A lone figure appeared in a small park on Grimmauld Place. To the muggles in the area, he was nothing more than a shadow, a darkened patch in an already dark night. A hood pulled far over his face, the figure strode across the lawn, seemingly disappearing again, to any who might have noticed him, which none ever had, nor would they this night. Nor would they see the door he slipped through, entering a house none knew even existed.

Once in the safety of the house, Draco Malfoy pulled the hood back, revealing his white-blond hair and pointed features, drawn and pale from his long stint in the service of the Dark Lord. He was exhausted, having gone too many hours on no sleep and too many invigorating potions. And to make things worse, he thought he was coming down with a cold.

The house was quiet. He pushed the door open and was surprised to find Ron Weasley and Tonks in the dingy kitchen alone.

"Where is everyone?" he asked incredulously. The Order was supposed to be assembled for his report.

"Hermione, Bill, and Remus are upstairs in the library. Kingsley, Harry, and Chris are at the Ministry in a briefing, and McGonogall is taking care of a problem at the school," he answered without looking up.

"Draco? Soup?" Tonks asked, motioning toward the stove.

"Who made it?" While Draco had only recently come to think of the half-blood as kin, he was not exactly welcoming of her completely. Her cooking skills, in self-preservation, he had come to be wary of.

"My mum," she answered with exasperation. He had obviously not been the first to ask this question. He nodded.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as Tonks ladled up the hot broth and vegetables.

"What does it look like?" Ron asked, glancing up from a stack of student papers. "I'm grading papers."

"A fool leading the dim," Draco murmured, peeling off his cloak.

"Better than a murderous turncoat," Ron snapped.

"Don't start," Tonks warned them both, setting the bowl on the table, but Draco didn't sit down yet. His eyes narrowed at Ron, who was glaring back. It was an old argument that had turned venomous since their school days. To Draco, Ron was simply a hanger-on who contributed little but being Potter's best friend, but for the youngest Weasley boy, Draco represented something darker. He was the embodiment of the Death Eaters, the catalyst for his parents' murder. Harry may have seen Draco as an ally, but Ron only ever saw the Death Eater.

Suddenly feeling less hungry, Draco ignored the soup Tonks sat in front of him and removed himself from the kitchen. He was in no mood to simply socialize, certainly not with Weasley, and if his irritation was any indicator, Potter hadn't shared the news of George's survival with the rest of the Order yet. If this meeting was going to be stressful, he didn't want to deal with it feeling as tired as he was.

Moving himself to the library, Draco stretched himself out on the couch. He lay there for several minutes, staring up at the ceiling above, pondering the events that had brought him here, to be laying in the very heart of the headquarter's for the Dark Lord's opposition, a traitor to everything he had been raised to uphold. Though he rarely questioned his decision anymore, he still had to wonder if he was completely sane in making it.

Home alone, Draco slunk down in a chair in his father's library, attempting to silence the screams in his brain with a good strong firewhiskey. He had been marked for two years now, and it both was and wasn't what he was expecting. The feeling of power, the superiority, the screams. The endless screams. The begging. The pain. The bowing. The pandering. He couldn't help but wonder how many others hated themselves for the decision they had made. Or if he was the only weak one in the bunch.

What would his father say?.

A sound reached his ears, nearly nonexistent, but in the silence of the room, he felt sure he had heard it. Draco sat up suddenly, the ice tinkling gently within the glass in his hand, and listened. He knew he was alone. Both of his parents were out, and he would have known if anyone else was at the house, but still, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Setting his glass on the table next to him, he stood up slowly, drawing his wand from his robes, and strode to the door of the library. Pushing the door open with his free hand, he stepped out onto the landing and scanned the stairs and the foyer below.

"Hello?" He called out, hearing his own echo return to him in answer. "Is anyone there?"

Nobody answered, not that he had expected anyone to. The sound had probably been a house elf, or the house settling in the wind. With one last surreptitious look around, he returned to the library, flopped himself down into the armchair and reached for his drink, closing his eyes to sip it.

He felt, rather than heard, the movement near him, and sure enough when he opened his eyes he found there was another person in the room with him, sitting in the leather chair directly across from him and watching him with an intensity that made Draco hesitate drawing his wand.

"Don't even try, Malfoy," Harry Potter said calmly, leaning back into the leather chair. "I didn't come here to fight you."

"How did you get in here?" Draco demanded, trying not to show the fear he felt before this apparition. Potter simply stared back, not answering. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"To talk."

Draco snorted.

"To talk? Please, let's do," he answered in mock-cheeriness. "How did your N.E.W.T.S. go? Do you think you passed?"

"I didn't sit for any tests, Malfoy. And I think you knew that. Like you, I had- other lessons to learn." He folded his hands in his lap, as though it was the most normal thing in the world for him to sit here in Malfoy Manor speaking with Draco. The Death Eater shivered when he realized of whom Potter reminded him so much.

"And yet, you still joined the Aurors. Noblesse oblige?"

"Special circumstances."

"Always is with you." Draco relaxed just a little. Sitting across from the Boy Who Lived and bantering like this almost made him forget who he was now and become the schoolboy he had been.

Almost.

"I wanted to talk to you about sixth year."

"Reminiscing, Potter?"

"Something like that. You were sent to kill Dumbledore. And you couldn't do it."

Draco knew how he should have responded to this. He should have sneered. Should have feigned indifference or ignorance. He should have done these things and grappled the upper-hand from the oh-so-confident Gryffindor. Instead, Draco felt as though ice water had been poured over him. A chill raced up his spine, as though to remind him of the punishment he had received for failure.

"How could you know that?" he asked in little more than a whisper, but Potter made no answer. Draco realized the Boy-Who-Lived was not looking him in the eyes as he had been, but instead was staring at Draco's hand, which unfortunately was trembling beyond his control. He dropped the drink involuntarily and clutched his hands together, ignoring the shatter of the tumbler on the hardwood floor. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I was there," he answered calmly, once more looking up at Draco's eyes, but the former-Slytherin found it impossible to meet the gaze.

"Liar!" he spat, sounding more Snapeish than Malfoy. "There was nobody there with us."

"Are you sure?" He cocked his head, as though studying Draco, making him feel as though those green eyes could see straight through him. "He was going to save you. He offered you mercy, a way out. And you were going to take it. You were a moment away from being a different person."

"If you were there, why didn't you try to help him? Why didn't you kill me?"

"Believe me, Draco, had he not petrified me, I probably would have. But then, if I had, I would not be sitting here talking to you now."

"Why are you here, Potter? Looking to be my friend, now? Or looking to kill me?"

"Neither." He looked serious now, more serious than he had during their jaunt down memory lane. "I'm here to make you an offer."

"Let me guess: Mercy?" He tried his best to sneer, but found it more difficult than it should have been.

"It's a little late for mercy." He smiled eerily. "Or early, depending on how you look at it. I'm offering you a second chance. I'm offering redemption." His eyes locked on Draco, and even had he wanted to, he could not pull away. "Help me bring down Voldemort."

"Are you insane?"

"Not yet."

"What makes you think I won't simply hand you to the Dark Lord? Harry Potter with a red bow would make me well-rewarded."

"I thought Malfoys were subservient to no one. You sound like a mongrel hoping to be thrown a scrap. Is that what life with the big dogs is really like?" Draco's face heated up, but before he could answer, Potter was speaking again. "Besides, if you double-cross me, if you get my friends killed, I'll hunt you down myself."

"High and mighty Potter isn't above killing then?"

"I never said I was. But for you, Draco, there are much worse things than death."

Now Draco did shiver. There was a look in Potter's eyes that glimmered with knowledge that had not been there before. This was a much darker Harry Potter than he had faced in school. This one may have been worth knowing.

"You can't expect me to answer tonight."

"Of course not."

"How do I get in touch with you if I decide-."

"You won't," he said rising from the chair. "I'll find you."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure exactly. But I will return." He pulled a cloak over his shoulders as he walked toward the door, but stopped suddenly and looked back. "Unless you actually see a dead body, mind you, I'll be back." He walked on. Then, just before reaching the door to the library, Potter disappeared completely, as though the air had simply swallowed him up, without an Invisibility Cloak and without the telltale pop of disapparation. He had simply- disappeared.

"Draco?"

Draco jerked and opened his eyes, not even realizing that he had fallen asleep. He blinked a few times, then looked over the back of the couch toward the light seeping through the door to where Tonks was peering through the darkness to find him.

"Everyone's gathered. Harry sent me to find you."

Groaning to find himself even more tired after his short nap, he pulled himself upright and rested his elbows on his knees a moment.

"I'll be right there."

Potter was sitting at the kitchen table, his fists drawn contemplatively to his chin, as though he wasn't quite aware of the others around him. Ron sat across from him, looking annoyed. When Draco finally sat down, Harry glanced up, frowning a bit.

"You look like hell."

"Good," he answered back. "I look better than I feel."

"Where's Ginny?"

"We couldn't reach her," Hermione spoke up. "I'll keep trying, though."

Harry nodded absently.

"Draco, tell them what you've found."

Nothing like getting right to the point. But then again, Potter wasn't exactly known for his great orations.

Draco took a deep breath, steadying himself, not for the news he was about to deliver, but for the aftermath.

"George Weasley is alive and being held in the dungeons of Domus Divereor."

There were exclamations from around the table, questioning the veracity of Draco's words and whether or not it was a trick.

"Quiet!" Harry yelled, hailing silence over the gathering. "Let him finish."

"It is George Weasley. I found him there nearly three weeks ago and have spoken to him several times. I have no doubt it's really him." These words he directed toward Fred, who sat pale and silent at the other end, clearly too shocked at the news to even breathe. The others at the table did not seem to have the same problem.

"You knew he was there?"

"Three weeks?"

Both Ron and Bill were on their feet now.

"I've been there for the last month, Weasley. Think about it. Until today, when's the last time you saw me face to face?"

"Convenient excuse, Malfoy!"

"Enough!" Harry yelled, slapping his hand on the table. Ron, Bill, and Draco were staring at him. The entire room sat in stunned silence. "Snape reported the possibility to me not long after Draco found him," he said with a nod toward the end of the table where the potions master sat next to McGonagall, "but I need to know what happened, and Draco obviously knows. If he can't tell me without you attacking him, Ron, go back to Hogwarts right now."

"Harry-."

"I mean it, Ron." Harry looked suddenly very weary. "If you want to stay, stay, but you have to keep your temper in check."

Ron sat down without another word, though everyone at the table could easily read the temper splashed across his face and ears in crimson.

"As I said," Draco continued, casting a quick glance at Ron before focusing again on Harry, "I found him a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, I have been unable to make direct contact with the Order until today." The table looked again toward the spy. Draco took a deep breath. "I visit him whenever I can, but I have to be careful. If I am discovered, he has no chance of escape."

Ron glowered at him from across the table and Draco stared piercingly back. He knew what the red-head was thinking. In his place, he'd be wondering the same thing.

"Ask the question, Weasley," Draco said at last, not bothering to look at him.

"How's George?"

"Alive, though badly hurt. He'd been a plaything of the Dark Lord and some of the higher level Death Eaters since he was captured."

"How bad?"

"Bad." Draco pulled his robes more tightly around himself, as though a chill had reached into his bones. "He's withstood too many bouts of the Cruciatus Curse, and he's slept and eaten little. If he is not rescued soon, I don't think he'll survive much longer." He stared at Ron a moment, seeing the next question that Ron seemed reluctant to ask. "You've never been shy, Weasley. Ask the question on your mind."

"Did you torture him?"

Draco held his gaze, then very slowly, nodded.

Though history had always credited Draco Malfoy as being the quicker of the two, he did not move as Ron Weasley shot at him from across the table, landing a hard punch to his mouth. Malfoy rocked back, grabbing his mouth with one hand and drawing his wand with the other. He was prevented from retaliation when Snape stood from his seat, throwing his arms wide, causing both young men to be slammed against opposite walls of the kitchen and held, squirming.

"We do not have time for this," he hissed, shooting glares at both as though they were first years again, threatening to shatter his delicate patience with their insolence.

"That bastard tortured George!"

"And it saved his life!" Draco shot back, squirming in Snape's invisible grip.

"I'm sure he's grateful, you son of a-!" He struggled against the hold as well.

"Ronald!" Minerva cried, shooting up from her chair. "That is quite enough!"

Normally, if Harry or Snape were in the room, the murderous intent between the two would have dissipated at once. Only they ever seemed to be able to control the two of them, but not today.

Draco should have kept his mouth shut. He knew this. He had been sat down for 'the talk' by both Snape and Potter on more occasions than he could count, but Weasley just grated on him.

"Careful, Weasley," Draco returned venomously. "Right now, I'm the only person in a position to save your brother. You wouldn't want me slow to return to him."

Snape turned very slowly to gaze at his young protégé, silencing any other words that had risen in the blond's throat. Then he glanced at McGonagall, as though communicating silently with her.

"Professor Weasley," she said slowly, formally, "In the library, now."

Ron's face darkened as he was dropped in a heap on the floor. In his three years on the Hogwarts staff, Ron had enjoyed an easy and almost familial relationship with the headmistress. She had nearly become the motherly figure in his life that had been missing for too long. That he was being escorted from the meeting was nothing compared to the why: he knew that as soon as they were out of the room, the lectures would begin about putting differences aside for the common good, for McGonagall would most certainly take Draco's side in this. He was, afterall, a spy and had to keep up appearances. Fuming, the young professor stood, brushing dust from his robes and strode out without even glaring back at either Death Eater. Minerva McGonagall strode after him.

Draco dropped to the floor. Snape removed a handkerchief from his robes and held it out to him, keeping his façade cold and detached. Draco took it without looking up and dabbed at the blood on his lips.

"That was a foolish game, Draco."

"I hadn't realized we were playing."

"You goaded him into a asking that question simply so you could throw it in his face." Snape stood over him, but looked at the wall over Draco's shoulder as he spoke, as though he could not bring himself to face the young Death Eater, something that pained Draco more than being shouted at.

"As a member of the Order, you are expected to show constraint, Draco," he continued, completely ignoring the presence of the rest of the Order, who, wisely, pretended not to exist at that moment. They simply watched in silence, half pondering the news Draco had brought, half digesting the scene they had just witnessed. "I am not talking about this little stunt you just pulled. I am speaking of George Weasley. If what you reported about his condition is true, I am led to believe you either caused his current condition or contributed in such a way that his life is in danger from those injuries."

"He understood."

Snape turned quickly at this softer pronouncement, locking eyes with the young man who still sat on the floor where he had fallen, handkerchief held to his lip.

"Explain."

"My father was there," he explained. "I said something stupid, and he held me to it."

"What did you say?"

"That I owed Weasley for the lesson Father gave me."

There was whispering, followed by a throat clearing, but Draco did not look to see who it was. He remained focused on Snape.

"I see. And you leapt at the chance?"

"Of course not! It was more complex than that!"

"Then enlighten me." He folded his arms, causing his robes to flutter, then fall softly over his body like folding wings.

"I could torture him or join him. That was the choice I was given. Weasley understood that and- gave permission."

"Gave permission? Tell me, Draco, how does a sane man give permission for a Death Eater to torture him after, as you've already explained, he's been the plaything of Death Eaters for several months?" Feeling restless, he began pacing. Draco's eyes followed him on his track from one wall to the next and back again. As he did so, he noticed the room had emptied without him noticing. Only Potter remained, leaning absolutely still next to the door.

"How does a supposedly sane man, one of the most powerful wizards alive, give permission for his trusted spy to kill him?" Draco countered bitterly.

Snape stopped pacing, but did not look back at the young man. He instead stood staring at the empty chair that had always been Dumbledore's.

"You overstep your bounds, Draco," he said coldly.

"How did you manage to convince the others you were doing as you were ordered?" Draco continued. "Dumbledore wasn't exactly there to back you up- unless you count that marble tomb."

"Shut up, Draco."

"How did Potter go from trying to kill you to trusting you again?" He asked, glancing toward the raven haired auror. "He-." A strong force slammed him in the chest, throwing him backwards into the wall once more. Just as quickly, Snape had strode forward and now stood with his face near enough to Draco that he could see the tiny veins in the man's wild eyes.

"You could never begin to understand." Draco tried to return the cold glare, but there was something in Snape's glare which was undefinable. "Do not ever attempt to question me on this again. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The force subsided, and Draco was again on the floor. Snape had turned his back on him, ignoring him as Draco struggled back to his feet. He glared at Snape's back, knowing the man could feel it. He always could. It was like a sixth sense with him. The man, however, continued to pay him no attention. Draco did not move.

"He sang."

"What?"

"I said, he sang. George did." He carefully watched his mentor's form as he pronounced the next words. "He knew it would make me angry, that that's what I needed- for him to push me. No one else knew he was telling me to do it, but I did."

Snape tensed a bit at this, but did not turn around.

The Dark Lord had placed Draco's services here where his father was in charge, and though Draco had plenty to keep himself busy in disciplining recruits, he had never been called down to the dungeons. He had found his way down there several times in the week since he had discovered the missing Weasley, but none of his visits had been for Death Eater business. At least, not until today. His father had summoned him, saying only that he had a surprise for his son, a reward for his so far illustrious career in the Dark Lord's service.

Screams punctuated the air around him, and Draco froze for a moment. There were many prisoners in the upper levels of the dungeons, but he seemed to know instinctively to whom these belonged They bounced up the stairs from the lower corridor with such fierceness, Draco wasn't sure his instincts were correct. Could this really be coming from the half-dead man downstairs?

He hurried along, his gaze, well adjusted to the dim corridors, sliding over each cell as he passed, hoping he was wrong. In a moment, he came to the last cell, where the door still stood open. He pushed through a small gathering of black robes.

George Weasley hung rather heavily from his wrists, his arms tensed as his feet flailed nearly a foot above the ground. His body arched backward in response to the current curse being held on him by the small circle of Death Eaters laughing near him. Weasley, apparently, was to be the night's entertainment. Draco shivered. He had been able to hear his screams as soon as he had entered the subterranean levels. From the looks of it, George had been granted little time of peace.

As Draco neared Weasley's tormentors, he noticed his father among them. The man must have felt his son's eyes on him, for he turned and smiled at Draco over his shoulder. Weasley's torture ended momentarily, and the redhead dropped heavily on the ends of his shackles, all strength gone from his body.

Draco faltered in his stride, all the blood in his body chilled at that instant. The familiarity of the scene, his father's benign smile reminded him exactly why he had switched sides. An image of the old man, Benefice, filled his mind.

"Draco."

Draco blinked up at his father, then hurried forward when he realized that he had stopped in the middle of the crowd and stared.

"Father," he said crisply, "You asked for me?"

"I did." he answered. "You have done well, Draco. Our Lord is happy with you. You have been granted a reward."

Draco made no answer. He didn't know exactly what he was saying. Was the Dark Lord, in fact, unhappy with him, and this was Lucius' way of letting him know? Would he be strung up next to Weasley? Or was his reward to be let in on the secrets of this place? One never knew with Lucius Malfoy.

"You know who this is?"

"No," he answered, feeling more confident that he had not been found out and would not be tortured. "Though he looks like one of the Weasel's brothers."

"He is. He is also the one who punched you in front of your school. Such an affront should never go unpunished. Especially not by a Malfoy."

Draco gazed up at the prisoner, hanging pitifully by his wrists attempting to focus his eyes on those before him.

"What would you suggest, Father?" Draco asked, hoping to stall for time.

"A lesson, my son," Lucius answered. "Teach him a lesson about propriety." He bowed his head mockingly and gestured grandiosely toward the prisoner.

Draco chanced a look up at Weasley and found that he was watching him through swollen eyes. A spasm rocked through George's body, a sure sign that he had withstood more than his share of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Come, Draco," his father drawled. "Teach him the lesson he should have learned long ago."

Draco looked back up at the prisoner, trying to keep his gaze hard, to not let the apology show. It was difficult, though. He only hoped that he could be forgiven someday, by someone. He simply could not bring himself to actually draw his wand.

"Careful, Father. He looks like any more would kill him."

"Perhaps you are the one who needs a lesson, Draco." Lucius' voice was suddenly hard. "Draw your wand or join him."

Draco did not like either prospect. He tried to respond to avoid both choices, but a movement above him, however, surprised him.

Weasley smiled.

A tight, pained smile.

What the hell?

"S-S-Slytherin scum." Weasley's breathing was shallow, but his voice was strong enough for those words to reach Draco's ears. Was he completely insane? Taunting?

"You're in no position to insult, Weasley," Draco called back coolly.

"R-Ron was r-right ab-b-bout you." His voice was hoarse, but the whole gathering heard what he said. "Y-You are a w-worthless f-ferret."

"You'll pay for that, Weasley," Draco responded, drawing his wand.

"A-Any-th-thing you g-give me, I'll p-pay b-back." His smile faded to a grimace, and he closed his eyes. He seemed to be bracing himself before drawing in a deep breath and belting out airily: "Dra-co, the boun-cing fer-ret! B-Bouncing up and down the halls!" His singing was cut off abruptly by his own screams.

"Potter," Snape said at last, his voice having lost much of its venom, "too much time has been wasted. We should continue the meeting."

"Draco?" Harry's gaze turned at last to the younger spy.

"Snape's right. We don't have much time left."

With a nod Harry opened the door and disappeared for just a moment. In seconds, the Order was gathered again around the table. No mention was made of the scene that had just passed, though Ron looked more than a little angry sitting silently next to Hermione.

"So how do we get him out?" It was Fred who asked this question, folding his hands on the table before him.

"We don't," Draco answered. "This is too big for the Order. The stronghold is too well-protected. It has to be a Ministry job."

"If we wait for the Ministry, it could take weeks!"

"George could be dead by the time they do anything!"

"He has Draco watching out for him," Remus offered, but was drowned out by Ron's loud "The hell, Malfoy!"

"I agree with Draco." Harry's voice was quiet. His eyes met Kingsley's as he said this, avoiding those of the Weasley's. It was enough to quiet the room. "He's right. We don't have the manpower to storm a place this big. We need the MLE."

"But George-."

"Has Draco to look for him." Harry closed his eyes, looking older than every man in the room. "This is the only way."

"What can we do?" Bill looked up and down the table. "It was obviously decided before we were gathered that this would be a Ministry mission. What do you need us for?"

"Planning."

At Harry's answer, Draco reached into his pocket and dropped several coins on the table. With a wave of his wand, the coins were transfigured into stacks of paper- all the information on Domus Divreor he had been able to gather.

"Draco is the only source of information we have on this place. Any plan we come up with for infiltration, I want approved by him first. That means we have less than six hours to conceive every possible plan and find one he thinks might work."

"Six hours?" Hermione's momentary excitement at the prospect of combing through this information faded. "Why only six hours?"

"Because Draco will be returning to his post, and when he does we will have no way to contact him again until the raid. We need as much planned tonight as can possibly been done. Draco needs to look over it and let us know whether or not it will work. Then Shacklebolt will present the plan to the Minister as his own."

The table was silent. Then, slowly, they began to pull the papers forward, sorting through the information.

Six and a quarter hours later, Draco was pulling his cloak around himself once more. Most of the Order had left in the last half hour, though Harry, Shacklebolt, himself, and the Weasleys still remained. It was time for Draco to depart. He had studied the plan they had come up with, poked holes in every aspect he could, offered suggestions, and finally declared it sound. Over the last hour, he had memorized every detail, until he knew the day, time, and movements of the Aurors unconsciously. The next time he had contact with these people, either George would be thanking him or his brothers would be killing him.

Such was the path he walked.

Well, except for now. This path would only take him back to his flat to get cleaned up and climb into bed long enough for the sun to rise and Goyle to knock on his door.

"Draco," Harry said coming up behind him in the foyer. "When's the last time you slept?"

A sarcastic remark was on the tip of Draco's tongue, but in his fatigue, he swallowed it back.

"A few days."

Harry nodded, knowing better than to tell him to sleep. "Take care of yourself," but as he turned to leave, Draco grabbed his forearm, shooting a long look towards the kitchen door before turning his steely gaze on him.

"He's been through a lot, Harry," he said, invoking his first name as he did only when they were in private. "Much worse than I told his brothers."

"George?"

"I don't know when we'll be in contact again," Draco continued. "His brothers- you have to understand, he may not be the same person."

"I understand."

"You don't." His eyes, weary and concerned, begged understanding. "You can't. What you've experienced at the hands of Death Eaters, it's all been physical or indirect. He was in their hands for months. They tend to get creative after a while."

Harry glanced over his shoulder to check that the kitchen door was still closed, then motioned Draco into the sitting room.

"What happened, Draco?"

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to fall forward into his eyes, before leaning his forehead on the palm of his hand, eyes closed. When he finally opened them again, his exhaustion was apparent in the dark circles under his eyes.

"I don't know all of it, but I do know that at some point, they killed another prisoner and transfigured him to he looked like George. They left the body in the cell with him for days." He must have seen the look on Harry's face, the confusion at what such an act would bring about. "He thought it was Fred. For the longest time, he thought Fred's body was rotting in the cell with him."

Harry stared at him in stunned silence.

"But from the way you talked- Did you lie then?"

"Let's just say, I was selective. I don't know what he'll be like when he's rescued, and I don't know what he'll be like a week or a month after that. Just- just be ready for that."

"Harry!" Ron's voice floated through the door. You in there?"

"Yeah, Ron. I'll be right there." He heard Ron move back into the kitchen, then turned back to Draco. "Be careful." Draco nodded and pulled the hood up o it hid his face. "And Draco, get some sleep. You look like hell."

"I'll sleep when this is over." The door opened and Draco slipped out in silence.

Harry's response was a tired grin.

"That's my line, idiot."