A Memory Of Shadows

13 - The Rythm Of Azkaban's Silence

"I am not sure I have ever heard father apologize to anyone before," Draco lay on the bed beside her, fully dressed on top of the blankets, head on the pillow and staring to the canopy. It was a beautiful four poster bed, the canopy a midnight blue with gold stitching forming the night sky with all its constellations. It was enchanted to change with the season, always a perfect mirror of the night outside. His hands were folded on his stomach as if praying. Verin herself had already changed into her nightgown and had snuggled beneath the cozy covers to read a little. The book was discarded on the bedside table and the witch lay on her side, head resting on her hand as she looked at Draco. "Has someone ever called him out like this before?" Draco smirked. "Potter has done it once or twice, I think, but I do doubt he ever apologized to our special boy. I think he likes you." Verin scoffed. "Or maybe he just knows I am right and realized he has no friends left when he stops associating himself with criminals," she dug out her best impression of Lucius Malfoy for those last words. "The thought of mother writing to Potter must have been a near death experience, too." They both laughed remembering Lucius' shocked face. "That was the lowest blow, I am so proud of your mother." He nodded in agreement, his face growing solemn. "I think she has noticed herself what this marriage had cost her, and I am glad she speaks up for herself. Or for you, rather. I hate seeing her helpless or scared all the time."

As unconditionally as Narcissa loved her son, Draco loved his mother. It had always been important to him that she was happy and well-cared for. Despite his father making it all about him and the Malfoy's Pureblood Legacy, his son had always seen the result of his actions as a direct reflection of his mother's dedication to him. He had had to be perfect and strong, so she could be perfect and strong.

They lay in silence for a while, both following their own thoughts. It felt so good to be here. No judgement, no need to explain oneself. Verin had never been sure their family's friendship was more than what each party could gain from associating with the other. This, here, showed it was. Had been. This is what coming home should have felt like three months ago. Had she had the stomach to face them and not giving into her fear of rejection and disgust.

The disgust she had seen on Lucius' face tonight had mirrored that fear so well. Looking at it on his face, however, she had realized it was her answer to his reaction that mattered, not his reaction. Verin had to move forward with life and move on and had no use for people who despised her. She did not need support that came with conditions. Sadly, something she had learned in her Death Eater years: In life, as in war, it was always important to know who had your back. Unconditionally.

In a less dramatic fashion, lying here with Draco felt so utterly normal. How things should be. Verin wondered if he spent a lot of time with his friends like this. If they had grown closer and more relaxed around each other in the last years. She was about to ask him as he spoke again.

"What was it like? Azkaban?" The question took her by surprise, and she had to think about her answer for a moment before replying. Verin turned to lie on her back as well, twisting one of her curls between her fingers. "It is difficult to explain. Quiet, yet at the same time, it was so loud. Do you want me to show you?" Draco turned to her, not understanding what she was asking. She tapped with her finger onto her temple and his eyes widened. Legilimency. "I wouldn't want to intrude", he replied to which she only rolled her eyes. "How is it intrusion when you have been invited? Really, Draco, weren't you meant to be clever?"

*-*-*

Peaceful. Looking through the tiny, barred window out onto the sea, this had been Verin's first impression of Azkaban. Almost like a retreat. Her life had already been dark, cruel and lonely. The shadows had already held a certain gloom or threat. The difference lay in what was expected of her. No one shouted at her, no one tortured her, no one hit her or forced her to go on missions or harm others without her wanting to. No one forced her to look nice, to talk right, to do this or that. Within than tiny, moist cell, Verin had experienced her first little freedom. She stood at the window looking out. She sat on the bed staring on the wall. She ran her fingers along the ancient stone, feeling the differences in its surface, some places rough, some places smoothed down by whatever or whoever had happened before. No one cared. She got her meals, shower times, courtyard times, monthly evaluations. Later, some chores. Always alone, under the watch of some Auror or other. The rest of her time was her own. Her own to spend in whatever way she saw fit. She had started meditating. Practicing Occlumency, deepening her Legilimency skills.