What Do A Lion And A Wolf Share?

Decoding

As he walked through the DMLE doors, trailing the Auror escort to Azkaban, Draco felt his nerves building. They were already high before he arrived at the Ministry, anxiety fueled by a combination of lack of sleep and too much caffeine, courtesy of Tippy's attempts to calm him with tea. It hadn't helped that Hermione stood so close to him as they waited in the lobby.

First, she'd driven him mad for a full week as he was trapped with her lip biting and quiet sighing and hair twisting while they researched runes in the manor's library. Then the following week, her absence drove him crazier. Hermione was the main feature of his daydreams, which wasn't new. But the longer he waited to tell her about his discovery of the lust potions, the more infuriating it became. He'd gathered from Theo that the Aurors only told her it was a modified love potion. Draco wasn't sure when to tell her about the truth component of the potion she'd been dosed with, or if he even should, terrified to upset the fragile friendship blooming between them.

As frustrating as she was, the daydream Hermione was a welcome distraction from the other thing that plagued his mind: facing his father.

"Here," the Auror said gruffly, opening a door to a room with only two wooden chairs. "You'll sit there. You have 20 minutes." The man pointed at the rickety seat closest to the door before shutting Draco in. Draco dropped into the chair and immediately wondered if they made it as uncomfortable as possible so that even visits would be displeasurable for the inmates. He scanned the empty room, scrunching his nose at the bare, windowless walls and mildew scent that hung in the air.

A door formed on the other side of the room and two guards escorted his father in. Or someone who he assumed had to be his father. This man looked nothing like Lucius Malfoy. The first thing Draco noticed was the wizard's hair, his signature platinum locks cropped short. His father had always prided himself on his appearance, especially his hair. The purple bags under his eyes, the too-thin face and even thinner body, and the new scar that cut through his lips were even more alarming. The not-quite Lucius dropped into the seat opposite him, eyes trained on Draco's shoes, before the two guards enacted a barrier between them.

"Father," Draco said coldly. He put on the same haughty face he'd seen his father wear countless times, unwilling to spare the husk of Lucius the rage he still felt towards him.

"Son," Lucius replied, his head whipping up and shooting Draco a smirk. "Is that all the greeting I get?" he asked snidely, proving that within the shell still lived the man. Draco glared at him, anxiety now fully forgotten for anger. "My, my, moody this morning aren't we?"

"I suppose you could call it that. Look -"

"How is your mother?" Lucius interrupted.

"She - she's fine," Draco answered, thinking of how often his mother asked him to visit. "Mother puts on a brave face, and she's strong, but I can tell she's still...struggling."

"It's your responsibility to take care of her while I'm completing my stay here." Draco rolled his eyes at Lucius' delicate term for his jail sentence.

"I am taking care of her," Draco spat, the indifference falling away. "Even though you're here, I'm taking care of the family."

"Good," Lucius smirked and Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep his anger in check. "Something tells me this is not a social call. Why are you here, son?" Draco set his jaw, setting aside the urge to scream at his father.

"I - I need your help," Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to humble himself to a man who'd nearly ruined his life. "This is a letter you wrote to Theo's father," he said, unfolding the parchment from his pocket and holding it up to the barrier. Lucius started at the letter as he read, then began to shake his head.