Harry Potter - Cellblock Countdown - PG
Title: Cellblock Countdown
Author: starryeven_fell
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco, Draco's wife, Guard.
Pairing: Draco/?
Genre: Angst. Fluff.
Rating: PG
Prompt: #25 - a cell @ story_lottery
Summary: AU. Draco gets a visit from his wife.
Warning(s): Swearing.
Word Count: 1917 in Microsoft Word.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Unbeta'ed, constructive criticism is always welcome. :)
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratc-
The sudden snapping sound echoed in the dank room. He glanced down disinterestedly, squinting through the gloom as he tried to ascertain the damage to his now-ragged thumbnail. With a shrug, he bit off the raw edge and spat it into the hallway. Let them make what they would out of it, it was all the same to him.
Turning back to his handiwork, he switched hands and began marking off the date again. Every scratch he made was one scratch - one day - closer to freedom.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. BANG!
“Knock it off in there!” snarled the guard, tapping his nightstick against the bars. “You’ve got a visitor-” His mouth worked as he tried to find something he could call the prisoner. “Black.”
He lifted his head at that, staring blankly at the guard. “Come on, up!” He uncurled slowly, disused limbs moving stiffly as his aching joints protested. He didn’t even wince as the guard marched into the cell and grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him from the floor bodily, wand at the ready. He stumbled on his first step, and would’ve fallen flat on his face, without moving to save himself, if the guard hadn’t been gripping his arm so tightly.
With a swirl of the guard’s wand, he was bound and levitating, completely at the guard’s mercy. With an impatient gesture, the guard marched out of the cell again, tugging invisible strings to keep him trailing after.
Bang.
The guard spun around at the sound, wand raised. In one glance he saw what had made the noise - the prisoner had drifted up to one side as he floated, and had slammed into the rough stones anchoring the bars to the ceiling. Swearing under his breath, the guard lowered the prisoner to head height to inspect the damage with the help of a quick Lumos.
His head lolled on his shoulder, both blackening eyes closed. Blood was running down his grimy face, undoubtedly coming from the crooked - probably broken - nose. A two-inch gash on his left temple would also explain the blood, and certainly the unconsciousness.
The guard considered it, but in the end it might mean his job if he brought the prisoner into the visitor’s room looking like this. Officially, Azkaban guards were not allowed to have any physical interactions with the prisoners. While that hadn’t actually happened in this case, the woman waiting to see him was already suspicious of the conditions of the prison and had the power to make the guard’s life a living hell if she chose. Still swearing, he healed the prisoner as best he could with his limited knowledge of healing charms. Adding a couple of cushioning charms, they continued down the hall.
It was a long walk from that particular cell to the visitor’s room, and the guard was gasping for air by the time they reached the door. He wasn’t shivering though, for once, which was a blessing for anyone who worked in the middle of the North Sea. He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, and tried in vain to catch his breath.
“Mr. Begbie!” the woman called sharply. “Did you intend to make me wait all night? Perhaps Mr. Black has nothing better to do with his time than drift in the breeze, but I assure you that I am a very busy woman and am currently... displeased... with your conduct. I suppose even a man with your limited imagination can understand the implications of that,” she added, opening the door.
He straightened up quickly and looked over his shoulder, stifling the urge to swear again when he saw the prisoner floating up towards the ceiling again. Must’ve been the legs dangling in front of the window that tipped her off. “Yes ma’am, I mean, no ma’am, have him down in just a moment ma’am,” he mumbled. He countered all his earlier spells, and threw in an Enervate for good measure.
“See that you do,” she snapped, casting a mild numbing charm and healing the prisoner’s broken nose carefully. “And see that this infamy is not repeated,” she added tartly, taking the prisoner by the arm and leading him gently into the room. She paused for a second, tilting her head to one side, then turned and firmly shut the door in the guard’s face. She locked and warded it, blacking out the window as well. Almost as an afterthought she warded the entire room, ensuring their privacy.
The guard stared at the closed door, knowing that his orders were to supervise the prisoner at all times, but thought better of annoying the woman any further today. He’d been on the receiving end of her Stinging Hexes before, and that was no laughing matter; he’d been sore for the next week, the last time he’d annoyed her that much. He stomped off towards the main doors, patting his pockets in search of a fag while he muttered imprecations about having to deal with that bloody bitch, instead of a proper male lawyer representing the prisoner.
She led him to the cold, metal chair in the centre of the room, frowning as she considered it. Waving her wand negligently, she turned it into a roomy, cushioned armchair and lowered him into it gingerly. She cast some gentle cleaning charms over his thin frame, watching as some of the tension drained from his face. Once she was sure he was settled, she fell to her knees before him, bowing her head as she fought back a wave of tears.
“Don’t,” he croaked. He jerked slightly, as though the sound of his own voice had startled him in its nearness. It was the first word he’d spoken since her last visit.
She looked up, lashes sparkling with unshed tears. “Oh! Here....” She conjured up a glass of water and held it to his lips, visually scanning his body for any other injuries while he drank. “What’s this?” she asked softly, reaching up to trace the jagged line on his left temple.
He turned his head away from her questing hand. “Don’t, I’m filthy....” It was a familiar ritual, one they repeated every time she came to visit. She would let the guards know she was not someone to be trifled with, but would drop her guard and allow her love and concern for him to overcome her as soon as they were alone. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s beautiful. She looks more like her daddy every day....” She reached into her wallet and pulled out a recent picture. A pale, elfin girl waved up at him, laughing as the photographic breeze ruffled her platinum waves. She was silent for a moment, smiling down at her daughter’s image. “She misses you, of course, and she’s decided... that she wants a little brother.”
He looked up sharply. “I thought we agreed-” He stopped, waiting for the lump in his throat to subside. “I have to be there,” he said quietly. “I can’t miss the next one too. I need to be there for you, for them, I can’t-”
She shushed him with a finger across his lips. “I know. I like the idea, though, and I want you to have that to look forward to. She wants to name him, too. She’s determined that he won’t get some ‘silly name like Cassiopeia’.”
That earned her a tired half-smile from him. “What’s my little imp planning now?”
“Something more dignified, she says. Something normal, like, say... Achernar. Or-” she added, grimacing- “Betelgeuse.”
He chuckled aloud at that one. “That’s her idea of more dignified? Betelgeuse Black?” He sobered immediately. “I wish they could have my family name. I wish you could, too.”
“I’ve told you before,” she said, taking his hand. “I don’t care about that. As long as I have you, the name doesn’t matter to me. Besides-” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to Narcissa. Well, owling, really. In any case, we’ve managed to agree on one thing.... If you really want your name back, if it’s this important to you, she will... convince Lucius to reinstate you as his heir.”
He felt a rush of gratitude for them both, and he knew his love for her was plainly visible on his face. “I- Thank you.”
She kissed away the lone tear making its way down his cheek. “I know,” she said simply. “I love you.”
Curling up in the armchair with him, she held him tightly for an endless moment, revelling in the feeling of being so near to him. They chatted about everyday, inconsequential things, peppering their conversation with a month’s worth of sweet kisses.
Suddenly the guard banged on the door, startling them both. “Time’s up, mum! Er, ma’am! That’s all the time you’ve got tonight! There’s only just enough time left on your visa to get you to the edge of the Apparation wards!”
Giving him one last kiss, she straightened her robes and walked him to the door, yanking it open. “I’m quite aware of that, Mr. Begbie,” she said icily, arching a delicate eyebrow. “I am also aware that Mr. Black was brought to this room with severe injuries that had been inflicted on his person since my last visit. I’m sure you will do your very best to ensure no further damage is done to him in future, since he is, of course, under your always tender care.”
“Yes ma’am, of course ma’am, no ma’am,” stuttered the guard. “If that’ll be all, ma’am,” he added obsequiously, reaching out to grasp the prisoner by the arm again. He cast his standard transportation spells again, ostentatiously adding the cushioning charms for her benefit. “Come on then, back to your cell, Black.”
She let him get five metres from the door before she called out scornfully, “I’ll give your regards to the Warden, shall I?”
The guard stood stock-still until her footsteps had receded entirely before swearing as loud as he could. Stupid bloody bitch, waltzing in here like she owned the place, ordering him around and making threats like she was above him and above all this. ‘Course, he thought, with a sidewise glance at his prisoner, she probably did - or could, at least - own the place several times over. She must have been getting one hell of a retainer from somebody, since she kept showing up to visit her penniless, disinherited client. He really should get a transfer, he thought, as he dragged the prisoner back to his cell. The problem was that the only cell block with a vacancy was the one with that crazy Lestrange bitch on it. Though even having to deal with her might be preferable to staying here and dealing with the constant threats and the long walk. It wasn’t as if anyone ever wanted to visit Lestrange, after all.... Yes, he’d apply for that transfer as soon as he got back to his desk, he decided as he slammed the door behind the prisoner. Anything was better than this damnable walk!
Draco stared around his tiny cell disconsolately, depression hitting him as it always did after she left. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was a dark, cheerless place. Suppressing a sigh, he let himself slump almost bonelessly to the ground, sitting down in front of his makeshift calendar again. Another day survived; he might even have time to finish scratching it into the stone before exhaustion claimed him.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratc-
Author: starryeven_fell
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco, Draco's wife, Guard.
Pairing: Draco/?
Genre: Angst. Fluff.
Rating: PG
Prompt: #25 - a cell @ story_lottery
Summary: AU. Draco gets a visit from his wife.
Warning(s): Swearing.
Word Count: 1917 in Microsoft Word.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Unbeta'ed, constructive criticism is always welcome. :)
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratc-
The sudden snapping sound echoed in the dank room. He glanced down disinterestedly, squinting through the gloom as he tried to ascertain the damage to his now-ragged thumbnail. With a shrug, he bit off the raw edge and spat it into the hallway. Let them make what they would out of it, it was all the same to him.
Turning back to his handiwork, he switched hands and began marking off the date again. Every scratch he made was one scratch - one day - closer to freedom.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. BANG!
“Knock it off in there!” snarled the guard, tapping his nightstick against the bars. “You’ve got a visitor-” His mouth worked as he tried to find something he could call the prisoner. “Black.”
He lifted his head at that, staring blankly at the guard. “Come on, up!” He uncurled slowly, disused limbs moving stiffly as his aching joints protested. He didn’t even wince as the guard marched into the cell and grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him from the floor bodily, wand at the ready. He stumbled on his first step, and would’ve fallen flat on his face, without moving to save himself, if the guard hadn’t been gripping his arm so tightly.
With a swirl of the guard’s wand, he was bound and levitating, completely at the guard’s mercy. With an impatient gesture, the guard marched out of the cell again, tugging invisible strings to keep him trailing after.
Bang.
The guard spun around at the sound, wand raised. In one glance he saw what had made the noise - the prisoner had drifted up to one side as he floated, and had slammed into the rough stones anchoring the bars to the ceiling. Swearing under his breath, the guard lowered the prisoner to head height to inspect the damage with the help of a quick Lumos.
His head lolled on his shoulder, both blackening eyes closed. Blood was running down his grimy face, undoubtedly coming from the crooked - probably broken - nose. A two-inch gash on his left temple would also explain the blood, and certainly the unconsciousness.
The guard considered it, but in the end it might mean his job if he brought the prisoner into the visitor’s room looking like this. Officially, Azkaban guards were not allowed to have any physical interactions with the prisoners. While that hadn’t actually happened in this case, the woman waiting to see him was already suspicious of the conditions of the prison and had the power to make the guard’s life a living hell if she chose. Still swearing, he healed the prisoner as best he could with his limited knowledge of healing charms. Adding a couple of cushioning charms, they continued down the hall.
It was a long walk from that particular cell to the visitor’s room, and the guard was gasping for air by the time they reached the door. He wasn’t shivering though, for once, which was a blessing for anyone who worked in the middle of the North Sea. He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, and tried in vain to catch his breath.
“Mr. Begbie!” the woman called sharply. “Did you intend to make me wait all night? Perhaps Mr. Black has nothing better to do with his time than drift in the breeze, but I assure you that I am a very busy woman and am currently... displeased... with your conduct. I suppose even a man with your limited imagination can understand the implications of that,” she added, opening the door.
He straightened up quickly and looked over his shoulder, stifling the urge to swear again when he saw the prisoner floating up towards the ceiling again. Must’ve been the legs dangling in front of the window that tipped her off. “Yes ma’am, I mean, no ma’am, have him down in just a moment ma’am,” he mumbled. He countered all his earlier spells, and threw in an Enervate for good measure.
“See that you do,” she snapped, casting a mild numbing charm and healing the prisoner’s broken nose carefully. “And see that this infamy is not repeated,” she added tartly, taking the prisoner by the arm and leading him gently into the room. She paused for a second, tilting her head to one side, then turned and firmly shut the door in the guard’s face. She locked and warded it, blacking out the window as well. Almost as an afterthought she warded the entire room, ensuring their privacy.
The guard stared at the closed door, knowing that his orders were to supervise the prisoner at all times, but thought better of annoying the woman any further today. He’d been on the receiving end of her Stinging Hexes before, and that was no laughing matter; he’d been sore for the next week, the last time he’d annoyed her that much. He stomped off towards the main doors, patting his pockets in search of a fag while he muttered imprecations about having to deal with that bloody bitch, instead of a proper male lawyer representing the prisoner.
She led him to the cold, metal chair in the centre of the room, frowning as she considered it. Waving her wand negligently, she turned it into a roomy, cushioned armchair and lowered him into it gingerly. She cast some gentle cleaning charms over his thin frame, watching as some of the tension drained from his face. Once she was sure he was settled, she fell to her knees before him, bowing her head as she fought back a wave of tears.
“Don’t,” he croaked. He jerked slightly, as though the sound of his own voice had startled him in its nearness. It was the first word he’d spoken since her last visit.
She looked up, lashes sparkling with unshed tears. “Oh! Here....” She conjured up a glass of water and held it to his lips, visually scanning his body for any other injuries while he drank. “What’s this?” she asked softly, reaching up to trace the jagged line on his left temple.
He turned his head away from her questing hand. “Don’t, I’m filthy....” It was a familiar ritual, one they repeated every time she came to visit. She would let the guards know she was not someone to be trifled with, but would drop her guard and allow her love and concern for him to overcome her as soon as they were alone. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s beautiful. She looks more like her daddy every day....” She reached into her wallet and pulled out a recent picture. A pale, elfin girl waved up at him, laughing as the photographic breeze ruffled her platinum waves. She was silent for a moment, smiling down at her daughter’s image. “She misses you, of course, and she’s decided... that she wants a little brother.”
He looked up sharply. “I thought we agreed-” He stopped, waiting for the lump in his throat to subside. “I have to be there,” he said quietly. “I can’t miss the next one too. I need to be there for you, for them, I can’t-”
She shushed him with a finger across his lips. “I know. I like the idea, though, and I want you to have that to look forward to. She wants to name him, too. She’s determined that he won’t get some ‘silly name like Cassiopeia’.”
That earned her a tired half-smile from him. “What’s my little imp planning now?”
“Something more dignified, she says. Something normal, like, say... Achernar. Or-” she added, grimacing- “Betelgeuse.”
He chuckled aloud at that one. “That’s her idea of more dignified? Betelgeuse Black?” He sobered immediately. “I wish they could have my family name. I wish you could, too.”
“I’ve told you before,” she said, taking his hand. “I don’t care about that. As long as I have you, the name doesn’t matter to me. Besides-” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to Narcissa. Well, owling, really. In any case, we’ve managed to agree on one thing.... If you really want your name back, if it’s this important to you, she will... convince Lucius to reinstate you as his heir.”
He felt a rush of gratitude for them both, and he knew his love for her was plainly visible on his face. “I- Thank you.”
She kissed away the lone tear making its way down his cheek. “I know,” she said simply. “I love you.”
Curling up in the armchair with him, she held him tightly for an endless moment, revelling in the feeling of being so near to him. They chatted about everyday, inconsequential things, peppering their conversation with a month’s worth of sweet kisses.
Suddenly the guard banged on the door, startling them both. “Time’s up, mum! Er, ma’am! That’s all the time you’ve got tonight! There’s only just enough time left on your visa to get you to the edge of the Apparation wards!”
Giving him one last kiss, she straightened her robes and walked him to the door, yanking it open. “I’m quite aware of that, Mr. Begbie,” she said icily, arching a delicate eyebrow. “I am also aware that Mr. Black was brought to this room with severe injuries that had been inflicted on his person since my last visit. I’m sure you will do your very best to ensure no further damage is done to him in future, since he is, of course, under your always tender care.”
“Yes ma’am, of course ma’am, no ma’am,” stuttered the guard. “If that’ll be all, ma’am,” he added obsequiously, reaching out to grasp the prisoner by the arm again. He cast his standard transportation spells again, ostentatiously adding the cushioning charms for her benefit. “Come on then, back to your cell, Black.”
She let him get five metres from the door before she called out scornfully, “I’ll give your regards to the Warden, shall I?”
The guard stood stock-still until her footsteps had receded entirely before swearing as loud as he could. Stupid bloody bitch, waltzing in here like she owned the place, ordering him around and making threats like she was above him and above all this. ‘Course, he thought, with a sidewise glance at his prisoner, she probably did - or could, at least - own the place several times over. She must have been getting one hell of a retainer from somebody, since she kept showing up to visit her penniless, disinherited client. He really should get a transfer, he thought, as he dragged the prisoner back to his cell. The problem was that the only cell block with a vacancy was the one with that crazy Lestrange bitch on it. Though even having to deal with her might be preferable to staying here and dealing with the constant threats and the long walk. It wasn’t as if anyone ever wanted to visit Lestrange, after all.... Yes, he’d apply for that transfer as soon as he got back to his desk, he decided as he slammed the door behind the prisoner. Anything was better than this damnable walk!
Draco stared around his tiny cell disconsolately, depression hitting him as it always did after she left. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was a dark, cheerless place. Suppressing a sigh, he let himself slump almost bonelessly to the ground, sitting down in front of his makeshift calendar again. Another day survived; he might even have time to finish scratching it into the stone before exhaustion claimed him.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratc-