The Divine Comedy

The man who is swimming against the stream knows the strength of it - Woodrow Wilson

At first, it was nothing like he had imagined it to be. His aunt had never spoken of her time spent there and Draco had never asked; but he had heard the stories. Azkaban was supposed to be a thing of nightmares-a place where madness was an inmate's only hope for survival. However, the heavy silence that greeted his arrival and blanketed the cold, dank stone walls certainly was not the atmosphere Draco had expected. It had been eerily silent, with only the footfalls of his armed-guard and himself echoing through the sparsely lit hallways. The other inmates were curiously absent from the darkened cells that lined the twisting corridors, though he imagined he saw one or two pale, desolate faces watching his passage through the gloom.

He had been pleased by the prospect of eternal silence, as it was much better than the alternative. Never one for chatter, Draco liked silence. It was cold and comforting, allowing space for reflection and contemplation- both of which were necessary in his Machiavellian world. During his youth, Malfoy Manor had been his haven from the constant buzz of Hogwarts and as the years had passed, Draco had found little in the way of peace. Even while imprisoned at Voldemort's compound, there had been few moments of quiet. At least in Azkaban, he had reflected wryly as the guard led him down the twisting passageways, silence would be abundant.

And now, as he stood before his cell door, waiting for the guard, Draco reflected on his first introduction to his present home, two years prior. He had been mistaken, the deathly quiet which hung oppressively in the air was not silence- it was something else entirely. Like a heavy, smothering weight, it pressed against the inmates' chests and slowly squeezed away life until only husks remained and they were little more than ghosts of their former selves. There were nights when Draco woke suddenly for no reason, gasping for breath and feeling as though he were deep within the ground with the weight of the entire world above his ceiling.

The faint tap of shoes on stone signaled the approach of guards and Draco shook himself from his thoughts, shifting his weight from his good leg and leaning heavily against the wall for support. Old pain flared in his other leg as he moved and Draco had to clench his teeth until the wave had passed, silently cursing the Dark Lord and his twisted sadistic pleasures. The Death Eaters present for his bi-weekly torture session had laughed when Voldemort shattered Draco's left leg. They had laughed. Though Draco burned for revenge, it was somewhat (and surprisingly) satisfying to know they got their comeuppance when Potter and his lackies stormed the compound several weeks later.

The leg, however, had never fully healed. Neither his fellow Death Eaters nor, later, the staff at St. Mungo's had been willing to set it to rights. The mediwizards took one look at the insignia on his forearm and quickly came to the conclusion that their medical supplies would be wasted on the likes of him. Draco snorted in remembrance. Hypocrites, the lot of them.

"Step away, Malfoy," the guard snapped, brandishing the heavy ring of keys and motioning Draco away from the door. Beside him, Weasley stood stiffly in his bright Auror robes with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Old habits died hard and Draco smirked at him, taking pleasure in Weasley's flushed scowl.

"Shouldn't you be out somewhere tagging along with Scarhead, Weasel?" he asked as the dumpy guard fumbled with the keys. The Auror's jaw noticeably tensed and he grunted in response, his eyes narrowing.

When his cell door opened, Weasley elbowed the prison guard out of his way and pushed Draco so that he faced the wall. "Just couldn't wait to get your hands on me, could you?" Draco sneered as the redhead forced Draco's hands behind his back and into the awaiting iron manacles. "Expect you've been waiting years for this moment."

Ron tugged on the restraints once, making sure they were secure. "Yeah, right, Malfoy," he growled, taking hold of the pale man's shoulder and spinning him forward, pushing him toward the open doorway. "Like I have nothing better to do than baby-sit you."

Draco staggered and clenched his teeth as pain burst in his left leg at Weasley's rough treatment. "Weasley," he ground out, "were you taught how to man-handle the prisoners in Auror camp, or are you just naturally gifted?"

The tall redhead scowled darkly and shoved Draco forward again. This time, Draco barely kept his balance. "I'm to take you to the Ministry courts," he said, ignoring Draco. Weasley gripped his elbow and propelled him forward. "We'll be going by official transfer, so keep your mouth shut until we're there."

Draco scowled, settling into a steady, albeit painful, limping gate as they briskly walked to the entrance. "Bet you're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked sourly.

Ron glanced at him from the corner of his eye and snorted. "Yeah, I just love playing chauffeur to criminals," he said dryly. His eyes narrowed when Draco stumbled on an uneven stone. "Watch out now, I don't fancy playing nursemaid as well."

Draco glared at him. "So why don't you just levitate me to the doors then and be done with it?" He realized his mistake when Ron's eyebrows rose fractionally. "No wand, Weasley?" he asked with a sneer. "The Ministry doesn't trust you not to Avada Kedavra me?"

The redhead snorted again. "More's like they don't trust you. There is no way the Ministry is letting you within a kilometer of a wand, Malfoy." Ron grinned darkly. "You'll be lucky if you ever see a wand again."

Draco smirked to himself, perversely pleased that the Ministry still feared him, bad leg and all. Of course, it wasn't as if he could actually physically overpower his guards to gain the wand in the first place- but he appreciated the sentiment. Draco stopped, forcing the redhead to stop as well. "I will wield a wand again, Weasley," he said, his pale eyes glinting in the low light. "Mark my words."

Ron scowled and tugged Draco back into motion. "Malfoy, when that day comes I'll give you my own bloody wand." His fingers clenched on Draco's arm. "Now shut your gob."

"As if I'd accept your wand," Draco sneered. "Merlin only knows where it's been. For all I know, you and the Mudblood could've-"

Weasley wheeled on him, his expression thunderous. "Malfoy, I said shut it!"

They glared at each other. Behind them, the guard coughed and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Ron was the first to look away and Draco smirked. "Come on," the redhead growled, "we don't have all day."

---

The anteroom of the Wizengamot's chambers was teeming with life when they arrived. It seemed to Draco that every reporter and photographer in the country must be present for his hearing. Dispersed among the media crowd were several members of the Auror Corps, standing out easily with their distinctive in bright robes, and a few miscellaneous wizards and witches, all of whom glared at Draco as if he were the devil himself. He glared back.

"Mr. Malfoy!" a reporter cried when he and Weasley arrived. "What are your expectations for the hearing?" Draco ignored the man and allowed Weasley to pull him forward through the crowd. The reporter continued. "Are the rumors true? Did you really attempt an escape?"

"Shove off," Ron snapped, elbowing the crowd out of their way, making sure to keep one hand securely around Draco's elbow. Draco smirked to himself and purposefully trod on the reporter's foot as Weasley dragged him past. Imbecile. He could barely walk six meters unaided. What gave them the absurd idea that he could break out of Azkaban?

Another reporter jostled her peers to get near them and shoved her wireless recorder under Draco's nose. "What are your thoughts on Miss Parkinson turning government evidence?" she asked, breathlessly. Draco sneered at the woman, longing to hex the smug look right off her ugly face, and she retreated back a step. The competition for the best story, however, had quickly devolved into a free-for-all as reporters tried to drown each other out.

"Draco!" a reporter in the back cried. "Is it true you murdered your own father?"

"Mr. Malfoy! Can you tell us what Azkaban is like without the Dementors?"

"What about the rumors concerning your illicit affair with Harry Potter's fiancé?"

A photographer snapped a quick picture and Draco snarled at him. Another flashbulb exploded, and then another. Draco blinked rapidly against the blinding bursts of light and stumbled, trying to clear the spots from his vision as the antechamber deteriorated into a madhouse. Weasley yanked roughly on his arm and pulled Draco forward. They were nearly to the door when Draco felt another hand on his arm.

"Traitor," a voice hissed in his ear, warm breath brushing against Draco's skin.

Feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck, Draco looked up into Zabini's cold eyes with disbelief. It was impossible. Blaise Zabini was dead, killed by Aurors in the final attack- everyone had said so. The dark man's lips twisted into a chilling smile and he tightened his grip on Draco, forcing him to stand still. Everyone was apparently wrong.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten, had you?" Zabini reached into his robes for his wand. "I told you if the Dark Lord didn't kill you, I'd do it myself."

Draco wished Zabini had forgotten; hell, he wished he could forget that night. It was the night following the whole Dumbledore embarrassment when Draco's entire existence had turned upside down during a particularly brutal fall from grace. While his parents were murdered in near simultaneous precision, Draco had become persona non grata in his own circle and Voldemort's personal prisoner in one fell swoop.

Weasley, noticing that Draco wasn't following as he should be, turned back to his prisoner with a scowl. "Move your arse, Malfoy," he said, "I don't have time for-" The redhead's words trailed off as his eyes widened upon seeing Zabini and the direction of his hand. Ron sent up a shout and tugged hard on Draco's arm, breaking Zabini's grip. The other Aurors, who had been attempting to hold the overzealous media at bay, turned at the sound of Weasley's call of alarm and quickly drew their wands. Distractedly, Draco noted that they, and their wands, were well within a kilometer and he would have smirked, had Weasley not suddenly tackled him to the ground as a bright light filled the small chamber.

The room exploded into chaos as curses were shouted and the crowd panicked and rushed for the exit. The Weasel's weight was heavy on his back and Draco's leg was on fire as it lay twisted beneath him. He could feel the cool marble beneath his cheek and he exhaled heavily, ruffling the pale curtain of his hair that had come undone during Weasley's Gryffindor heroics. Above him, the redhead scrambled to his feet.

"C'mon," he muttered, pulling hard on Draco's arm and lifting him to his feet amid the fighting. Pain shot up his leg and Draco drew a sharp breath through his teeth, nearly falling again. Weasley shot him a dark look and tightened his hold on Draco's arm, dragging him forward to a nearby door. Draco propped himself against the wall and gasped for breath, fighting to block the pain from his mind as Ron yanked the door open and quickly stuck his head inside. "S'all clear," he said, grabbing Draco's arm again and shoving him through the door.

It was a small room, crammed with useless junk that was piled high to the ceiling. It reminded Draco strongly of Borgin & Burkes, complete with the stale smell of mold and mildew.

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, closing the door securely behind them.

Draco spied a chair amongst the clutter and sank into it gratefully. "You tell me," he said through clenched teeth, stretching his leg out in front of him. He shook his hair out of his eyes and glared at the redhead. "You fell on my leg," he accused.

Weasley returned glare and began to pace in front of the door, his face flushed from exertion. "What was Zabini doing here?"

Draco scowled at him and shifted in his seat when the manacles dug into his back. "I'm not taking the piss, Weasley," he said. "You fell on my goddamn leg. I need a healer."

Ron shot him a dark look. "Shut it, Malfoy."

Draco stared at him, outraged. "That's all you have to say?" he challenged. "I can barely stand and all you can say is 'shut it'?"

Ron's face was as fiery as his hair. "When I say 'shut it', that's what you'll do, ferret-face," the redhead raged, shoving his flushed face into Draco's and poking roughly him in the chest to enunciate this words. "They said bring you here and that's what I did. I did my job. Do you think I wanted this assignment?" Ron pushed himself away with a snort, running an angry hand through his hair. "You're more trouble than you're worth." He kicked the door hard. "They should've just let you rot in that place."

Draco's glare was venomous. "Is that right?" he snapped. "Just throw all the bad people in Azkaban so you can go about your pathetic little life." He sneered. "Do you feel safer at night knowing that I'm locked up tight, Weasel?"

Weasley opened his mouth to retort, but his indignant reply was forgotten at the arrival of other Aurors as they trooped through the door. The tall redhead rounded on them and shoved the nearest against the wall. "Bloody hell, Snodgrass!" he snapped, "No one was supposed to get through! What happened to your security?"

The tall Auror looked to be fresh out of Hogwarts. "I don't know, sir," he stammered, pale-faced. "Somehow Zabini slipped past our wards."

Weasley looked thunderous and Draco couldn't resist the smirk that tugged at his thin lips. "Temper, Weasel," he taunted. The redhead rounded on Draco, a dangerous glint in his eyes and looking capable of murder. Draco's smirked widened, relishing the familiar feeling of tormenting his former schoolmate. He shook his hair out of his eyes again. "It's nice to see that some things haven't changed," he drawled.

And for the one, brief moment, all was right with the world.

---

The hearing went much as Draco had expected: the Wizengamot revisited his crimes and called several witnesses, many of whom touted his shortcomings and generally made Draco sound like a weakling. It was degrading.

"The court now calls Mr. Harry Potter," a wizard stated as Draco's aunt was led from the room by armed personnel. Still under the effects of Veritaserum, her eyes were wide and unusually bright.

Potter cast a dark look at him as he entered the courtroom and Draco returned it gladly, watching as an aide led the other man to a seat in the center of the circular room. In the stands above the Wizengamot, the photographers snapped several pictures and Potter grimaced at the unwelcome attention. The aide cleared his throat purposefully and the media settled into their seats as an Auror came forward wielding a small bottle. "Mr. Potter," the aide said, "in recent years, it has become standard practice of this court that the witness be administered a dose of Veritaserum. Do you accept this request?"

"I do," Potter said.

The procedure had been performed several times that day and the aide watched with a bored expression as the Auror dispensed a measured dose of the truth serum into Potter's awaiting mouth. When the potion took effect and Harry's eyes looked glassy in the candlelight, the aide nodded to the waiting panel of wizards.

An elderly member of the Wizengamot settled a pair on spectacles on his nose. "Mr. Potter," he began, looking at the black-haired wizard over the top of the rims, "for the record, could you please state your full name and occupation?"

"Harry James Potter, Auror."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." The wizard shuffled through several sheets of parchment before him. "Now, if you please, tell the court about the events that took place the night of the seventeenth of June, 1997, specifically, the events surrounding the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

A pained expression briefly flittered over Potter's face before he took a deep breath and began to speak. "It started with the Dark Mark over Hogwarts-"As Potter recounted the most humiliating night of Draco's life, Draco fumed and shifted restlessly in his seat. It was just like Potter to linger on inconsequential details- like how Draco's hand had shaken while he pointed his wand at the Headmaster. The four-eyed freak barely bothered to mention Draco's clever trick with the vanishing cabinets.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," another member of the Wizengamot said, consulting the transcript. "Do have anything else you would like to add to the record?"

Potter started to shake his head, but paused, his face set resolutely. "Actually," he said, clearing his throat," I do."

"Go on," one of the elder wizards prompted, with a distracted wave of his hand.

"I don't like Malfoy," Potter said bluntly, still obviously under the effects of the truth potion. Behind him, Draco heard the Weasel snort loudly and he nearly laughed aloud himself. He could well imagine Scarhead's eloquent addition to his permanent file: "Harry Potter expressed his dislike for the accused; quote: "I don't like Malfoy."

But Potter continued. "I think he's a spoiled, selfish prat, but it wasn't fair what you did to him. He didn't commit the crimes he was accused of and spent two years of his life wrongly imprisoned." Harry looked incredulous, as if not believing the words that spilled from his mouth, but blundered forward, regardless. "He didn't have an option to not become a Death Eater, and he definitely didn't have an option to refuse when Voldemort told him to murder Professor Dumbledore. From what I can see, his only crime is emulating his father." While he spoke, Harry's eyes slowly returned to their natural state, but it was far too late to stop his tirade- the damage had already been done. "But even then, he still didn't have a choice and I think that's our fault." Harry looked thoughtful. "We never gave him a chance to be anything different; we shunned him and that only reinforced his behavior."

Draco was livid. He wanted to scream and break something. Trust Saint Potter to resort to misplaced Gryffindor notions of nobility and honor. Draco snorted scornfully and shifted in his seat, cursing the magically enforced chains that bound him to the bench. He wanted to jump from his seat and demand that Potter be forcibly removed from the courtroom. What did the filthy Mudblood-loving freak know of honor? Potter understood nothing. He had never had a family and he had no right to say those things.

Draco had been given a choice. He chose to uphold his family's honor and don his father's empty robes. He could have chosen differently and refused to take the Mark. Draco wanted to strangle the egotistical git and tell him to mind his own bloody business; the urge to cause Scarhead physical harm was so overwhelming that Draco had to clench his teeth tightly together in order to prevent himself from doing exactly that. Poise, Draco, he told himself over and over again. Play at being contrite and if you're a good little wizard it'll all be over soon.

The surprised expressions on the members of Wizengamot's faces mirrored Potter's own. "Thank you for your candor, Mr. Potter," one said, motioning for the aide to approach the bench. After a brief conference in hushed tones, the aide nodded affirmatively and turned to the room.

"The court will now deliberate the issue," he said loudly. "Members of the press are asked to adjourn to the waiting area." As the media filed from the room, the aide turned to Potter. "Mr. Potter, you are free to leave. Your testimony was most helpful."

Weasley appeared at Draco's elbow and tugged him to his feet. "Come on," he said gruffly. "You're to wait in a private chamber."

"Need help, Ron?" Potter asked, falling into step beside them.

Draco smirked. The opening was too perfect to pass up. "Weasley needs all sorts of help," he informed Potter.

The redhead scowled and cuffed Draco on the back of the head. "Shut it, Malfoy."

Draco turned his head and glared darkly at Weasley. "Keep your dirty, Muggle-loving hands to yourself, Weasel."

Weasely shot him an annoyed look and opened the door to the small antechamber. "I said to keep your trap shut, Malfoy," he said, dragging Draco into the room. "I don't have to listen to your crap." Potter followed them into the room looking amused and Draco scowled at him.

"Stop smiling, Potter," he snapped irritably, falling into a chair. "Why aren't you out with your groupies, signing autographs?"

Potter's expression darkened and he leaned against the wall, folding his thin arms across his chest. "Malfoy, I've just saved your ass," he said. "I think I deserve a little respect."

Draco's scowl deepened. "I didn't need your help, Scarhead," he said, feeling his ire return. "Next time you feel the need to save someone, I'm sure Weasley's sister would be more than happy to play the damsel in distress."

Weasley shot him a death-glare. "Stop talking about my sister, Malfoy," he said.

"Or you'll do what?" Draco snapped. "Hex me?" He snorted. "With what wand?"

---

"Draco Malfoy," the Chief Warlock began once everyone was seated, "in years previous, you were found guilty of conspiracy to murder, casting Unforgivable curses and various Dark acts. You have served two years of a life sentence."

He cleared his throat. "However, information arose earlier this year that has led this court to question the nature and execution of your crimes. It was this information that instigated today's session. After hearing testimony regarding your past actions, including your apparent inability to cast one of the Unforgivable Curses," he shot Draco a look that clearly stated he disbelieved that fact despite Potter's heartfelt statement, "it is this court's decision to acquit you of all charges-"

The room exploded with voices. Witches and wizards stood from their seats, shouting their disagreement with the Wizengamot's decision, while camera flashbulbs burst and reporters desperately scribbled on their pads. Draco felt inordinately pleased with himself and a ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips. The amusement, however, only lasted a moment before his brain sharpened and he schooled his expression, returning his focus on the Wizengamot as the wheels in his head began to turn.

"Order!" one stern-faced member of the Wizengamot cried, slamming his fist into the wooden tabletop. "We will have order!" He glared at the audience. "So help me, I'll Banish each and every one of you," he threatened.

The Chief Warlock cleared his throat again after the pandemonium faded. "It is this court's decision to acquit you of all charges," he repeated. "Effective immediately, your status as a legal wizard is hereby reinstated and all evidence of criminal records shall be stricken from the public record. However," he continued, "all properties and monies confiscated by the Ministry after your imprisonment are deemed non-refundable and shall continue to remain Ministry assets." He looked at Draco over the rims of his glasses. "Do you have any comments or questions regarding these manners, Mr. Malfoy?"

The on-duty Auror released Draco's restraints with a quick incantation and Draco took a moment to gingerly roll his shoulders while he mulled those options available to him. He didn't have a lot to work with, as the Wizengamot quite clearly had the upper hand. Still, any proper Slytherin could twist a deal to their advantage and Draco desperately needed an advantage if he were to walk from the courtroom with his dignity intact.

"What became of my father's cane?" he asked after a moment of contemplation. Lucius's cane was an obvious choice, and not only because of Draco's present handicap. The Malfoy heirloom was a distinctive emblem that was well known among the Ministry. It could be his shield as well as a symbol of his freedom and independence.

The wizard consulted his papers. "Lucius Malfoy's cane was confiscated, as was his wand and other personal effects, at the time of his initial capture."

Triumph flooded his veins and a smile flittered across his face before he could shove it aside. "I'd like it returned," he said, taking extra care to keep his tone neutral.

"As we've said before, Mr. Malfoy, all properties and monies confiscated by the Ministry-"

"Yes," Draco drawled, interrupting him, "I heard you. All properties and monies confiscated by the Ministry after my imprisonment." A faint ghost of a smirk surfaced. "You said nothing of my father's incarceration; and as you, yourself just stated- the cane was confiscated at the time of his capture. Clearly, those items were seized before my own wrongful imprisonment."

The photographer's cameras flashed again as the council objected to Draco's interpretation of their decree. "This is preposterous!" one member of the council exclaimed.

"Actually," another member interjected mildly, "Mr. Malfoy is entirely within his right. We did say-"

Draco fought against the smirk that tugged dangerously at his lips. He was clearly out of practice when it came to controlling his visible emotions. "You misunderstand me," he interjected, adopting a smooth tone he had witnessed Lucius use countless times. "I am not asking that you restore my entire estate." Draco paused for effect and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, drawing attention to his bad leg. "Unfortunately, my physical handicap inhibits my ability to walk unaided," he continued, "and, as I have need of cane, I would prefer it to be an heirloom that has been in my family for generations."

His words gave the council pause, though the wizard who had objected continued to fight. "Don't listen to him," he ranted. "Malfoys are all snakes in the grass. His father was same way," he glared pointedly at the head council member, "or have you already forgotten what Lucius was capable of?"

If Draco had a wand, he would have cursed the old fool without forethought. As it were, he had an overwhelming urge to throttle the meddlesome git. Poise, Draco.

"Calm yourself, Gaius," the Chief Warlock said. "We have not so easily forgotten Lucius Malfoy's betrayal, but young Mr. Malfoy is not his father. He deserves to be given a chance to prove himself." He turned his attention to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, the council agrees to your request. Your father's cane shall be summoned immediately." The elder wizard nodded to the aide, who slipped into a backroom. "Do you have any other comments or questions?"

When Draco declined, the council members took turns explaining several important ordinances that had been created in Draco's absence, but he only listened with half an ear. Strategies and schemes raced through his mind as he contemplated how to regain his former position in society and mentally tallied his list of adversaries. The list was quite a bit longer than it had been ten years prior. Zabini, of course, would be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Parkinson required a softer touch, and then there was always Weasley, Potter and the Mudblood. Draco smiled to himself, feeling a pleasant glow in his center at the thought of vengeance.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of a door closing as the aide returned, bearing Lucius's cane. Draco couldn't help the slow, feline smile that spread across his features when the other wizard carefully deposited the walking stick into Draco's awaiting hands. He was suddenly achingly proud of himself to have convinced them to hand-deliver what would be the key to their own undoing. He ran his thumb over the emerald eyes that were still tightly encased in the silver. How many times had he witnessed his father do the same thing? It would be his sole inheritance, but, to Draco, it was enough. He pulled the serpent's head free from its sheath. It released easily and he stared at the empty hole within its base.

"Your father's wand was broken at the time of his incarceration," one of the council members explained.

Draco snorted derisively and recapped the cane. Of course Lucius's wand wasn't there; Lucius was dead. He set the metal tip of the walking stick on the floor and stood stiffly, tentatively applying his weight on the cane. A surge of satisfaction flooded his veins when it remained solid beneath his hand and he readjusted his grip on the smooth serpent's head, his lips curling upwards. He could feel his spine immediately correct itself, assuming his father's infamous stance as Draco wrapped the ghost of Lucius about himself like a mantle. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment before he fully embraced his father's persona. Poise, Draco, Lucius' voice coached from a half-forgotten memory. You are a Malfoy. I expect you to act accordingly. He released the breath in a rush and turned to address the assembled elders.

"I thank you, gentlemen," he said formally with a brief inclination of his head, his eyes glittering coldly in the candlelight.

Gaius laughed humorlessly as Draco spun on his heel and walked from the courtroom a free man.

---

Draco squinted up at the summer sky.

"So you're free then," Weasley stated flatly from behind him.

Draco closed his eyes and felt the heat of the sun against his eyelids. He smiled to himself. Yes, all was right with the world.

"I believe you owe me your wand, Weasley."

finis