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The Hole	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Draco/Ron Views: 7359 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of J.K.Rowlings ideas, characters, or works. I do not make any money from this fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Spiders or Rats

Draco woke with a start, his finger pulled swiftly from the hole, panic entering his mind. Something had touched him. Was it a rat? Was he bleeding? He checked his hand, but found no blood, or other mark, besides his broken, cracked fingernails. His thoughts came back sluggishly, and he realized that Weasley must’ve been digging, too.
“Was that you?” A worried voice called through the hole, barely a hissed whisper, but full of fear.
“Yeah, it was.” Draco answered, feeling amused that Weasley had been just as frightened of the touch as he had been.
It’d been awhile since he’d first started talking to the red-head, and though it was hard to tell time in the catacomb-like prison, he was certain it’d been nearly a month. He’d been using his dreadful sleep cycle as a measure, and had tried counting the minutes between sleeps. It hadn’t worked, so he’d given the idea up, and had simply judged by the length of his hair, and scruffiness of his face. It got worse everyday, his hair tickling the insides of his ears, his stubble actually long enough to grasp in his fingers.
He and Weasley had been working diligently on the hole, sometimes working in silence, sometimes talking to fill the void that grew inside them as the dementors swept around, sucking their hope away like the light. It was slow work, but finally, the hole was big enough to stick a finger through, and not get stuck.
“Thought it might’ve been a spider…” Weasley mumbled, his voice obviously relieved. Draco turned that sentence over in his head a moment.
“That’s right, you’re terrified of them. I remember.” he mused, laughing quietly at the memory of his face whenever he’d encounter one. “Why are you so scared of them?”
“My brother transfigured my teddy-bear into one while I was holding it. I was three.” Ron said, sounding bitter. And then, before Malfoy could ask which brother, he heard a sob. And then another. Weasley was weeping.
Draco froze, feeling uncomfortable, and out of place. He wasn’t sure how to comfort the Gryffindor. Wasn’t sure why he was even crying. He tried to think of something to say, but everything seemed phony, and awkward. He began scratching at the wall again, as though he couldn’t hear his neighbor sobbing uncontrollably. It sounded muffled, so perhaps he was trying to hide his blubbering. Malfoy scratched harder, his abused fingers already aching, as he used four of his nails to scratch at the hand-sized hole on his side, slowly chipping the rock away.
“He died at Hogwarts. Fred, did.” Weasley’s voice came through the sobs. Malfoy felt his stomach twist with pain. The Weasley twins had been prats, but some of their antics had been pretty amusing. He’d even admired them on occasion.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Malfoy whispered, feeling guilt at the death. He’d switched sides during the battle, and was paying for it, but every death felt like a personal burden. He could’ve stopped them from dying if only he’d had a backbone. If he’d stood up for himself sooner. If he’d done what was right.
“Not your fault, mate. I was right there. I should’ve helped him. Should’ve seen.. Seen it coming.” More sniveling, and whimpers. Malfoy didn’t even feel like teasing his old enemy. He knew just how he felt, after watching his mother die in a flash of green, while he stood by, unable to stop it.
“I watched my mother die.” He admitted quietly, feeling his eyes sting with tears, even after months of thinking about it nearly constantly. He hadn’t actually said the words aloud, ‘til now. “She was found guilty as a blood-traitor, and murdered on the spot. My trial was right after, so I was there. I stood right there, and couldn’t lift a finger to save her.” He realized, he, too, was hiccuping with grief, tears pouring down his face. He couldn’t get any more words out, and sat against the wall, wiping his tear-stained face, crying with an unlikely companion.
As the bawling quieted into gasps, and sniffles, neither said anything, the scratching resuming as they tried to put their heartache away again, back to whatever inner cell it resided in. Draco wiped his face on his sleeve, the old, grimy silk feeling almost clean against his equally dirty face.
“I’m sorry about your mum.” Weasley said, quieter than even their usual whisper. “I don’t even know what happened to mine.”
“She’s probably alive. She’s a tough witch. I saw her fighting. She can handle herself.” Malfoy admitted, remembering the redheaded woman’s ferocity. She’d do anything to keep her children safe, just like Narcissa. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried not to think of mothers, or death.
“You were in the battle?” Ron asked, his usual curiosity about Malfoy’s identity back in his voice. During their time working on the hole, he’d tried to weasel a name out of Malfoy with blunt questions, and not-so-subtle insults, meant to irritate the blond into answering.
“Part of it.” Malfoy answered, his fingers pausing on the hole. Should he just tell Weasley who he was? No. Not yet. He’d know soon enough.
“What side were you on?” Ron asked, though he’d already asked this question, in different ways before. Malfoy sighed, and kept scratching.
“My own.” He answered, not a real lie, but not the total truth. His fingers worked tirelessly as his mind wandered.
* * *
Ron leaned against the wall, sitting on his mat. He’d scooted the meager bed against the wall, feeling more comfortable nearer his new friend. He slept slightly easier, knowing there was someone on the other side, who he could wake up and talk to. Someone who seemed friendly, if at times, mysterious. Ron wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but he still hadn’t figured out just who his neighbor was. It was like the man was determined not to answer questions about himself, which made Ron wonder all the harder.
He scuffed the wall half-heartedly, wiping the remnants of tears from his face. He really couldn’t put a name to that voice. The voice he sometimes dreamt about. A voice that encouraged him to actually eat the food he was given. A voice that seemed more familiar now, than his own. He’d tried guessing who it was, but every time he thought he had it, some piece of the puzzle just wouldn’t fit.
“Have you picked a new name, yet?” He asked, feeling exasperated with the constant internal guessing. He needed something to put to the voice.
“I haven’t. I kind of thought, maybe something about holes, or digging, but nothing really appealed.” The voice replied. “I used to think my name fit me, but… Now, I’m not sure anything does. Maybe just, ‘Oi, you’.” The voice laughed, bringing up a slew of memories or Ron calling ‘Oi, you’, through the hole. Ron snickered, appreciating the man’s humor.
“Well, it’s worked so far.” Ron agreed, feeling his lips stretch in an uncomfortable smile. Before his friend, he couldn’t remember the last real time he’d laughed. But now, it seemed like he was almost normal. They joked, and talked, and confided, as though they really were friends. Ron found it hard to believe that here, in Azkaban, he was laughing over a stupid joke, and making a friend. It’d been the last thing he’d ever expected. He’d never expected to make another friend, to laugh, or to ever feel someone touching him, ever again. But now, he had all three. The hole was big enough that hopefully soon, he could see through it, and find out who his neighbor was. One mystery to solve, and only one way to do it.
He scratched harder at the wall, determined to get through, and actually see his friend. He hadn’t seen anyone in so long, he couldn’t wait. Maybe, if the hole got big enough, they could shake hands. Or if he ever did manage to come through entirely, Ron decided, he was going to give him a bear hug. There wasn’t going to be anyone else to hug ever again, and Ron thought he’d rather enjoy one. He’d used to hate the way his older brothers would squeeze him, or thump him on the back. He never thought that he’d actually crave hugging a bloke, but maybe he was going batty after all. He shrugged to himself, and kept digging.
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The Hole