𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞

JUNE 1998

Harry Potter had never been more nervous in his entire life.

Not even facing Voldemort was this scary, because he was proposing to Alexandra today, and everything had to be perfect. Absolutely, undoubtedly perfect. So so incredibly perfect.

There was just one thing he still had to do, and he'd been putting it off since he bought the ring. Even now, hundreds of excuses filled his head.

You already got Draco's blessing. What's the point in getting his too?

What is the conversation even going to be? "Hey convicted Death Eater that just so happens to be the love of my life's father. Can I marry your daughter?"

But what if he ends up saying no? Can I not propose to her anymore then?

Still, he wanted to do this right. Harry still had a tiny part of himself that believed that every single bad thing that had ever happened in his life—which was a lot—was his fault, and so when he could control what was happening he wanted it to not end up with the entire Wizarding World descending into chaos.

In his defense, he'd only started a war once. He'd also sort of ended one before that, so it all kind of cancelled out in his opinion.

As a big, burly wizard with a huge beard led him through the visitor's entrance of Azkaban prison, Harry was once again reminded of the fact that most people would not be allowed to see their girlfriend's Death Eater father on such short notice, or even on any notice of all, and have no one know about it. 

But sometimes being Harry Potter had its advantages. Even if they were very occasional advantages that he would trade in a second for just living a normal life.

Stupid prophecy. He was never forgiving Professor Trelawney for that one.

His heart was in his throat and his stomach was rolling with nerves as the wizard guiding him through the endless grey hallways grimaced and held the door that had finally appeared in front of them open.

"Follow the hall until you get to a private, open-cell room. The prisoner you wish to see is magical bound from touching you or harming you in any way, but if you need to get out immediately bang on the door. There will be two more people waiting there to assist you," the man said in a gruff voice.

He was looking at Harry like he was crazy for willingly putting so much effort into getting a meeting with Lucius Malfoy. Maybe he was. This was starting to feel like a terrible idea.

But Harry just nodded, muttered a quick thanks, and continued walking down yet another bleak, dimly lit hallway. Just as the last wizard said, when he got to the door leading into the private cell two more wizards wearing Azkaban guide robes were standing on either side of the entrance.

One, with a rather large nose, said, "If you need us, bang on the door as loud as you can. The walls are soundproof, but the door is just metal. If you're in there for longer then a half hour, we will come in and will have to escort you out. Keep your wand on you at all times."

And on that cheery note, Harry was let inside.

He was so focused on trying not to throw up that at first he didn't even see Lucius. Then he walked further into the cell, under the circle of weak yellow light coming from the light in the ceiling, and Lucius Malfoy's pale, nightmarishly thin face appeared.

He was so different from the last time Harry had seen him, which had only been last year during the war. He'd looked exhausted and tortured then as well, but this was so much worse. His blonde hair was limp and dirty, his Azkaban uniform was hanging off of him, and it looked like each breath was harder to take in then the last.