I sit and watch Draco sleep. The blond is sleeping on his side, facing towards me, one arm bent over his head. His breathing is steady and slow, but with a congested sound to it, as if he has a cold.
It's early morning and I can already hear the other inmates stirring in their cells, the guards hushed voices as they prepare for another day, no doubt shining their wooden clubs for another day of beating. I am trying my best to stay on their good side.
I smile a little as Malfoy lets out a tiny snort in his sleep.
He looks so different in here, among all this filth and grime. His skin is no longer glowing but has the same layer of dirt on it that mine does. His clothes are stained and disgusting, even ripped and torn in places, the cuffs frayed and crusty with dried mud. And his hair – I've never seen his hair in such disarray…yet, somehow, he still looks dignified and…young. Very, very young.
The state of Malfoy's clothes are a reminder that my own are in a similar way.
I push myself up and walk over to the hand basin in the corner of our cramped cell. I chew my lip and look down at my grey uniform, trying to figure out a way to clean it the best I can without actually having to remove anything. I really don't think Draco would appreciate waking up to the sight of me standing here naked while washing out my underwear.
I bend down and kick the grubby trainers from my feet, then carefully remove my socks using just the tip of my thumb and forefinger, my nose wrinkling in disgust. The stone floor freezes the bottom of my bare feet as I begin to rinse out my grimy socks.
The sun is actually shining for once in this godforsaken place and it warms my face through the tiny, barred window as I stand and wash. I even begin to whistle a bit as I work.
"What in the bloody hell are you doing, Potter?" A grumpy and tired voice demands from behind me.
"Laundry," I say simply, flashing him a smile.
Malfoy raises a brow and massages his neck with one hand as he sits up.
"Neck sore?" I ask, turning back to my washing.
"Yeah, I think it has something to do with sleeping on a stone floor, strangely enough."
By now, I've become used to Malfoy's sarcastic little quips, especially in the morning, and I just smile and ignore him.
A minute later, he has come up beside me, watching.
"That's gross," he observes, watching the cold, not quite clean water gush over my grungy socks.
I shrug and start to whistle again. Just to annoy him.
He watches in silence and I know it's coming – I can practically feel it.
"No," I say.
"No what?" He frowns.
"I am not going to wash your stuff, too, so just forget it," I smirk knowingly.
Draco opens his mouth, then changes his mind and clamps it shut again.
"You're welcome to join me, though," I offer, gesturing to the tap as I move over. I can practically see the thought process going through his mind at this point: How can I, Draco Malfoy, wash my own clothes? That's servants' stuff.
I try to hide my amusement as he slowly crouches down with a sigh and begins to untie his shoes.
Soon, we are both standing barefoot on our discarded trainers, scrubbing our socks as best we can under the icy stream of water.
For some reason, the situation suddenly strikes me as absolutely hilarious; the two of us, in prison, standing together at a cracked and broken sink, washing our socks. I bite my lip, but it's no use – I start to giggle and snicker.
"What the bleeding hell is so funny, Potter?" Malfoy asks.
This only makes me laugh harder and I have to bend over, resting my forehead on my arms as my body shakes with the force of it. My socks are hanging limply from my hands, forgotten. After a minute, I think I've got myself under control – until I look up, that is.
Malfoy's lips are pressed together as he stares intently at his socks, but it's no good, I can still tell. Malfoy - prince of cool composure - is actually trying not to laugh.
I catch his eye and grin. That does it. Malfoy bursts into great gales of laughter. I think the insanity is starting to set in - for the both of us. I feel absolutely giddy.
A sudden splash of water hits me in the face. I gasp in surprise and open my eyes. Malfoy is smirking at me. I narrow my eyes and swipe a hand through the water, directing it up into his face in retaliation. He turns his head, but the water catches him on the cheek and neck.
"You're so childish, Potter," he says, turning back with a teasing grin.
I laugh and stick my tongue out at him.
"Just proving my point, there, Potter."
I look down at my dripping sock, then back up at Malfoy.
His eyes widen. "Don't you dare…" He's starting to back away.
I clench my fist around the wet garment and Malfoy throws up his arms to protect his face. I smile and slowly pull it back behind me, preparing to throw.
The sound of a loud whistle suddenly stills my hand. It's time for the morning inmate check.
"Shit," I swear under my breath, quickly wringing out my socks and sitting down to pull them back onto my feet. I wince as the cold and damp fabric touches my skin. After hurriedly shoving my trainers on overtop, I jump up and walk over to the cell door, waiting for it to open.
Malfoy tosses his socks back into the hand basin and simply puts his shoes on without them.
"You're going to freeze…" I warn as he stands beside me.
"I really don't think those pathetically thin socks were really giving us much warmth," he replies, unperturbed.
The door slides open with a screech and we step out onto the landing to await the guards.
"What are you smiling about?" Malfoy glances at me strangely as we stand side by side.
"I just realized something," I remark thoughtfully. "That was the first time I've ever seen you laugh."
"I do know how to, Potter, despite what you may think."
"But I've never seen it. I've only ever seen you do a cruel, taunting, or smug sort of laugh. This one was definitely different, much more natural."
Malfoy shakes his head and looks away. "You're mental, Potter."
"And that's another thing." I sigh in irritation. "Could you perhaps find it in yourself to stop calling me Potter?
"Why?" He genuinely looks confused.
"Because it's so…I don't know, distancing. I hate when people call me that."
"You're not going to start calling me Draco are you?" he asks warily.
"Only if you call me Harry."
"Then no, I am not going to start calling you by your given name."
"Why? Does it bother you that much to say it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why do you care?"
"Just answer the question for gods sake!" I exclaim loudly in aggravation.
"Potter!"
A sharp uppercut to my ribs suddenly follows the harsh shout in my ear. I fall to the ground, clutching my stomach, and look up into the cruel sneer of one of the guards.
"There's no talking during morning count. Do you want to spend the rest of the day in the Box?" he threatens, stroking his club.
"N-no..." I gasp, the pain slowly receding.
Malfoy steps back as the guard walks past and on down the row. I stand up, grabbing the bars at my back to help me. I straighten up, breathing heavily. I can already feel a bruise forming.
"You okay, Harry?"
The pain suddenly disappears at those quietly uttered words. "You called me Harry," I whisper back, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
He looks me in the eye. "If those bastards are going to call you, Potter, then I certainly can't anymore."
I'm not sure why, but my heart gives a little jump at the fiercely indignant sentiment. "Thanks."
Despite the ache in my ribs, I smile as I join the moving line down towards the dining hall for breakfast.
A few days later, I am sitting with Draco and the rest of my new friends in the yard. Jack has invented some kind of game with the pebbles and rocks that are scattered all over, and he and Draco are concentrating intensely. I guess you could say that it's kind of like that ancient African game - Mankala. It's very mathematical, which I hate, so I usually end up watching Draco and Jack go at it, which is usually quite the sight as both are fiercely competitive. Jack has christened the game, 'Stones.' A wildly creative name, as I like to tease him.
"I'm going to the loo, I'll be right back." All I get in response is a couple of distracted grunts.
I chuckle and get up, dusting the dry earth from my trousers. I head off towards Grace and into the toilet that's located just inside the door.
I'm washing my hands in the basin afterwards when I look up in the mirror and notice that I'm not alone. I quickly look back down at my hands and swallow nervously. Two of the Carnal Boys are standing in the doorway, watching me with great interest.
"I've never met a celebrity, have you, John?" One of them asks the other conversationally as he slowly walks forward, his beady eyes looking me up and down, a leering smile stretching his thin lips.
"Nope, can't say that I have, Bailey." The fatter of the two stays by the door, watching his brother advance on me.
I'm panicking now. I don't know what to do, I almost reach for my wand until I realize that it's not there in the waistband of my trousers where I used to keep it. I keep rubbing my hands together under the steady stream of water, biding some time, trying to think of something to do, part of me hoping that someone else will walk in and scare them off. Though I'm not really sure anything would scare off these big, brute-like men.
The one named Bailey is now beside me, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at me.
I turn off the tap and wipe my hands on my trousers. I turn to leave but am quickly stopped by a strong hand on my sleeve.
"What's your hurry, boy?" Bailey sneers, holding me in place. "We want an autograph, don't we, John?"
John nods enthusiastically.
"Sorry, but I don't have a pen," I say coldly, trying to brush his hand off of me.
Bailey lets out a sharp bark of laughter, holding tight. "That's okay, Potter, I'm sure we can think of other ways for you to gratify us. All we ask is for just a little of your time."
"No." I again try to wrench myself from his iron grip.
Bailey's eyes darken and he suddenly pulls me to his chest. "Don't be a little cock-tease, boy. I know you want it. And when I'm done with you, I'll give you to my little brother over there."
"You're not going to be able to sit for a week, Potter." The fat brother laughs madly.
"Take your fucking hands off of me!" I shout furiously, swinging my leg out, trying to kick him in the shin.
Bailey swings me around and shoves me against the brick wall so fast that the breath is knocked from my body.
"We'll have none of that, Mr Potter." He says, wiggling a finger at me in warning. He suddenly smiles coldly. "Guess he likes it rough, eh, John?"
"Rough." John repeats stupidly, laughing.
I can feel the panic rising again as I realize that perhaps these men are a little mad. That John is definitely off his rocker.
Bailey grins at me, his other hand coming up to press against my groin. "Let's see famous Harry Potter's famous cock."
I gasp and kick out once more, frantically. My foot connects with his shin this time and he hisses in pain.
"Ow, shit…" Bailey relaxes his grip and I start struggling. "John! Get over here and hold him down."
The fat one hurries over and grabs me by the waist, then hauls me down and throws me to the ground. He immediately straddles my hips and holds my arms down with his meaty hands.
Bailey stands over me, his smile making my blood run cold. "I'm going to fuck you Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, then you can sign an autograph with your own fucking blood."
Helplessly, my eyes fill with tears as John starts scrabbling for the zip on my trousers. Bailey watches in glee, while slowly stroking his obvious erection through his own dirty and stained uniform.
I close my eyes, trying to block it out. This can't be happening…
"Harry!"
My eyes fly open and my head whips to the right. Draco is standing there, one hand holding the door open as his eyes widen in shock at the sight before him.
"Draco!" I cry, pleading, tears leaking out the sides of my eyes.
Draco's own eyes fill with rage and he storms into the small room. "Get your fucking hands off of him," he growls at John, who is still sitting on me.
"Mind your own business, blondie," Bailey snaps.
"He is my business, you ham-fisted cunt."
Bailey suddenly rushes at Draco. Draco dodges his fist and the two start fighting.
I notice that John is watching his brother fight instead of me, his grip has loosened. I take advantage of the moment and rip my arms from under his hands, then make a fist using both of my hands together and pound him right in the stomach as hard as I can.
"Oof!" John falls sideways off of me, clutching his gut.
I leap up, panting heavily as I stand over him. I glance over and see that Draco has Bailey trapped up against the wall. I smile and turn back to give John a vicious kick to his side.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
I turn, still breathing heavily, and see that two of the guards are standing in the doorway, surveying the four of us. I've never seen them look so furious.
"They attacked me," I explain, stepping away from John.
The guard raises a brow. I look around and see that Bailey's nose is bleeding and Draco still has him shoved up against the wall, while John is lying at my feet, groaning and holding his stomach.
"It's not what it looks like…" I start.
"Potter and his friend attacked us," said Bailey, sliding away from Draco.
"No we didn't!" I yell angrily. "You started it, I was just trying to defend myself." I turn to the two guards. "It was self defense."
The guard's eyes narrow as he looks at me. "Come on, Potter, you're coming with me." He walks over and unhooks a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
"What? Where are we going?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly.
"I'm taking you to the Box."
"No!" I scream and try to pull away. "Please…no…"
The guard jerks my hands behind my back and locks the handcuffs into place. He jabs me in the back with his club. "Get moving, Potter."
I am terrified as I am pushed along. I cast one last look at Draco, he is pale and looks frightened as he watches me. The guard forces my head front again with another sharp jab of his club.
"Don't think that we're done with your little boyfriend yet," Bailey whispers into Draco's ear. "We'll get him when he comes back, you can be sure of that. He's got the sweetest little ass-"
Draco spins around and punches Bailey right in the nose as hard and as fast as he can. The delicate bone crunches beneath his fist and Bailey cries out in pain.
"Malfoy!" The other guard rushes forward and strikes Draco behind the knees with his club. Malfoy collapses forward with a yell, landing hard on his knees.
Meanwhile, my guard has turned around with me to see what the commotion is. "Bring him along, too," he orders sharply.
I am pulled back around and shoved through the long dark corridors ahead of the guard. He is taking me further and further down into the bowels of the prison. The smell is gradually worsening the farther we go, the stone walls are dripping with slime and polluted water, the light is so dim here that I have to squint to see. It smells like decaying flesh. It smells like death.
The guard stops at a rusty metal door that has been painted black. He opens it with a flick of his wand and then leads me inside. Once inside the room, I can see that there is a small trapdoor in the floor. He kicks it open with his foot, and before I can react, has grabbed me by the chain linking my handcuffs together and thrown me down into the black hole.
I hit the ground hard and groan in pain. My hands are still awkwardly twisted behind me within the confines of the cuffs. I roll over and sit up on my knees, trying to lessen the pressure on my wrists.
There is a loud cry from above and suddenly Malfoy lands beside me in the dirt. It seems his cuffs have been removed.
"You are going to be in here for two days, boys, so make yourselves at home." The two guards laugh as they slam the trapdoor shut.
The cramped space we are in suddenly goes black. I can't see a thing. I try to push down my panic, try to calm the breathing that sounds suddenly harsh in my ears. But the harder I try, the more frightened I feel. I don't think I can do this…
"Harry?" Draco's voice calls out to me softly.
I can't answer, I think I shall scream if I open my mouth.
I can hear Draco shuffling around in the dark. "Harry?" his voice is much closer. He must be sitting right in front of me. I feel a hand tentatively touch my shoulder, then my cheek.
I squeeze my eyes closed, and I know he can feel the tears as they spill down my face and touch his hand. I hope he understands.
Apparently he does, for suddenly two arms encircle me and a gentle hand brings my head down onto his shoulder.
I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes. "T-thank you…" I whisper.
"Your welcome, Harry," he answers quietly in return.
This time it's my turn to offer thanks to my ex-rival, just like I had a few nights ago, and I've never felt more grateful to have Malfoy on my side.
