*** Day 127 - Draco ***

"Daily activity?"

Draco blinked up at Driscoll, his mind still hazy from lack of sleep. The world around him seemed too bright to see properly. "Pardon?"

"Tell me about Potter's daily routine," Driscoll clarified, his quill poised.

"Oh." Draco nodded and swallowed. "It hasn't changed. Just put down the same thing you wrote the last time we did this."

"It hasn't changed? Not at all?" For some reason, Driscoll sounded dubious.

Draco stared at him. "Why would it have?"

Driscoll's cheeks puffed out as he released a breath and his wiry eyebrows arched up into his hairline. He fixed his gaze on his journal. "No reason."

Panic began to bubble in Draco's chest and the previously hazy world jerked into focus. "Driscoll."

"It's nothing, really," Driscoll said. "Just something Carrow mentioned."

"Carrow? What the fuck has that bastard been saying now?"

Driscoll blinked, and it was only then that Draco realized the venom that had seeped into his voice. He forced the heat that had come to an abrupt boil in his stomach back down, slipping his mask back into place. But it was too late; Driscoll had seen it fall.

"So it's true then," Driscoll said. "About you and Potter. The Dark Lord is actually allowing this?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "The Dark Lord does as he pleases." He didn't bother denying Driscoll's accusation. He doubted he could even if he wanted to.

"He's letting you play a dangerous game."

"Why?" Draco snarled, his mask falling again at the barest hint of pressure. "Because I might end up caring?"

Driscoll's pale eyes went wide. "Do you?"

"How could I not?" He'd lost his mind. He'd really and truly lost his mind. "I've been stuck with him for four months! Alone, lest you've forgotten! I've had to listen to his hopes and his dreams! I've had to heal him every week after Carrow tests the limits of his knife! I've had to—" Draco forced his mouth shut, nearly biting his tongue in his effort to keep the words from spilling over. Red was bleeding across his vision, obstructing every last shred of self-preservation and logic.

"Lest you've forgotten, boy, they've killed dozens of us!"

"And we've killed hundreds of them!"

Draco didn't bother waiting for a reply. He turned on his heel and fled the room before Driscoll had the chance to kill him on the spot. His feet were like windmills beneath him, reeling him back towards his quarters as his mind spun.

How could he have been so stupid? Obviously, he had a death wish. There was no other explanation. He'd all but outright confessed to being a traitor. If Driscoll reported him to the Dark Lord, he was dead. Strangely though, the thought brought little dread with it. After all, wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

He'd been living in this perpetual hell for over four months now, and even still there wasn't an end in sight. All he and Harry had done over the past couple of weeks was skirt round and round the inevitable. They couldn't balance that kind of burden forever. One of them had to make a choice.

Even if fate swung in Draco's favor and he managed to get Harry away from the manor, he was a dead man walking. There was no way that the Dark Lord would allow him to survive if Harry managed to escape. And yet, the problem stood that while he was still alive, Harry refused to leave. The idea rolled over in Draco's mind, twisting and turning.

Perhaps having a death wish could work in his favor.

Perhaps his death was exactly what Harry needed to finally regain his senses.