father, ringing through the cell. Draco clenched his hands into fists to keep from strangling the man. "Oh come off it, Draco." Lucius's laughter faded into an easy smile. "That was obviously to send a message. I highly doubt Death Eater hatred should be used as an indicator of success.”

All Draco's rage rushed out of him in a single blow. Instead, the icy hand of foreboding clenched at his gut. "And what message would that be?"

Lucius looked amused by his son's stupidity. "They’re letting you know that any member of your squad has no blood in common with the Death Eaters. They wrote, ‘Blood Traitor,’ didn’t they? You don't take the time to use someone's organs when you want your message to be subtle."

That information was classified. Not even Aurors outside Slytherin Squad knew of the gruesome words left with the remains of Murstow's body. Somehow, Lucius had access to information far above his locked-in-prison pay grade.

Draco could barely speak around the tightness in his throat. "You think they plan to do that to the rest of us?"

Lucius smiled patronizingly. "Of course not. Magical bloodshed is an irretrievable waste." He shrugged. "But clearly they’re not above it, should another discouraging message be needed."

And it'll have red hair this time. "Why?" Draco asked bitterly, the futile anger rising. "Why us? What did Slytherin Squad ever do to them? We never even had a proper mission before Murstow’s death."

"Existed," his father enunciated slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Death Eaters pull from the same recruitment pool as you, Draco. You can't seriously think they'd allow you to keep thinning their ranks and encouraging moderation."

“They’re damn well going to have to,” Draco sneered. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Lucius shrugged, unconcerned with his son’s anger. “And they’ll keep trying, mark my words. You may not like their methods.”

The door creaked open, casting blinding light into the cell.

Draco stood gratefully. “Goodbye, Father.”

Looking into the cell, the light finally fully illuminated his father. Haggard and worn in his prison garb, he returned Draco’s gaze with an unnervingly imperious stare. “Goodbye, my son.”

As the door clanged shut behind him, Draco wished the remaining five years of his father’s sentence were infinite. He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily.

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, concern etched across her features.

Instantly, Draco composed himself. “I’m fine,” he snapped.

She didn’t bother him further, re-scanning him in silence, and handing back his wand.

The halls loomed even more oppressively on the return trip. Draco nearly nipped at Hermione's heels in his impatience to be gone.

Hermione dismissed the Aurors with orders to resume stations in ten seconds. Two cracks of Apparition, and Hermione and Draco were gone.

"He's definitely up to something," Draco announced the moment they reappeared in Hermione's office. "And whatever it is doesn't bode well."

Hermione frowned in earnest assessment. "Tell me what you know."

Anything he deemed irrelevant and left out that later became important would look like he'd purposely withheld the information. Leaving him with no options, Draco told Hermione everything. She'd proven herself a reasonable and invaluable ally so far. He only hoped that didn't change.

She frowned down at her desk, processing what he knew about the fountain, the Nott house, and his father's abilities.

"If he’s involved, even slightly, it would explain why the Death Eaters didn't attack me when I was wandless in Diagon Alley," he added softly. "And why they stopped using Killing Curses when I moved closer to Ginny. Lucius has enough involvement to still protect his son. At least so far."

Hermione looked up at him, face unreadable to Draco. "What do you make of the rest of what he said?"

Wishing he didn't have to say it, but knowing she needed to know, he reluctantly replied. "Lucius has contact with the outside world. He might be bribing Aurors." Hermione's eyes widened at that, but Draco continued. “It would have to be someone high up, to know the specifics of Murstow’s death.”

"Anything else I should know about?"

Draco sighed. “He mentioned Slytherin Squad too much to make me comfortable. Other than that, I can’t think of anything.”

Hermione frowned, mulling over what he’d said. "Why mention them?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Draco had an unpleasant sensation that he'd find out eventually.

 

 

 

Draco knocked lightly on the open door to his mother’s study.

She smiled up at him. Even with just a day around the house, she dressed impeccably, hair falling in perfect blonde waves. “What is it, Draco?”

“I hate to ask this,” Draco started, “but how many of our accounts are still in Father’s name?”

Her smile turned pained with the thought of her husband. “All of them, darling.”

Narcissa’s words dealt him a solid blow to the gut. “Can you please change that?” he gasped, cold dread settling. “Right now, while Azkaban forfeits his rights?”

“Lucius will be back in five years,” his mother frowned, clearly not understanding.

“I know it might cause problems for you in five years,” he whispered. “But I believe it’s deadly serious right now. He’s been bribing Azkaban guards at the very least. I’ve already re-keyed the wards.”

Her eyes widened. She stared down at the desk, composing herself. “I will change the accounts,” Narcissa whispered brokenly.

Draco moved around the desk, wrapping an arm around her. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

She stood, embracing him properly. Forcing back tears, she buried her head in his shoulder. “So am I.”

Author notes: I know this is a short chapter, but the next one's one of the longest, so I hope that makes up for something. Let me know what you think! :)

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