Chapter Twenty-Eight

Draco

My still-shaking hands gripped the old, fragile parchment tightly as I unfolded it. Whatever information this parchment holds has to be important; if not, my mother wouldn't have made such a point about giving it to me.

Once the parchment falls open, an ancient-looking painting is revealed. It shows a very small island, which no more than ten people could inhabit. Drifting beside the island is a boat, which isn't tethered to anything, but is still connected to the island somehow. As I look closer at the painting, I see that the waves are gently looking back and forth. This place obviously has some sort of magic.

Why would my mother give me this? What am I possibly going to do with this painting? How is this going to get me to Azkaban? Surely this paper has some sort of significance to finding Hermione. Then I realize that no good wizard would know how to get to Azkaban. I have to talk to a bad wizard, but it's hard to find a bad wizard anywhere these days. Knockturn Alley is completely out of the question. It's closed, and my father has undoubtedly told them about the traitor that I've become.My eyes slip to the new scar on my arm. . I will be branded by that for the rest of my days.

I shake that thought out of my head. I can't think about that right now; it's beside the point. I have to be thinking of Hermione right now, not myself. I have to get to her.

I think through places I could find someone who would know how to get to Azkaban. Hogsmeade would most likely be unsuccessful. Knockturn Alley isn't an option, like I said. But... The Leaky Cauldron. Surely there is someone there that would know how to reach Azkaban. It's worth a shot. Perhaps if there is a wizard with just one eyeball, or one that is missing a limb; because in the Wizarding World, you can fix these things, but not if it was done by dark magic. I Apparate there without hesitation. I can't afford to waste any more time.

When I enter the Leaky Cauldron, I see a wide variety of different wizards: tall ones, short ones, ugly ones, and one that is missing an eyeball. He doesn't look suspicious, though. The grin on his face looks as if it has been plastered there since he was born. In fact, no one here looks suspicious. I thought surely there would be someone here who would possibly know how to get-

Hagrid! He is sitting in the corner of the room, sipping what I think is butterbeer. Sure, he wasn't a dark wizard; he was anything but. However, I remember many years ago at Hogwarts, when we were first taught about Azkaban. Everyone bombarded Hagrid with questions about it, for he seemed to know more about it than anyone. Apparently, when he was a few years younger, The Ministry of Magic had sent him there to deliver something. Obviously, they knew Hagrid would intimidate the visitors, being of his height and build. There was one question, though, that he would never answer, no matter how many times it was asked: "Professor Hagrid, how do you get to Azkaban?" many of the children asked. His only answer was, "Don't want ya' windin' up there now, do we?" It was a vague answer, but we all knew he knew. Since then, I have often wondered, but I never thought that I would have to know.

Finally, after all of these years, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a seat beside Hagrid.

"Oh!" He exclaims, tucking something away in his jacket, "Hullo there, Draco. Say, what're ya' doin' out of Hogwarts? Yer the Head Boy. We're already without a Head Girl. Oh, there's bound to be chaos back at Hogwarts. Mass chaos!" He rambles on.

"I came here to ask you a question," My eyes sweep nervously over all of the people surrounding us, "Alone."

Hagrid furrows his brows, looking at the people just as I did, and says skeptically, "Well, alright then. Follow me." I can see him grip his pink umbrella even tighter. He gets up and shuffles to the door in the back corner of the room, far away from anyone who could overhear our conversation.

Once we're inside the room, I close the door. How do I even say this?

"Hagrid, I know where Hermione is." I admit, my heart aching when I say her name. The longing to be with her increases every second.

"Ya' do? Well, that's just fantastic! Why don't ya' go get her and come back to Hogwarts? Boy, I'm sure they're missin' you two. The glue that holds the place together, that's what the Head Boy and Girl are." He gives me a curt nod, heading back towards the door, "I'd best be going now, got an appointment to catch."

"No!" I exclaim, "Please, just a few more moments." I implore, and he backs away from the door nervously. "It's not that simple to get to Hermione. Trust me, if I would, I could. But that's why I'm here: to ask you how to get to where she is."

"Oh! Well, it can't be hard. Where is she? Do ya' need a fancy muggle plane ticket to get there?" He asks somewhat cheerfully.

"I don't think that contraption could help me here. You see, she's in Azkaban." Once I finish my sentence, he is obviously in shock. His eyebrows are raised to his hairline and his mouth forms a wide 'O'.

"How'd she wind up there? Dear ol' Hermione would never- never- do anything to end up in there..." His voice displays genuine concern. Hermione has always been one of his favorite students.

"She didn't do anything." "My father... He's very angry with me." Hagrid nods his head, which tells me that he already knows the story. "He broke out of Azkaban. Then, he kidnapped Hermione. He knew she was important to me, but that's just what made him do it. When the Aurors came to take him back to Azkaban, he had forced Hermione to drink Polyjuice Potion, so they thought that she was him. Now she's in Azkaban. There's never been anyone less deserving of that. I wish it was me." My voice trembles as I speak, and Hagrid looks upon me with sad eyes.

"I'm very sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," I say, holding back tears, "You just have to help me find her." There was a silence in the room as Hagrid looked at his gigantic hands, and I looked at him, my eyes pleading with him for me. He has to know how to get there... Surely he hasn't forgotten?

"Draco, this is very classified information," A sense of relief courses through my veins. He knows! "Ya' can't tell anyone, ya' can't bring anyone with ya'... Gosh, you can't even think about it once it's over. Can ya' promise me that?"

"Of course I can." I would be more than happy to erase this troubling time from my mind. Hagrid bends down to look through the keyhole, checking to see if anyone is within listening distance of this room. I get my wand out and whisper, "There, Hagrid. Now no one can hear us."

"Okay. Well, um... It's kind of a complicated process. Ya' see, there's this place that you have to Apparate to. You can't get there by any other way. It only reveals itself to the people who know it exists. It's an island, so it is surrounded by water. But it's not a big island, it would only fit a few people-"

My hands grip the piece of parchment my mother gave me, half nervous and half excited. I ask, "Is this it, by any chance?" I show him the drawing, and he leans in for a closer look.

"Yes! That's it. Boy, Draco, how in the world did ya' get that?" He is quite surprised.

"My mother gave it to me, when I, um... visited my old house." I explain, avoiding his eyes and putting my hand over the scar on my arm.

"Well, this makes it a lot easier. A lot. Okay, see that island there? Memorize it. Yer gonna have to Apparate there. And, let's see... Once yer on that island, get in that boat. Get in and sail northeast for a couple o' hours or so. You should run into Azkaban by then."