*** Day 11 - Harry ***

"Is that really all you're going to do?" Harry asked, his voice sharp and taunting.

Malfoy glanced up at him over his book, disinterest plain on his face. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"Read," Harry spat, as if the word was like taking a drink of sour milk. "You lot have finally got me in your clutches and your grand plan is to let me sit down here and rot away while you make your way through the entire Hogwarts library."

"Don't be insulting. All these books are from the Malfoy library. It's much larger."

The itch to knock out Malfoy's teeth was strong enough to make Harry's vision blur. He had so much pent up energy he could hardly contain it all. All he could think about was his constant hunger to do something, and right now that something happened to be tackling Malfoy to the ground and slamming his fists into his ribs. He began to pace along the edge of the bars, if only to keep himself distracted from the movement he actually craved.

"So this is really it? This is the plan?"

With a bored look, Malfoy returned his gaze back to his book. "I don't know why you think I'd tell you what the Dark Lord's plan is."

"You said before that he wants to keep me alive."

"Spot on, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "And here I was beginning to think that your blatant disregard for my rules stemmed from a hearing impairment. I'll have to be more harsh on you from now on when you disobey me."

Harry gnashed his teeth together. "Why?"

"Why what?" Malfoy questioned, his tone incessantly bored.

"Why doesn't he just kill me? He's been trying to land a killing curse on me for the past three years and all of a sudden he changes his mind?"

"We don't have to kill you to defeat you, Potter."

For some reason, it only made Harry angrier that Malfoy was able to say all of this without really paying attention to him. His grey eyes moved quickly from left to right, drinking in the words in front of him. "Then how long does this go on?"

"Hm?" Malfoy still didn't look up.

Rearing his foot back Harry kicked the bars, hard. The resulting clang resounded throughout the chamber, echoing off the stone like a scream. Malfoy's eyes jerked up, flashing steel in the dim candlelight. In the next instant he was on his feet, wand in hand, his book dropped and forgotten.

Harry nearly smiled, feeling a swell of triumph at the reaction. "I asked," he said pointedly, "how long is this going to go on? How long is he going to keep me down here?"

"I don't much care for your tone, Potter," Malfoy seethed.

"And I don't much care for you face, Malfoy," Harry returned.

Malfoy took a step forward, and Harry saw the familiar hunger flicker in his eyes and the very ground seemed to rumble. Harry's shoulders tensed with the thought of it—Malfoy opening the cell door and running at him in a fit of fury. The mere idea of it was enough to make Harry's blood simmer with the heady desire to slam flesh into bone. But devastatingly enough, Malfoy caught himself mid-stride, his expression turning to ice. Instead, he flourished his wand and Harry felt his body seize and pitch forward. He didn't have enough control of his limbs to catch himself as he fell to the ground, and he felt all the wind rush out of him as his chest hit the ground, his nose and chin digging painfully into cold, rough stone.

"There," Malfoy said coldly. "Now you won't have to see it."