𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 | | 𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕚𝕦𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕗𝕠𝕪

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

I was the one who had it all
I was the master of my fate
I never needed anybody in my life
I learned the truth too late

Katherine shivered, wrapping herself tightly in her cloak as she approached the large metal doors covered in runed inscriptions in front of her. It was late afternoon the next day and, after a restless night of no sleep, she finally had the mental strength to head to Azkaban. A large knot of anxiety formed in her stomach as the uncertainty of what to expect once she reached Lucius loomed nearer. The air around her began getting colder and colder as she entered the depressing, lifeless lobby of Azkaban. The walls were a gunmetal gray, only illuminated by a single candle at the only desk in the room.

She approached the front desk, holding up her forged Ministry-ordered visitation form. Her story was simple: She had been approached by the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, and she had asked her to go to Azkaban to study Lucius and to see if he would speak on any information relating to Voldemort's return. Repeating her alibi in her head, she slipped it to the receptionist, who looked almost as dull and lifeless as the prison itself. The woman took the note, shifting her glasses down to the bridge of her button nose. "What is your reasoning?"

"I need to see Lucius Malfoy. Ministry business. I was told you make exceptions." She said coldly. The receptionist tapped her wand on the parchment, which revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
"Is everything alright with my paper?" Katherine asked. The woman nodded, and pointed her to the security office. "The steps begin there. Prisoner 537 should be on the top floor. And surrender your wand here, please." the woman replied. She argued for a moment, but eventually gave up Narcissa's wand that she was allowed to borrow for this specific purpose. No way was she going without a wand. Not when there are dementors. Her own tool was tucked neatly inside a pocket on the inside of her skirt.

Katherine headed towards the winding staircase, shuddering as she felt the coldest wind yet all the way in her bones. As soon as she took a step, the sound of wailing and screaming filled her ears. The damned place was terrible, torturous, and her heart ached at the fact that her Lucius was trapped her until he either died, succumbed to madness and despair, or somehow escaped.

The trek up the levels of Azkaban took an hour, the woman almost getting lost as she tried to navigate the triangular-shaped floors. Her cloak was pulled all the way around her, the only sounds being the clicking of her heels and an occasional yelp from a stray prisoner. The hallways were dimly lit as well, every few cells having a single candle outside of it. Finally she reached the top floor, taking a deep breath before turning the corner. The cell marker next to the iron bars read "Lucius Malfoy, Prisoner 537" on it in large black embossment. She kept her head down, standing in front of the lifeless cell tapping on the cold bars. She could barely see a figure inside, sitting directly in front of a minuscule singular window.

"Lucius." She said softly, pulling down the hood of her cloak, her face becoming illuminated by the candles. No response. She tapped again on the bars, calling his name louder. Still no answer. Getting fearful, she kneeled on the ground in front of the cell, knocking on the bars more aggressively. That's when his head shot up, his sad and dead eyes meeting Katherine's emerald green ones. As soon as he did, her face fell. She couldn't believe the sight before her.

He looked terrible and sickly, and even that was an understatement, the man before her bearing little resemblance to the Lucius she had last seen. He wore a horizontally striped uniform that was dirty with soot and holes. The deep bags under his eyes screamed a bright red, as if he hadn't slept in months (Katherine doubted he had ever slept.) His chin was littered with stubble and small scratches, and his normally sleek blond hair was dry and tangled. There were long iron chains attached to his ankles and wrists, and his hands were wrapped up in bandages stained with dried blood.