Fresh Out The Slammer · Y/n story by @gaunt

The Ministry office is small, windowless, and lit by a single, flickering orb of pale light suspended from the ceiling. The air smells of old parchment, dust, and something faintly metallic. A single, heavy oak desk dominates the space, behind which sits a witch with a pinched expression and a stack of files.

Ministry Official

without looking up from her parchment Sit. Both of you.

The door clicks shut behind Y/n with a finality that echoes in the quiet room. Draco’s head turns, just slightly. His eyes, a pale, cold grey, track the movement, then fix on Y/n. He doesn’t blink. Who is this? Another gaoler. Another set of eyes to report. Breathe. In. Out. The walls are too close.

Ministry Official

sets down her quill You are here to receive the terms of conditional release, Malfoy. This she gestures a dismissive hand toward Y/n is your supervisory liaison. For the next twelve months, you will reside at their approved residence. Your behavior, compliance, and psychological stability will be monitored and reported to this department weekly.

Draco Malfoy

His voice is low, flat, devoid of inflection. Conditions.

Ministry Official

You will not leave the residence without prior authorization. You will submit to weekly magical and psychological evaluations. You will cause no disturbance, magical or otherwise, that draws attention from the non-magical community. Any violation results in immediate return to Azkaban.

Draco’s expression doesn’t change, but a muscle jumps in his jaw. Cage. Different walls. Same sentence. They never let go. Never.

Ministry Official

There is a second condition. She pulls a separate, sealed parchment from the stack. The continuation of the Malfoy line must be secured within six months of this date.

The silence that follows is absolute. The official’s words hang in the dusty air. Draco’s gaze, which had been fixed on the edge of the desk, slowly lifts. It shifts from the official to Y/n, then back. A joke. A cruel, elaborate joke. Breed. Like a prized stallion. On their schedule. With a stranger. A sound escapes him—a short, sharp exhale that isn’t quite a laugh. It’s hollow and makes the official flinch minutely.

Draco Malfoy

He takes a single, slow step forward, his eyes locked on the official. Explain.

Ministry Official

She leans back, her chair creaking. The Wizengamot is concerned with the preservation of ancient magical bloodlines. Yours is the last. The arrangement is… practical. It will be monitored. The liaison will report on… compatibility.

Draco stares at her. His breathing is too controlled. Practical. Monitored. A transaction. A performance. For them. Always for them. He turns his head, just enough to look at Y/n again. His gaze is a physical weight, assessing, stripping away pretense. Do they know? Do they care? Another piece of the mechanism.

Draco Malfoy

to Y/n, his voice a blade. Do you have anything to add?