Part Two

Draco opened his mouth. Nothing came out of it. "Father?" he managed to say.

Lucius grinned. "Aren't you pleased?" he asked. "The Dark Lord is coming for him. Saturday is the full moon, He wishes to do a ritual, with Potter as His sacrifice."

"Oh," Draco said eloquently, he shook himself to overcome his surprise. "As glad as I am to see Potter has finally got what is coming to him, but… what does it have to do with me?" For some reason he didn't even believe himself. He decided not to dwell on why he thought Potter didn't deserve to be locked up. Entirely too much effort and it would only cause trouble, whatever conclusion he came to in the end. He didn't think there was any chance his father would believe him though. The man was trained in this kind of stuff.

"Plenty," Lucius said wickedly. Ah, yes. Lucius had gone round the bend. It slipped Draco's mind. "You will be guarding him until Saturday. The Dark Lord wishes to meet you too."

Harry strained at his chains. Draco took a closer look. Potter was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He had mud smeared all over him, as well as something else. Draco suspected it was blood. His arms were pulled tightly over his head, attached to the ceiling and he was spread as wide as he could be. His wrists and ankles were tied with chains to the cold, stone wall.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lucius asked. Draco couldn't see it. Potter was a twit, and he was too short and skinny. Plus he was all dirty and that was definitely not attractive. Draco agreed anyway. He wasn't stupid.

Lucius looked at Draco, expecting him to speak. Draco was speechless, and made something up, "As… fantastic as this is Father, and as privileged as I feel to see this, what has this to do with me?" He suddenly felt a wash of foreboding.

"You will be guarding him Draco. I trust you," he said. Draco didn't show his shock. His father had never said that to him before. As much as he didn't want to spend the next three days with Harry Potter, he wanted to impress his father. He handily forgot his father had appeared quite insane for the time he'd been in his presence, and the feeling that none of this was going to end well.

"Thank you. I hope I will… live up to your expectations," Draco said. His hands were shaking. He folded his arms.

"Not my expectations," Lucius said. "The Dark Lord's." Potter thrashed behind Draco. Draco was surprised Potter still had any fight left in him.

"Ho long has he been here?" Draco asked.

"About two days," Lucius said mildly. "He arrived shortly before I did." Draco was shocked at the casual reminder to his father's stay in Azkaban. If it was him… he wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew it would be a complete disaster though.

Draco nodded. "Is he in the… binds all the time?"

Lucius frowned. "No, I thought he may be too… boisterous, shall we say, when you came down. I'll remove them as I leave. I have his wand," he announced. He pulled it from his sleeve and twirled it in his fingers. "I will keep it. Feed him every now and again as well, Draco. Keep his strength up. He will need it," Lucius said casually. "I will check on the two of you every day or so."

Lucius flicked his wand at Potter. The binds at his feet came free, and Lucius watched in sick amusement as Potter dangled from the ceiling, his feet kicking, and his wrists straining. He flicked his wand again and Potter dropped heavily onto the floor, landing on his hands and knees. He collapsed on his stomach. Draco's eyes widened. Potter groaned and rolled onto his back, his hands moving to remove the gag. His hands worked deftly, and it came off. He grasped it tightly and stood up. He seized the bars and glared for all he was worth.

"You fucking piece of scum, how the fuck can you treat people like this, no one deserves this for fuck's sake. You can barely be called human, you hypocritical bastard…" Potter started. Draco didn't know he had such a dirty mouth. He was quite impressed.

Apparently neither did Lucius. He mock gasped, "Why, Potter, dear, please don't use such language in my house. You'll be a bad influence on Draco."

Potter laughed. It was a harsh, cruel noise that cut through Draco's skin like daggers. "As if Draco needs a bad influence with a insane, murdering Death Eater as his father."

Lucius mimed being hurt. "Mr Potter, you do wound me. I'm perfectly sane."

"If you're sane, I'm Voldemort himself," Potter said in disgust. He threw the gag on threw floor.

"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name, you insolent little fool!" Lucius growled.

"Why not?" Potter spat, "Respect? He deserves no respect from me. He deserves it from no one. He's an insane, evil half-blood. And you kiss his robes. Says so much about you Lucius and what your precious son is going to become." Draco was, again, impressed. He didn't know anyone that stood up to his father. Potter had, and got away with his life. Was Potter just that good, or was his father going soft?

Lucius sneered at Potter. "Oh do shush Potter, or you won't get any supper. Draco, I'll check on you in the morning. Don't cause too much harm. But… I couldn't blame you. Don't leave any evidence." He shot a final look at Harry, who glared at him fiercely, and sat heavily on the floor, his back to Draco and Lucius.

"Yes Father," Draco answered mechanically.

Lucius nodded. He looked around the room and into Potter's cell, and then settled on Draco again. He didn't say anything else. He spun around, his cloak billowed and he strode away. Draco watched as he faded away. He felt… alone, disappointed and confused. He looked down the hall again and took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he believed would be an impossible four days.

He heard Potter shout, "Wanker!" at his father's retreating back. Potter really needed to learn some tact, or at least some new insults. He sighed. Impossible, he decided, was entirely too mild for what the next four days were going to be.

88—

Draco took off his cloak, and put it on the ground so he could sit down, and shivered. The dungeons were freezing. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. He took out his wand and looked through his memory for a Heating Charm. He cast it, and the temperature was raised a few degrees. He frowned. It was supposed to be warmer than that. He cast it again and the temperature raised to an acceptable level of warmth.

Potter coughed behind him. Draco concentrated on his arms for a minute. The goosebumps on his arms disappeared. Oh. Draco hadn't remembered that it would affect Potter too. Was he not supposed to do that? But it was cold. And Potter was obviously cold as well, he'd been down here for days. Draco had only been here about half an hour and he was already freezing. He could just stop the charm when his father came down. It was a fantastic plan, if he said so himself.

He straightened out his cloak and sat down. He liked these trousers; he didn't want to get them all dirty. Potter was leaning against the bars of the cell. He must have been terribly uncomfortable. Draco could see every one of the vertebrae in his back. The t-shirt was too small and pulled taut over his chest and shoulders. It was a horrible red colour. It looked very like one of Draco's Slytherin t-shirts. Apart from that it was probably Gryffindor. He wondered where Potter had been when he'd been taken. He couldn't very well ask. Could he? …no. Not really.

He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. It was a nice watch; sliver, with a green dragon on the face. The tail was the hour hand. It was nine o'clock. He should have eaten something at dinner. He'd only eaten the soup and the cheesecake. He didn't really like main course. He wished he'd eaten it now though. It was ages until breakfast as well.

There was a low grumbling from Potters' stomach. Apparently he was hungry as well. Draco didn't really think that his father would have fed him over the last two days. If Draco didn't eat for two days, he suspected he'd be eating his own hand or something like that. The longest he'd ever not eaten for was once when he was 12 and his father had told him he couldn't have any dinner. He didn't even do anything. His father just said something about a house elf, or something stupid. Oh and when he'd been ill the year before and he threw up everything he ate for an entire week.

Potter sneezed. Draco frowned. Did he have a cold? He needed to talk to someone. He was going mad. Absolutely stark raving mad.

"Potter?" Draco said. His voice cracked a bit. He coughed. "Are you… what's wrong?"

"I've got a cold, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically. "Is it any wonder? I've been sitting in your pissing, freezing cold dungeon for three days."

Shit. How the hell had he managed to overlook… oh piss, he'd forgotten. How had he managed to forget that? He decided to pay more attention from now on. "Oh," he said. "Yes. I'll have to take down the charm when my father comes down."

Potter sighed and nodded. "Why did you put it up in the first place?"

Draco looked at him oddly. "It's cold."

Potter snorted. "Right. Simple as that."

Draco didn't say anything. But… yes, it was that simple. He wasn't going to sit in the cold just because Potter also happened to be down there. God, they'd only said three words to each other and he was already annoyed at the dark haired boy. Honestly.

88—

There was a scuffling noise. Draco twitched his nose and opened his eyes. There was a pair of house elf feet in front of his nose. He sat up, and smoothed down his hair. He'd slept on the floor. The floor. His back was absolutely killing him. God, he wanted to kill his father for making him do this. There was absolutely no dignity in it at all. He rubbed a hand over his face. There was mud left in his hand. He sneered and wiped it on his cloak. It was already filthy, a little more dirt would not hurt.

"Master Draco?" Oh yes. The house elf.

"What?" he said disdainfully.

"I has your breakfast. And his-" the house elf pointed at Potter "-as well."

"Oh," Draco said. The house elf gave him a tray. There were eggs, bacon, toast. Potter could have the scrambled eggs, he didn't like those, and a couple of bits of toast as well.

The house elf popped away. Potter snorted. "What?" Draco snapped.

"You, and your father, you're both so rude to the house elves around here. It wouldn't kill you to have a bit of compassion here." Potter laughed cruelly and mocked himself. "Says the prisoner in the dungeon." He turned on his bum and faced Draco.

Draco gasped. He hadn't seen him in the light. Potter had a black eye – a bad one too. Much worse than the one he'd managed to give him in their last fight. There was a long gash down his cheek that was sure to scar – it had begun to heal over already. There were bruises up and down his arms and legs, and two dark stains of blood, one on his stomach and the other on his shoulder.

Potter sneered as he heard Draco gasp, "Never seen someone after they've been tortured Draco? They healed the worst of my injuries. Your father and his friends. They took it in turns. All yesterday, all the day before. They gave me the nights to 'recuperate'," he said casually. He continued, "My arm's a bit stiff. Someone jumped on it yesterday. I felt it break in three places. It's been healed – but it won't be the same. It was the one I had re-grown. It never was quite as good as before. They only heal the breaks. Not even all of those. My rib is cracked. It hurts to cough and sneeze, and I only stopped throwing up blood an hour or so before you appeared…"

Draco jumped to standing quickly, and threw up in the corner. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Potter had shut up now. A taunting voice came through his mind again, and images of his father jumping on Potters arm, and hitting him, and kicking him flashed in his mind. He threw up again. Oh God. What had he got himself into?