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The Prisoner by weasley-malfoy-aficionado

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Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own any of this stuff. It's all JKR's. I am just blending her creativity with mine.

Thanks to my betas, potter-maniac and chudley canons for their constant support and encouragement. Love you guys.


Hours seemed like days and days seemed like years. Weeks were ages. But Draco Malfoy was numb to his surroundings.

His ‘trial’ (he hated to call it that) had been anything but fair. Before his scheduled trial, he had been pretty confident that he would be released. Once they knew of his true feelings, he would be given a clean chit.

–They would lead me out like a king,” he had assured himself, –and seek my forgiveness as if their very lives depended on it. And I, like a lovesick warrior, would gallantly accept their apologies.”

–Wonder what the two dunderheads will say knowing that their little best friend was fraternizing with the enemy,” he chuckled at the thought.

He had started conjuring up images of a thoroughly pissed off Potter and a similarly stymied Weasley fuming with rage, with matching red faces and clenched fists.

He was fully prepared with his ‘plea speech’. He had decided that he would confess his true feelings to the world (–Let Potter and Weasley and my parents go to hell”) and he would tell them about all the good times they had had.

The night walks, the secret rendezvous, the Christmas party, the day he had come so close to revealing his feelings to her…

All he needed was a Pensieve. He had decided which thoughts he would make them see, which moments they would be permitted to intrude, which instances he will allow them to scrounge.

He was even thinking of volunteering for a bout of Veritaserum if they still questioned his sincerity.

In short, he was ready for anything.

Anything but what had actually happened…

All of his elaborate plans had gone down the drain the moment the Minister had given his verdict without as much as a glance at him.

This was certainly not what he had expected.




After he was literally thrown out of the courtroom and into the prison cell, he had finally cracked.

For days all he could do was curse and curse some more.

His life was hell and everyone around him the living images of the devil.

He screamed till the guards came and beat him up to make him shut up. He used to call them names and curse them till he was sore. He gave up eating and drinking. He smashed the utensils they brought him. He punched the walls and the rails of his prison till he felt dizzy with the blood loss.

His nights were even worse. The nightmares hounded him like merciless devils and elicited more screams from him till he passed out with fatigue, fear and fury.

On days when he was drained and relatively somber, he would beg the prison healer to kill him.

–A simple potion, Healer Grant,” he would plead.

The healer would shake his head and keep on bandaging useless parts. He would start with pleading, then begging, followed by threatening and finally wild thrashing.

At that point, the healer would signal his attendant who would force a Calming Draught through his lips which would knock him out cold for a couple of days.



Gradually, he realized the grim truth: they were not going to let him die: they were going to make him suffer as much as humanly possible. They were going to make him pay for killing one of their ‘Precious Three’. They were going to make him lose his sanity (or whatever was left of it) while they sit back and enjoy his downfall.

This realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

At the same time, it changed his perspective.

He remembered his mission. He remembered his desire for revenge. He remembered not her murder but her laughter.

And he began his transformation.




The prison guards were both astonished and relieved at this sudden shift in his behavior. For the first time in about a month he willingly ate up the food they served him.

Or rather devoured it.

He stopped screaming and cursing all those around him. He stopped begging for death. When Healer Grant came for his weekly visit, he politely asked for some energizing potions. He began sleeping peacefully without any sign of nightmares.

Seeing his improvement, he was soon granted permission to use the prison gymnasium and go for walks in the prison park. He began spending time in the prison library and started making casual acquaintances.



The most striking feature of his reformation was his affinity to the newest arrivals. He would seek them out, chat them up, soothe them and make them as comfortable as he could.

But after a couple of weeks, he would completely forget about them and ignore them like the garden bug.

The prison officials couldn’t care less. They were just happy because their ‘top priority prisoner’ was well and about and as far as they could tell, he was not going to die on them anytime in the near future.




But unbeknownst to the lowly guards and the lazy officials, the conniving self of Draco Malfoy was planning…


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