Part Three

Draco sank to the floor, and braced himself against the wall. He heard Potter sigh behind him.

"Are you… OK?" Potter asked reluctantly. God, did the boy never stop being noble? If he were Harry he'd be trying to get out the prison, and laugh and point at him.

Draco didn't turn around. Potter carried on talking. Draco hoped that he wouldn't start telling him what else his father got up to. He didn't know what he'd do if that was the case.

"I don't know how you can do this. I couldn't. I couldn't be here, knowing what your father does to people. Even if they are just Mudbloods," he sneered. "You know what happens, don't you? This isn't anything unusual."

"How would you know Potter?" he snapped. Throwing up put him in a very bad mood. And so did not having a clue what bloody Potter was talking about.

"You don't, do you?" Potter sounded almost amused. Draco wanted to slap him. "I've seen it. My scar –"

"Everything's about your precious scar, isn't it?" Draco spat. He didn't have a clue where it came from. His stomach churned. He closed his eyes.

"This is, yeah," Potter agreed. Draco moved from slapping to punching. "I have visions of what Voldemort is doing," he ignored Draco's shudder, "most nights. You get used to it. How depressing is that? I'm used to seeing people be tortured. By Voldemort, and his Death Eaters. Even eaten by his pissing snake."

"My father…" Draco said hesitantly. He knew he wouldn't like the answer. That didn't make it any less necessary for him to know the answer though. He didn't know it would change anything. He wasn't sure if he wanted anything to change.

"Yes," Potter said simply. "Not for a while though, he's been… occupied, hasn't he? But I used to see him quite a lot. He is one of the main participants when he's there. I'm not going to lie to you, Malfoy. There's no point in shielding the truth from you. And don't say you already knew. You threw up when I told you."

Draco nodded and turned around, to look at Potter. He was sat, crossing his legs, scratching at something on his knee. He looked up. His gaze pierced through Draco's skin. Draco felt like Potter could see everything about him, inside him, as he stared intently.

"I didn't know…" he said quietly. He looked at his feet.

Potter nodded again. "I did realise that. Did I break any illusions for you?"

Yes. Draco hadn't quite registered that he'd actually have to hurt people. He'd known, theoretically, but it hadn't registered in his mind. He didn't want it to. If he knew what was going to happen, what he'd be expected to do, and that he would actually have to do it… it wasn't helping him come to terms with being another generation of Malfoy being a Death Eater. He shrugged at Potter.

Potter sighed and closed his eyes.

88—

Later that day; he didn't know the time, he was woken up from his doze by Potter calling his name.

"Malfoy. Oi. Malfoy! Wake up," Harry called.

Draco grunted. "What the piss do you want?"

"Can I have those scrambled eggs?" Potter asked. He was sitting close to the bars now. His eyes kept straying to the tray on the floor. It had been left after Draco had thrown up.

"It's cold." Draco screwed up his nose.

"Do I look bothered? I haven't eaten in three days. I was being all nice, waiting for you to wake up, but after I counted the pissing bricks on this pissing wall for the second time, I decided to wake you up. Pass it here and you can go back to sleep. After you magic away your puke. It smells," Potter whined. Potter was whining. Whining.

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco yawned. He pushed the tray towards Potter. Potter grinned at him. Draco felt the corners of his mouth quirk. He immediately turned around and picked up his wand. It did smell. Potter was right. He'd never say that aloud. Ever.

He prayed his spell worked. He still felt iffy, and was unbelievably not in the mood to deal with Potter's ribbing. "Vanishio!" The mess on the floor disappeared. He turned to Potter. The food was gone, but a slice of toast. He raised an eyebrow in question.

Potter shrugged, and turned slightly pink. "I didn't think you'd want anything."

"Oh?"

"You just threw up." Shit. Right.

"I suppose," Draco said blandly. "What… what have you been doing the last few days down here?"

"Getting the shite beaten out of me, we've been through this once already, remember? It didn't go to well." He looked pointedly at where the mess had just vanished from.

Oh fuck. Why didn't he think before he spoke? Saying things like that would get him killed one day. He wasn't particularly relishing the thought.

"Can I have the last bit of toast then?" Potter said.

"Uch," Draco said, screwing up his nose. It was hard. And burnt. And cold. But… it would make him look a bit nicer. But he didn't want to be considered nice by Potter, did he? He decided to cut off that line of inquiry before he came to any dangerous conclusions. "Yes, you pig."

"Oi," Potter protested, stuffing the toast in, very nearly whole. "If you hadn't eaten for that long, I'd give you all the food too. Even if I hadn't thrown up."

"Yes, well, you're a Gryffindor, you have to be all noble, it's in the pissing rule book," Draco sneered.

"'S'not," Potter said. Draco raised an eyebrow. There actually was a rule book? Potter rolled his one good eye. "There's not really a rule book, you gullible twat."

Ouch, Draco thought sarcastically, that really hurt. Good comeback. He decided to tell Potter.

Potter laughed. "Malfoy, considering I'm sitting in a freezing cold dungeon, my stomach is eating its self, and I feel like I've been sat on by a pissing Hippogriff… it wasn't half bad."

If it were anyone but Potter, Draco would have half-heartedly agreed. But it was Potter. "Excuses, excuses. It's not cold any more."

Potter snorted. He sneezed and looked pointedly at Draco. "And I'm ill. Today's going wonderfully."

Draco laughed. Potter looked at him, surprised. Draco blushed. Potter smiled a little tiny bit. Draco coughed. "Potter?"

"What?" Potter asked.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did." Potter yawned. He examined a particularly black bruise on his elbow.

"Something else?"

"Sure. Why not. The rats are getting bored of talking to me."

"We haven't pissing well got rats, Potter!"

"Yes you have," Potter said.

"No, we don't," Draco protested fiercely.

"You do, I can hear them running about at night!" Harry insisted.

"Bull shit," Draco scoffed. "Anyway. Erm…"

"What?" Potter sighed. He leant forwards and he winced.

"What?"

Potter's eyes were shut. He scrunched them up more. "There's a… well, there was a Death Eater and a knife, Malfoy, that says it all."

"Oh." Draco's eyes were wide. "Do you want me to try and heal it?"

"Your father will kill you," Potter stated calmly. His eyes were open and they seemed to be able to see right through Draco. He felt naked and exposed. He didn't like it one bit.

"My… my father won't find out. He'll assume it's one of the things they healed. He's not exactly thinking right at the moment," Draco said.

"Azkaban does that to you," Potter said. It was different when Potter said it about his father. When he himself said it… it didn't seem real, or it could be a dream. Potter talking about it brought him right back to earth. He didn't like it, Potter always had. He brought out the baser instincts in Draco, he knew exactly which buttons to press to get him to react. But he knew how to do it to Potter as well, make him angry, make him get all worked up and make his eyes go all… no. Potter's eyes didn't do anything. They were ugly, too big for his face and… were very green. That was it.

"Shut up," Draco said blandly. "Are there locking charms on the door?"

Potter nodded. He didn't move.

Draco pulled his wand out his pocket and pointed it at the door. "Alohamora." The door squeaked slightly. He pushed it, and it opened. "Erm…"

Potter sighed and pulled his shirt over his head. He turned to let Draco see the wound on his shoulder. Draco winced. He didn't like blood. And there was a lot of it on Potter's shoulder, and dripping down his back.

"Want to know who did it?" Potter asked, looking over his shoulder. Draco sighed and crouched down next to him.

"I don't know. Do I?" Draco said. He held his wand up, and whispered, "Lumos," to get a better look.

Potter considered him for a minute. "You're right. You don't want to know." His silence told Draco everything he didn't want to know.

A few hours later, Potter started to talk again. "Do you want to ask me that question now?"

Draco looked at him. He nodded. "Where were you… what happened when they captured you?"

Potter looked at him. He had that look in his eyes again. Draco shivered. It wasn't from the cold. "Why?" he asked.

Draco didn't know. He told Potter. "I don't know."

Potter sat still looking at him, for quite a while. "OK. I don't know exactly what happened. I was at the… you've heard of the Order, yeah?"

"The Order of the Phoenix? Father has mentioned it," Draco told him. He didn't tell him that it was only a few months ago when he had eavesdropped a conversation on possible locations of the Headquarters.

"I bet he has," Potter said darkly. He carried on, "Well, I was at the Headquarters. The Death Eaters must have found out somehow. I was visiting Professor Lupin, you remember?"

"The werewolf," Draco said.

"Yeah," Potter said. "So I was in the living room, and suddenly the fire flared, and three people in dark cloaks came. I recognised their voices, it was MacNair, Goyle and fucking Bellatrix Lestrange. I tried fighting you know, but I was ready to go to sleep, and, well, they Stunned me, and… I woke up here."

Draco nodded. He really didn't know what to say. Or do. He needed someone to tell him what to do. There were plenty of people to do that, but… which one was the right person to listen to?

His father? Potter? Someone else entirely? Draco didn't know.