The air was cold on that morning, freezing in fact. The gusts of icy wind laced with the chilling drops of water blew Draco's blond hair back from his face, forcing him to close his eyes and raise a hand to shield his face from the onslaught of weather. It was difficult to prevent the water from reaching his skin, as Azkaban was situated in the middle of a large, circular waterfall basin.

He could hardly tell it was even morning; the sky was storm grey with no sign of sun or light, the clouds darkened and swirling overhead ominously. Yet the pocket watch in his coat pocket told him it was only ten past nine, ticking away merrily without a care about the weather or the anxiety biting at its owner.

Azkaban prison was a place no one in their right minds wanted to be, and even those who were completely bonkers would cut off an arm to avoid the place as well. It was tall, the stone building crawling upwards towards the heavens, a dark and foreboding black against the greys of the sky. The building was triangular in shape; a design detail that often seemed peculiar to Draco, but he didn't dare question it. He didn't like talking, or even thinking about Azkaban. He could see dementors swirling, flying overhead when he looked up, inky black, their cloak torn as they blew in the wind. The place filled him with a sense of sickening dread, yet one look towards his confident father motivated him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The human guards that stood at the entrance looked more dead than alive. Their eyes were dull, glassy and lifeless, as if the dementors had gotten to them long ago. They were wearing clothes that were no doubt warm, but they both seemed to be shivering almost subconsciously. Both of the men regarded Lucius Malfoy and his son with an apprehensive air, seeming almost nervous as the pair drew near.

"Lucius Malfoy," the older man spoke, his deep voice echoing and fading into the air. "I trust you know why I am here."

The two men looked even more scared, both giving slightly numb nods as they stepped aside, the huge enchanted gates leading into the prison opening with a sickening creak that made Draco wince.

The interior of the prison on the first level was nicer than expected. The walls were a pasty light grey, stained in some areas with peculiar looking colours. The floor was tiled with old white tiles, some cracking in places. Despite the run down appearance of the room, Draco was glad for the warmth coming from the heater in the corner.

A man sat at what looked like a receptionists desk, which was cluttered with papers and messy beyond saving. Draco looked in distaste at the mess, before turning to the man that had undoubtedly caused it.

He looked like everyone else in Azkaban, rugged, anxious and slightly shell shocked. His eyes were so bloodshot Draco could make out the veins from a few feet away, the dark circles under his eyes nearly black in colour. He was clutching a glass in one hand, filled with a red liquid Draco assumed was a Pepper Up potion.

"Lucius Malfoy," Draco watched his father introduce himself yet again. "Here to see Mr Shelley."

The man nodded shakily, his left eye twitching irritably as he scuffled around with the papers on his desk. After a few moments he nodded again stiffly. "Down the hall, and to the left," he said in a squeaky voice.

Lucius didn't thank the man before turning on his heel and following the man's directions, striding down a hallway. Draco followed, having to jog in some places to keep up with his father's long and quick steps. Finally they reached an old, stained oak door, one with black letters printed on a blurred window. The letters were old and peeling, so whoever was here had worked here for awhile.

Victor Shelley. Draco read the name in his mind, knowing who the man on the other side of the door was, but never having met him.

Lucius knocked on the door once before opening it, simply having knocked to announce his presence.

The office wasn't unlike the rest of Azkaban that Draco had seen so far. It was messy and it looked old, a dirty and cobweb infested chandelier hanging from the roof. A man sat behind the desk looking rather bored as he read some of the papers strewn across the surface, looking up as the two entered.

He looked old, but not as old as Draco had expected. He suspected the man was only his father's age, but he looked more wrinkled, weathered and worn down, most likely because of this hellish place he was in. His hair was a golden brown colour, eyes a deep brown, almost black.

"Ah, Lucius, it's been awhile," he said with what someone could say was an attempted smile, yet it looked more like a pained grimace. "What was it, seven years ago that we last saw each other?"

Lucius, however, seemed much more perturbed by the other man, an uninterested look crossing his face. "Something like that, yes," he replied, clearly not remembering a thing.

"And Draco, you're so tall now!" Victor continued whilst standing up, not looking at either of the blonds as he fumbled with a set of keys.

Draco shot a sideways glance to his father, who just shrugged. "Thanks," Draco muttered, voice more confused and questioning than anything else.

"Well, I suppose you two want to be getting on with it, then," Victor said, sighing, as if he really didn't want to be here, doing what he was about to.

"Yes," Lucius replied to the largely rhetorical statement in an obvious manner, Victor shooting him a brief affronted look as he walked towards the door and opened it, walking out into the hallway. The two Malfoys followed him a few paces behind, Draco sticking to his father's side, a bit ashamed to admit that this place unnerved him that much.

The hallways were twisting and turning, an endless maze of greyed our halls and corridors, each one looking like an exact replica of the last one they'd walked through. Yet Victor seemed to know exactly where he was going, turning left and right here and there, unlocking a door every now and again.

It wasn't until they got out of an elevator that Draco saw a drastic difference between the grey corridors.

The ones that he was facing now were dark. The tiles were a dark grey colour, the walls made out of an ugly limestone. A flickering lamp hung from the ceiling every few feet, illuminating the space dully. Victor didn't seem as anxious about the hallway in front of him as Draco did, and continued bravely, lifting his wand and whispering Lumos.

Lucius did the same, following the light that their wands and the lamps overhead provided as they walked.

The hallways slowly got colder and colder as they progressed, Draco shivering and wrapping his coat tighter around his shoulders. Victor reached a door, a larger one than before, made out of several layers of steel that Draco could tell were enchanted with some sort of powerful strengthening charm. Victor stood calmly in front of it.

"There'll be some dementors coming to make sure we aren't carrying anything dangerous, you know, safety precautions and all. They don't want... these sorts of prisoners escaping," Victor said quietly, fiddling with his hands.

Draco turned his gaze towards his father, unable to fight back the anxious frown that crossed his face. He was terrified of dementors, they gave him the chills, and he didn't trust them even when they were under orders.

His father didn't reply with anything more than a reprimanding scowl, reminding Draco to force the expression away and look forward, biting back his reluctance to be here. He had to be here, he knew he had to, but he desperately just wanted to go home and read a book.

The doors swung open, and out flew three dementors. Draco could see that the wide, darkened hall that had been behind the doors was filled with dementors, mostly ones stationary outside what had to be cells. Draco couldn't see any of their inhabitants from here; he wasn't sure he wanted to either.

The dementors surrounded them, one flying towards Victor, the other towards his father, the last towards Draco. Draco watched in disbelief and bewilderment as his father didn't even flinch, or even react at all as the dementor circled him, barely a centimetre away.

Draco knew he didn't have that much self control, but he bit his lip and tried to focus on anything other than the freezing, depressing beast that was making sure he wasn't a danger.

It wasn't long before the three were allowed passage into the lower cells. This was where the incurables, as they called them, were kept. Those who were tossed in here to be forgotten about, those who had been forgotten about. Being sent to this level was a death sentence, a guarantee that you would never see daylight again, and be forever surrounded by the most depraved creatures on earth.

Draco stayed as close to his father as he could without warranting him a vicious snarl, looking into the cells whenever his curiosity got the better of him. The people in them didn't even look like real people anymore. Most he couldn't  identify the gender of, facial features largely indistinguishable. They sat at the back of their cells, either with wide, unblinking eyes, or eyes that didn't open.

They reached the end of the hallway where Victor handed the largest key to a dementor waiting at the end. The dementor took it in one of its clawed, weathered grey hands, and led them down a more narrow hallway that forced them to walk in single file. At the end was another door, this one without a doorknob, or even a keyhole. Draco frowned in confusion, before the dementor floated stationary in front of the door with the hand holding the key outstretched. The door unlocked with a firm click.

"Interesting charm," Lucius spoke, shattering the silence.

"Hmm," Victor agreed. "Only works if it's one of them, or me."

The three walked forward into the room before them, which was as barren and unkempt as the rest of the place. It did have a few more lights though, making it easier to see what was on the other side of a thick pane of enchanted glass that separated the two sides of the room.

"Why isn't it following?" Lucius asked curiously, watching the dementor that hovered a few feet away from the doorway.

Victor shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "They refuse to come near him."

Draco peered curiously through the glass, seeing what looked like a figure in one of the corners.

"Why?" Lucius asked.

"He killed one of them when he got here. Don't know how he did it, but he did, and they refuse to come near him no matter how much we order them."

The figure was small, huddled up in a corner. Draco could make out the dirty white of the strait jacket he wore, arms bound tightly to his sides. He was further bound by several large chains that locked him to the wall, but were long enough to give him space to walk around the area. Draco couldn't make out any facial features of the figure, because a white blindfold was tied tightly around their eyes, another large cloth wrapped around his mouth, preventing the person from seeing or speaking. His hair was black and wild, overgrown.

"He hasn't moved for ages," Victor said, watching the figure as if he was at the zoo. "Thought he was dead for awhile."

"He's not, though?" Lucius asked. "He's skin and bone, how often is he fed?"

"Whenever anyone's brave enough to get close to him," Victor chuckled. "Maybe once or twice a week."

"Does he have a name?" Draco cut in.

"No," Victor murmured. "He's prisoner 63; we usually just call him that. He had a number back at the lab, but he doesn't respond to either so it doesn't really matter what we call him."

"Muggles are cruel," Lucius said quietly, Draco taking a step closer to the glass. "Remind me what it was, again."

"The muggles conducted a series of experiments in America," Victor said with a grimace, looking as if he hated recounting the story. "MK-Ultra, they called it. A series of psychological experiments on things like mind control and telepathy on people, particularly children. The experiments were cruel, and the patients, as they were called, were often subjected to shock therapy."

"Did they work?" Draco asked curiously. "On the people who were muggles, I mean."

"No," Victor replied. "Only those who already had magic were able to do anything at all. They were the lucky ones; the others were sent to be subjects for other forms of experimentation, usually resulting in a prolonged and painful death."

"So he succeeded in developing these... abilities, then?" Lucius asked, gesturing to the unmoving figure in the darkened corner.

"Yes," Victor said with a shudder. "He most certainly did. More than anyone else, definitely. He waited until he was strong enough and then broke out of there. Killed everyone without even trying, he just looked at them, or spoke a word, and they were killed. Not in nice ways, mind you. He was captured and detained not long after by magical folk, who knocked him out and brought him to us."

"The blindfold and gag, then?" Draco assumed.

Victor nodded. "He hasn't seen anything but darkness for the five years he's been here."

Draco shuddered, pitying the boy who sat motionless.

"What was he like when he first arrived?" Lucius asked, keeping a close eye on his son who drew ever closer to the glass.

"A mess," Victor replied truthfully. "No doubt he experienced horrors in that laboratory, and being brought here, well, I dare say he's never even felt happiness. He killed a few of the guards and a dementor when he was brought in, so we knocked him out again and on went the blindfold, gag and chains. Without his hands, eyes or words, he can't do anything."

Draco watched as the figure moved, lifting his head weakly to look at the glass, exactly where they stood, as if angered by the man's words but unable to do anything to deny them.

"He can hear us?" Lucius questioned.

"Of course," Victor replied. "Deprive a human of all its senses and it'll go mad. We didn't want him to completely lose it, well, just in case something like this happened and he could be useful." Victor paused for a few moments, as if thinking. "You really think he could help?"

"If what you say about him is true," Lucius replied in a calm tone. "Then I have no doubt he will be the key to fixing this mess."

The boy was still staring, somehow without eyes, directly at the three. Draco could almost feel his confusion, fear, and anger, before he let his head fall against the wall again with a thump.

******

The two Malfoys found themselves walking through London a few hours later, Lucius seeking out a secluded spot where he could Apparate back to the manor. The city was bustling with muggles, witches and wizards alike, all looking like they were on their way to do something very important. The sky was as it usually was in London, grey and unfriendly looking, but not to the same degree as Azkaban.

The place still made Draco grimace, thoughts of the darkened prison swirling in his head, unable to rid himself of them.

"Do you think you'll be able to do it, then?" Lucius asked, looking towards his son who was jerked out of his thoughts and to attention by his father.

Draco winced. "I don't want to be spending my holidays in Azkaban," he avoided the question, something that made his father glare.

"That's not your choice, Draco," Lucius snapped in reply, eyes narrowed. "You're the one that he requested to take this task."

Draco gave a weak nod. He knew that 'no' wasn't an answer to Lucius' previous question, it had to be a yes. If he wasn't capable of this, then he wasn't capable of anything, and he was as good as disowned. He didn't want to fail his father, or fail the man that his father held in such a high esteem, a man who his father told him would bring about a better reality.

What they asked, though. To rehabilitate and gain the trust of an incurable? Surely, it was impossible.