Draco Malfoy, Boy Who Turned Against His Own Father

Chapter 5: The Prison of Azkaban

Draco knew he had to visit his father. No matter how much he tells himself that he hates his father, he still loves him. He knew his love would probably be wasted on his father, who loves nothing except power. He sighed deeply as he wrote a note to let Mrs Weasley know that he was going out. Draco never thought he would say this, but he really, really like Mrs Weasley. Despite his cold and rude manner, she was always nice to him, always concerned. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had never showered him with affection the way Mrs Weasley did. She barely knew him, and yet she treated him like he was one of her children.

The road to the Prison of Azkaban was an uncomfortable one. He had flagged down the Knight Bus, and was shocked by the appearance of the bus. It was a triple-decker, and was in a hideously violent purple colour. The conductor, who had large, protruding ears and pimples spread across his face, wore a purple uniform, and bombarded him with a shower of questions after learning his destination.

'Say, Drake Whiteleaf, why are you goin' to Azkaban for?' asked the conductor, whose name Draco learned was Stan Shunpike. When Stan had asked for his name, Draco had mumbled 'Dra... Drake Whiteleaf', with the 'Whiteleaf' part inspired by the picture of a leaf printed in white on the driver's shirt.

'I'm going to see someone,' he replied, trying to pretend that he was falling asleep so Stan would not pursue further.

''Oo's that you seein'?'

'A relative,' mumbled Draco in reply.

Stan seemed to think about it for a while, before he said, 'Oh. What for?'

'He's dying,' said Draco quickly, wishing that the bus was not quite so full that he had to sit near the front, where Stan had a full, clear view of him.

'What's 'e in for?'

Suddenly, Draco thought of something mischievous to say. 'For killing bus conductors,' he said, with a mean streak in his tone. He added, 'Especially those in their early twenties.'

He watched with slight amusement as Stan's face went from white to red, and then from red to green. The young conductor gulped visibly, and stopped pestering Draco, who finally had peace at last. However, he could not sleep in the bus, although many other passengers were doing so. The bus kept banging loudly and jumping and jerking around like it was a bronco. Draco could not help but wondered how the driver managed to be allowed to drive a bus. But then, there's not much traffic when you're driving in the air, is there?

*

''Ere you go, Drake,' said Stan, once the Knight Bus arrived at the Prison of Azkaban, or rather, twenty feet away from the entrance of the prison. 'Jus' flag us down again when you're done.'

Draco jumped down the steps, and muttered darkly, 'I'd rather walk.'

The bus disappeared almost immediately. Everyone in the bus was shivering with fear at the sight of the prison. If Draco did not insist that the driver dropped him somewhere nearer to the prison, the bus might have stopped fifty feet away. He looked at the formidable fortress before him, and realized that even without its high stonewalls and magical wards surrounding the prison, the Prison of Azkaban still strikes fear in people's hearts. There was a dark, musty air around the prison, and when Draco stepped into the prison, a feeling of gloom shrouded his mind. He felt as if there was something... sinister lurking behind the prison walls.

'Please state your name and the prisoner's name clearly,' said a voice. A bubble-like sphere had appeared out of nowhere in front of Draco, the voice coming out from it emotionless although it sounded oddly like the voice of a child's.

'Draco Malfoy visiting Lucius Malfoy.' His voice was as impassive as the sphere's.

'A Dementor will be here shortly to escort you to the prisoner.'

Draco waited patiently as the sphere disappeared into thin air with a tiny 'pop!', not unlike the sound a person makes when he or she Apparates. He looked around the prison, and walked towards the nearest prison cell, curious of what it looks like. He had imagined that the cell would be dark and gloomy, the walls bleak and the ceilings leaking. Would there be a window? Draco wondered. Is there a bed? He walked closer, but slower. To his surprise, the cell was the total opposite of the image he had in mind. Everything seemed to be made out of wood - the table and chair near the front of the cell, the bed frame, the small bookshelf, where a collection of dusty tomes seemed to lay forgotten. The cushion seat on the chair and the bed sheets were a bright blue, as if someone had attempted to liven the place up. Despite the bright colour, and the cherry colour of the wood, the cell still looked depressing. The sinister atmosphere of the prison was too overwhelming. Draco looked around, and found someone huddled in a corner. He did not know if the person was male or female, but he could see the figure rocking backward and forward, muttering softly. Draco leant against the prison bars, and strained to listen.

'I'll kill you all, I'll kill you all...' That was what the prisoner was saying, over and over again.

Draco took a step backwards, and jumped when a bony hand clutched his shoulder.

'Aargh!' Draco cried out, when he saw a Dementor hovering beside him.

Draco had seen Dementors before, when he was thirteen, on the Hogwarts Express. They were looking for Sirius Black, the first wizard to ever escape from the Prison of Azkaban. He remembered seeing a Dementor for the first time. It was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling of the train, and had a menacing and sinister air about it. Then, he saw a hand coming out from underneath the hooded cloak. It was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something that had came back from the dead. The fingers were skeletally thin, like there was nothing but bones, instead of skin. In fact, Draco thought he saw a few bones jutting out from underneath the skin. And when the... thing beneath the black hood drew a long, slow, raspy breath, as if to suck all the life and energy out of Draco, Draco felt like his insides was freezing, his heartbeat seemingly slowing down. He thought that he was dying, that the thing was sent from Hell to collect his soul. Just as he felt as if all the oxygen in his lungs were used up, it left. He could never forget that scene since.

'I'LL KILL YOU!' screamed the person in the cell, suddenly darting towards the prison bars, his hands shooting out towards Draco.

Draco watched with horror as the prisoner's old, mottled, thin fingers stretched towards his neck, stumbling backwards just in time, as the two hands clutched the air.

'I'll kill you all!!' the prisoner continued, cackling.

The cackling faded when the Dementor by Draco's side moved towards the prison bars in an alarming speed. The prisoner darted backwards, falling onto the floor, so that Draco could see that the prisoner was an old man. His eyes, a dull brown colour, widen with fear at the sight of the Dementor. He was mumbling incoherently, his lips trembling. For some reason, Draco had the feeling that the Dementor was enjoying itself. He could not comprehend why, as he could not see the creature's face. In fact, Draco was not sure if the Dementor even had a face. The Dementor suddenly turned towards him, and Draco almost let out a yell. It moved its left hand and pointed towards Draco's right, and turned towards that direction and floated away. It took Draco a few seconds to grasp what the Dementor meant, before he turned to his right, and hurried after the Dementor, making sure they were at least five feet apart from each other.

*

The prison cells that Draco passed by on the way were not all lavishly furnished as the first prison cell he encountered. Some looked abandoned, and Draco saw a few cobwebs that were the length of his arm; some looked like normal rooms; and some looked like the first cell Draco saw - lavishly furnished. However, all the cells share the same air. The musty and stale air in each cell was identical, and every cell had a dark, depressing atmosphere. As Draco walked deeper and deeper into the prison, he realized that the security at each cell increased. The first few cells he saw were unguarded, but as he ventured further, Draco could see that some cells were guarded by at least one Azkaban guard. The bars of the prison cells also got thicker as the security got heavier. The further into the prison Draco and the Azkaban guard walked, the bleaker and darker the prison looked. Draco shivered a few times as he walked, eager to leave Azkaban as soon as possible.

Just as Draco thought that the prison could not get any more depressing or daunting, he felt as if the temperature had just dropped tremendously. It was summer, but in the prison, Draco felt as if it was early winter. He shivered once more, and realized that the Dementor had stopped walking. It was standing - no, floating - before an iron-cast door, which was the first prison cell that Draco had seen that does not has prison bars, but a wall and a door at the middle of the wall instead. There were also two Azkaban guards outside the room, and Draco guessed that this was where his father was. He walked slowly into the room, not knowing if he should thank the Dementor or not. He nodded lightly at the guard, and it slid away soundlessly, closing the door behind it.

There was a bed, a table, a chair, and a toilet, which was in the inner right corner of the room. On the chair, in front of the table, sat his father. Lucius Malfoy was bending over a piece of parchment on the table, an expensive-looking quill in his right hand. Draco watched from afar, holding his breath at the sight of his father. Apart from his long, unkempt blonde hair, Lucius Malfoy looked the same as ever. The same air of arrogance, the aura of power, the sense of pride still surrounded him, just as it did before he was thrown in the Prison of Azkaban the first time, and after he escaped the prison, before he was caught again and sent to Azkaban for the second time. Draco watched silently as his father dipped his quill lightly into an inkpot, and Draco could see a pair of manacles bound his two hands together, and another pair for his legs, which was chained to a heavy-looking iron ball. Despite Lucius' difficulty in writing with his hands shackled together, he still had an air about him. An air that showed power and authority. Draco found it implausible that his father showed no signs of weakness or anxiety. Surely, he knows about the Kiss, right?

'Sit down, Draco,' said his father suddenly, his head still looking down at his parchment. 'And try to breathe softly.'

It was then that Draco realized he was breathing heavily. He walked hesitantly towards the bed, and sat on the edge of it.

'What is your business here, boy?' asked Lucius.

Draco cleared his throat nervously. 'I heard about your...execution, and I thought that... I should... visit you.'

Lucius Malfoy turned around in his seat abruptly, and Draco almost jumped. To Draco's surprise, his father was smirking. Draco cringed at the sight, instantly reminded how alike he and his father were, even down to a mere smirk.

'How nice of you, son,' said Lucius with a sneer. 'Now, tell me, how do you like the Weasleys? Are they being hospitable distant relatives? Hmm?'

'They're all right, Father. Most of them dislike me, but I don't mind, just as long as they don't attempt to kill me,' replied Draco sardonically, unable to suppress the scorn in his tone.

Lucius gave his son a sly look. 'Son,' he said in a false concerned tone. 'Surely you're not still mad at me for what happened, do you?'

'Mad? At you?' Draco laughed bitterly. 'Oh no, Father, how can I be angry at somebody who tries to kill me, let alone my father!'

Draco stared at his father furiously, feeling infuriated while his father acted as cool as a cucumber.

'I did what I have to do,' said Lucius, his face devoid of any emotions. 'You were in the way.'

'I was trying to help you! You sick bastard!' shouted Draco, his voice getting shrill. 'I was trying to save you!'

His father laughed. 'To save me from what?'

'To save you from... this! All this!' Draco cried, gesturing around him wildly with his hands.

He got up from the bed, and sighed heavily. 'You know what? Forget what I said. You can go to Hell.'

When Draco made a decision to visit his father, he told himself, over and over again, that he wanted a civilized conversation with his father. He wanted Lucius Malfoy to tell him why he tried to kill him. He wanted to ask him how he could attempt to murder his own son. But at that moment, Draco only had one thought in his mind: Screw civilized conversation. He walked towards the door, and beckoned the guards to open the door.

Just as the heavy door opened, Lucius Malfoy said, 'But son... I've already been there.'

Draco tried not to let his father's words frighten him. He's just bluffing. But the problem was that Draco was afraid that his father was telling the truth. If he were, all hell would break loose. He's just bluffing. He watched as one of the Dementors shut the door, knowing that it will be the last time he will see his father.

'Those Dementors can do nothing to me, Draco! I sold my soul to Lucifer a long, long time ago,' his father shouted from inside the cell.

Draco tried to ignore his father, but the words kept ringing in his mind, and his father's evil laughter bounced off the walls of the prison, echoing again and again until the laughter was permanently etched across his mind.