Author's Notes: This is dedicated to love-it who asked me so nicely not to leave Ron in the dungeon.

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 5)

Draco is at odds with himself. Which is something that doesn't happen very often. Which goes a long way to explaining why he is so bothered by the situation he finds himself in.

On the one hand he finds himself repulsed by what his father is doing. This feeling is reinforced every time he goes down to the dungeons and finds Ron curled up like a child; bruised and aching after one of his father's visits.

On the other hand, Draco sometimes finds himself wishing that he were the one touching Ron; doing things to Ron. Sometimes he thinks back to those first two times in the cell, when he forced his kisses and caresses onto the other boy and he finds it almost unbearably exciting.

And this is where things get very confusing for Draco. How can he think what his father is doing is wrong, when sometimes he wants so badly to be doing it himself? It's not possible, is it - to want two things that are such polar opposites at the same time?

Well, maybe he doesn't want to do exactly what his father is doing - but he is quite cognizant of the fact that he does want to do something. He wants something from Ron . . . but what that something is . . . well . . . he hasn't quite figured that out yet.

It is all very confusing. And as if that weren't enough, Draco also finds that he's gaining a certain amount of respect for the boy being held prisoner. He can only imagine what Ron must be going through, how horrible things must be for him, and yet the fact that he is surviving it, with dignity more or less intact, just seems to engender this feeling in him.

Draco shakes his head. Respecting a Weasley - if that isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, he doesn't know what is.

Draco smiles slightly at his own humor before grabbing his wand and preparing to make his every-other-nightly journey to the dungeons. He can try to think things through later, right now he has to see Ron. Ron will be expecting him.

Of course by the time he makes it all the way down to the dungeons and actually reaches Ron's cell, his momentarily flash of good humor is gone and all he can feel is a crushingly tense apprehension. He never knows in what shape he will find the other boy, and some nights are worse than others.

He peers into the cell to see that Ron is curled up on his side, his eyes tightly shut, his body taut as a bowstring.

'Father must have been hard on him,' he thinks grimly as he prepares to open the door and step inside.

But before he can move, Ron opens his eyes and looks up at him, his face at first frightened, then troubled. "What are you doing here?" he hisses.

Draco is completely taken aback by Ron's reaction to him. He usually appears somewhat glad to see him. He stutters, "I . . . visiting . . . what I always do when I come down here."

With surprising speed, Ron stands up and crosses the small cell to stand opposite Draco. He wraps his hands around the bars of the door and glances around wildly before letting his gaze settle on Draco. "You're too . . . he hasn't . . . " he stammers incoherently.

"Weasley, at least attempt to speak English," Draco says, using his "bored" voice to mask his growing unease.

But it doesn't appear as if Ron is listening to him. He isn't even looking at Draco anymore; he is instead staring at the glowing wand in Draco's hand. "Put that out!" he says urgently.

"Put what out?" Draco asks, feeling his unease giving way to annoyance.

"The light. Put it out now," Ron says, before plaintively adding, "Please."

Draco mutters, "Fine. Fine," before saying "nox"and lowering the wand. He squints, trying to find the other boy in the darkness. "Happy now?" he asks.

Ron responds only with a whispered, "Sh . . . "

"What . . . " Draco begins to ask.

"Just don't talk so loud. He could be here any minute."

Despite the sneaking suspicion that Ron has completely lost his marbles, Draco begins to whisper as well. "What is wrong with you, Weasley ?" he asks.

There is a brief moment of silence before Ron speaks again, this time in a shaky whisper. "Your father hasn't been here yet."

Draco feels a rush of panic and instinctively looks around frantically, although there is nothing to see but the pure black. "What? But it's late. It's later than I usually come."

"Is it? I don't know . . . I just know that he hasn't been here."

"Maybe he's not coming tonight."

"No, he always comes. Always."

The conviction in Ron's voice leaves no room for argument. Draco takes a step forward and lets himself sag against the bars of the cell. This was not supposed to happen. Of all things, to be caught here by his father . . .

"You have to hide, like you did last time."

Draco lifts his head, futilely looking for the source of that voice. "Are you crazy? I can't even see. How am I supposed to find..."

Ron's voice is soft and urgent in the darkness. "You have to. You have to go. Now. He can't find you here. That would be . . . bad."

Something about that one simple word convinces Draco. Yes, it would indeed be bad if his father found him here. For both him and Ron. It would be very bad. And he knows he has to move . . . now.

"All right," he whispers before he drops down to the ground, preparing to crawl his way over to the pillar.

He is surprised when he feels a hand, Ron's hand, grab his wrist tightly. He briefly wonders if the other boy can see in the dark after all this time.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't watch." And just like that the pressure around his wrist is gone. Draco hesitates for a moment, about to assure Ron that he won't, when he remembers that he still needs to move.

On hands and knees, he crawls as quickly as he can in the dark, using his sense of direction and his memory to find his way. It's not long before his outstretched hand brushes against something hard. He moves closer to it, and lays his hands against it, realizing that it is indeed the pillar he is looking for.

He sits against it, hoping that like the last time he is in the right place so that he won't be seen. He doesn't know for sure how long he waits before a faint light illuminates the dungeon, but he knows it isn't long. If he has to guess, he would say that he was able to evade his father by no more than five minutes.

He settles in, and prepares for what is to come. He will not watch, Ron asked him not to, but he has to listen. There is nothing for it.

His father's voice is the first he hears. "Ronald."

Ron's tight, restrained voice responds. "Lucius."

"Have you missed me?"

Draco prepares himself to hear some major language, but instead Ron merely says, "You know I did." Draco frowns. Had he heard correctly? Why wasn't Ron cursing him to hell and back? And why was he saying that he missed him?

Lucius laughs, a low throaty chuckle. "Yes, of course you did." Silence, then, "I had a very difficult time getting away from that bitch tonight. I think she's starting to suspect something. That's why I'm so late."

"Are you late? I hadn't noticed."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? The passage of time is becoming quite meaningless to you, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Pretty boy. Take off your clothes for me."

There is only the briefest of pauses before Ron says, "All right."

A minute or two later, he hears his father say, "So beautiful. Now put your arms behind you. It's a pity I still have to bind you, but I don't think you can be quite trusted yet."

"You can trust me."

Draco hears his father chuckle again. It sends a chill through his spine and ice into his veins. "No, sweet boy. Soon, but not quite yet."

And then for a long time Draco hears no more. His natural curiosity is tempting him to peek, to see what is happening just around the pillar, but he promised Ron that he wouldn't - and even if he didn't say it aloud it was a promise.

And then the noises begin - the unmistakable sounds of sex. But it's not "violins are playing, flowers are blooming" sex; it's violent, painful sex that Draco hears. He closes his eyes tightly, no longer wishing to peek around the pillar, no longer even wanting to be here, when he hears his father's voice.

"Tell me you love this."

"I love this."

The words are spoken as if it hurts unbearably to say them. There is not a drop of sincerity in them and Draco has to wonder if his father is so deluded as to believe the declaration.

"Tell me you love me."

"I...love you," Ron says in a hesitant, strained voice. Then more strongly and more convincingly, he repeats, "I love you."

"I know you do, Ronald. I know you do."

And then nothing more is said for a while. Not until it's finally over. Again the sounds of completion come to Draco's ears and again he finds himself feeling nauseous. Intensely nauseous.

He realizes that this is all so much easier to handle when he doesn't have to see or hear what is happening to Ron. When all he has to do is to handle the afterwards.

At length he hears his father saying his goodbyes, crooning to Ron as if all that had just happened were indeed consensual.

He waits until he is certain that his father is gone.

And then he just sits there, frozen.

He doesn't want to face Ron - not after what he's just heard.

He actually considers it for a moment. Considers just quietly slinking off into the darkness. And then never coming back. But in his heart of hearts, he knows he can't. So he stands up, dusts himself off, and stands up.

"Lumos."

He shuffles over to the cell slowly, half-hoping that by the time he reaches it, Ron will have fallen asleep.

No such luck. Ron is awake, sitting on the mattress (albeit it awkwardly), that blanket of his wrapped protectively around his body.

Draco sighs and enters the cell.

He drops down into an easy crouch a few feet away from Ron. It is one of the few times in his life that he has no idea what to say.

Ron, meanwhile, is staring intently at the floor. And then at the wall. And then at the floor again. Anywhere but at Draco. Then finally, although still looking at the ground, he quietly utters the words, "Don't say it."

Grateful that the other boy spoke first, Draco remarks, "I wasn't going to say anything."

Ron gives a half nod and closes his eyes and for a moment both boys are quiet, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Then Ron opens his eyes and looks directly at Draco. The fury and despair that Draco sees in those eyes are almost enough to make him want to turn tail and run. It is only the knowledge that all this fire and anger is not directed at him that makes him stay his ground.

"You have no fucking idea what it's like!" Ron screams. "To go through this every god damn day! To have him do this to you every god damn day!" He suddenly leans forward so that his face is only inches away from Draco's, his breath hot against Draco's cheek. " To know that no matter how hard you fight, no matter how hard you try to keep it from happening, he's still going to hurt you!"

"No, Ron, I don't," Draco says quietly.

Ron continues as if he hadn't heard him, although the anger in his voice is already fading into desperate agony. "Sometimes it's just easier to do and say what he wants. Then it doesn't hurt as bad."

Solemnly, Draco says, "It's ok, Weasley. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Ron takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes at the tears forming in his eyes. "I hate this. I hate that you heard that. I hate being so bloody weak."

Draco runs a shaky hand through his hair and sighs. "Weasley, you're not being weak, all right? It's obvious my father's deranged. You're just doing what you have to do to survive."

"No, I'm a coward. I should be standing up to him." Then very quietly, so quietly that Draco almost misses it, Ron says, "Harry would."

"What?" Draco asks, suddenly feeling much more like himself. "Potter? That whiny, little git?"

"Hey!" Ron says indignantly.

"Hey what? He wouldn't have lasted past the first day."

"No, Harry is brave. He's the bravest person I know, he's . . . "

Draco holds up a hand. "Slow down, Weasley. Don't get yourself in an uproar. All I meant was . . . all I meant was that you shouldn't compare yourself to Potter. Especially if you're going to shortchange yourself. You're braver than you think. You're stronger than you think."

For a moment Ron looks as if he's going to argue, but then he merely wipes at his eyes and mutters, "Thanks."

"Yeah, well . . . you're welcome," Draco says, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Being compassionate isn't really his thing despite all that's happened in the past few days. He fidgets for a moment, not sure what else to say to someone who's about two seconds from breaking down in earnest, when he suddenly remembers the vial he had put into his pocket earlier. "I almost forgot," he says, grateful to be able to move onto another topic. "I have something for you."

"What?" Ron asks with yet another swipe at his eyes.

Draco pulls out the small, dark vial from inside his robe's pocket. "Drink this."

"What is it, poison?" Ron asks wryly.

"No, you git," Draco says with a small laugh. "It'll help with the pain."

Ron takes the vial from him, but makes no move to unstop it to drink from it.

"Are you going to take it, or just stare at it all night?"

"I just don't understand why you're being so nice to me."

Draco shrugs. "I don't know, Weasley. Maybe because it gives me something to do."

"So I'm charity work now?"

"Just drink the damn thing."

Ron smirks and for a moment Draco is reminded of the old Ron, the vibrant, smart-ass Ron that used to exist before his father took it upon himself to destroy him.

Draco watches as Ron drinks it down in one gulp, then hands the empty vial back to him.

"Thanks," he says as he lies down.

"You're welcome."

Both boys allow the quiet to grow around them as they sit in companionable silence.

"Malfoy, I feel funny," Ron says after a time.

Draco nods knowingly. "It's the draught."

"You did poison me!" Ron says indignantly, lifting his head for one moment before it falls back down heavily.

Draco laughs. "It's supposed to help you sleep."

"Does it usually kick in this fast?"

"Not usually. It's probably because you haven't had a decent night's sleep since you got here."

Ron yawns. "You could be right about that one."

Seeing that Ron is close to falling asleep and therefore probably won't object, Draco inches closer and does something he's been wanting to do for the past few nights. He gently places a hand on Ron's hair. He smiles to himself. It's just as soft as he expected it to be.

Ron sighs with what sound like contentment and shifts slightly.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think...does anyone miss me?"

Draco looks down at Ron quizzically. "Of course they do. What a strange thing to say."

"Well, it's just that . . . I wonder . . . are they even looking for me?"

"There's a story about your disappearance is in the paper every day. Yeah, they're looking for you."

Ron simply nods at this, then in a slurred, sleepy voice, he asks, "Do you think your dad will ever get tired of me?"

Draco's heart clenches tightly at the other boy's words. He sighs and, because he has no answer, says, "Go to sleep, Ron."

Ron exhales the word, "yes", and goes silent. After a few minutes his breathing subtly changes, becoming deeper, more slow and rhythmic, an indication that he has fallen asleep.

Draco smiles, feeling proud of himself for thinking to bring the draught. He shifts, settling himself into a more comfortable position. He has plenty of time before he has to go back, and since he is not the least bit tired, he figures he'll stay for a while.

It is only after several minutes have passed that Draco realizes a few things. One, that Ron had called him by his first name. Two, that he had called Ron by his first name. And three, that his hand is still atop Ron's hair, and is now stroking it with great care.

And four, and most frightening of all, that he feels very content to be doing so.