2. Stockholm Syndrome
Draco stared as hard as he could at the water stained ceiling over his head. He stared long and hard, unfocusing his mind from the million frantic thoughts that ran through it and sticking to his mantra:You are a Malfoy. You will survive. You will get out of this. You are a Malfoy. You will survive. You will get out of this. You are a -
"Good morning, Malfoy."
Draco stared at the ceiling. You will get out of this. You will get out of this. You will get out of this.
"Malfoy."
He was not going to reply. He was too good to reply. He was not caught. They had not caught him. "Malfoy, you lazy sack of -"
"Ron!"
"The ruddy idiot won't answer me! I don't know why we haven't handed his stupid, Death Eating arse to the bloody Aurors yet!" Draco caught the underlying threat in Weasley's tone. "They'd have fun with him, I know they would. Do you know what the Aurors do to disgusting bastards like you, Malfoy? You'll be begging for a Killing Curse."
"Ron, just lay off. He'll get what he deserves." Granger. That shrill, condescending tone could belong to no one but Granger. Draco gritted his teeth as she continued. "Why don't you go tell Harry about our capture? He'll be ever so pleased, it will have made the last four months of battle worthwhile to find out that Malfoy has been caught with his mask on."
Stupid Granger. Draco laid very still as they spoke in soft, hushed tones that he could not catch before Weasley stomped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him. There was silence. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his mantra even more, willing himself out of here.
"Open your eyes, Malfoy," Granger said softly. Draco squeezed them so tightly shut that tears were starting to form, his mouth moving silently as he repeated himself over and over again. He was not going to make anything easy for them, he was not the weak link; his father would be proud knowing that he died without telling them anything. "Malfoy, open your eyes, please."
Draco stopped. Please? She asked him politely? He swallowed hard. "I am not opening my eyes, Granger."
He heard an audible sigh and the bed sag down slightly as Granger seated herself next to him. "Malfoy, do not make this more difficult than it has to be, all right? I don't want to be horrible but I can and I will."
She was such a liar. She did not give two shits about making this easy on him. This was a war; no one wanted to make anything more comfortable for either side. Were she in his position, she'd be dead right now and she knew it. She just wanted to make it sound like she was giving him a choice when she wasn't. He wasn't going to enjoy this either way - he told, he got tortured, he died a traitor to his bloodline or he didn't tell, got tortured, died as a hero. Either way, he was going to get tortured and killed.
"Malfoy, open your eyes. Now."
"Make me," he replied icily. "I am not going to let you bloody well read my mind and if it means anything to you, I don't know anything of any importance."
She laughed a cruel, bitter chuckle. "I find that hard to believe, Malfoy, we have spies and we know that you have been coordinating everything. Just open your eyes and I won't have to use my wand."
He curled his lip. "Fuck you, Granger."
"Oculus retego."
Draco's eyes snapped open, stinging in the bright morning light. He would have covered them with an arm to block the unwelcome light had Weasley's brother not bound him to it the night before when he was struggling. The very thought of the night before made him scowl; this was all Crabbe's fault, the stupid imbecile.
"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," she said coolly as she leaned over and peered into his eyes. He actually laughed; only Granger would ask a bloody prisoner to watch their language. "You need to understand that you are tied to a bed and I have a wand. You are not at the advantage and you have everything to lose; I have nothing. So watch your mouth, tell me whatever you know, then maybe I won't hand you over to the Ministry. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," he spat, a defiant glare on his face, "but I am not telling you a thing, so you are wasting your time."
He stared at her, hoping to unnerve her even though his eyes burned. He hadn't seen her in close to three years and to say that she hadn't changed much was an understatement. Granger looked exactly the same as she had at their graduation from Hogwarts. Her dark, curly hair was still long and pulled back into what resembled a messy bun, her eyes were still wide and curious and she was still dressed in black robes. Did Granger ever change? Get a haircut? Possibly put on a little make up?
She looked a bit startled, but she kept her gaze level with his before speaking. "Fine, Malfoy, enjoy your day and please, do not struggle too much, it might anger the poltergeist in the wardrobe."
With that, she swiftly turned and strode to the door. Her hand was on the knob when she turned. "Finite Incantatum."
As she left the room, Draco blinked and realised that there tears on his cheeks from his burning eyes. Somewhere inside, this made him feel indescribably sad.
He didn't see Granger again for another three days. He was on the floor, repeating his mantra over and over again when he heard the door open. He didn't care; he was just going to get hexed again, maybe kicked in the side of the head, so he just stared blankly at the wall, clearing his head of any thoughts.
"Malfoy?" Granger appeared in his light on sight, a look of intense worry on her face. He scanned her from head to toe, as she was dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans, a red T-shirt and munching on some sort of pastry. It was nice to know that some people had something to eat. He opened his mouth to speak but thought twice about it - his jaw was a bit sore from being kicked.
"Oh, Malfoy, you are bleeding everywhere," she fussed, dropping the pastry onto the bedside table - it was a croissant - and crouching down next to him. Huffing and muttering to herself, she cast several cleaning spells and Draco could feel the tacky layers of blood disappearing from the side of his head where Potter's boot had collided with his temple. "There, is that better?"
"No," his pained mumble replied, glaring at her contemptuously. How dare she come and fix him up like this was some sort of fifth year fight in the Charms corridor? This was a war and he was the enemy; he knew that he was going to have the crap beaten out of him. She made it all seem so... trivial. "Why are you doing this?"
She stared at him in thought and he couldn't help but notice that Granger's eyes sparkled. They weren't tired and dull like everyone else's were... they were still alive. He decided that he slightly admired that, not that he'd ever say so. Her voice was tired and raspy when she finally replied, "Because you are a mess, Malfoy, and I don't like it."
He snorted in derision and closed his eyes, feeling sleepy and sick to his stomach. He hadn't been given the pleasure of sleep in the four days that he had been in this room; his Slytherin paranoia made it impossible while in enemy territory. He hadn't eaten either and it made him feel dizzy, coupled with the concussion that he was sure that he had. They had accomplished what they had set out to do - he was ruined, tired and on the brink of giving up.
"Malfoy, open your eyes."
He groaned disagreeably as everything started to feel heavy and dreamy... he was so tired...
Splash.
His eyes snapped open as he sputtered and coughed, water having gone up his nose. Granger was staring at him with wide eyes and an empty glass in her hand. He scowled and tried to sit up a little, but felt too weak and dizzy to do so. Everything in the room spun except for Granger, who he kept his eyes on for fear that he was going to be sick.
"Malfoy, are you dizzy?" she questioned, reaching to touch his forehead. He pulled back and grumbled. "Stop it, just be agreeable for once in your life!"
"No," he snapped, ignoring the jarring pain that radiated from his left ear right down into the roots of his teeth. "Don't touch me."
"Malfoy, you are hurt," she insisted, steadying him as he shifted again, leaning against the wall. Granger's hands were icy cold through his robe and he idly wondered if the rest of her was that cold. She really was tiny, with her little, thin hands and narrow shoulders; he hadn't noticed it before.
"Granger, you are so short," he replied, feeling light headed. He laughed at his own stupidity and let his head fall back against the wall with a solid thump. "Why are you even bothering with me, Granger? I'm sure that someone of your brilliance is needed to plan battles - not baby-sit the prisoners of war."
She looked at him, her brow knit and her lips pursed and shook her head. "You've hit your head, you don't know what you are even saying."
"I didn't hit my head, Potter did, with his boot." Draco scowled again. "Bloody bastard, I cannot wait until he gets killed."
"He and Ron did not have a choice, you git," she snapped foully. "Just tell us where you have got George and they will stop it."
He smiled. "Never. I would rather die than give them the satisfaction."
She rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet, disappearing from his line of sight for a few moments before returning with a plate. Draco perked up immediately. He needed something to eat badly, he had a high metabolism and the lack of food was making him feel terrible. She set down the plate of sandwiches and set a glass of pumpkin juice next to it.
"Eat, Malfoy."
He stared petulantly at the sandwiches - he didn't really like roast beef - but his stomach won out and he picked up one of the quartered pieces. It was halfway into his mouth when he looked up and caught Granger watching him carefully. Too carefully. He dropped the sandwich like it was on fire.
"I am not eating it," he declared, desperately wanting to eat it. It probably had some sort of truth serum in it. "If you want me to eat, don't drug the food."
Granger gritted her teeth. "It isn't drugged, Malfoy, it is a bloody sandwich! I wasn't even supposed to feed you, but fine, if you want it that way, sit up here and starve! You are such an idiot!" She was muttering under her breath as she made her way to the door, slamming it shut behind her. He listened as she spelled it, as to not let him escape.
Left alone with the sandwiches, his stomach won out and he ate them all, feeling not the least bit affected by potions of any sort.
Eight days. He had been in this stupid, tiny room for eight days. Something about it was just pissing him off to no end. First he was hopeful, then downright miserable and now... now he just wanted to punch someone. Draco usually did not like to physically assault people, he preferred his wand, but something about the fact that he had been in this room for eight days made him pace with a new-found energy, shouting angrily.
"Let me out of here!" he called out at the top of his voice. "I don't know anything anymore! Weasley's brother is dead! You can't save him! Someone kill me, please!"
He aimed a kick at the door and it splintered, but did not break. Seething with frustration, he punched the wall, almost taking pleasure in the way that his knuckles throbbed right into his hand. He glowered at the wall with contempt and stalked over to the charmed window that would not break and stared sulkily out at the sunny day. He was in London, he had figured that much out, and was in some random, residential house.
He wondered if his friends missed him. Was his father panicked? Was his mother in tears? Did anyone anywhere give a flying fuck about him? He hadn't seen anyone in days. Not Weasley, not Potter, not even Snape, who was suddenly not as nice to him now that he had switched sides. No one had beaten him up, no one had tried to drug him, no one had even brought him anything else to eat since Granger had four days beforehand. Did they even care if he was still alive?
"Stupid Order of the Phoenix and stupid Potter and stupid Weasley and I hate this sodding room and I will kill the next person that comes in here," he muttered angrily, trembling terribly. He did not know what was wrong with him but he felt anxious, ill and vigilant for some odd reason.
"Have you finally lost it, Malfoy?"
He spun on his heel to find Granger standing in the doorway, a mug of coffee in her hands, a look of sheer amusement on her face. She cocked her head, her dark curly hair pulled back into a bun and smiled at him. She looked clean and comfortable, something that made Draco feel envious and angry at the same time. "Everything all right?" she questioned, closing the door behind her.
"I'm pissed off!" he shouted, striding towards her. "Why are you keeping me in here all alone?"
She chuckled. "Lonely?"
He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate you, Granger," he spat, feeling so frustrated that he could just... he didn't even know what he could do. She nodded.
"I know you do, Malfoy, you always have," she replied casually, looking up at him in disinterest. "I was just wondering why you were shouting. It was a bit irritating, I was trying to read downstairs."
"You didn't answer my question. Why in the name of all that is holy are you keeping me here?" he questioned, his fingers twitching to pull out all of his hair. She blinked and smiled at him in the most aggravating fashion.
"Well, we can't just let you go free, Malfoy, and I don't want to hand you over to the Ministry, because even you are too good for Azkaban," she replied flatly, shrugging. "Do you want to go to Azkaban?"
"I want a shower, a comfortable bed and some take away curry," said Draco tonelessly, glaring at her. She had this habit of crawling under his skin in the most unnerving sort of way. He hated that about Granger, it was never just a childish rivalry or disagreement of opinions with her. "Why do you even care? I'm just another Death Eater, let them have their way with me, then I can die, then I won't be locked in this sodding room."
"You aren't just another Death Eater, Malfoy, we both know that," she said softly, making a lump rise in his throat. "You've never been another Death Eater, you are Draco Malfoy. I am sorry if I cannot just put people into boxes like that, but I cannot believe that you are just another bad guy. I... we are all people, not good guys and bad guys."
His throat felt dry as he replied, "This is a war, Granger, it isn't personal."
"I don't know how you can say that," she rasped, shaking her head. Something about Granger's teary eyes and morose attitude made him feel... he didn't know if there was a word for what he felt at the moment.
He gave her a tight smile. "I am a bad guy, I am supposed to say that."
"How can you just... how can you just be a 'bad guy', Malfoy? How do you sleep at night knowing that?" she inquired, her expression troubled and obviously unable to comprehend anything but her own self righteous Gryffindor views.
"'Bad guy' has been a box that I was born into, Granger, it means nothing horrible to me," he replied flatly, regarding her coolly. "You sound like this war doesn't agree with you." He smirked, knowing that it didn't, but at the same time, she was right in the middle of it. War never did agree with those who had morals.
"It doesn't. I just want it to be over," she said, meeting his eyes. "I suppose everyone does, I guess."
Draco chuckled and ruffled her hair, ignoring the look she shot him. "You are so naive, Granger, I happen to flourish in war. Slytherins thrive in disorder - it is easier to take over that way, I suppose. If this war ends, I'll have nothing more than a cell in Azkaban if I'm lucky." She opened her mouth, but he cut her off; he knew what she was going to say. "I know we are going to lose, I am not stupid."
"Then why do you continue to work for Voldemort?" she asked and he shuddered at the name. He never called You-Know-You that, he called him the Dark Lord... the 'V' word was blasphemous. Granger seemed to notice. She grabbed his hand with the bloodied knuckles. "You are shaking. Are you that afraid of him, Malfoy?"
Was there even a point in lying? He swallowed hard and pulled his hand back from hers, feeling suddenly awkward. His voice was trembling when he replied, "I'm terrified, Granger. You have no idea what fear is."
"I've seen him, Malfoy," she replied, stepping close to him, invading his personal space. Why was she being like this? Why was she so... close? Draco could smell her shampoo and even when looking down on her, she seemed to be bigger than him. He averted his eyes but her chilled, bony hand gripped his chin and made him look at her. "Why do you follow him?"
His eyes narrowed and he forcefully tore her hand away, leaving an angry red mark on her wrist. "Don't touch me, Mudblood."
Granger sneered, something that he had never seen her do before. It fit her face surprisingly well - not at all as foreign as he would have thought. Or liked. "This stopped being about blood along time ago, Malfoy. Just drop your pretence and admit that you are just a coward."
Draco looked like he had just bitten into a lemon before nodding. It was true, he knew that he was a bloody coward. It was not his fault, he was a Slytherin, his family were Slytherins, he couldn't just leave the Dark Lord if he wanted. He was afraid; afraid of what others would think of him, of what his family would think or him, what the Death Eaters would do to him.
That was when Granger sent his entire world spinning off of its axis, fisting the front of his robes as she pulled him into a kiss. He shouldn't... she was wrong... he pushed her back into the wall, invading her mouth furiously. He braced himself against the wall as her hands pulled at his robe, her mouth never ceasing its movement against his.
They broke for a moment as she pulled the robe over his head, discarding it onto the floor. His stared breathlessly at her and opened his mouth to question but she would not have it. Deftly grabbing the belt loops on the front of his trousers, she pulled him back firmly against her and accosted his neck, sliding her tongue to his ear. It made him feel weaker than before, his mind spun as she slid her hands up the back of his shirt, pressing and moving against his smooth skin. He pulled back slightly, detaching her from his ear as to kiss her thoroughly again as her hands slid to his zipper.
When she finally grasped him, he gasped into her mouth, his eyes snapping open wide. Her smooth, cool hand slid with ease, practically shutting down his mind. He had spent over a week in hell, most of it so very alone and she was here and warm and wonderful...
He couldn't kiss her properly - he could barely hold himself up let alone actually do something that involved motor skills. "Malfoy?" she whispered, her voice smooth and low. He released a whine as her hand paused. "Malfoy?"
"Hmm," he ground out, eyeing her lazily. "What?"
"Where is George Weasley?" she asked, pushing him back towards the bed. She bit her lower lip as he undid her bra with a snap, pulling it over her head with her T-shirt. "Malfoy, answer me."
He wasn't listening. Draco busied himself sucking on her skin, knowing that he wouldn't get to finish what he started. He was a dying man, he was not going to deny himself this. He didn't even protest when she pushed him down onto the mattress, tugging off his trousers. His eyes fell shut as she straddled him, rubbing against him, causing a jolt in his groin that felt so good that it hurt. Granger was... Granger was perfect and always had been.
"Where is he, Malfoy?" she continued to ask forcefully before muttering a charm and tossing her wand (and other garments) aside. Draco gasped and swallowed hard as she slid onto him, making the entire universe small and warm and...
"Oxford," he replied, not even knowing what he was saying. All he knew was that she was moving and he couldn't breathe and - "The Notts have him... oh... Granger..."
She obliged him when he flipped them over, thrusting with all of the might that he had left, his body trembling and dangling on the fine edge of exhaustion. They said nothing else, only the sounds of panted breaths and skin against skin were heard as she dug her nails into his back and he sped up in reply. It was only moments after her body tensed and her mouth formed a silent 'oh' that he collapsed into her, feeling wasted and more tired than ever before in his life.
When Draco awoke in the morning, he was alone. He knew that would happen, but for some reason, it still stung. He felt well rested and while still weak from hunger, he felt... alive. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling and a sardonic smile slid onto his face. Granger was a better Slytherin than he was. Watching the snow lightly tumble from the February sky, he marvelled that she had been able to do what Potter, Weasley and the rest of the 'good guys' hadn't.
Granger knew exactly how to break him.