Forgotten One: Love

Chapter 4: Azkaban

That brought on a new round of tears. Draco sat there handing me tissues and offering to make them change my mission. When I finally finished crying, I started the car and started driving. The silence was impossibly loud. I tried to think of something, anything to say. "So... How did you know where to find me?"

"Ever consider that I might have a job similar to yours?"

No, I hadn't. Could he really? "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Draco nodded.

"And I never noticed?" I felt stupid now. Did he seriously work with me and I was just too ignorant to realize?

"Well, you're not in the office much, so I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't seen me." Draco chuckled.

"True." I shrugged. We both laughed.

"So, Alastair is your boss, right?" Draco asked.

"Yeah." I nodded, my hands tightening around the steering wheel. I didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Weren't you two... a thing...?" He looked as awkward as I felt.

I clenched the steering wheel tighter. "Yes." I answered through clenched teeth.

"Are you... You know... a thing now?" He rubbed the back of his neck, looking out the window. Away from me.

"No." I answered a bit more gently this time.

"Oh." He sounded relieved.

The rest of the drive to the shore was silent. We took a yacht across the North Sea to the island of Azkaban. We were the only two passengers. It didn't take much imagination to guess why. Halfway there, I started hyperventilating and even tried to jump overboard. Draco had to hold me down on the deck. When we got off the boat on the island, he was looking worse for the wear with a black eye, several scratches, and multiple bruises. I would feel bad about that later.

Draco had to drag me off the boat and onto the island. He held me there as I cried, waiting for me to calm down. "Shh..." He consoled. "This will all be over soon. Let's get to work."

There were no longer Dementors guarding Azkaban. One less problem. Yet, wizards were supposed to guard it. Not as strict as Dementors. A lot less reliable.

Draco held my hand as we walked through Azkaban. It probably seemed romantic, but he held me to the island. His grip was more of a comfort, a reassurance.

We walked past cell after cell, the bars were the only things between me and the people who killed my family and friends. Resentment rolled off them in waves.

I suddenly wondered what this was like for Draco. These people had been on his side. His allies. His friends' parents. Family friends. This had to be horrible for him. I looked up at him. He was tense, his face drawn like he had eaten a slice of lemon. He didn't look at the cells or their occupants. He stared at the ceiling, occasionally glancing up and down the hallway. Never to the side. The deeper we got into Azkaban, the tenser Draco got. And for a good reason. The occupants of the cells started calling for him, teasing him, telling him to free them.

Catcalls rang out around us. Many of the taunts were directed at Draco. They insulted him, calling out names such as traitor, failure, loser. Draco kept his head high, but I could tell that the insults were hitting their mark.

I had to get them to stop. Draco couldn't take much more of this, and it was killing me to see him in pain like this. When he tried so hard to be good, people still hated him. It wasn't fair.

"Stop it!" The words were out of my mouth before I could think twice. "Leave him alone!" My words echoed down the now silent corridor.

"Stay out of it half-blood." One of the prisoners sneered. Yaxley.

I felt myself cringe at his words. "Yeah, Potter, you've ruined our lives enough. Come to torture us in Azkaban, too?" Another scoffed.

Their shouts and cries echoed around me, insulting me. I could take it though. These people had never been my friends. The insults from them were neither new nor unfamiliar.

Yet, too soon, they turned back on Draco, the insults worse now. They thought I was his girlfriend and were calling him a blood traitor. They told him to prove himself and free them. His head drooped from the weight of their words.

He didn't even look up now. Not like it would have made much difference anyways. He could refuse to look at them, but he couldn't refuse to hear their words.

My hand went numb from his tight grip.

I was tempted to turn back around, no person should have to go through this, but we hadn't found the guards yet. And I wasn't about to ask one of the inmates where they were. Two levels later, Draco looked like he had aged twenty years, and we still hadn't found the guards.

I pulled out my phone and attempted to call back to headquarters to tell them to pick us up via helicopter or plane, but Azkaban doesn't have very good signal. We would have to retrace our steps.

The way back was worse. The catcalling became worse, the insults harsher. My blood boiled. They had no right to insult Draco this way. He had made his choices. They had made theirs. He did not force them to choose one way or another. I glared at some of those who insulted him, and they yelled a few insults at me, but I could take them.

When we were finally outside, Draco fell to the ground, sobbing. I sat next to him and held him, rocking back and forth, our positions reversed form when we first stepped on the island. I texted headquarters (the signal was a bit better outside), telling them to come pick us up. When the boat got here, Draco regained his composure and walked stiffly onto the boat. We stood at the bow, still holding hands. Neither of us were anxious to let go of the person who had given us the strength to get through Azkaban.