When Draco woke up, he wasn't sure what time it was, what day it was, and for a moment he forgot entirely what he was doing in the soggy dungeons. Then he saw Potter leaning against the bars of his cell. Draco couldn't see any movement.
"Potter!" he whispered harshly. Nothing. Draco crawled over and looked at him. It was a bit dark. He grabbed his wand. "Lumos!" he said and light exploded from the end of the wand. "What the fuck is up with… oh…"
Potter moaned and forced an eye open. "You sleep like the fucking dead," he ground out before he shut his eyes again, and grimaced in pain.
"They… they didn't…" Potter nodded and Draco gasped involuntarily. "While I was… sitting there…" Potter nodded again, and Draco forced the bile in his throat back down. "Oh… Merlin, was my father there?" he asked. Suddenly, he just had to know. He'd been trying to deny to himself that his father wasn't a main participant in all of this. He knew he was wrong, but he couldn't make himself question all he knew.
"What… what happened… Harry, can you tell me? Do you want some… help, or something?" Draco asked. He didn't notice that he called Potter Harry, and if he had he would have insisted it was the heat of the moment, even though the moment was the coldest Draco had ever experienced.
"It.. was just… a normal night," Potter laughed. It was the most chilling noise Draco had ever heard, and it sent a chill down his spine. "I blacked out pretty fast tonight. It's always better, can't eel the pain so badly. But… they healed some of it… it's just bruises and cuts left I think…" Potter said. Draco wondered why it sounded like Potter was trying to shield him from the truth.
"Just… tell me, Potter. I can take it. I'm a big boy you know," Draco said condescendingly.
"You don't want to know," Potter said. Draco held up his wand to see his face clearer. The gash down his face had gone an odd colour, maybe it was infected. His black eye had gone an even worse green and purple colour. Draco felt chilled again. It wasn't the cold. He shoved his hand in his pockets, and his fingers closed around the potion vial Snape had given him. The Port Key. Fuck. Everything had just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Potter coughed. He pulled himself up with the bars so he was sitting properly. Draco pretended that he didn't see the winces that Potter made as he did so.
"Nothing…" Draco said. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and ran it through his hair. "Do you want me to heal some of those bruises?" Draco asked. "Or some of the cuts, they might get infected."
"Ah, yes," Harry said, studying Draco's face intently. "Can't have me dying before Voldemort gets his hands on me can we?"
Draco sneered at him weakly. It took more effort than he remembered to make the expression. It wouldn't stay on his face long as it was. "No. I… I suppose not." Draco wondered whether that was disappointment on Potter's face.
"Right," Potter said dully. "Not yet. The elf will be down in a bit with… breakfast I think. What time is it? What day is it?"
"It's er… Monday," Draco told Potter. "Not sure about the time. About nine I think." If it was Monday, it meant that the Port key would activate on Wednesday at about 5 o'clock. He had two days to decide if or what he was going to do about the Port key. Use it to take himself back to Hogwarts. Lie and be shocked that Potter was missing. Not go back at all, stay with his father and become a Death Eater. His father would teach him all he needed to know. Probably more than he wanted to as well though. Or he could take himself and Potter back, and be proclaimed a hero. Even Draco could tell which one sounded best. It was just that… which was the right choice for him?
Draco loved his parents. He knew and had heard all about the horrible things they had done, he had the evidence sitting in front of him, bleeding to death. But they were still his parents. They… he couldn't imagine never seeing the again, not talking to them, not spending Christmas with them and the holidays, and living with them at their home. He knew what his father had done; but what he saw was the man who had taught him how to ride his broom, had showed him where the house elf entrance to the kitchens was and that he should never tell his mother who had shown him. He'd been the one whose knee he'd sat on when he'd fallen over and scraped the skin on his leg, and the one who had encouraged him to do as well as he could, and to never give up, that if he wanted to he could do what ever he set his mind to.
But then he saw Harry Potter lying, bleeding on his floor as he remembered. It had been his fathers doing, he'd let this be done in his house in front of Draco, and he'd taken part in it. Harry Potter was just a sixteen year old boy, the same as him. He played Quidditch, and always beat Draco. He couldn't make a potion to save his life, and had more points taken off his house by Snape that the rest of them put together. He was just a boy, like Draco. Draco hadn't got a clue what was going up, and he couldn't imagine that Harry was any different. Why would he be?
Sure, Potter had done some crazy shit in his life, and always managed to get out of, and into some of the most ridiculous situations Draco could think of, but he was only sixteen years old. He was only a year old when Voldemorts curse had hit him, only eleven when Quirrel had tried to kill him, twelve when the basilisk was roaming around the school, thirteen when Black had escaped from prison and had supposedly been after him, fourteen when he'd escaped Voldemort, battled the fucker and gotten away, and done it again just a year later. Voldemort kept getting beaten by a boy. Just like Draco. A stupid boy at that. One that couldn't make potions… and played Quidditch more than was healthy… and suddenly, Draco was starting to see things for himself, and everything became a lot clearer. What surprised him was the picture he was seeing at the end.
Voldemort gone at Harry Potter's hand.
"Malfoy," Potter hissed at him.
"Fuck off Potter," Draco said. "What do you want?"
"Breakfast, pass some of it over here, would you?" Potter whined. It was an awful habit, Draco decided.
"Stop whining," Draco snapped. Then he wondered why he was snapping at Potter. It wasn't his fault that Voldemort was insane… well, actually it probably was, he was driving Draco up the wall, and he'd only spent two days in his company. Voldemort had been in Potter's head for years. Couldn't be healthy for anyone, even a Dark Lord. He collected the breakfast from where the house elf had left it. He really had completely missed that an elf had been in there.
"I don't like tomatoes," Potter told him. "You can have those."
Draco frowned. "Nor do I. I don't like scrambled eggs though, you can have them." He put them on a plate and gave them to Potter. He shoved a couple of slices of toast on top. "Looks burnt," he said in answer to Potter's surprised look.
Potter looked amused. "Right. So you're going to eat the bacon and the toast and we'll throw the tomatoes at the next person who walks through the door."
Draco laughed. "No. The house elf can take them."
"Oh," Harry said sounding put out. "Right. I suppose. Your dad might not be best pleased if I throw tomatoes at him… oh, go on Malfoy. It'll be a right laugh."
"Ha," Draco said dryly, "You tell me that when he's got you hung up in those chains again."
Potter sighed. "I suppose. Reckon it would be worth it though. The great Lucius Malfoy… covered in tomatoes. Bloody priceless."
Draco snorted. "Eat your breakfast Potter." Surprisingly, Harry did what he was told.
88—
"Potter?" Draco asked.
"What?" Potter said. He turned around. He was moving better now, Draco had healed some of his bruises and applied an Anti-Infection Charm to his worst wounds.
"How did the Death Eaters know how to find you? I mean, they would have been trying for ages wouldn't they?" Draco asked.
Potter sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. Shouldn't think we'll find out unless we get out of here, which is looking way too unlikely for my liking. Maybe there's a traitor in the Order, maybe the Death Eaters collected some brains and used them, or maybe Bellatrix just fancied a visit to the family home. Who knows?"
Draco nodded. "There have been traitors before then?" he asked.
Harry nodded, his eyes clouding over a little and his posture stiffened.
"Was it Black?" Draco asked hesitantly. He never had totally understood or heard all of the story.
"No," Potter said vehemently. "Sirius didn't do anything. He shouldn't have gone to Azkaban, he didn't kill anyone. It was Pettigrew that betrayed them, not Sirius."
"Pettigrew?" Draco asked. "Have I heard of him before?"
"Probably," Potter said. "He was supposedly killed by Sirius, but he faked it all. It was him that blew up the street and killed all those Muggles. He betrayed my parents to Voldemort. He pinned it all on Sirius, and they convicted him without a trial."
"How did he get away then?" Draco asked. He'd heard that bit if the story before.
"He was an Animagus, look Malfoy, it's nice you being interested and all, but could we change the subject? Maybe to one that doesn't make me want to kill Pettigrew or Bellatrix or Voldemort… oh fuck, that really is too many people for one person to want dead." Potter rested his forehead on his knees.
Draco agreed. He didn't want anyone dead. But Potter… was the same age, and he had enemies. Like, real ones not just Draco punching him every now and again. Potter was dealing with real people, real death, real people trying to kill him. It hit Draco that this was why Harry Potter was the one dealing with this and not him. Harry Potter had the strength to do this, to save so many lives, to kill such a monstrous person, that death was really too good for. Draco couldn't even find the strength to confront his own father. Never mind a Dark Lord.