Bad Blood: A Dramione Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Draco

My still-shaking hands gripped the old, fragile parchment tightly as I unfolded it. Whatever information this parchment holds has to be important; if not, my mother wouldn't have made such a point about giving it to me.

Once the parchment falls open, an ancient-looking painting is revealed. It shows a very small island, which no more than ten people could inhabit. Drifting beside the island is a boat, which isn't tethered to anything, but is still connected to the island somehow. As I look closer at the painting, I see that the waves are gently looking back and forth. This place obviously has some sort of magic.

Why would my mother give me this? What am I possibly going to do with this painting? How is this going to get me to Azkaban? Surely this paper has some sort of significance to finding Hermione. Then I realize that no good wizard would know how to get to Azkaban. I have to talk to a bad wizard, but it's hard to find a bad wizard anywhere these days. Knockturn Alley is completely out of the question. It's closed, and my father has undoubtedly told them about the traitor that I've become. My eyes slip to the new scar on my arm. Traitor. I will be branded by that for the rest of my days.

I shake that thought out of my head. I can't think about that right now; it's beside the point. I have to be thinking of Hermione right now, not myself. I have to get to her.

I think through places I could find someone who would know how to get to Azkaban. Hogsmeade would most likely be unsuccessful. Knockturn Alley isn't an option, like I said. But... The Leaky Cauldron. Surely there is someone there that would know how to reach Azkaban. It's worth a shot. Perhaps if there is a wizard with just one eyeball, or one that is missing a limb; because in the Wizarding World, you can fix these things, but not if it was done by dark magic. I Apparate there without hesitation. I can't afford to waste any more time.

When I enter the Leaky Cauldron, I see a wide variety of different wizards: tall ones, short ones, ugly ones, and one that is missing an eyeball. He doesn't look suspicious, though. The grin on his face looks as if it has been plastered there since he was born. In fact, no one here looks suspicious. I thought surely there would be someone here who would possibly know how to get-

Hagrid! He is sitting in the corner of the room, sipping what I think is butterbeer. Sure, he wasn't a dark wizard; he was anything but. However, I remember many years ago at Hogwarts, when we were first taught about Azkaban. Everyone bombarded Hagrid with questions about it, for he seemed to know more about it than anyone. Apparently, when he was a few years younger, The Ministry of Magic had sent him there to deliver something. Obviously, they knew Hagrid would intimidate the visitors, being of his height and build. There was one question, though, that he would never answer, no matter how many times it was asked: "Professor Hagrid, how do you get to Azkaban?" many of the children asked. His only answer was, "Don't want ya' windin' up there now, do we?" It was a vague answer, but we all knew he knew. Since then, I have often wondered, but I never thought that I would have to know.

Finally, after all of these years, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a seat beside Hagrid.

"Oh!" He exclaims, tucking something away in his jacket, "Hullo there, Draco. Say, what're ya' doin' out of Hogwarts? Yer the Head Boy. We're already without a Head Girl. Oh, there's bound to be chaos back at Hogwarts. Mass chaos!" He rambles on.

"I came here to ask you a question," My eyes sweep nervously over all of the people surrounding us, "Alone."

Hagrid furrows his brows, looking at the people just as I did, and says skeptically, "Well, alright then. Follow me." I can see him grip his pink umbrella even tighter. He gets up and shuffles to the door in the back corner of the room, far away from anyone who could overhear our conversation.