Author's notes: I'm not sure that there's anything to say except that I hope everyone reading enjoys this chapter. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing. It is very much appreciated. Oh, also . . . if anyone would like to archive this story (or any of my stories) on their site - please feel free. All I ask is that you write me a quick note to let me know where it will be and please credit me for writing it. Thanks!
Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 4)
Draco does not think about Weasley, or the dungeons, or anything related to either of them for three days straight. Or at least, he doesn't think about them in the regard that he thinks about them all the time - but he doesn't allow himself to believe that he is doing so.
It's best this way. In Draco's opinion, avoidance and denial are not the bad words everyone makes them out to be. At this rate, he figures that it will take another seven days to forget Weasley was ever even here.
All goes according to plan until the fourth night. It is on this night of his exercise in denial that Draco has the dream.
He dreams of walking through the dungeons. Although he cannot see himself, he knows that he is very small; a child. In the strange way of dreams, he is not holding a wand for light, yet he can somehow still see past the shadows and dark. He walks to a random cell and stops. Inside the cell, he sees his father and another man. His father looks much younger, but Draco recognizes him easily. The other man he does not recognize. In fact, he can barely see him. Dream shadows only allow him to see the man's profile and his long, dark hair. Both men are naked, his father on top of the stranger. The stranger is sobbing and cursing at the same time. His father is smiling his reptile smile. And his father is thrusting into the other man over and over . . .
Draco wakes up with a scream lodged in his throat, and only his deeply-ingrained sense of self-preservation stops that scream from tearing its way out of him.
He sits up in bed and wraps his arms around his body to stop himself from shaking.
He tells himself that it was a dream. It had to be.
And yet, deep in his heart, he knows that it felt like a memory.
But it couldn't be. His father wouldn't . . . wouldn't . . .
Draco stops that train of thought before it takes him down the road to hypocrisy. His father is a Death Eater. Draco can only guess at the number of atrocities he has committed. Why should raping a man be considered any worse than the others?
Could it possibly be because this is happening to a real person instead of someone imagined and faceless? He discards this idea almost immediately. He hates Weasley; he doesn't care what happens to him. Besides, didn't he try to force himself on Weasley only a few nights ago? So who is he to be judging anyone?
Disgusted at his confusion and his inability to make any sense of the situation, Draco makes a noise of exasperation and flops back down on the bed.
'Like father, like son," he says softly to himself as he runs a hand through his hair.
He sighs deeply. He knows that he has to go back to the dungeons.
He has known this all along.
But this time, he has to be there before his father gets there. It is the only way he will ever know if Ron is telling the truth. It is the only way to know anything, period.
It is agony to wait. Pure agony, for now his every waking moment is filled with thoughts and suppositions that simply cannot be ignored. During dinner time he studies his father and mother out of the corner of his eye. They act as if there is nothing amiss, talking to each other in the most civilized manner. One would never guess that a bruised boy was being held against his will several hundred feet below them.
Draco wonders if his mother even knows. He wonders if she approves.
After dinner, Draco bids his parents goodnight, and goes to his room. Once there, he leaves the door open a crack, crouches down next to it and waits.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait to long to hear the footsteps and murmurs signaling that his parents are going to bed. He waits a few more minutes, body thrumming with tension the entire time. He has to time this just right. If his father catches him at any moment . . . well, he can only hope that the lies he will have to tell will be good enough.
Willing himself to move from the uncomfortable position he has been holding, he opens the door and steps outside of his room cautiously.
He carries his wand with him, but does not use it for light; there can be nothing that will alert his father to his presence.
In the dark, he moves through the house at the pace of someone very old. Using his hands and his memory instead of his eyes, he eventually arrives at the dungeons. He feels around until he comes to what he guesses is a pillar, then he sits down with his back against its stone, and waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
He has lost all track of time by the time he hears the footsteps and the dungeon is suddenly illuminated.
He doesn't turn; doesn't move, doesn't even allow himself to tense. He merely sits; waits.
And listens.
He hears the footsteps approach his hiding place, hears them come within mere yards of it, and then he hears them move away.
He takes a moment to thank every god he's ever heard of that he chose this side of the pillar to hide behind instead of the other.
He hears the muttered spell that unlocks the cell.
He hears the rasping that signifies that the cell door is opening.
He closes his eyes tight, counts to three then opens them. This is it. The proverbial moment of truth.
He hears his father's voice softly saying, "Ronald."
There is no answer from Ron, at least none that Draco can hear.
"Did you miss me, Ronald?"
A tiny shiver runs through Draco before he can control it. He clenches his fists and strains to listen, but there is still no answer from Ron.
"What is the matter? Why so untalkative today?"
"Just do it and get it over with, Malfoy."
"You should know by now I like to take my time," his father replies.
He hears his father mutter another spell; this time a binding spell.
"God dammit Malfoy, leave me the fuck alone!" Ron shouts.
Then . . . the sounds of a struggle. A thud. The sound of flesh striking flesh. A grunt of pain. Half-spoken words, unintelligible in their incompleteness. And then a wail of grief that echoes loudly through the dungeons, then silence.
Draco sits and waits for the questions that his father will surely ask any time now - because this has to be some kind of interrogation.
But there is nothing but harsh breathing and the occasional grunt.
Finally, Draco forces himself to move. Twisting his body until he is on his knees, he peeks around the pillar, moving his head only one excruciating inch at a time.
And there he sees what he was telling himself that he wouldn't see, yet somehow knew all along that he would.
His father and Ron on the mattress.
At first this is all he sees - just a tangle of limbs, and that shocking image forces him to shut his eyes tightly and turn his head away. But it is only a brief moment later that he is turning his head back and opening his eyes - because he has to see. He has come this far - he will see.
Details. This time it is the details that register. Details that he is certain will be forever seared into his brain.
He sees his father with his pants down around his ankles. He sees Ron underneath his father, his arms seemingly pinned behind his back. He sees that Ron is still wearing the T-shirt from the other night, but nothing else. His hears his father making obscene grunting noises as he moves back and forth and he hears Ron's only half-realized sobs.
And then his father begins to speak.
"Tell me how much you like this, Weasley. Tell me how much you love it."
"No . . . "
It is weak but it is still a negation and Draco finds himself admiring the redhead for it. Merlin knows he has never dared to disagree with his father about anything.
His father digs his fingers deep into Ron's shoulder and chuckles. "Come on. Be a good boy. Tell me you love this. Tell me. You. Love. Me."
With those words Ron seems to gather some strength, He looks up at his father and screams, "I hate you! I hate this and I hate you! You make me sick!"
His father pushes himself up a bit and back-hands Ron hard across the face. Ron's head is rocked to the side from the force of the blow, his gaze landing on Draco. Draco stops breathing, certain that Ron will foolishly say something to his father and condemn them both. But Ron merely looks at him for a moment, his eyes first registering surprise and then sadness, then turns back to his father.
"You ingrate. You pathetic, little ingrate. I keep you here, when I could take you to the Dark Lord. You should be grateful," his father is saying.
Ron opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but a particularly vicious-looking thrust from his father forces it closed again. He turns his head to the other side so that his face is hidden and all Draco can see is his flaming red hair.
Draco turns back around when he sees his father quicken his pace. He does not move until he hears the unmistakable sounds of his father reaching completion.
He lets his head drop into his hands, feeling slightly nauseous. He stays like this, resolutely shutting out his father's parting comments to Ron, until he can no longer hear his father's footfalls and he is once again surrounded by darkness.
He pulls out his own wand and calls for light, then he gets himself up and walks around the pillar and to the cell. He unlocks it and steps in. And all the time he is moving, he feels like he is on autopilot, his body moving him where he needs to go because his mind won't produce anything but a buzzing static.
He sees that Ron is still on his back but that he is now covered with the same blanket from the other night. He is clutching it tightly and staring straight at Draco.
Draco sinks to his knees beside the other boy and looks at him, trying to get his mind to work again.
"Do you believe me now?" Ron asks him in a whisper.
Draco almost laughs at the absurdity of the question and the small bit of humor that Ron is grasping onto. But he doesn't, because there really is nothing funny about this at all.
"I didn't want to believe it," he finally answers.
"I know you didn't."
"How often does he . . . ?"
"Every night. He's here every night."
Draco shuffles closer and extends his hand, only to see Ron flinch violently away from him.
"Calm down, Weasley. I wasn't going to touch you!" he says, using indignation to burst through that wall of static in his brain. And yet, truth be told, Draco isn't sure what he was planning to do.
Ron turns his head to the ceiling and puts his hands over his face. "I thought that . . . " he says with a small giggle. "I thought that you were . . . "
"Well, I wasn't. For God's sake, Weasley. You're not irresistible, you know. Just because my father is a sick pervert, doesn't mean that I . . . and why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"
Ron pulls his hands away from his face and resumes clutching at the blanket. That's when Draco notices the tears running down his cheeks and the fact that Ron's laughter sounds like a mad man's.
"It's not funny; it's not," Ron says over and over again, all the while managing to both laugh and sob at the same time.
It gives Draco the creeps, watching this. He feels like he is watching Ron break down completely. Like a voyeur, seeing what he should not see.
"Maybe I should go," he says as he stands up.
Ron takes a deep, hitching breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to stop the demented laughter, but he cannot keep his body from shaking. "All right," he says.
Draco turns and is about to step forward when Ron calls out to him. "Malfoy?"
Draco turns his head at the sound of that exhausted, trembling voice. "Yes?"
"Why did you come here?"
"To prove that you were a liar, Weasley."
"I'm not."
Draco nods and says, "I know," before turning around. He makes it as far as the cell door when Ron's voice calls to him again.
"Malfoy?"
Draco winces at how childlike that voice sounds. This time he does not turn around. He merely asks, "What?"
"Does your father know you come here?"
Draco takes a moment to think about how to answer this. If he gives the wrong answer, it could mean disaster. Before he can decide on what to say however, Ron whispers, "It's ok. I won't tell."
Draco nods again, face still turned away from Ron. He is surprised - he never knew the other boy could actually be perceptive.
"Goodnight Weasley," he says just before he walks through the door and closes it behind him.
"Are you coming back?"
He holds the wand before him and looks into its magical light once more before muttering, "Nox."
Then, speaking into the darkness, he says, "You know I will."