The days following Hermione's escape weighed heavy in his soul. Not long after he was ripped from his arms and carted away, the dementors came for him. Their black cloaks filled the room, taking pieces of him as they went. Draco was left a shell of a person. He spent what felt like eternity caught in visions of the worst moments of his life. When he finally woke up he seemed to be in a new cell. A cell that he didn't share with her.
He could barely move and his whole body ached. His heart hurt the worse though. He hated himself for how he treated her in their last days together. He fucking took her for granted. He thought he would have an infinite amount of time with her. But now Draco didn't know when he would see her again. If he was destined to a life in Azkaban without her, he wouldn't be able to make it.
Of course, he was still hurt from what had happened, but that didn't mean he was fine with her leaving him. He fucking hated himself for ignoring her the past week. He wished he could have let it go and cherished his last moments with her. Even if it was all a lie and she had used him, he would give anything to have her again.
He knew letting her go was the right thing to let her go. As much as he wanted to be selfish and demand he went with her he knew better. The Order wasn't going to let him come with them, and her safety was more important than his escape.
So, he sat there staring at the wall, letting the days pass in agony. He reminisced about the way her lips felt against his and how she felt in his arms. It was a torturous memory that filled him with pain knowing he would never hold her again.
The Order was his shot at escaping, but he froze up. He didn't want to be the person he used to be. He didn't want to prove Hermione right that he was using her for an escape. So instead, he was unable to move as she was dragged away, and it fucking killed him. The memory haunted him, replaying over and over.
He felt like he was underwater, waves crashing over him making it impossible to breathe. Draco wanted to give up. He wanted to let the waves take him. He didn't know how much longer he could survive alone.
He tried to tell himself that someone else would treat her better—that someone would come along better than him. God, he just wanted her to live. Please let her live. He just needed reassurance she would be okay.
The days muddled together, and he lost his sanity with each passing one. His mind was in a dissociative state, fading in and out from memories he shared with her. He didn't eat or move from his spot on the floor. He couldn't tell when he was asleep or when he was awake it all was the same.
He thought he was dreaming when he saw his mother and father stroll into Azkaban. He figured his mind had finally gone rotten.
He could see Narcissa followed by Lucius in their dark black robes unlocking the cell. They floated over to him like ghosts.
"Draco," she spoke softly in an ever so familiar way that reminded him of being a child. It was like a vision. He rubbed his eyes wondering if she would fade away when he opened them again. It was comforting, he assumed the isolation had finally taken a hold of him and made him it's own. He welcomed her, hoping she would save him from the pain he was in.
"Mother," he said. It was the first time he spoke in days and his voice cracked out. She knelt down, observing the state he was in. He was worse than anyone anticipated. He was malnourished and sleep-deprived, barely hanging on after Hermione's departure. All he could feel was emptiness hallowing him out. Happiness seemed as out of reach as she was.
"Draco, we are here to get you," she said trying to lift his chin up. It felt like he was watching it happen around him. Everything was foggy and he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not. She was careful, trying to be delicate with him as if he would break. He could tell she was horrified by the state he was in.
Lucius grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to stand. His legs wobbled in pain from being attacked. His mother gasped in shock by the way he handled his son. It was obvious he was disgusted by Draco's actions and wanted to see him rot. He was rough and didn't sympathize with Draco's health.
Draco's mind was covered with a thick fog. He couldn't trust his eyes. Why would his parents ever come back for him? Before he could ask, his father began to speak. His deep voice etched with disdain.
"The Order managed to break the mudblood out. The Dark Lord hears murmurs of a resurgence and is willing to forgive you if you aid in the destruction of the Order." Draco's eyes widened as he heard their plan. The plan to kill Hermione. How could he not have realized? With Harry dead, she was the new face of the revolution.
Before he could speak his father interjected. "Draco you have no choice in the matter. You will train and you will fight." His words stung like venom. He fucking hated Lucius.
Draco nodded his head even though he knew damn well he would never hurt Hermione. He pretended to agree with his father. He would do whatever he had to in order to see her again, even if that meant pretending to aid the Dark Lord. He would sell his soul to the devil himself if that would guarantee her safety.
"Yes father," he said like he was a child again.
Lucius gripped the boy's shoulders, grabbing him out of the cell. Narcissa rushed behind him trying to help her son. Draco limped in pain, barely able to walk.
They escorted him out of Azkaban. He sported his striped outfit, looking like a criminal. As he walked out of the prison, he could hear screams echo eerily in the background. He took in every detail with each step. He never wanted to forget the place he fell in love with Hermione.
He would put on an act, but this time it would be to save her. He could pretend to be his old self. He would do whatever it took. He would collapse the Death Eaters from the inside out. A devilish smile crept on his lips. He would show them the pain they made him feel.
When they walked out of the prison, the cold air hit him. He could feel the air in his lungs so effortlessly. He was so used to the stuffy air that lingered inside of Azkaban. It would be liberating if it wasn't for Voldemort imprisoning him, forcing him to comply.
He looked out and saw a dark ocean, deep and powerful. It was like the ocean he spent so long trying to bury his feelings under. It reminded him that his mind would no longer be safe from attack. He had to occlude and bury his feelings as deep as the sea. He had to forget about his moments with Hermione—for her own safety. He had to keep it all a secret.
When Voldemort reached into his mind, he would be ready. He would be callous and malicious. He would feel no empathy. He would shut everything out until it was safe again. Hermione would be a small pebble at the bottom of the ocean until he found his opportunity to save her.
A/N
The next chapter will be on Tuesday, Feb 2nd.