A/N: Voldemort finally has got hold of Harry Potter. But after all their hard work battling over the boy, the Death Eaters think they're entitled to a piece before Voldemort finishes him off.

By the time the fourth Death Eater left, Harry had grown too exhausted to stand. He mostly hung, the chains biting into his wrists as his feet dragged against the cold stone floor. The floor was sticky with sweat and blood. He waited.

It didn't take long. The door creaked open again and he drew in as deep a breath as he could and tried to brace himself.

A hand fisted up in his hair from behind. His head was jerked back hard, and his newest tormentor hissed into his ear: "It's me, Potter – it's Draco. You awake?"

The others had been almost strangers, people Harry knew best in dark hoods and silver masks. But this, someone his own age, someone he'd shaken hands with (on the Quidditch pitch only, and under the stern stares of three referees, but still)… this was different. Hate washed over him, a feeling so ugly it made his stomach churn. He swallowed hard and growled: "I'm awake, Malfoy." His lip cracked open again when he spoke and stung fiercely. He licked away the fresh blood.

"Good." Malfoy let go of his hair and stepped slowly around to face him. He came close, so close that Harry would have headbutted him if he'd had any strength left at all. His eyes met Harry's for only a moment, and then migrated firmly to Harry's shoulder and stayed there. "I'm not going to hurt you." It was quieter than a whisper, hardly even audible, and for a moment Harry thought he'd imagined it. "I'm not," Malfoy repeated, "But you have to scream like I am, or it'll look odd. There's a voyeur charm on this room." His eyes flickered to Harry's face again. "Understand?"

Harry nodded, but he refused to get his hopes up – Malfoy wasn't the first who had pretended to be nice, and then surprised the hell out of him with a Cruciatus curse when he was expecting a wet washcloth. "Go on," he said. "Hurt me then – or don't. Your choice." He waited.

Malfoy raised his wand and a jet of blue light hit him in the chest. He grunted in surprise and threw his head back, but a moment later he realized: it was just light. No pain. No curse.

He twisted and struggled, for the benefit of whoever might be watching, but still Malfoy wasn't satisfied. "I said to scream," he said through grit teeth.

Harry dropped his head forward and matched the quiet intensity in Malfoy's voice. "It will look odd if I scream; I haven't been. I've been doing like this all day."

"Night," Malfoy corrected, and shot another non-spell at him.

Harry didn't have to fake a flinch. So many things had come out of wands today and very few of them were benign. "What are you doing?" he gasped at last. "If you don't want to torture me why are you here?"

Malfoy walked around him slowly, trailing a wand across his shoulders. "Everyone else was whining for a turn," he explained.

"So it would've looked odd if you didn't."

"Yeah. Also… I thought you could use a break." Having made the full circle he was in front of Harry's face again, and this time met his eyes steadily. "You look horrible."

"Yeah well, thank your father and his dear friends for that."

Malfoy's hand came out of nowhere and cuffed him across the face. "Shut your mouth, Potter, you know what I'm risking here."

Poor baby, Harry wanted to sneer, but bit down on it just in time. Antagonizing the one person who had been anywhere close to humane today was just stupid. "Sorry," he said instead.

"Just relax – none of this will hurt." Malfoy raised his wand and then hesitated. "That is, don't relax, you have to look tortured, but I mean don't be afraid."

"Right." Harry jerked upright when the first burst hit him, rattled his chains, and sagged down again. Malfoy made a slow circle around again, blasting at intervals with something flashy and empty. Sparks moved in waves over his skin and it almost tickled.

After a while Malfoy stepped close to him and grabbed his jaw. He pressed the point of his wand against Harry's face. "Open your mouth," he ordered. He didn't add: trust me, but Harry thought he saw it in his eyes and anyway what else was he going to do? He unclenched his teeth and parted his lips.

Malfoy shoved his wand in and pushed. The wood slid over Harry's tongue, crackling with power, and the noise of terror he made was entirely genuine. He tried to toss his head, but Malfoy gripped harder on his jaw and kept him still.

"Head back. Swallow." Harry fought, but it didn't matter. The wand scraped against the back of his throat, gagging him, and as he choked and rasped on it he suddenly felt something give and it slid down into him. "There."

Magic rippled through the wand and Harry felt like he was being torn apart – Malfoy was casting a spell down his throat. In his panic it took him a moment to catch up with the words, but then the fiery feeling faded and he was able to recognize the incantation. It was a medical charm – a weak one, but far better than nothing – for healing bruises and soothing pain.

Malfoy withdrew the wood from his throat too suddenly, leaving him coughing and retching. But retching was actually all right now; the deep muscle ache of too many fists to the gut had finally gone away. His spearing headache had reduced to just a low hum, and the lingering twinges left by the Cruciatus curse had stopped entirely.

When he could talk again he rasped, less than a whisper: "Thanks."

Malfoy had been wiping his wand meticulously on his robes. When he finally looked up his face was still carefully empty but he said: "I'm sorry. I don't want you to die."

"Well… then do something about it!" Harry hissed.

"Do something? Do what?" Malfoy's face transformed with a loathing Harry didn't understand. "I'm not you, Potter!" He slapped him, hard this time, and spat all over his glasses. Then he left.

The End.

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