Project 137.43.M.D.

III. | EX ANTE

III.
EX ANTE
(before a specific event)

15 May 2008

His head snapped up as the iron-bound door of his cell was flung open.

Of course he knew what day it was. And unfortunately, he also knew roughly what to expect, otherwise he might even have been looking forward to the day of his release. Given the circumstances, however, he felt the exact opposite.

Since the fall of the Dark Lord, the British wizarding prison had not been the same. It was still enthroned on an Unplottable island in the middle of the North Sea; was still dark, damp and cold. The Dementors, on the other hand, had been relegated to the outposts years ago. Inside the metre-thick walls of the tetrahedral fortress, Aurors now maintained law and order. Aurors who whispered to each other in the corridors, providing the inmates with a rare and welcome distraction from their never-ending prison routine.

That was the reason why it hadn't gone unnoticed by Draco Malfoy that a solution had finally been found for people like him. For the problem they would inevitably pose as soon as they had to be released.

When the relevant decree had been incorporated into the Magical Criminal Law, some of Azkaban's Aurors had discussed it. And Draco had foolishly pricked up his ears, which was something he now deeply regretted.

Obliviation. That was what they had come up with.

When Draco had worked out what was in store for him from the whispered scraps of conversation that had occasionally drifted through the door of his cell, he had been furious at first. A few weeks later, his anger had subsided and given way to sheer resignation.

So the day of his release would be the day they would wipe his fucking mind.

But so what? He should probably even be grateful not to have to remember the last ten years, even if he didn't understand why the magical executive authorities would want to do something that would make his life easier.

All in all, it seemed terribly naïve to him. It was naïve to assume that, in the case of a staunch Death Eater, a ten-year prison sentence was sufficient atonement. And it was naïve to believe that former Death Eaters had a serious chance of being accepted back into the magical community, stolen memories or not. He could only hope that the Ministry of Magic had thought this whole thing through.

He struggled to his feet with a groan, supporting himself against his cot, which was not much better suited for sleeping than the bare stone floor. For once, the feeling of weakness that immediately overcame him and his trembling legs had nothing to do with the meagre meals or the damp cold, which was so persistent that he never managed to completely get it out of his uncomfortable prison clothing. No, it was a tinge of genuine fear that gripped him as he reluctantly stepped into the corridor outside his cell.

Because what Draco hadn't managed to find out was whether they would only take away the memories of his time in prison. In his opinion, though, that was pretty unlikely, because what would be the point? They would probably make him forget a much longer period of time than the last ten years. But which episode of his life would they start with? Would they look for a particular mistake; a wrong decision he had made? Or would they pick one of his thoughts (perhaps the first evil one) and simply erase everything that followed?

Ultimately, everything he had picked up in his cell was dangerous half-knowledge. And that was what worried him so much. He knew something, but he didn't know for sure. That made the whole thing so frightening that he felt dizzy.

His whole body shuddered, but he tried not to let the Auror, who had opened his cell door and was now tying Draco's hands behind his back with a nonverbal spell, show his growing panic.