Unforgettable Season- Chapter Three

Disclaimer: All credit for these characters go to J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them in my little dollhouse, also known as my imagination.

A/N: The title is named after a song by The Strokes, just to let you all know. All the titles in this story will be song names, actually. Thank you to all who’ve favourited, put this story on alert or reviewed – you make me happy.

Warning: There is some slight lemony goodness here!

***

Draco took a deep breath, loud enough that Harry turned around, noticing his friend’s nervousness.

“You’ll be fine, Draco. I’ll be there along with plenty of guards if anything goes wrong. You don’t need to worry about anything,” Harry said reassuringly. “We better get going though. Azkaban is a hell of a place to have to get to.”

Wordlessly, for he thought he wouldn’t be able to manage more than a strangled cry, Draco nodded his head and followed Harry out of his office, his mind swirling. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to face his father. They had not met for five years, but the memories of Lucius’ cruelty towards his only son still haunted Draco, and he was sure that meeting his tormenter’s face once more would do nothing to quell the trauma.

“We’re taking a Portkey to the island, and then we’ll be escorted to your father’s cell by a few of my best men. I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that the Dementors no longer work there which is a relief, but it does make the prisoner’s much more aware of people coming in and out of the prison. If you wish we can cast a Disillusionment Charm on you, but it will have to be lifted by the time you get to Lucius’ cell. It’s a legal thing,” Harry offered, but Draco shook his head.

“I want to face them all as me,” he said in a voice that was a mere shadow of his own, and Harry nodded.

“Here we go,” Harry muttered once they reached an old copy of The Daily Prophet. “It’s scheduled to leave in about thirty seconds, so grab on.”

Kneeling on the floor beside Harry, Draco placed a thumb onto the paper and it glowed blue before he felt a sharp tug behind his bellybutton, and Harry was telling him to let go. Draco obliged, releasing his thumb from the grimy paper and began to fall beside Harry, and after half a second of free-falling the two of them began to slow until they both landed safely on the island.

“Mr Potter, sir, Mr Malfoy,” said a gruff voice once they had landed, and Draco saw a tall, rather thickset man standing there in dark blue robes. “If you’ll please follow me.”

“Of course, Sterling,” Harry said, falling into place behind the Auror, Draco at his side. “I can only take you so far, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

Feeling as though his throat had closed up once more, Draco merely nodded and Harry dropped back with a half-hearted wave. The Auror, Sterling, grabbed Draco’s upper arm and steered him into the large stone fortress, where the sound of the pounding waves faded away and all that could be heard was the moaning of prisoners. Once they realized that there was a guest in the building, the prisoners cautiously moved towards the bars of their cells, many of them jeering when the spotted the youngest of the Malfoys.

“Traitor!”

“Lousy scum!”
“Disgrace to the name Malfoy!”

Draco held his head high, trying desperately to block out the insults which seemed amplified by the cold stone which formed the building.

“Your father’s just back here,” Sterling said, glaring at the prisoners who backed into the corner at the Auror’s gaze. The two reached the last cell of the prison which held only the most dangerous prisoner. “I’ll be just out ‘ere. Give us a yell if you need anything, and I’ll come running with Mr Potter.”

Draco nodded and the gate to the cell swung open, allowing the tall blonde to step inside with the gate slamming shut on his heels. Hearing the sounds of Draco’s arrival, the cell’s inhabitant looked up from his cot where he had a book in his hand.

“Draco,” Lucius Malfoy said, marking his page and closing the book.

“Father,” Draco said curtly, surveying his father who had once looked so proud. The elder Malfoy looked to be an imprint of the man he had once been; his cheeks were thin, his skin yellowing, and his eyes were sunken. His white-blonde hair was thin, greasy, but despite his disheveled appearance, Lucius Malfoy kept his back straight and his head high. “Father, I’ve come to ask you a few questions,” Draco began.

“What, no pleasantries, Draco? I thought I taught you better manners than that,” Lucius scolded, shaking his head at his son.

“I apologize, father, I thought we were past pleasantries,” Draco apologized, determine to make his father happy in order to receive the answers he sought. “I wish I could say you look well, but your appearance leaves something to be desired.”

“So harsh, my son. You, on the other hand, are looking very well,” Lucius said approvingly as he eyed his son’s immaculately clean and crisp black robes. “Aside from your appearance, there is something I’ve been wishing to ask you since the rumours reached me.”

“And what rumours would they be, father?” Draco asked, almost positive he knew exactly what his father was talking about.

“According to an old copy of The Daily Prophet, my son, a pureblood Malfoy, is with the Gryffindor Princess herself, the mudblood Granger,” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t call her that,” Draco spat, forgetting himself for a moment. Taking a deep breath of the stale air within the cell, he regained his composure. “Yes, father, I am dating Hermione. Not that it is any concern of yours, of course.”

“No concern of mine, Draco? I beg to differ. You are a pureblood and are most definitely above seeing a mudblood. Even worse than dating a mudblood, it is Hermione Granger, the one who brought upon your own father’s demise,” Lucius said indignantly.

“Forgive me if I have been given incorrect information, but I believe that it was me who was supposed to be doing the questioning,” Draco said, trying to avoid getting into a deeper discussion about Hermione with his father.

“Of course, how rude of me,” Lucius sneered, and Draco took the opportunity to begin his line of questions.

“Are you aware of the whereabouts of Gregory Goyle?” Draco asked, watching the shock flit over his father’s face.

“Why should I tell you?” Lucius questioned once his face was set in its usual cold mask.

“I can get your sentence reduced if the information you provide me with is satisfactory, father, and I know for a fact that you wish to leave Azkaban and return to the manor,” Draco offered the bait, and his father’s mask disappeared.

“You can get me out of here?” the older man asked, and Draco nodded once. “Goyle fled with his father into Germany where they had acquaintances waiting to help them into hiding. The elder one died, but your old school friend is still living there from what I know,” Lucius said in a rush. “When can you get me out?”

“If your information proves to be helpful to me, then I may see what I can do,” Draco said coldly, and Lucius recoiled at his son’s tone.

“B-but you said you would get me out of here!” the man pleaded, desperation flooding his face.

“I say I can get your sentence reduced if I wish,” Draco corrected, but he felt sick to his stomach as his father knelt in front of him, looking more broken than ever before.

“Please, please! Draco, do what your mother would have done. Let me go!” Lucius cried, grabbing the hem of Draco’s robes. Draco kicked out and his father dropped the fabric, shuffling backwards.

“Don’t you dare speak about my mother,” Draco snapped. “I’m ready to leave!” he added loudly, and the gate opened, Sterling standing outside with his wand pointed at Lucius who flinched backwards.

“Please, no! Draco! Draco!” Lucius’ voice followed Draco as he left the stone fortress quickly, not even looking around at the former Deatheaters who jeered at him from their cells. Even though he was far from his father’s cell, the older man’s pleading echoed in his head as he stepped through the large wooden front doors of the prison and onto the dirt ground of the island where the wind whipped his hair and he could breathe freely once more.

“Draco, did everything go well?” Harry asked, making Draco jumped. He hadn’t heard his friend approach.

“Yes, everything went fine. I know the location. I’ll debrief you once we get back to the Ministry.” Draco said, surprised at how steady his voice seemed.

“You don’t look well, mate. Are you sure you want to go back to work?” Harry looked worriedly, and Draco wondered what he looked like. “You’re looking kind of pale…well, paler than usual,” Harry added as though reading Draco’s thoughts.

“No, I’m feeling fine. I just need to get back to work, that’s all. Shall we get going?”

Harry nodded after a moment and allowed Draco to lead back to the point where they had arrived by Portkey. Pointing his wand at a broken mug, Draco muttered “Portus” under his breath, and as he and Harry grabbed the mug it glowed blue and they were transported back to Harry’s office at the Ministry.

“Have a seat,” Harry gestured to two plush chairs and Draco sat as Harry poured two glasses of amber liquid and carried them over. “What happened?”

“He asked me about Hermione, and I suppose that shook me up a bit,” Draco sighed, accepting the glass and inhaling the smell of Ogden’s Firewhisky. The harsh smell burnt his nose, but it was welcome. “And then he told me that Goyle is in Germany. I told him that I might be able to get him out if the information he gave me proved fruitful. I wasn’t serious though, and when he realized he started pleading with me, and I just had to get out of there.”

Harry nodded sympathetically and Draco gulped the Firewhisky down, enjoying the warmth it spread to his toes. “You’ve done well. We’ll get someone sent to Germany undercover straight away so we can get this investigation truly started,” Harry said, smacking his lips together after downing his own drink. “Until then, I’ll talk to your boss about it, but you’re going home.”

Knowing that it was pointless to argue, Draco nodded. “Mind if I use your fireplace to Floo home?” he asked and Harry nodded. “See you later, Harry,” he added as he disappeared in a blaze of green flames.

***

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I can’t tell you, Hermione.”

“Why not?”

“It’s to do with work.”

“Oh.”

Hermione fell silent as she stared at Draco who was pushing his food aimlessly around his plate.

“I wish I could tell you,” Draco said suddenly, dropping his fork with a clatter.

“Then tell me, Draco,” Hermione said quietly, grasping his empty hands with hers.

“You know that I can’t. I don’t want to go to Azkaban. It’s just…I mean, I love my job, but the problem is there’s now this entire side of me that you don’t, that you can’t know,” Draco said, burying his face in his hands. Hermione let herself slump back in her seat for a moment, and then pushed away from the table, waving her wand to send both plates of untouched food flying into the sink, and they fell in with a crash which seemed to awaken Draco.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up from the table and pulling Hermione into his arms, kissing the top of her head softly.

She looked up at him and moved her arms from within his embrace to wrap around his neck. He tilted his head down and she captured his lips with her own, letting all her love and passion for the man pour out through her kiss. He returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm, and his tongue was begging for entrance to her mouth so she gave into it and he pulled her body flush against his.

Sliding his hands down her waist, he lifted her off the ground slightly and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. Still not breaking the kiss, Draco carried her to the bedroom with ease, dodging each obstacle as though he had done this many times before. She moaned into the kiss and at the friction that was being created between the two of them, and he placed her on the bed gently, climbing on top of her.

He moved from her lips and began kissing a trail down her neck, slowly unbuttoning her shirt as he went before sliding it off altogether. Running his hands down the smooth expanse of her stomach, he continued to kiss and suck on her neck, eliciting moans from Hermione who had knotted her fingers in his hair.

“Off,” she breathed, moving one hand to his shirt and tugging at it, and Draco obliged all too willingly, dropping the black shirt to the ground. Hermione ran her hands down his well-defined chest, raking her fingernails slightly against the pale skin, and now it was Draco’s turn to groan.

He bent down again, kissing the exposed parts of Hermione’s breasts and she let out a gasp as he grazed his teeth over the tender flesh.

“Please…Draco,” she panted, and he pulled her pants off, her knickers going with them. She fumbled with his belt but soon his trousers were lying with hers in a pile at the bottom of the bed. Without a moment’s hesitation he thrust into her, and in that moment they were both in heaven, together in the most intimate way.

He started to move, causing the most delicious friction between the pair, and Hermione’s nails scratched at Draco’s back, her eyes closed and head rocking back and forth.

She felt her muscles tighten and clench around him as she came, and that tipped him over the edge. He cried out her name before collapsing beside her, both of them still panting as they tried to catch their breath.

“Love you,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest.

“Love you too,” he mumbled, holding her close and drifting off to sleep.

***

A/N: Did you like that wee little lemon? It wasn’t much, but don’t expect them to get any more graphic than that. Please R&R as it makes me happy!