We Open at the Close (Drarry)

The Pensieve: Part One

Draco Apparated on the steps of Azkaban Prison, his feet slipping on the wet stone. He looked over his shoulder and found that the steps disappeared off a sheer face into the North Sea. The waves roared and crashed against the triangular tower, a looming monolith of enchanted black marble with ruins carved all along it. Draco pulled his cloak closer to his neck as it whipped all around him and strode up the sodden steps towards the entrance of the fortress.

As he approached the fortress gate, the magic of the prison hummed around him menacingly. Draco held out the flat of his palm, placed it against the wrought iron gate and waited. A moment passed where nothing happened, then the gate began to rise and the large fortress door swung open. Draco braced himself with his wand at the ready and entered the prison.

Draco stepped into an unnaturally dark corridor, not even the light from outside managed to penetrate the darkness within. Draco felt the cold begin to bite his flesh, deeper and deeper into his bones, into his very soul.

"Lumos," he muttered.

A small light from the tip of his wand burst into life. Draco flinched as he saw two Dementors looming over him. He took a step back as he felt all the air being sucked out of the room and recoiled as a rotting scabbed hand reached out from between the folds of its black robes to touch him.

"Expecto Patronum," he choked.

A silvery shield burst from his wand and cocooned him in a protective shield of light. Immediately the air seemed to return to his lungs and the Dementor's hand recoiled from the light. It seemed to be observing Draco with some curiosity, although it was difficult to tell since it had no face.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said in a hoarse voice, brandishing official documents with his free hand. "I am here to collect the remains of my father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. These are the release papers from the Ministry."

For a moment there was no movement or sound except for the pounding of Draco's heart in his ears and the Dementors rattling breath. Then, slowly, the creature turned and glided soundlessly down the corridor. With great force of will Draco followed suit, deeper and deeper into the dark heart of the fortress. There was no light at all in the prison except for the light illuminated by Draco's wand, and— even more disturbingly —no sound. No shouts or cries from other prisoners, not even the sound of breathing. This prison was full of people, but there were no obvious signs of life. The silence and absence of light were suffocating, it was no wonder people quickly went mad in here. No wonder his father had—

Draco felt his shield flicker and quickly cast it again to strengthen it. Don't think about that now , he thought. Not in here, not now. Just do what you came here to do and get the hell out of here.

They began their long descent, Draco's feet slipping every so often on the slick, stone surface underfoot but he remained focused on keeping his shield up. He was so cold that he felt that his hand may have frozen to his wand, but it was an unnatural coldness, one of Dark magic. Finally, the Dementor slowed to a halt and raised its slimy hand towards a small wooden door straight ahead. Draco gave it an apprehensive look.

"In there?" he asked.

The Dementor nodded slowly. Draco hurried past the foul creature and pushed the door open into a dank chamber, dimly lit with torch brackets on opposite walls. Draco looked over his shoulder and saw that the Dementor stood back, seemingly with no intention of entering the room. Draco savagely slammed the door shut on where a face should have been. Resting his head on the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. Already he was getting some of the feeling back in his hands and the unnatural darkness seemed to lift. When he turned around, his shield flickered and died.