misanagi: (Fiction)
[personal profile] misanagi
Half in Two

Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Draco doesn’t want to know how bad it is, not really, so he focuses on Weasley and how stupid it is that it’s Weasley who finds him and how horribly grateful he is that it wasn’t Harry.
Warnings: Implied torture, NCS, violence.
Words: 2100
Notes: Written for the [info]hp_prisonerfest for [livejournal.com profile] aj_socks.

Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.

It’s Weasley who finds him.

Draco doesn’t notice until his arms fall to his sides, released from the chains that had held them up, tied for so many days. He loses his balance and falls forward into the arms of bloody Ron Weasley.

He opens his mouth to complain about the appalling smell of Weasley’s robes, and this comes from someone who has been living in his own filth for days but all that comes out is a choked sound similar to what a dying rabbit would make.

“It’s alright. We’ll get you out.”

And only Weasley would say ‘it’s alright’ when it’s so clearly not. Draco can’t move, he can’t speak and he can feel Weasley patting his back awkwardly. It’s definitely not alright.

He tries to lift his arm maybe to push Weasley away or maybe - and this is a very small maybe - to get a better hold and steady himself but his strength fails him and the limb doesn’t do much more than twitch.

“Er... Malfoy, are you alright? Is there anything I can get you?”

How about clothes for a start, Draco thinks, and doesn’t try to speak, knowing now that his voice won’t be cooperating any time soon. Clothes and his wand and a bed and a warm meal and him away from this place. Now.

“You’re cold. Are you cold?” Weasley gives him the look a toddler would wear if he was in a room full of grownups and was expected to dance or do something appropriately adorable and can’t quite manage. “You can have my robes.”

Draco hopes the look he gives portrays the amount of horror he feels at wearing his robes and even worse, at the prospect of seeing him naked. Weasley ignores him and carefully disrobes while still holding onto Draco. It’s with immense relief that Draco discovers that Weasley wears Muggle clothes under his robes.

Weasley helps him into the robes and Draco doesn’t miss the winces and grimaces Ron makes when he gets a closer look at Draco’s body. Draco doesn’t want to know how bad it is, not really, so he focuses on Weasley and how stupid it is that it’s Weasley who finds him and how horribly grateful he is that it wasn’t Harry.

* *

It’s night and the mark burns.


He doesn’t dwell.

Those who dwell are punished.

The Dark Lord looks at him.

The Dark Lord knows.

* *

Draco wakes up in a small bed. He passed out at some point, that’s evident, and now he’s... he doesn’t know where he is.

Opening his eyes would help, a part of him tells him and Draco does just that. The room is small and crowded and the sheer amount of mismatched objects makes his eyes hurt.

“Oh, thank God!”

And there’s Harry. His hair is even more disheveled than usual if that’s possible. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks pale. “It’s called a comb, Potter. Give it a try.” His voice is raspy and weak but at least he can speak.

Harry’s horribly concerned look dims slightly. “Shut up, Malfoy!” he says and there’s the beginning of a smile on his lips.

“Witty as ever, Potter,” Draco replies. “I see battling Dark Lords has done nothing for your tragic lack of vocabulary.”

Harry shakes his head, amused and a second later his lips are pressed against Draco’s. The kiss is desperate and wanting and Draco surprises himself by returning it as furiously. He had expected he would recoil. He had thought he wouldn’t want to feel anyone's lips on his, but then again, in the cellar there hadn’t been kisses and having Harry’s face pressed against his, ridiculous glasses digging into Draco’s nose, was nothing like the cellar.

“I haven’t washed my mouth in days,” Draco points out, rather unnecessarily, when they part for breath.

“I don’t care!” Harry says and kisses him again.

* *

Then there’s pain.

He screams.

The spell comes again.

And again.

The Dark Lord always punishes.


He knows it’s not over.

* *

“What happened?”

“I should be asking that,” Harry says. Draco just gives him a steady look until Harry nods his head slightly. They won’t be talking about that now.

“You remember Ron, right?”

Draco scrunches his nose. “I was hoping I had hallucinated wearing Weasley’s dreadful robes.”

“He found you,” Harry says, ignoring Draco’s comment. “He protected you.”

As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to be rescued by a Weasley... “He what?”

Harry moves to the edge of the bed and sits down. Draco slides to the side and is surprised that his muscles don’t scream in pain at the movement. Harry must have access to good healers. Of course, nothing but the best for the Chosen One.

“We were upstairs, fighting, clearing the path so we could get you out. One of them got past the Order and went down to the cellar to...” Harry swallowed.

“Finish me off?” Draco suggests. “Who?”


Draco can barely suppress a shudder. “Weasley?”

“He’s fine,” Harry says. “He managed to stun him and by the time he recovered Bill had arrived. He took care of Greyback. Him and Remus.”

“Perfect,” says Draco, mortified. “Now I owe my life to two Weasleys and a werewolf. This is too much, Potter. I won’t ever be able to live this down.”

Harry’s complete lack of sympathy manifests itself in a look of fond exasperation. “You had passed out by then.”

“It’s still no excuse,” Draco huffs.

“You’re such a git! Really, Malfoy, you almost died.”

“I’m sure the Dark Lord had no intention of letting me go that easily.”

“Would you stop calling him that!” Harry yells. “He’s not your lord, Draco. He never was.”

A thick silence fills the room. Draco keeps his eyes on Harry’s hands and sees them shake with suppressed rage.

“He was,” Draco says, softly. “For a while.” He glances down at his arm and though it’s under the covers Draco knows the mark is there. Will always be there. Harry knows it too.

“That’s not...” Harry sighs. “I don’t care about that.”

Draco gives him a look.

“Alright. I did. I do. I don’t know!” Harry runs a hand through his hair in frustration. The resemblance to a bird’s nest becomes even more uncanny. “He doesn’t own you.”

“Alright,” Draco nods. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath and then speaks the name. “Voldemort.”

* *


Hands over head.

Knees on the floor.



He shivers.

There are questions.

There is pain.

He answers.

Questions again.


Another scream.

* *

“Who gave me up?”

Harry looks down at his hands. “We don’t know.”

“Who knew about me?”

Harry gives him a look, the one he used to give him before Draco got hexed for calling Granger a Mudblood or jinxing Weasley. “No one I don’t trust completely.”

“Enough to tell them about us?” Draco knows it’s a low blow. Months shagging and hiding because the Chosen One, the bloody Boy Who Lived, couldn’t be with a Malfoy, be queer, shag a man with a Dark Mark.

“They know now,” Harry says. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Oh? Your girlfriend too?” Draco asks.

“Ginny is not my girlfriend.”

“She sure wants to be,” Draco replies.

“She knows.” Harry turns around to look at Draco’s eyes. “They all do.”

“So I assume I should be assaulted soon by a horde of distraught Weasleys for despoiling their precious savior?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Hardly. Well, maybe the twins, but they would use any excuse to... Um... No one will attack you, Malfoy. They are letting you stay in their home.”

Draco’s eyes widen. “You brought me to their den?!” That at least explains the eye burning decor.

“Ron suggested it. You needed a place to recover where you would be protected.”

“And this quivering death trap prone to collapse by means of cheap construction charms even before it faces an unavoidable Death Eater attack is the best you could come up with?”

“You’ll be fine here.” Harry runs a hand gently through Draco’s hair. “I’ll talk to the twins.”

* *

His voice is gone.

His chest is burned.

His back bleeds.

He wants to talk.

He wants to answer them.

But he has nothing to tell.

They don’t believe him.

They don’t care.

His screams are silent.

* *

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I have been talking,” Draco says. “I’m quite certain because my mouth is moving and words are coming out.”

Harry looks sad. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Draco feigns ignorance. “We have talked about your limited vocabulary, Potter, and I have it in mind to give you a dictionary on Christmas to help improve that but in the meantime do try to be somewhat articulate.”

“That,” Harry replies, eyes narrowed. “You’re evading.”

“And you are being especially thick about it,” Draco counters.

“You know you can talk to me.”

Draco laughs bitterly. “Of course, the Chosen One can do anything and if the Chosen One commands I should speak, right? It’s only fair. When the Dark Lo-- when Voldemort commanded it I spoke too.”

Harry opens his mouth but Draco carries on. “Is that what you wanted to know? How many Order secrets I betrayed?” Another bitter laugh escapes his lips. “I betrayed them all, all I know. I gave names but they already knew the names. They wanted more. They wanted you but I didn’t know where you were, right? It was smart not telling me. And I couldn’t speak about Grimmauld Place even though I wanted to.”

Draco raises his head and meets Harry’s eyes. “I would have done anything. I would have said anything if they would just stop... Do you get that, Potter? I would have given them you.”

Harry’s arms are suddenly around him and Draco blinks away the tears. He doesn’t push Harry away.

* * *

They don’t ask again.

There’s something else they want.

* *

When he wakes up the sun shines through the window and Harry is still there.

Harry holds a glass of water to his lips and Draco drinks gratefully.

“They had put a spell on the chains to keep you conscious,” Harry says as soon as he places the glass on the table by the bed. “It took a little while to wear off, which is why you didn’t pass out the moment Ron released you.”

“I know th--”

“Shut up,” says Harry, placing two fingers over Draco’s mouth. “I’m talking now.”

Draco swallows and Harry continues. “You’ve been missing for over a week. Tonks told us she lost contact with you and it was a while before we could get to Snape and find out where you were.”

“Home,” Draco whispers.

“It’s not your home anymore.” Harry puts one hand over’s Draco’s. “There were twenty Death Eaters in the Manor and Ron was the first one able to get down to the cellars to look for you. I didn’t get there till much later,” Harry admits. “They wouldn’t let me see you. By then everyone knew about us.” He gives Draco a sheepish look. “I might have gone a bit mental when I found out you’d been captured.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. “Potter gone mental over a Death Eater?”

“Not a Death eater. A spy. Over you.” Harry squeezes his hand. “Everyone knew and they tried to keep me away. They didn’t want me to see. I made the healers tell me, though. Every wound, every scar.”

“Harry don’t--”

“I know, Draco. I would have talked too.”

* * *

They take it.

They take it all.

It’s worse than the burns.

Worse than the whips.

Worse than the spells.

Worse than the cruciatus.

Worse than anything.

He’s sure it’s worse than death.

* *

“You wouldn’t have.” Draco admits. “Gryffindors have the survival instincts of suicidal house elves.”

“We get it, Draco. No one is blaming you.” The understanding in Harry’s voice burns almost as much as the hot coals had.

“You can choke on your sanctimonious hero speech, Potter. Save it for the fanclub.”

Harry smirks. “You can be a bastard, you know that?”

“I’ll have you know, Potter, that I come from a very respectable Pureblood family,” Draco says, returning the smirk.

“Definitely a smug, self-centered bastard,” Harry says and kisses him again.

* *

Then it ends.

...And he lives.
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