Author: newtypeshadow PM
Draco visits an old friend in Azkaban. slashRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Tragedy - Draco M. & Theodore N. - Words: 1,164 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 1 - Published: 02-23-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2278382
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
summary: Draco talks to an old friend in Azkaban.
Draco sat on the spindly metal chair facing the bars and put his hands on his lap. The prisoner inside gave no notice of him. He was reclined on the cot jutting out from the wall like a wound. The blanket was thin, and shoved to the bottom of the small bed. Otherwise, the cot was neatly made, the corners of its sheets folded precisely and wrinkled only under the space the room's single occupant sat, half reclining against the wall, pillow resting at his back. "Hullo," Draco said finally, wary of the silence. They only had so much time. "Teddy?"
"Theodore," the prisoner corrected, looking up. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"
"I came because I heard."
"About my sentence, you mean?"
Draco stopped himself from being short. "Yes."
"Well I don't want to talk to you. You can go."
"Theodore. You've lost all right to call me that, blood traitor."
Draco's hands tightened in his lap. "I'm not a blood traitor."
"Oh really," sneered Theodore, "Then what do you call siding with Harry Potter? Love?"
"That had nothing to do with it, and you know it."
"Do I?" Theodore sat up and swung his legs to the floor. "Do I really? Because it seems to me you lied to just about everyone, and the only thing that could make someone into a snake like that is love. Love does funny things to people, don't you agree?" His face said otherwise. Nott leaned forward, arms on his thighs and hands and spindly fingers dangling between his legs like twitching spider legs. "Love could make someone turn against his friends. His family. His Lord. Love has made blood traitors of better men than you, Malfoy, no need to be ashamed."
Theodore gave Draco a measuring look. "No, I don't suppose you're worthy of the title Malfoy anymore, are you? You really are a ferret—no better than that sniveling rat Pettigrew."
"Witty as always—glad to see the Dementors haven't sucked out your sense of humor."
"I'm sorry they didn't suck out your happiness on the way in. Everyone knows you belong here—lucky you were fucking Potter. Why couldn't we all?"
Draco stood abruptly and put his face inches from the bars. "Fuck you, Nott, you could have lied at the tribunal and gotten off. No one was testifying against you."
"Thanks for that, by the by, but no thanks all the same." Nott unwound his stringy frame, all arms and legs and soggy black hair. He towered over Draco against the bars.
Draco didn't move. "You could have testified against me. Why didn't you?"
"I thought that's why you came."
"Of course it's not. Well for your information, I didn't lie because I, unlike some others, am proud of my dark mark."
Draco nearly hissed.
"And I. Am not. A rat."
"I was a spy, Nott, you know that." Draco sat down again. The chair skidded loudly on the stone floor. Draco scooted it closer again.
"Spy, traitor to the blood, it's the same with you, Malfoy, and you know it. Did you even think of your father?"
"I thought of him every day—"
"Do you remember his face the day the Dark Lord fell and he looked to you for support and you just…smiled? Lowered your wand? He should have disowned you right then. It's a wonder he didn't."
"My father respects me."
"He respected me the day he died. He knows my reasons. I told him everything before he…passed."
"Before they killed him, you mean. Just like they're going to kill me. Did you have one of these charming conversations with your father, too?"
Theodore was caressing the bars, head swaying back and forth like a snake tasting the air. It was mesmerizing, disquieting. "Stop that," Draco said. Theodore laughed and sat back on the small bed, hands imparting one last caress as he separated from the bars.
"Two minutes," the guard said from the door at the end of the hall.
"Tick tock," said Theodore. His eyes were manic. "What did you come for, Draco? Absolution? I shan't give it to you. You'll get no blessings from me."
"I never expected to."
They sat in silence.
"Why did you give up the cause, Draco?" Nott's voice sounded tired. It was different now, resigned. "You believed for so long—what changed you?"
Draco thought, trying to put the words in order in his mind. The guard opened the door. "I saw how Lord Voldemort treated my father. I couldn't support a man like that. Not without losing something. I could never be a wizard under him…just an underling. Powerless. A lacky."
"And are you a wizard now?"
Draco thought about the Prophet's smear campaign; the stigma attached to his name, to the Malfoy name. He thought of the friends he'd lost, a majority from his own house; of the funds he no longer had access to because they'd been made over the dead bodies of muggles. He thought of the hard and fearful looks he got when he went to Diagon Alley, and the children's rhymes about Malfoy the spy, Malfoy the traitor. He thought of his father.
He thought of Harry, of the Order of the Phoenix and the Order of Merlin awarded him by the new Minister for outstanding service to wizardkind. He thought of inconsequential little moments of pride—cooking for himself and making something edible for the first time; cleaning his own clothing and buying a new house; a bonding ceremony attended by survivors from all houses; the Hogwarts reunion around the corner at which he'd be one of the honored speakers.
Draco twisted the ring on his finger; a soft smile came to his lips. "Yes."
"Time's up," the guard said, placing a hand on the back of Draco's chair.
Draco nodded to his old friend. "Goodbye, Teddy."
Nott, in the same position as when Draco had entered, didn't correct him. He was staring into nothing when Draco left. He didn't look up.
Harry looked up. He gazed at the empty doorway, eyes unreadable. A sizzle brought his attention back to the stove. Through the window, clouds obscured the sunset.