Draco Malfoy and the Alcoholic's Wish

Into the lion's den

I'd had nightmares about the cold, dark halls of Azkaban since I was eight- all witches and wizards had when they were my age. They weren't particularly graphic, but vivid enough to put me off murder for life. It was just like how I'd imagined- the walls were literally dripping- water? Mould? Blood? It was hard to tell in the low light. Whether the glass was just dirty, or the window had been charmed to only show dark clouds, little light came from the small, rectangular windows that were dotted here and there up and down the narrow walls.

The inmates themselves were a sorry looking bunch. Most were ex-Deatheaters, with characters such as the Carrow siblings and Rabastian Lestrange- a distant relative of mine, as crazy as the rest- mouldering away in the corner, their faces thin and mournful. I shivered whenever we made eye contact- deep, dark pools, hidden in concave sockets, either alight with madness or, in most cases, dull, with the appearance of a broken soul behind.

I was sandwiched between Snape, whose face was hidden by an obscurus charm- his presence was not welcomed by death eaters anymore than students, and a prison guard, a big, burly man who didn't look like they liked their job. I felt a little safer- I found my hand wondering to the edge of Snape's robes, clutching it tightly like I had when I was a baby learning how to walk. I thought he would shake me off impatiently, but he seemed just as scared as I was, surrounded by his old friends.

"Don't go too close to the bars" he whispered, pulling me protectively in front of him, and I obeyed immediately. I was beginning to regret asking to come here.

The silent gatekeeper continued to lead up down endless winding hallways, each one getting dimmer and dimmer until I began to trip and stumble like a toddler on the uneven floor- the prison was always big, big enough to account for half the wizarding population, and since the war, a lot of the cells were occupied with old Ministry employers who'd stepped over the line, crazed purebloods (or pureblood wannabes) and weak men and women who had sent themselves here for protection. 

After long last, we drew up at a cell right at the end, where it had got so dark that if I turned my head, I could no longer see Snape's long, white hand on my shoulder. However, when I glanced the other way, I could clearly see the ghost of a man, in a short, pale grey, regulation robe, which showed off his embarrassingly skinny legs that almost looked like bones. He didn't raise his head when the guard drew a light into the cage, or even when the door was opened- usually food and other things were passed through the bars when necessary. 

"Father?" I whispered, too cautious to raise my voice any higher. He twitched, then slowly raised his head into the light. His eyes, although always mercury, were shimmering with madness, and were reflecting the light of the guard's wand as though he couldn't quite take it in.

"Prisoner 47293, you have been allowed to leave your cell for an hour on special request of the Ministry, come with us." The guard suddenly reached forward and picked my dad up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him along with us, back down the corridor. He'd become so stooped that he was almost as short as me, and even more child-like in his stature, his skin so paper thin it had started to crack, so in the growing light I could see large sores on his arms and neck, and I guessed there was probably more underneath the neck of his gown.

We were lead into the staff room itself, where, upon our arrival, the other men stopped talking amongst themselves and stood up, holding their wands protectively in front of them like a salute in case the frail old man suddenly jumped and tried to escape, even though he barely looked capable of walking unaided, let alone running.

"Sit" he was commanded, when everyone else had decided to leave the room. He obediently threw himself down on a chair, while the guard motioned for us to do the same. "Prisoner 47293, your son has special permission to see you on grounds of mental health, as it is believed it will help his condition."