Sweet Resolve

All of the stars have faded away.

Just try not to worry, you'll see them someday.

The isle reeked of unfathomable despair, and anyone who set foot on it was at once bombarded with a set of emotions all humans want to avoid. Of course only the prisoners had become familiar with those agonizing thoughts and feelings- visitors had but a fleeting taste of the displeasure.

A taste was more than enough though. Draco Malfoy could not for the life of him understand why such despicable creatures as the Dementors could ever even exist. It was a sick sick world where your most hated and traumatizing fear could come to life without even ever existing- in the short time of a butterfly's flap of its wings you could be sent into paralyzing depths of insanity and fished out of it all at once. Abominable creation... but thinking of horrid creations would only lead to thoughts of another such horrible inhabitant of the world and Draco would rather kiss a grubblyplank fifty times than think of "HIM" right now.

As he and his mother Narcissa headed down at an unbearably slow pace to the docks of Azkaban he took the silence as an invitation to reflect on the summer's events, culminating into this day. Draco's eyes stormed across the sky above- even more gray than his own eyes, which had slowly darkened with the shadows that fell into his life in the past few weeks.

He hated seeing clouds at these moments- he needed to see the sky- the indefinite expanse of blue marked with precious orbs of hope and beauty. He hadn't had a chance to fall into the ocean above for so long- Draco yearned for the Godliness of it... substantial proof that the world was more than just about "him".

His eyes fell on the cloaked figure walking ahead of him- his mother was so overrun with fear when his father Lucius had been imprisoned, but soon the Death Eater social circle had been informed that Azkaban had been occupied as a tool of the Dark Lord's now. This eased his mother's worrying heart. Draco did not understand why she even fretted for a second- any fool could figure out that the horrors that lay within Azkaban could truly work for none other than the great Master of Horror and Corruption himself...

So relief flooded Malfoy Manor early in the summer, for the most part.

Draco was expecting his father to walk through the door any moment after hearing the news when another owl descended upon his mother's chair at breakfast. Wrong. Owl was the wrong term for this monstrosity. A large oily black bird, akin to an eagle but far too menacing and lacking all sense of nobility, flapped its awkwardly enormous wings and turned its liquidy yellow eyes on Draco. Narcissa unfurled the next letter, the contents of which altered the course of Draco's life with as much force as the stench that escaped the monstrous bird when it raised its wings and took flight away. She spilled a resigned sigh as she set the parchment down to continue eating her breakfast, and then spoke unemotionally, though Draco never knew of the flash of grief that lit her eyes for the brief period while reading the letter.

"It seems your father will be... detained for a while longer, for the sake of appearances. And you will begin formal training."

~~~

Detained for a while really meant indefinitely, until the Dark Lord felt he had suffered enough for failing miserably in their mission with blasted Potter in the Ministry. As for training, Draco had never been more anxious in his life. All his life was preparing for this moment, which would lead to another series of moments including induction to the Death Eaters, and becoming the Dark Lord's second in command just like his father. Draco held nothing but pride for his father, always believing he knew what was best for them, no matter the cost. But learning of his father's capture was the first pebble that after struck the marvelous glass shrine he had built of his father in his mind.

And all pebbles leave a scratch.

And so training began. Special "tutors" came every day to test Draco's current knowledge of the Dark Arts and force into his brain new information- potions that break bones one by one, spells that raise the earth and bury the victim with the dead, and the history behind every dark sorcerer in existence. It was not only mentally draining. Draco almost felt on some evenings that the sweat on his brow was actually part of his skin melting away- for all he knew it might be, had he cast a spell incorrectly. After the third week he could not walk, mostly due to an unsuccessful session with the tutors testing his defense skills. He had been left paralyzed for two days, a lesson to him to study harder if he wanted to be someone.

Had that been the end of it, Draco would have been much more at ease. But of course, nothing in the life of a Malfoy was ever simple.

Killing animals and torturing beasts was one thing- and the nightmares Draco suffered were easily dominated with sleeping draughts and stones of protection.

Killing a person was far different.

The muggle never knew what hit her. Poor girl, probably 14 years old, though she didn't look like it at the end. Covered in horrendous warts, limbs manipulated in obscenely impossible directions, she looked like death would be her happiest moment. Draco was more than happy to put her out of her misery because at least one of them would not be attacked with filthy disgusting painful images day and night from that second onward. In his heart though he could not do it, because in his heart he knew that there was a counter spell to each curse he had flung. But failure to do so would result in severe punishment, and Malfoys, if nothing else, always thought of their well being first.

So he thought of whom he hated... he dove deep in his mind, his soul, his heart... where in God's name would he find enough hatred to surpass the pity and concern that was bubbling under his skin like a boil wanting to burst?

And then he found it, thoughts of him crawled through his mind, crushing all the pity and concern into tiny little fragments, and the Killing Curse erupted from his wand with such fury that its force blew him backwards into a tree, rendering him unconscious for days.

Two gray clouds scanned the room, and fell upon the silent figure in the corner armchair.

Narcissa clutched an opened letter in her left hand, the right hand lingering close to Draco's own left hand.

"I've decided it is time we extend a visit to your father. In two days we will head for Azkaban, my son. Ready yourself." With that, she stood and departed, her dress billowing from some unfelt wind that seemed to emanate from her. Draco's head throbbed too much to comprehend right then that she had addressed him as her son, something she hadn't done since he was a young boy. He was too focused on the thought of seeing his father.

~~~

They had used a portkey to reach the docks at Cape Alvarod, the closest port to the isle of Azkaban, and had now boarded a ship to take them to the prison. Draco was still a little weak in his right arm, his wand arm, and supported it along the rail as his mother told him of the latest news. He learned that Lord Voldemort had taken residence on the isle itself, though he wasn't there right now. He was probably at the other stronghold in Bulgaria, much to Narcissa's pleasure.

Draco always noticed the fact that his mother held absolute disdain for the Dark Lord, and though she cooperated fully with his commands, she had always in subtlety let Lucius know how she hated all of this.

Narcissa continued to tell him that Dark Lord wanted to keep Lucius there in Azkaban as a cover to the Light but also as a message to the Dark- he would not be trifled with and failure was no option. Apparently he had discovered something, some new tool that would definitely grant him the ultimate power to rule, and did not want ANY mistakes. Unfortunately, as always, Harry Potter stood in the way. No one knew just yet what it was, what He wanted, and how Potter played a role. The Dark lord would not let more information than necessary slip from his grasp.

As for now, the Lord was gone, and Narcissa wanted Draco to see his father, to see what had become of him. And unfortunately, Draco saw.

~~~

The had reached the dock, and now were heading back away from the prison. Narcissa stood almost protectively behind her son who stared back at the shrouded hellhole. She had gone to Lucius first, and only after she returned was Draco allowed in. Only one visitor at a time- apparently someone had escaped once before, so now the extra precaution. She wondered what Draco had seen, but knew better than to ask. The Malfoys were living breathing secrets, they never revealed anything.

Draco stared and stared, his mind reeling. He had never seen his father in such a pathetic simpering state. He had not gone completely mad, not yet anyway, and still had the air of dignity and rancor written across his forehead as he asked Draco of his training. But the second a Dementor approached, he fell tot he ground, gripping his arms so tightly that he started to bleed, and started rambling words of apology and fear to an invisible Voldemort, who in his mind was looming over him casting the cruciatus curse over and over.

That was the last Draco saw of his father. The image pounded through his consciousness over and over and over. And when they arrived home, he went directly to bed, without looking back at his mother or the house elves or anyone, and plummeted into unconsciousness, where he saw his father crying and pleading over and over and over. In his dream, Draco looked down on his father with complete shock, which turned to confusion, which turned to disappointment.

"You will never be free, father. Imprisoned by the bite of a snake. I will be stronger. I will fly."

Draco sat up abruptly, panting and sweating. He had awoken with a new found resolution. He knew what his father now stood for, and he knew what he would stand for. It was just a matter of proving it now.

Draco sat back, and stared out the window. The sky was jeweled with stars, and Draco smirked at the glory above him, and the glory that lay before him, waiting to be claimed.