4. Through the Looking Class

Disclaminer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters in this story.

Note: Title of the chapter from a couple of books by Lewis Carroll.

ooo

Chapter 4 – Through the Looking Glass

The next day, Hermione went to Azkaban first thing so she could get it over with and attempt to salvage some kind of good day. Harry told her nothing about what to ask, and said that Malfoy would know what to do.

When Hermione arrived and asked to see him, she was led into a small room. It was divided in half by a thick glass wall, one half for the prisoner, the other for the visitor. The visitor's side had a few semi-comfortable chairs, but the prisoner's only a hard metal one.

Draco was already sitting in his half of the room, arms folded across his chest, frowning slightly. He looked up when Hermione entered and his eyes narrowed when he noticed she was wearing his cloak.

Hermione caught his look and smiled sardonically at him. She made a great show of removing the cloak and absently tossing it onto the back of one of the chair, making sure to let part of it touch the floor. Then she sat in the other chair and looked at him.

"See?" she said, "Glass. You," she pointed. "Me. Your door leads back to your cell, my door leads to freedom." She cocked her head to the side a bit and regarded him. "How did you sleep? I was snuggled in my warm, comfy bed with soft sheets and pillow." Draco only looked at her with mild interest. "How's the food? Let's see, last night I ate roast chicken with a cream sauce over couscous and asparagus on the side. And for breakfast, I had oatmeal with toast and orange juice." Still he said nothing, but she could see his façade begin to weaken, if only ever so slightly.

"And I took a great, long, hot shower this morning. I must have stood there for 10 minutes doing nothing but letting the warm water soothe my muscles." Draco pursed his lips, but otherwise made no indication he was listening. Of course, he had no choice but to hear what she said. "What else did I do last night? Well, if you must know, I had dessert – ice cream, my favorite. And I curled up in front of my telly – that's a Muggle box that shows moving pictures with sounds – and watched my favorite movie of all time."

Draco looked at her now and blinked. Something in his expression seemed to soften, but when he spoke the words were hard as ice. "Shut up, will you? In case you didn't notice, I don't really care what you do with your time, and I certainly don't care that your night was better than mine. I wasn't really expecting to have a bang-up time in here, so stop parading around like a puffed up peacock and get over yourself. You are here to do a job, so do it. Quit trying to engage me in a battle of wits, because, quite frankly, you'd be in way over your head."

She glared at him. "Battle of wits? With you?" She scoffed. "In order to enter into such an engagement, both parties would need to begin with at least a comparable level of intelligence to make the contest worth entering in the first place. And since you have no wit, there would be no point, would there?"

Draco could tolerate many things from her, especially since this was his idea, his plan, and she was crucial to its success. He knew he would have to be patient and not let her or Harry get under his skin. Any jokes they made about blood would be easily handled, as he knew where he stood on the issue. They did not, however, which would certainly make for an interesting go, if the occasion should arise. The names they would call him would roll off him like water over a duck's feathers; her jibes and pokes and stabs would be absorbed in order to see this through to the end. Because nothing would keep him from that end; nothing was more important.

But calling him unintelligent was something else entirely. It wasn't just a barb or a jab, because he was smart, and he knew it. He stood up calmly, always in control of himself, save perhaps when his father was mentioned, and approached the glass. "You think you're so smart, do you? Just because you were top of your class, and teacher's pet? Well, tell me, Granger, does anyone really care about all that? Honestly, how many people have stepped out of your way in the hallways at work and looked at you with awe-filled eyes because you were Head Girl?" He spat the last two words as though they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "That means nothing out in the world, does it? What did all that benefit you? You're an Auror, just a bloody Auror." He looked at her with a disgusted look on his face. "As much as I could not have cared less what became of you, you still disappoint me." He glared at her for a second more, then returned to the chair and resumed his former position.

Hermione was hurt by his words, more deeply than she could have imagined. Becoming an Auror was not her life's ambition, nor was it even something she had considered until it became glaringly real that Voldemort wasn't going away. She had followed Ron and Harry into the expedited training offered by the Ministry because she would not be parted from the two young men, having sworn to herself and to Harry that the three of them would be together through it all.

She fought against the tears of frustration that threatened to show themselves in the corners of her eyes. Of course she didn't care that she had disappointed him, but what he said hit a nerve in her that was too raw to take such abuse without causing pain. She couldn't look at him for fear the tears would win their battle.

"Write," said Draco firmly. "Aberdeen, Scott; Adderly, Mark – "

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Giving you the information you came for. Agg, Wilton – "

"Hold on," said Hermione, scrounging in her bag for parchment, a quill and an ink bottle. When she found them, she conjured a table and began to copy down the names he'd given her already.

Draco watched her with slight amusement, then picked up where he left off when she appeared ready for him to continue. "Andrews, Derrick …"

For two solid hours, Hermione did nothing but write, and Draco did nothing but give a list of surnames followed by given names. No matter how tired Hermione's hand got, she refused to stop writing or ask for a break.

"Zabini, Blaise; Zabini, Stephano; Malfoy, Draco." Hermione waited for him to continue, but when no further names were provided, she looked at him. He was simply watching her. "I'm out of order, of course."

Hermione looked at the list of names. There must have been hundreds, and she had been beyond astonished when it had occurred to her that Draco was giving her the names in alphabetical order. It was around "Crabbe, Gregory," when it dawned on her. How was he able to do that? She looked at him now, searching for a clue as to the methods by which he stored the information. Nothing jumped out at her; he was wearing the grey prison garb, sitting casually in a chair. There was nothing in his hands, nothing that she could see. It wasn't possible that he had memorized all those names, in alphabetical order – was it?

"I'll get the list to Harry," she said, putting her supplies back into her bag. Then she stretched in her seat and stood to leave.

"Granger," said Draco, making it clear through his tone that he was loathe to speak with her.

Hermione merely looked at him in response.

"Is it – sunny – today? Or rainy?"

His question was unexpected. Why would he be asking about the weather? What in the world did he care? Then she looked around the room they were in, and thought of all she'd seen of the prison since entering it yesterday. She recalled no windows.

"Raining," she lied. Then she picked up his cloak and wrapped it around her with a dramatic flourish and quit the room. She informed the guard outside the door that they were finished, and returned slowly to the Ministry.

She went straight for Harry's office, but Seamus Finnigan, who worked in the Department of Magical Transport, stopped her and complimented her cloak. She forced a smile and a polite thank you, and inwardly groaned. Of course Malfoy's cloak would be the nicest thing anyone was wearing in the office, since it likely cost enough to equal their salary for a whole month.

When she entered Harry's office, she smiled tiredly but warmly. "Afternoon, Harry," she said.

"Hey, how did it go? Any trouble?"

"No; Here," she said, handing him the list from Malfoy.

Harry's eyes widened as he scanned the pages, obviously impressed by so many names. "What did he say?" he asked.

"Nothing important. He listed these names, we traded barbs. Oh, and he asked if it was sunny or rainy outside."

Harry gave her a questioning look, to which she could only shrug.

"Thanks, Hermione. I hate to spring this on you so soon, but I need you to go back tomorrow. I need more information than just these names."

She sat down hard. It took all of her strength to get through just two hours with Malfoy that day, and the thought of going back so soon was daunting. "Why me? Why him?", she moaned softly, resting her head in her hands. She again fought back the frustrated tears she felt. The previous night had been hard on her. Her parents' killer had simply swaggered into the place she worked, demanding he be given freedom. Sure, he promised to hand them their greatest enemy, but he'd done it in such a – Malfoy way. She'd had that awful dream again, about the night she found her parents murdered in her home. She had that dream for months after they were killed, only this time, in the dream, he was waiting for her too. That was completely new. And she woke up from a sound sleep, now wide awake, in the early morning hours. She couldn't go back to sleep. In truth, she'd lied to Malfoy twice, about the weather and her good night's sleep.

"Just a minute," Harry said, and he put a silencing charm on his office, then another, and finally a ward that would make anyone who approached the office suddenly remember an important memo on their desk that needed answering. Then he whispered, paranoid despite his precautions, "It's because No one knows he came here."

Hermione whispered back, feeling a little silly at having to actually say aloud, "Harry, lots of people saw him come in."

"They've been Obliviated. This is huge, Hermione. Only you and I know, plus Moody. I was able to convince him I needed you to help me with this case." She was stunned. The Ministry Obliviated its own Aurors? Okay, sure, Malfoy was big, almost as big as Voldemort, but was he really big enough that no one could know about him?

"Seriously?" she asked weakly. "Harry – what's all this about? I mean, he just struts in here, and now Aurors are being Obliviated? Why?"

"This could be huge, Hermione. The information he has promised to provide could be pivotal in this war. It should help us bring down the entire network of Death Eaters. We don't want just anyone knowing about this, or about him. If the other Death Eaters find out, we could be attacked or worse in an attempt to get him back."

"I still don't really understand the need for all this secrecy."

Harry sighed. "Honestly, I can't tell you right now. You just have to trust me, okay? You will find out soon enough."

She smiled weakly. "You know I trust you, Harry. It was incredibly hard to look at him today, to sit there, knowing everything he's done, and have him dictate to me. He was so sure of himself the entire time. It felt like I was the one in prison, and he was the one free."

"He does have a way of doing that. And I know this is going to be hard for you, Hermione, believe me, I know that. I wouldn't ask, though, if I didn't think you were up to the task. Just remember, he really is the one in prison. His side of the glass leads to his cell, your side leads to the sun."

Hermione nodded and sighed heavily. "I can do this, Harry." She stood up and hugged him.

"I'm here for you, anytime, you know that," he said, holding her.

"I know. Thank you. See you," she said, pulling out of the hug. Then she headed toward her desk where she tried to get through a seemingly normal day at work.

ooo

The next morning, Hermione grudgingly made her way back to Azkaban to visit Malfoy. She again wore his cloak to anger him, and when he entered the questioning room, she slung it haphazardly onto the back of her chair, letting it drag on the floor. She noticed that he winced when she allowed one leg of her chair to sit on part of the material.

She sat down and stared at him. He looked the same as the day before. It seemed that his stay in prison wasn't as unpleasant as she hoped it would be. Of course, he could be putting on a gigantic show for her.

"Well, you're to do some more ratting today," she said, trying to be as annoyingly cheerful as possible. She figured he wasn't a morning person, and while she wasn't either, he didn't know that. Morning people were some of the most annoying creatures on the planet.

As it turned out, he was not interested in idle banter that day. He started right in on a brand new list of information.

"Aberdeen, Scott. Age: 34. Occupation: Private business. Residence: 33 Ducking Square, Surrey. Does business at Gringotts, Flemings and Brewtons. Personal worth: 50,000 galleons. Family: wife, two children, ages 5 and 7, both wizards, plan to attend Durmstrang. Adderly, Mark…" Draco continued in this vein for three hours, pausing only when Hermione grunted to indicate he was going too fast. He wouldn't say anything to indicate his impatience, but she could feel it, even through the glass, radiating from his eyes. He would watch her as she scribbled furiously, and then, when he decided she'd had enough time, he continued. Name after name, all Death Eaters, all crucial information that would be invaluable to the Ministry. Some he had more information on than others.

Finally, Hermione realized she was hungry. "Dawson, Frank – "

"Wait, stop," she said. "Are we going to go through every name you gave me yesterday?"

He blinked. "Yes."

"Well, that will take – ," she looked at her watch and saw with dismay that it was well past lunch. " – much longer than I can be here, I have work to do!"

He smirked. "Do you really think that your work there is more important than what I'm telling you?"

She groaned, knowing he was right. "I need a better quill."

"You could just charm the one you have to write for you," he said, sounding bored with her whining. "Brightest witch in our year," he muttered, shaking his head.

She glared at him. "Stay here," she snapped, and got up to write Harry telling him she'd be there all day.

Draco grunted; like he had a choice as to whether he stayed or not.

He wrote back immediately, telling her to take as long as she needed. Great, she thought, just what I wanted to hear.

By the end of the day, Hermione was exhausted, and they had only reached 'Jackson, George.' Draco said nothing to her except the information he relayed, until she had packed her things to go.

"You lied," he said. She turned to look at him. "It wasn't raining yesterday; I asked a guard this morning."

"So?"

"Why?"

"Why do you care what the weather is, anyway?"

"I just do. Why did you lie?"

"I don't know," she said honestly.

ooo

It took nearly three whole days to get all the information from him. At 5 o'clock on Friday, he finished with 'Zabini, Stephano.' She breathed a sigh of relief and stretched, yawning. Through all three days, Malfoy rarely talked except to tell her the names of his comrades. She had grown accustomed to this, and without knowing it, assumed it would continue.

"Does Granger ever sleep?" he asked as she was packing her things to go.

"Of course," she snapped, "What kind of question is that?"

"Just trying to make conversation. You look tired is all. So what's the weather today?" he asked, leaning back in his chair as if he were in a comfortable living room with a roaring fire going in front of him.

"Blizzard."

He gave her his nasty almost-a-smile look. "I've come to associate your weather reports with your moods. Did you have a rough night? Fight with a loved one? Potter, perhaps, or the Weasel?"

She said nothing. How could he sit there and be so bloody arrogant? He was in prison! Yet he acted as though it was exactly what he wanted to happen. In truth, she had had a rough night. Her dreams were growing more intense and they robbed her of peaceful sleep. Now her visions focused on him, in the other room, holding something, watching her.

"Go ahead, ask," he said. He could sense that she wanted to say something, but was too – what, afraid? Nervous? To ask it.

She looked at him warily, then said, "Why them?"

Ah yes, of course. He shrugged. "It was an order."

"And just like that – you would kill?"

"I followed a command. Nothing more."

"What good did it do your cause to kill my parents?"

"My master wished to announce to the world that he was taking the war in a new direction."

"So you just – killed them."

"Yes."

She felt her stomach wrench at how carelessly and effortlessly he told her he'd taken the lives of the people who loved her more than anything in the world. She refused to allow him to see her cry, but she couldn't hide her pain and confusion.

"Did you – torture them?" she wasn't even sure she wanted to know the answer.

Draco saw her tangled emotions, and the briefest twinge of doubt flashed across his mind. "No," he answered honestly. He saw her relax just a little bit, but then her frown deepened.

"Were you there when I returned home?"

A flash of panic coursed through him, but he quickly mastered himself. "No, why would you say that?"

"I just – I keep having this dream…"

He wanted her to go on, but it was obvious she had no intention of doing so.

"Were they scared?" she asked quietly.

"No, actually, they weren't."

"So you knew they were my parents."

"Yes."

She couldn't help it – she let a single tear fall. Draco saw it and again felt a flicker of doubt, this one lasting longer than the previous one.

"I hate you, Malfoy," she whispered, staring at him with hate in her eyes and heart. She hoped he would sit in this prison forever, and rot away until the bugs carried him off, piece by piece.

"You shouldn't hate, Hermione," he said quietly, meeting her gaze and holding it. "Hate does awful things to a person. Makes them do things they would never normally do. Turns them against what they believe in. It eats you up inside, slowly killing you and robbing you of anything pleasant, leaving you hollow, empty, unfulfilled, even when you've mastered the object of your hate. It doesn't satisfy, you only want that person back, so you can kill them again."

She looked at him, horrified at what he'd just said. He had opened up, just enough, to let her see part of his black soul, and she was terrified by what she saw. She couldn't look at him again, so she left without another word.

That night Hermione cried herself to sleep again, and in her dream, of her parents, she saw him again. This time in the dream, however, she watched herself find her parents' corpses, but she was outside the action. In all her other dreams she was herself, who found her parents after returning home to find the Dark Mark glowing in the sky above her house. And this time, since she could move around more and had more control of the dream, she noticed he was in the room next to where her parents were found, holding a dagger and looking at her – the her that found her parents, not the one watching. She awoke from the dream drenched in sweat and the covers in a wad. She looked at the clock – only 2am. She went into the bathroom and got a sleeping draught from the cupboard. She took it and fell into a dreamless slumber.

ooo

Hermione returned to visit Malfoy at least once a week over the next three weeks. She hated each visit; he was becoming more and more moody, likely the effects of his stay in Azkaban. He would try to pick fights, but she refused to speak to him more than what was required to get the information Harry wanted.

After Draco had been in prison for 28 days, Harry gave Hermione a letter to give him.

When he saw her, he smirked because she was frowning. "Ah, must be, what – thunderstorms today?" he said in his arrogant, condescending tone.

"Oh, that reminds me. Here." She handed him a letter from Harry under the glass that separated them. He took it and read it, then frowned.

"I need a quill."

"You're not allowed one," she said.

"Well, how can I respond?"

"I can write it for you," she said.

He passed the letter back to her and she got out her quill, setting it to the paper. "Harry," he started. She dutifully wrote Harry's name, causing Draco to give a small smile. "Agreed." He spoke no more.

She looked up at him, quill perched and ready for more words. "That's it?" He nodded. She rolled her eyes. "I think I can remember that." She took the letter and put it in her bag. The parchment was blank, charmed so only the reader could see the words. She looked at it a second longer than called for.

"Curiosity," he said, "You're dying to know what the letter said, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not dying to know."

"Nonetheless, you want to. No, no, don't beg, really. I'll tell you. It said I'm about to get out of here."

Excuse me? "What? You? How could they honestly let you out? You've admitted to murder!"

"That's the only reason I'm in here at all, Granger," he said pleasantly. His mood had improved drastically after reading the letter. "Because I admitted to murder. This past month was the agreed upon time I would spend in payment for my crimes."

She scowled, angry that Harry would agree to such a short sentence. "Are you off to your island, then?" she asked bitterly.

"Something like that. Tell me, why did you become an Auror?"

She was surprised by the question. "It's what – it made sense. It was the best way I could think to help Harry."

"Is it what you wanted to do?"

"Well, no, but you don't always get what you want in life." She thought of her parents, and their dreams which would never be realized.

"You should get to. What about the Weasel? Haven't heard about him since I became reacquainted with you two."

"He was injured in a battle a few months ago. He's not working right now."

"Oh," said Draco, who honestly didn't know what had become of the red-haired boy.

She shook her head, wanting to get away from personal topics and focus on the task before her. "I'm here to get more information on Death Eater hideouts." She pulled out her notebook and quill, ready to write.

"I want to talk about you," he said, getting up and turning the chair around to rest his arms on the top of the back. "Chances are I won't see you again, and I thought we should get to know each other better."

"If I never see you again, it will be too soon," she said.

He put a hand over the place where his heart supposedly sat. "Oh, Granger, that stings!" he said, feigning injury. "Don't be so cruel! I will sorely miss these little meetings of ours. Tell you what; when I'm relaxing on my beach, listening to the waves crash, I'll think of you."

"I would really rather you didn't."

"You could visit with Harry, you know. I'll give you separate hammocks, if you want."

"I would rather drown myself than willingly see you again."

Hermione saw something like pain flash in his eyes. He hid it quickly. "And here I was going to give you your own island, with a little hut, all full of books you've never read."

"I want nothing from you."

"Yes, yes, you hate me, always will, I clearly understand." He stood up and came very close to the glass between them. "But Hermione, I'm afraid I lied to you," he said in a spooky, hollow voice. "I was there when you returned home that night; I was waiting for you."

She paled and felt weak; he could only be talking about what she had asked him weeks before. What she had seen in her dreams – could it be true?

"What – "

"You owe me your life. How does that feel?" He knocked on his door to let the guard know he was finished. "Oh, and Granger, have fun trying to figure that one out." He laughed and left the room.

Hermione was still shaking when she returned to the Ministry. She went to Harry's office and waited for him to return from a meeting. In the twenty minutes she waited, she felt better.

"Hermione?" he said when he saw her sitting there. "Are you finished already?"

She looked up at him with a start. It took her a moment to register what he'd asked her, then another moment to realize she'd been so completely flustered by what Malfoy had said that she left before she got a scrap of information. "Oh no, oh no," cried, putting her head in her hands. "Oh, Harry, I didn't get anything."

He frowned, "Why not? Was he uncooperative?"

"No; well a little. He changed the subject, and it was a subject that really bothered me, and it made me so upset that I left."

Harry felt for his friend. He knew that what he had asked of her was very hard for her to do considering the past she shared with Malfoy. And he hated having to say what he was about to say.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. But I have to ask you to go back, only it's the last time I have to ask, so that's why I'm still asking. Can you do that?" She nodded, but started crying. The thought of returning to see him was horrifying.

After a light lunch, she slowly made the trek back to Azkaban. When she asked to see Malfoy, the guard told her that he'd left some pieces of parchment for her, and Malfoy had said if they weren't satisfactory, that she could see him. Hermione looked at the pages – pages and pages of hideouts, information on the Death Eaters and their inner workings. It was more than satisfactory, but something completely different was gnawing on her.

"I wish to see him," she said, trying to convince herself it was true. The way they left things before… surely he'd hate being summoned again. She waited in the little room with the chairs and glass between. He entered, looking ragged, not at all like she'd just left him an hour before.

He sat down wearily, as if it took every ounce of strength. He didn't look at her, just stared at his hands resting on his knees.

"Why?" she asked, knowing there was no way he could know what she referred to.

"Why, what, Granger?" he asked, looking up.

The difference in him was remarkable; no sneer, no confident glint in his eyes. Just a broken soul returned Hermione's penetrating glare.

"Why didn't you kill me? You were going to, I saw you."

He recoiled. "You – what?"

"In my dream. I saw you, in the room next to where I found my parents." His silence and the look on his face told him she was right. "You held a dagger. Why didn't you do it?"

He could do nothing but stare at her. Finally, he put his head in his hands, and muttered, "I don't know."

She sat down across from him and crossed her arms. "Not good enough." She tapped her foot rhythmically to remind him she was not going anywhere. Slowly he sat up and faced her.

"I was supposed to, but when I saw you – something stopped me. I don't know what, honestly. I just couldn't do it." He sighed. "I was to kill your parents our way, then kill you the Muggle way. I couldn't."

She regarded him curiously. "Did you get in trouble for not doing it?"

He laughed without mirth. "Oh, of course. He was quite angry with me and it took awhile to convince him I was still loyal."

"Why don't you know?" she was highly frustrated at not getting the answer she wanted, or at the very least some kind of answer.

"I've told you," he said, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I meant to, I did, but there was something about seeing you find them. It just took it out of me. I left after the Order removed you from the house."

She couldn't believe that was all there was. But he seemed insistent that it was so. She decided to let it go, since she was certain he would tell her nothing. She looked at him through the glass. He looked a lot like that ghost she'd seen a month before. Not completely, but there were shades of that person.

"What happened to the man I saw in Harry's office?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "You're going off down a road without me again. Please elaborate."

"When Harry called me in to witness the Vow. There was someone very different sitting across from his desk."

Draco looked into her eyes, and said simply, "Behind the veil."

"I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He looked away, and his eyes were focused on something that wasn't in the room when he spoke. "I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me; I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless, What hope of answer, or redress! Behind the veil, behind the veil."

She was moved by his words, and didn't know what to say. The prose was haunting and mysterious, and she realized he had again opened himself up to her just a little, giving her a glimpse of his troubled soul. And he seemed so small, so vulnerable, sitting in that metal chair, looking for all the world like a little boy. Not at all like the Draco Malfoy she knew.

"Tennyson," he said.

"What does it mean?" she asked, anxious to know the meaning.

"Well, for me, it means – me. You saw me." He looked into her eyes, and really looked, for the first time in his life. And he let her explore, showing her the emotions in himself that she would expect to find: despair, anger, hate, rage, and pain. He still hid from her the others: loneliness, regret, remorse, self-loathing.

She was again rendered speechless. She tried hard to think of something to say, and she said the first thing that came to mind. Unfortunately, instead of something profound, or comforting, or sensible, the first thought that came to her mind was, "You know a Muggle poet?" She mentally slapped herself.

He gave her half a smile. "Don't you need to get back?"

"Oh, uhm, yes. Thank you for the information, it will be most helpful."

"So, when you called me back in here, it wasn't because you actually wanted to talk about the information I gave you, was it." He stated it more than asked.

"No," she admitted.

"Okay. Good luck, Granger. I hope you find what you're looking for."

She frowned. "But, I'm not looking for anything."

He shrugged. "You will be." He knocked on the door. "Have a nice life," he said when the guard opened the door for him to exit.

Hermione tried to shake the feeling that had come over her since he walked into the room for the second time that day. He was almost that person from Harry's office, the one she could almost feel something other than hate for. As Hermione neared the guard station, she remembered she would not be returning to collect information from Malfoy anymore. She stopped in her tracks, thinking about the cloak in her bag. She could return it, after all it did belong to him, or she could keep it.

She knew she shouldn't keep it. He would be leaving prison soon, if what he'd told her was true, and would actually need the cloak. And maybe it was seeing a glimpse of that other man, who looked a lot like a pale, blond, Death Eater, that told her just maybe he might get cold. Plus, it was Malfoy's, and she wanted to give him no reason to seek her out in the future. She left it with the guards to put with his other belongings. Then she sighed and again walked the path from Azkaban to the Apparation point that would take her back to the Ministry.

ooo

A/N: Please write a little hello to let me know you're there!