While Draco knew from firsthand experience that Potter could converse in the infamous language of serpents, hearing two parselmouths engaging in the unnatural tongue was very unsettling. He'd heard the Dark Lord speak to Nagini in the Dark tongue, but witnessing someone else use the tongue back turned his blood cold. He didn't know if it was a trick of the light or not, but Potter's eyes appeared to grow darker when he spoke back to the Dark Lord. His tongue flickered in his mouth, letting out the strange hisses and guttural sounds that didn't resemble any human language. The Dark Lord appeared to deeply enjoy himself, speaking to Potter more than anyone else, their secret conversation remaining private.

After his father nearly lost his own life over his bruised ego, Draco distracted himself by watching Potter. It was difficult to not when he was sitting directly opposite. He found himself oddly fascinated with the way Potter ate – his table manners surprisingly delicate. He took his time, his gaze turning distant as he detached himself from his reality. Draco recognised the look, turning his own gaze away. Potter was clearly traumatised and from how he'd reacted when dunked in the bath to heal his wounds, it was no surprise. Torture at the hands of the Dark Lord broke wizards far older and more experienced than Potter. Even though his injuries had been treated, the damage went deeper. Draco could see Potter's hands trembling involuntarily, the shakes worsening to a point where he dropped his fork and flushed in response. His eyes were also horribly bloodshot from where he'd been under intense strain under the Cruciatus Curse, blood vessels having ruptured.

After dessert, something changed in Potter's behaviour. He appeared to relax, his shoulders loosening as he sank back. His gaze sharpened, his bloodshot eyes darting around as he started to fully become aware of his surroundings. He then met Draco's gaze across the table and didn't look away, forcing him to stare back and not break his nerve first. But then, impossibly, a wry smile pulled at the corner of Potter's mouth. He lifted his chin, as if communicating something silently, before looking back over to the Dark Lord who hissed something at him to get his attention.

Something about the smile unnerved Draco, more so than when his father complained about Potter's presence. Why would he smile at him? They hated each other.

Didn't they?

Something had changed over the past few days. Watching Potter succumb to the Dark Lord's will hadn't been as satisfying as it should have been. It felt wrong to see Potter so… broken in defeat.

When Pettigrew was called over to fill up the Dark Lord's goblet, Potter's eyes darkened with a look of familiar loathing. The animagus skittered nervously around Potter, more so than around the Dark Lord. The look Potter gave him was utterly murderous. Eventually, though, Potter turned ashen as his exhaustion was plain to see. The toil of his tortures and traumas drained the colour from his complexion.

The Dark Lord turned his attention over to Draco, who nearly gulped as the intense red eyes locked upon him. Smiling, the Dark Lord surveyed him unblinkingly over his goblet.

"Draco, I believe our guest is ready to retire for the evening. I have already gone to the trouble of preparing rooms in the guest wing for his use. Would you escort him to the Aquila Suite? We would not want him to get lost now."

Draco ignored the affronted sound his father made as he rose to his feet, giving the Dark Lord a bow in response. The Dark Lord then hissed something in Parseltongue at Potter, who winced and nodded. He lifted his arms up, bringing his wrists together. The Dark Lord smiled, drawing his wand. Black, snake-like cords shot out and wrapped themselves around Potter's wrists. Face red with shame, Potter awkwardly got to his feet, using his bound hands to steady himself on the table.

Stifling his bristling pride, Draco headed over to Potter. As he did, Draco nearly faltered mid-step. For some reason, it was only then that Draco realised that Potter was taller than he was by an inch. It felt like only a year ago when Potter had been the shortest in their year. He wasn't just taller but also broader. Draco had lost a lot of weight over the past year, but he hadn't noticed Potter getting stockier.

Draco stepped up to him, taking his arm without any further hesitation. To his astonishment, Potter didn't resist.

"Rest well and Happy Birthday, Harry," the Dark Lord said in farewell. Potter just inclined his head in response. Anyone else would be punished for the disrespect, but for Potter to even acknowledge the Dark Lord was startling in itself. Draco avoided looking at his parents and aunt as he acted as Potter's guard, marching him off to his new prison.

Once out in the hallway and a few paces away from the dining room, the door shut. Draco felt the tension leave Potter at the same time it left him.

"I'm not going to cause you any trouble," Potter said quietly. Draco nearly stumbled, not expecting him to speak. "I'm too tired to even think let alone fight."

Grimacing, Draco put all his focus in his task. All he had to do was take Potter to the guest wing. He didn't have to talk to him or even look at him. Just move him from one room to the next. His task would have been a lot more difficult if Potter put up a pointless fight. Instead, he just walked passively, eyeing the rich decor with an unreadable expression. Draco wondered why the Dark Lord didn't insist on having Potter blindfolded. Did Potter pass a test?

"It's not far," Draco found himself saying as he led Potter towards the marble stairs in the main foyer, "upstairs and to the right." He had no idea why he was saying as much. Potter looked over at him, fear shining in his eyes behind his new glasses.

"It's… not where he is sleeping, is it?"

"Merlin, no," Draco said, aghast that Potter's mind took him there. "The Dark Lord doesn't want you in his bed."

Potter's face then lit up and he spluttered, "Th-that's not what I meant but, fuck, well I guess that's good to know."

Draco nearly laughed at Potter's embarrassment, but then grimly realised that he had no idea what the Dark Lord wanted. For all he knew, he did want to take Potter as a lover. The thought caused his stomach to twist. His aunt had been warming the Dark Lord's bed since he had taken up residence in the Grand Suite, but Draco knew that the Dark Lord had interests beyond just witches from what he'd heard from his uncle Rodolphus. Draco had to admit, Potter wasn't ugly. Not in the slightest.

"Do you always have to eat with him like that?" Potter said out of nowhere as Draco led them to the eastern stairwell. Their feet pattered out a soft rhythm, both wearing slippers. Draco was taken back by the question.

"When he is here, yes," Draco said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, "He enjoyed having you there tonight so expect he'll want you there again."

Potter slashed him a heated look, angered to the point where it was nearly a glare. Before he lashed out in his anger as he would do when provoked ordinarily, an eerie hollowness drained the fire from his eyes.

"How can you choose to follow a man like that?" Potter muttered, twisting his restrained wrists a little. Draco didn't answer as he brought Potter to the corridor that cut through the guest wing. It was obvious which rooms had been prepared. Candlelight shone out from only one open doorway.

Draco gave Potter's arm an unnecessary tug. His remark got under his skin. Of course, Harry Potter would assume that he chose anything that had plagued his life ever since he discovered that being in with the Dark Lord was a life of servitude. Of course, he would judge Draco for having the Dark Mark and believe that he followed orders out of loyalty rather than fear. What did Potter know about fear?

A lot , he inwardly admitted.

He slowed his pace as he pulled Potter to a halt outside the Aquila Suite. Inside, the candles were all lit, glimmering from the walls and the candelabra on the mantelpiece. The drapes had been drawn, night having fallen. Everything had been prepared, right down to a neatly folded pair of silk pyjamas at the foot of the bed. Draco brought a dumb-founded Potter into the room, moving him into the centre before releasing him. He drew his wand, sensing the heavy layer of charms in the room. The Dark Lord had reinforced the room with his own enchantments.

"There's a bathroom through there," Draco said to Potter, pointing his wand over to the white-washed door. "Don't bother trying to escape. The windows will be sealed and the door will barricade after I leave. You should use this chance to sleep and recover."

Potter let out a wild laugh. "Do you really think I'm going to be able to sleep?"

Draco turned, giving Potter an unmoved look. "Looking at you, yes, I do." He pointed his wand at the cords around Potter's wrists. " Relashio. "

They dropped off his arms, falling to the ground where they disintegrated into black smoke. Draco then sniffed and pointed at the robes.

"Take off my robes, Potter. You can keep the undergarments."

Anger tensed Potter's jaw as he went to unfasten the robes in haste briefly. He had some clear distaste in being dressed up, something that didn't surprise Draco considering that Potter had lived with muggles. He had no wizarding proprietary. His fingers shook as he unclipped the clasps at his collar before the rest. He shrugged out of the expensive garment and shoved it back at Draco. Potter's face and neck were flushed where he stood in his black underclothes.

There was abject fear in his eyes, a primal fear of a creature trapped with no hope of escape. Potter was terrified.

"Get some sleep, Potter," Draco said, snagging Potter's attention. He nearly shuddered when his bloodshot eyes fixed upon him.

Potter didn't respond, lost in his own trauma as Draco carried his robes out with him. He left him staring off, drawing his arms around himself. The scene stuck painfully in Draco's mind as he backed out the room, closing the door behind him. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach as he brought his wand up, casting the spells that would lock the door and seal it so it would be impossible for Potter to open his end. For him, it would appear that the door had vanished into the wall.

There was silence in the hallway. Draco stared at the door, trying to not think of the fear he'd seen so raw and exposed in Potter's eyes. Fear that had a reason to exist because he'd been made to suffer the worst pain a human could endure. He began to realise that fear had always been screaming from those eyes when he had to tend to Potter's needs while chained up in the chamber below. His eyes had just been concealed from view. Draco pulled the venetian velvet robes closer to himself. As he did, he noticed one detail.

They were still warm from where Potter had been wearing them.

As it turned out, Malfoy had been right. Harry passed out into a deep sleep the second his head hit the pillow. Plunged down into a restorative slumber, very little stirred him at all. Unaware of his surroundings as he slept, he had no idea that there were occasions during his rest where he wasn't alone. He had no idea that a solemn mother had slipped inside to check on him when he slept well into the morning, assessing his recovery and gently tucking the bedsheets around him.

When Harry finally did start to rouse, sunlight immediately dazzled him. Groaning, he pressed his face into soft cotton, starting as he realised how he was extremely comfortable and warm. There wasn't an uncomfortable wooden floor under his abused body or metal shackles locked around his wrists and ankles keeping him trapped. Stunned, it took him a moment to recall what had happened to so drastically change his accommodations. It rushed in a wave of painful recollections, disjointed and confused. Turning on his side to press a hand against his forehead, he tentatively peeked his eyes open again.

If the night before had all been a fever dream, it appeared to still be playing. How long did intense hallucinations last? Harry groaned again, flopping his arm down. The pain was all very realistic. While his back wasn't burning from the open gashes in his skin, the bruises were very much there and aching with every breath. He tested his movement, finding that his limbs were each free. His head throbbed from his thirst, his bladder aching where he desperately needed to relieve himself. It was a new feeling as he hadn't needed to go while his captors kept vanishing his waste for him.

Taking care not to aggravate his injuries, Harry slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. The bed under him was incredibly soft, the mattress likely to be goose feathers if the wealth around him was any indication. A white cotton bedsheet dropped from him, a quilted duvet rustling as he moved. He ran his hand over the silk before looking up at the matching canopy above him. All pale blue silk, with silver embroidery. It was a bed fit for a palace, not a manor. Harry plucked at the pyjama shirt. He remembered being lucid enough to undress before taking himself to bed. From the big blank after that, he assumed he'd fallen straight to sleep.

Harry leaned over, resting on his elbow as he reached for his glasses. Or… his new glasses. He grimaced as he took them. He didn't want to accept his birthday present, but he did appreciate being able to see properly after days of being blindfolded. The room jumped into focus. Sunlight streamed in through the gap between the drapes. Harry swung his legs around, shuffling to the edge of the bed. He pushed his feet down, getting up slowly. He bit back sounds of pain from his bruised and swollen joints.

He could hear birdsong outside so he paced towards the window. Finding the pulley, he drew the curtains.

"What the hell…" Harry started to say as he gazed out to a stately garden with manicured hedges and flowerbeds all artistically designed. What caught his attention wasn't just the beautiful gardens, but the birds that roamed free. Not just any birds but albino peacocks. Disturbed at the level of wealth on display, he ran a finger down the glass. Attempting to shatter it would be pointless. He knew better than to assume Voldemort would leave him somewhere he could escape.

Bitterly, he looked over his shoulder. When Malfoy told him that the door would barricade itself, he didn't expect it to straight-up vanish. He had laughed at the simplicity. Why bother locking a door when you can just take away the door?

He took himself to the door that still remained in the room. The ensuite had been more modest than the room the Malfoys bathed him in the night before. There wasn't a huge bathtub, but it was still ornate with silver feet and pristine porcelain. There was a shower fixture as well as toiletries for him to use. Harry made use of the toilet first, pointedly ignoring the mirror until he had no choice but to confront his appearance. When he did, he felt immediately sick, rushing back to the toilet to throw up.

Dragging himself back to the marble sink, he miserably looked up and met his own bloodshot eyes. All the whites of his eyes were flooded pink, in some places patches were red. The blood vessels had burst, leaving his green irises to appear almost iridescent against a background of their complimentary colour. Under his eyes, there were shadows that looked like bruises.

His hands still trembled, but not as violently as before. He brushed his teeth, not sure why he was going through with his dental hygiene regime. He shuffled back into the bedroom, freezing with indecision as he confronted his gilded cage.

A knock at the wall which had been a door lurched him out of his thoughts. He jumped violently.

"I hope you have clothes on, Potter," Malfoy drawled from the other side before there was a sharp click. The door reappeared, the wall shifting and changing to become a white-washed door with a silver serpent-shaped handle.

Malfoy entered, no longer wearing Death Eater robes. Instead, he was dressed much like he would at Hogwarts with a shirt undone at the collar with smart slacks and polished shoes.

Pompous prick.

Harry eyed the wand that Malfoy held aloft. All too aware that he was very defenceless against the other wizard, Harry lifted his empty hands in a show of compliance as he took a couple of steps deeper into the room.

"I'm to inform you that you will be confined in this suite for all hours until the Dark Lord gives the order to have you moved at his leisure. We are to ensure that you are fed and kept in relative comfort while you are a guest here."

Staring at Malfoy, Harry lowered his hands slowly. "I'm to be kept in here ?" He glanced around at the lavish surroundings, over to the huge bed that he'd collapsed in and slept for many hours. "This is very different to where I spent the last few days."

Harry fully dropped his hands to his sides. Sucking at his teeth, Malfoy gave him a lingering look before taking a step closer towards him. He lowered his wand, his pale grey eyes meeting Harry's stare directly. They both stared at each other, neither gaze brimming with hatred and anger.

"My mother is right," Malfoy then said, his voice unusually soft. Harry had rarely heard him speak in a neutral, civil tone, much less towards him. "Whether we like this or not, Potter, we are in this together now. You are a permanent guest in my family home until the Dark Lord decides otherwise. With my father disgraced, I'm the head of my family now."

Malfoy raised his hand up so that Harry could see the ring that stood out on his right forefinger, but then lowered his hand so his wand wasn't in Harry's face.

"You could have taken advantage and you didn't," Harry said, voicing his thoughts aloud. "You heard all the things he said to me."

"I did," Malfoy said at once, causing Harry to scowl. He sighed out of his nose in response. "As much as we despise each other, Potter, I would not… wish what he has done to you. I never… wanted this."

Vivid red marks lit up on Malfoy's cheeks reminding Harry starkly of the night on the Astronomy tower.

"You know what happens to reluctant Death Eaters," Harry said, but he didn't inflect his voice with scathing bitterness to drive the point home. He was just making a point, not intending to cause harm. Malfoy glowered before he registered the lack of venom behind his words. His brow smoothed.

"You were there that night, Potter. You know I… hesitated."

Surprised at the admission, Harry shuffled a step towards his captor, drawn in by his display of vulnerability. All too aware that Harry could not turn down the olive branch that was being offered his way, he pushed back the years of resentment he felt towards the arse in front of him. To survive, he had to get over those differences. Malfoy had the upper hand and was willing to talk to him civilly. For what reason, Harry didn't know, but he would be a fool to reject what could potentially help him escape.

Regardless of what Malfoy might think of him, Harry wasn't stupid.

"I was under my Invisibility Cloak," Harry told Malfoy. From how Malfoy's eyes went round, he had in turn surprised him just as equally. "Dumbledore put me in a full body-bind before you disarmed him to stop me from exposing myself. I watched the whole thing… until the body-bind failed."

Malfoy brought his left hand up to his face, drawing it down as he turned and paced over to the set of drawers. He kept his face turned away from Harry, but the pink flush was still visible.

"You knew though," Malfoy said suddenly, flicking his head to look back at where Harry stood still. "You worked it out – right from the start. That's why you went to eavesdrop on the train and why you followed me."

"I did," Harry confirmed, "but no one took me seriously. I tried to reason with Dumbledore and he just told me he had it in hand."

"And you believed him?" Malfoy scoffed. Harry went to answer in anger, but stopped himself. Throwing caution to the wind, Harry answered honestly.

"No," he said simply.

Malfoy tilted his head a little, frowning again. "You may not be as moronic as I thought you to be."

"I think I may be just as moronic," Harry said bitterly, "I trusted Dumbledore and look where that landed me. My parents trusted him too… fat load of good it did them as well."

It was the first time he voiced his sentiments aloud. Hate rolled through him, making his hands tremble with the force. Malfoy considered him, then took a few steps, advancing. He stopped in front of him, just a foot between them.

"We would do well to listen to my mother," Malfoy said, breathing rather heavily where he stood in front of Harry. He passed his wand over to his left hand. The reason why became clear when he extended his right hand towards Harry, just as he did all those years ago.

Harry looked at the offered hand, absolutely stumped. Never would he have imagined Malfoy offering a truce. Against what he imagined were Ron and Hermione screaming at him to flip Malfoy off instead, he took the offered hand. Both him and Malfoy looked shocked at what they were doing as they shook hands.

Malfoy released him first, his jaw muscles pulsing. Harry dropped his hand back down as Malfoy took his wand back in his dominant hand. Then, as he did, Malfoy hissed out in pain, turning sharply to tuck his left arm close to his chest. Harry moved back, recognising what was happening. His scar prickled though the pain wasn't intense.

"He's summoning you?" Harry ventured to which Malfoy gave a sharp nod.

"Yes," Malfoy said, the bleakness of his tone not missed. He met Harry's gaze. "I believe he will be moving against the Ministry soon now that he has… dealt with you."

He abruptly turned from Harry, rushing for the door. Harry didn't follow, watching and processing as quickly as he could. Before Malfoy left, he looked over his shoulder.

"Be respectful towards my mother, Potter," he said just as he slipped through the exit and slammed it close. Harry watched balefully as the door disappeared leaving a smooth wall behind.

For the longest time, Harry just stood utterly still, staring at the wall. His heart pounded against his chest, almost as if it was trying to break free. It was as if he just ceased functioning altogether, unable to mentally handle his current reality. He wanted to break down and scream at the top of his lungs, raging against the confinement he found himself within. His hands itched, needing to smash and destroy whatever he could reach. He wanted to snatch the expensive looking carriage clock from the mantlepiece and hurl it with all his strength at the window. He wanted to tear the bed apart, ripping the silk with his bare hands. He wanted to grab one of the chairs from the table facing the window and charge at the mirror in the bathroom, shattering it and the horrid reflection that plagued his mind. He needed to do something, anything, to distract him from the screaming trauma that dragged him back down.

Instead, he did nothing. His hands remained empty at his sides. Waves of intense fear swept him up in a blitzing panic, robbing him of breath, then ebbed away, leaving him hollow. Quite simply, he couldn't face it, because he knew why he'd become stuck. He knew why he didn't move or react. Being tortured made sense, enduring the pain and fighting for every breath why hanging from chains made sense… even being reduced down to a sobbing mess made sense. Voldemort wanted him to suffer and so he did.

The room he found himself indefinitely trapped inside didn't make sense. The comfortable bed, having the Malfoys tending to his needs, being given regular meals and the dignity to tend to his basic needs… none of that made sense. He was a prisoner, the reviled enemy, not a guest. Being a guest implied that he could leave and he certainly was very unable to do that.

Forming an alliance with Draco Malfoy definitely didn't make fucking sense.

And yet, what choice did he have?