*** Day 22 - Harry ***
Three weeks had passed. Three long, miserable weeks without a single word from the outside world. Three weeks was a long time. A lot of people could die in three weeks.
Harry walked over to the bars where Malfoy sat. He was nestled up against the arm of his chair, his long legs draped over the curved leather. It was evident in the dark circles beneath Malfoy eyes and the exhausted slump of his shoulders that he hadn't been sleeping well since his parents had departed. As far as Harry knew, Malfoy hadn't heard from them since.
It took the blond a moment to notice him standing there. Grey eyes moved and there was a flash of surprise in them, as if he'd forgotten the bars between them existed for a moment. Malfoy's hand moved up to grab his wand, but he didn't make to cast a spell.
"You know," Malfoy's upper lip twisted, "it's not very polite to sneak up on people unannounced."
Harry wrapped his fingers around the cold iron bars and silently imagined what it would be like to wind his fingers around Malfoy's neck instead. "Lucky for me we're not on polite terms."
Malfoy wrinkled his nose in unanswered agreement. "I assume you're wanting something? Or are you just standing there to make yourself an easier target?"
"I want to know something."
"It's highly probable that I won't tell you."
Harry frowned, his fingers tightening around the bars as he fantasized about what sort of noises Malfoy would make while he was choking. "That's your prerogative I suppose."
Malfoy blinked at him, a small dimple forming in the corner of his left cheek.
"What?"
Malfoy smirked. "You just used a four-syllable word. The ape really can learn."
Harry favored him with a withering glare.
"Alright. Get on with it then."
"Why is Vol—" Harry frowned. The back of his tongue had spasmed when he'd tried to say the word. Harry didn't miss the slight twitch of amusement pull on Malfoy's lips. He looked like a cat, swishing its tail back and forth as it watched a cornered mouse. Swallowing, Harry pressed on—he couldn't afford to lose focus. "Why is You-Know-Who keeping me alive? What's his angle? I mean, he's been trying to kill me for the past seven years of my life, so why—"
"Stop, Potter. Merlin, you sure do like the sound of your own voice don't you." Malfoy sighed tiredly. His words hadn't even held any malice, just a broken down sort of desolation. "Look…I can't tell you why he's keeping you alive because I don't know. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't exactly spend much time outside of this hallway. I'm not in the Dark Lord's confidence. All I know is that I've been given the lovely task of making sure you don't kick the bucket before the Dark Lord wants you to."
"Kick the bucket?"
"Yes. It's slang for—"
"I know what it means," Harry said, his lips twitching. "It just…doesn't sound like you."
"Considering the fact that this is probably the most civil conversation you and I have ever had, I don't really think you're an authority on what I sound like, Potter."
Harry scowled, digging his nails into the iron. He enjoyed the way the metal felt as it scraped across his skin—how it reminded him of what Malfoy's bones might feel like after he peeled off all of his flesh. "You need to add a dictionary to that pile of books you're reading, if you consider this conversation civil."
"My, my, you're full of surprises today, Potter. I didn't know you were capable of sarcastic wit, considering that the phrase contains a word that no one would ever dream of applying to you."
"Shove off, Malfoy."
The corner of Malfoy's mouth lifted, as if he was actually starting to enjoy himself. "I rest my case."
"Can't say I'll be sorry when someone else takes over your shift. Actually, I'm almost insulted that I'm being guarded by such a low ranking Death Eater."
"Actually," Malfoy drawled, "I practically outrank everyone now."
Harry blinked, dazed by the slap of new information. Malfoy was barely eighteen—he hadn't even been born when most of Voldemort's followers were inducted. "Bullshit," he said.
Malfoy shrugged lazily. "You don't have to believe me for it to be true. I outrank them, and the Dark Lord asked me personally to watch over you—like it's supposed to be some sort of bloody honor."
"What did you do then?" Harry asked. "What did you do that skyrocketed your rank so suddenly?"
Malfoy looked up at him, his grey eyes tinted yellow in the candlelight. His face changed ever so slightly as a thought passed through his mind. "That's not really any of your business."
"Malfoy—"
"This conversation is over now. Go sit down."
Harry didn't move.
Malfoy's grip tightened on his wand and his mouth pulled down into a hard grimace. "Go sit down or I'll make you do it myself. Go!"
Unable to do anything but comply, Harry turned away from the bars and shuffled over to the damp lump that he'd been using as a bed. He plopped down among the tattered rags, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them to his chest.
Silent hours passed while Harry sat, thinking. He watched the wax of Malfoy's candle drip down until it was nothing but a nub on the stand, and he idly wondered why Malfoy didn't use a magical candle that restored itself as it burned. It seemed odd that he would use one that died so quickly.
And then the thought hit him—suddenly and without reason.
We don't have to kill you to defeat you, Potter.
"You knew about the wand." Harry's throat was so dry that his voice cracked. Malfoy stilled and slowly raised his eyes to look at Harry. They were a wide and transparent grey, like a pensieve just before it pulls you in. "That's how he was able to beat me that day. You figured out how to master Elder Wand and you told him, didn't you?"
Malfoy said nothing. They held each other's gazes and time seemed to stretch. Then, Malfoy's mouth opened and softly he said, "I did."
