Silver

Chapter 2 - The Prisoner of Azkaban

Mercurius let his eyes roll lazily over the slowly passing landscape beyond the window of his carriage, comfortably nestled into the well-cushioned seat that was charmed to make any bumps in the road or bounces of the carriage virtually undetectable. He smiled to himself, watching the tall, stark building of Azkaban gradually shrinking in the distance.

"I always miss it, when I leave," he remarked half-wistfully. His eyes slanted a look over at the other occupant of the carriage, watching with calculated glee for any kind of reaction. "It's a sort of home away from home, I suppose. But then, you know all about that."

The man's face didn't so much as twitch, the pale eyes just continuing to stare out through the greasy locks. His form jumped and lurched with the movement of the carriage, as the simple wooden board attached to the back wall of the carriage that he sat on was not nearly as accommodating as Mercurius' own padded seat. He felt his grin widen as he watched the prisoner on the other side of the bars, ignoring as always the Aurors stationed on either side of the make-shift cell. Beastly bunch, Aurors.

"You're not much of a talker, are you? I'm not really surprised, most prisoners aren't, but sometimes, just sometimes, you stumble on one that just won't shut up." He rested his head in his upturned hand, stretching out luxuriously on the seat. Eyeing the captive carefully, he spoke again.

"Your father was one of those. Arrogant as they come. We couldn't get the man to quit yammering on about the injustices of imprisoning full-blooded wizards, and how the Dark Lord would have us all murdered, slowly and painfully, for standing against him." He spit on the floor to show what he thought of that, but couldn't contain a gleeful smile at the thought of just how one might murder someone slowly and painfully.

"All high and mighty for nothing, your father," Mercurius said conversationally, leaning on an elbow to look out the window again. "Went on and on about how the Dark Lord would see us all hanged. The Dark Lord this and the Dark Lord that... And then what's he do? He goes and gets himself killed by a dumb seventeen year old kid. The Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Killed." He let out a nasty grin and was rewarded with a very slight, subtle pinching of the prisoner's face. In another, healthier face, it might have been a narrowing of the eyes, but the prisoner's eye sockets were too sunken for that, the face too gaunt and stretched to do more than just pinch up.

"That's what I don't understand about this whole mess," he said, sitting up slightly to assume a more thoughtful expression. "Why on earth would they let out someone who is so obviously a danger to the public, or more specifically to their precious Harry Potter? I mean, honestly, I wouldn't even bet on how quickly you'll find Potter and exact revenge for your master on him. What on earth could the Ministry be thinking..?" He tapped his chin with one long finger for a moment or two, before shrugging and sitting up, looking cheerful.

"Well, that's not really my problem, now is it?" he chirped, grinning brightly at the prisoner. "After all, if you go and commit a crime again - which of course no one would want, yes? - then you just get to come back here to my humble little house in Azkaban, and you can be sure there won't be any chance of you leaving...ever...again."

He grinned as the prisoner just assumed a rather tired expression and turned his head to look out the barred window to his right.

Mercurius sat back in his seat again, one hand fiddling idly with the chain of his pocket watch. This prisoner hadn't received the Kiss, at least that he was aware of - and there'd certainly be trouble if he'd missed it somehow - but he barely rose to any kind of bait. It was true that most prisoners didn't talk much, but most of them would respond to casual baiting like that. But then, most of them were also crude ruffians, without even half a brain working. This one, however - he was smart. Maybe too smart, since it seemed his time in Azkaban had broken him already. That was what happened when you tried to think too much - the dementors ripped everything out of you, and it left you broken and half-dead.

He pursed his lips, watching the prisoner through the bars. This one had been the prize of his collection for the past six years, and he was going to be sorely sorry to see him go. It seemed all his smart little Death Eaters were slowly slipping out on some Ministry order every year or so.

The prisoner just stared out the window, grey eyes flat and emotionless. The passing country outside was grey, the inside of the carriage was grey, the light streaming past the clouds in the sky was grey. There was supposed to be something other than grey when he looked around, but he couldn't quite remember what. The carriage jolted, and then he did remember something.

His name was Draco.

888

It was the end of the day already. She didn't know how it happened, but somehow the times when she really wanted to be left alone always seemed to fall on the days when she'd promised to show up for one of the weekly family dinners at her parents' house. She thought maybe the cosmos were mocking her, but she just sucked it up and continued on down the path through the garden to knock loudly on the back door of the house. She only stood for a moment or two, reveling in the strange quiet of the frosty autumn day, before the door was flung open to reveal her mother, looking red in the face and hastled.

"Oh, Ginny dear, thank goodness- Come on, quickly, come quick!" Ginny only raised her eyebrows slightly as her mother pulled her bodily inside. The kitchen of the Burrow was just as she always remembered it - small, full of old cooking utensils and battered keepsakes, and absolutely brimming with family members.

The customary Weasley family dinner was even more noisy and chaotic than usual, a kind of distraught tension hanging in the air above everyone's heads. Ginny felt her interest pique at the sight of several of her brothers (and Harry, the honorary Weasley brother) clustered around the evening issue of the Prophet, talking in loud, angry voices.

"Oh, it's just dreadful dear, just dreadful," Molly was saying, pulling her attention back to her.

"What is?" Ginny asked, frowning and fingering the shoulder strap of her bag. "Has something happened?"

"Oh- Oh, you haven't heard," Mum said, looking up at her with wide eyes.

"Heard what?" Ginny asked, frowning further.

Molly opened her mouth to respond, her expression showing her desire to break the news to her delicate little daughter gently, whatever it was. Ginny had just managed to stop herself from stamping her foot and growling 'Out with it, woman!' when a paper was shoved fiercely under her nose.

"This!" Ron snarled, holding the news up to her face.

Ginny blinked several times before it dawned on her just what it was she was looking at.

Draco. Draco Malfoy, staring sullenly out of the paper. He didn't move much, just glancing furtively around every so often, his un-manacled hands clenching open and closed, as if he didn't know what to do with them.

Her eyes widened, then found the headline at the top of the page.

"MALFOY SET FREE."

There was a beat of shocked silence as they let her process the news before she spoke. "Wh... What is this?" she asked hesitantly, her eyes already scanning the article.

"It's exactly what it looks like. They've let him out," George said, frowning.

Ginny glanced around, then voiced the question that she knew they were all expecting, even though she didn't really care about the answer herself. "Why?"

"Don't exactly know," Percy said from his seat at the far end of the kitchen table, pushing his glasses up his nose. He watched his younger brothers shoot him some sneering glances, then go back to their discussion, his mouth a tight line.

After the War, Percy had managed to make amends with his mother and two older brothers, though his relations with their father were still cool, and sometimes down-right hostile with Fred, George, and Ron. Ginny was perhaps the only one he didn't completely look down his nose at, and she often wondered if on some subconscious level he thought of her as being in the same situation as he was - having done something terrible, something almost unforgivable in their family's eyes, but having been able to come back and rejoin the Weasley clan and 'good' Wizarding society. She made her way over to him, taking a seat in the empty chair beside him.

"They're making an awful fuss about all this, really," Percy sniffed pompously, though the glance he sent her was friendly. "Personally, I don't like him any more than anyone else does, but I'm sure my higher-ups have their reasons for releasing him."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him, leaning in slightly as the cluster of boys grew louder in their squabbles. "What do you mean?"

Percy dusted off his robes for a moment, trying to seem casual as he spoke. "Oh, it was all very hush-hush, classified and all that."

"What he means is that they told him to keep his big ugly nose out of things that didn't concern him or he'd regret it," Fred called, grinning when Percy went red in the face.

"Well, really," Percy muttered, glaring and pushing his spectacles back up his nose as Fred turned away again.

"They wouldn't tell you?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"No, they wouldn't," Percy said, tight-lipped as ever when he had to admit things didn't go just the way he would've liked. "Apparently, it's classified beyond even Senior Clerks such as myself." He puffed out his chest a little as he again reminded the room of his recently attained promotion.

"What about Ron and Harry?" Ginny continued, glancing over at the loud cluster of men. "They would know about this sort of thing in the Auror department, wouldn't they?"

Percy shook his head, adjusting the cuffs of his robe and looking slightly insulted that his position was brushed off so casually. "They're just as confused as the rest of us. Apparently, it's just between the Minister of Magic and a few of his closest advisors." He sniffed, trying the look all-important again. "But I'm sure they have very good reasons for whatever they're doing."

Ginny just nodded, frowning to herself, and couldn't have been happier when her mother called her over to help cook dinner.

888

He stared up at the dark, sprawling building, letting the dust settle from where the Ministry carriage had driven away before pushing open the huge rusted front gate. The hinges protested loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the Manor and fading into the empty grounds round about.

He walked slowly up the drive, his eyes never leaving the dark windows and black stone walls of the building. It had been more than eight years since he had seen it. Probably not since the summer his mother had died, the summer before his seventh year, just before the War broke out in earnest.

He stopped halfway to the house, not even shivering when the cold October wind blew past, whipping his robes around him. His face twitched and he finally tore his eyes away from the stark old building to look down at his left forearm.

The design stood out dark against his pale skin, paler than it had ever been before Azkaban. It was the mark of his people, the pride of his family; it was what had gotten him sent to prison in the first place.

He clenched his fist and dropped his arm, something that may have once been a smile pulling its way onto his face.

"Well." His voice was raspy, barely a whisper because of disuse over the past years. He turned his eyes back up to the dark building. "It seems I'm finally home."