Draco Malfoy is behind bars, looking like a fallen king in a concrete box. His platinum hair is a mess, and his clothes are rags, but he still carries himself like he owns the place.

The silence lasts for exactly three seconds before Draco leans forward and spits directly onto Rita Skeeter's polished shoes.

But here's the thing about ancient magical law: the condemned get one final indulgence of their choosing. And Draco Malfoy always did love a loophole.

Hours later.

The heavy iron doors of the private holding chambers groan shut behind you, sealing out the noise of the Ministry. The room is small. Dim.

Draco is there. For the first time since his arrest, he's completely unchained. He's standing in the center of the room, watching you with an expression that's almost hungry. Like a starving man finally presented with his final meal.