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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
The first night

Draco sat in the dark, trying to calm his breathing as he huddled in the corner. The carpet was soft under him, the walls cool, but not frigid. He fought to keep his arms around himself, his fingers wanting to dig into the plaster, and wallpaper. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he heard Ron’s snores on the other side of the wall. He didn’t want to imagine he was back in Azkaban, but thinking of being there, almost appreciating being alive, was better than considering his future. He’d been planning on escape, and then immediate death. Being thrown suddenly into a normal world, where everyone knew him, and no one trusted him, was more painful than he’d thought. Ron hadn’t said anything yet, but he was certain that there would be a confrontation. It was just a matter of time.
The lights blazed, and Draco blinked up from his arms, meeting the blue gaze of his only friend. If they were still friends.
“Bathroom’s all yours.” Ron said, his eyes trained on Draco as he walked to the closet.
“Alright.” Malfoy said, trying to sound unconcerned. He stood, feeling the soreness in his joints from the running. The first time he’d really been on his feet in almost a year. He kept his eyes away from Ron as he left the room, trying not to see the differences. He didn’t want to think about things changing for them.
He entered the bathroom, and made a face instantly. Weasley had left hair all over the place, and the whole room seemed wet.
“How the hell…?” Malfoy muttered to himself, stepping across the wet floor with his bare feet, seeing water droplets even on the back of the door. That boy was an absolute savage.
Draco found the scissors, a razor, and shaving cream all still on the counter. He decided to shower first. He stripped his clothes, and stared briefly into the mirror, inspecting the changes the last year had made to his body. He was thin, his bones sticking out of his hips, ribs, and shoulders. He could see his whole spine, and he had almost no muscle definition. His hands were caked in dry blood from trying to follow Ron through the hole, and he’d gotten blood on his face. He grimaced, and got into the shower, turning the water on, to find it already warmed up to the perfect temperature. He ignored the bangle on his wrist as he scrubbed himself twice. He hissed as the water and soap stung his beat up hands and feet, but tried not to think about it, washing his hair out carefully, using extra conditioner, to get the tangles to cooperate when he finally brushed it. His hair was brushing his shoulders now, long enough to brush out of his face.
When he dried off, and stood in front of the mirror, he decided to keep the length, brushing his hair out gently, and leaving it to dry, as he splashed water in his face, and smeared shaving cream across his chin. His scraggly wisps of a beard were barely enough to warrant shaving, but shave he did, just like his father had taught him at sixteen. One of the last useful things his father had ever taught him. The cream and razor weren’t as nice as he was used to, but the application and use were generally the same. He rinsed his face, and went back to the bedroom.
He opened the door, and walked to the closet, a bit disappointed that he didn’t find Weasley behind either door. He quickly shuffled through the clothes, already feeling the chilly air nip at his freshly washed skin. It felt so much more sensitive after that scrubbing.
He pulled on a pair of black slacks, a black button-down, and even found a black vest to go with it. He was certain that all the black would make him look even paler, but he didn’t care. He was comfortable in black. He’d been wearing his grungy black silk pajamas for the past year. These clothes weren’t silk, or satin, or cashmere, but the cotton was clean, and warmed him. He still felt cold, and pulled out a black wool coat, socks, and the only slippers in the closet, which were bright blue. He pulled the socks on first, then the slippers, slipping his arms into the coat last.
He made it halfway to the door, before he kicked the hideous slippers off, the squishy feel on his feet too much, too soon. He felt undignified walking around in socks, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stand proper shoes either.
He made his way carefully down the stairs, gripping the rail the whole way, and following the sound of voices into a room to the right, back toward the kitchen. He found Bill, Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Mr. Weasley, the unfamiliar wizard who’d greeted them, and to his surprise, Severus Snape, all sitting around a table in a dining room right next to the kitchen.
“Professor?” He asked, staring at the man he’d been certain was dead. The Dark Lord had proclaimed he’d died in the fight.
“Draco. Sit.” The dark haired man commanded. Draco moved to the table and took a seat next to Ron, staring at the potions master. He barely noticed Mr. Weasley leaving the room for his own cleanup.
“I thought you were…”
“Dead? Yes, so did everyone else.” Snape cut across him, and fixed him with a look that made Draco snap his mouth shut. Ron stood, and Malfoy watched as he picked up a bowl, and ladled soup into it, setting it in front of Malfoy with a spoon, before sitting back down.
“Bread’s there. You can get it yourself.” Ron said, his voice holding the familiar teasing mockery that Malfoy had grown so accustomed to hearing through stone.
“Thank you.” He mumbled, lifting the spoon. He wasn’t sure he could eat as much as the redhead had set in front of him already. He decided not to try pushing it with bread. He sipped at the spoon, acutely aware that everyone was watching him. He kept his eyes on his food, not wanting to snap irritatedly at anyone.
“I agree, that we can’t be certain of his intentions, but there’s a very clear way to find out.” Snape continued some earlier conversation, and Malfoy realized it was about him.
“What’s that?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.
“Veritaserum.” The potion’s master drawled, fixing her with a look that said she was a dunce. She flushed, and looked toward Malfoy.
“Will you take it willingly?” She asked, getting right to the center of things. Malfoy paused, and set his spoon down, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. If he said no, they’d never trust him. If he said yes, they probably still wouldn’t trust him.
“Yes.” he said it barely a whisper, his eyes lingering on Ron’s for a moment, before heading to Snape’s. “I’ll do it right now, if you want.”
“Very good.” The dark haired man praised, and pulled his wand out, waving it, to summon a small vial. Malfoy gulped uncomfortably, and watched as Snape uncorked it. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. The whole table watched, tense, as Snape offered him the vial. He took it, and picked his spoon back up, taking a bit of broth, and dropping a few crystal clear droplets of the potion onto it. He swallowed the spoonful, and handed the vial back to Snape, who vanished it, before turning to Malfoy, his face set.
“What’s your full name?” He asked, his eyes piercing Malfoy’s. Draco had no doubt that he was being mentally probed as he gave answers.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“What side of the war were you on?”
“The Dark Lord’s side, unwillingly, until the end of the battle at Hogwarts, when I switched, and tried to fight with the Order of the Phoenix.”
“Why did you switch?”
“He’s evil. I never wanted to follow him, but I did to protect my family. During the battle, I hoped he’d be defeated, and my family would be safe.” Malfoy felt his face scrunching with displeasure as he spoke.
“How do you feel about the Dark Lord now?” Snape asked, his eyes steely black.
“I hate him. I want to kill him, for murdering my mother. I never liked him, but after seeing that, I’ll do anything I can to end him.” Malfoy said, his voice dripping with poison. Everyone at the table was still and silent.
“Do you have any plans to work against the Order of the Phoenix?
“No. Nor will I ever again, unless it falls under the Dark Lord’s control.” Malfoy replied snippily.
“To whom are you loyal?” Snape asked, and Malfoy felt the words rising from his mouth, regardless of his attempts to stop them from coming out.
“Ron Weasley.”
“Why?”
“While in Azkaban, we talked through a hole in the wall, and built a friendship.” Malfoy glanced over at Ron, who was staring back at him, while all eyes shifted briefly to Ron.
“Any other questions?” Snape asked, glancing around the table. Malfoy looked worriedly around, hoping they didn’t ask anything terrible.
“Are you willing to work with us, to take him down?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded.
“I am.”
“Are you going to hurt anyone on our side in the process?”
“I’m not a Seer. But I won’t do so without good cause. I’m not that vile.” Malfoy said, making a face back at the older Weasley sibling.
“Will you betray my brother?” Bill Weasley asked, looking suspicious.
“Never.” Malfoy said, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks as he kept his eyes firmly away from Ron.
“Why are you so attached to Ron all of a sudden? You used to hate him. I don’t believe a few months talking to each other made you such great pals.” Hermione said bluntly, eyeing him warily.
“He kept me sane. Talking to him was the only good thing I’d experienced in nearly three years.” Malfoy said, glad that he wasn’t forced to elaborate. He didn’t want to go into detail about them crying together, or holding hands.
“You were only there for a year!” Hermione said belligerently, standing, and glaring at him.
“I know. But the two before that were complete garbage as well.” Malfoy said, keeping his face expressionless as he admitted this.
“Did you lie to me while we were in Azkaban?” Ron’s voice cut into the questioning, and Malfoy finally turned to him.
“Twice. You asked what I got to eat, and I told you ‘caviar and steak’.” Malfoy said, smirking at the memory. “The second time was right before this lot came. I said I was sorry. I wasn’t.”
He got a few angry looks, but Ron looked thoughtful, trying to remember it.
“Oh.” He said, recalling the contact through the wall, and how they’d both apologized for waking the other. Everyone at the table was angry, and Bill opened his mouth to asked why Malfoy was apologizing at all, but Ron stood up, and grabbed Malfoy by the arm. “I’d like a word in private.” He said to the table, glaring at them, daring them to say anything. Malfoy gladly followed the redhead into the kitchen, happy to escape the endless questions about his loyalties.
“Malfoy, why wouldn’t you tell me it was you?” Ron asked, staring the blond down, his blue eyes intent. Draco looked into his face, studying the changes for the first time. His cheeks were slightly hollow, his skin pale as death, even his freckles seemed to have faded. His chin was a scraped mess from shaving clumsily, and his hair was jagged, choppy, and obviously freshly cut. He’d picked out dark blue jeans, a red t-shirt, a light grey sweater, and a black leather coat over it. Malfoy appreciated the leather on the red head, admitting to himself that it looked nice, especially with that fierce look in his eyes.
“I needed a friend, and didn’t want you to hate me.” Malfoy finally answered.
“Are we really friends? Or was I just useful for your sanity?” Ron asked.
“I’d like to actually be friends, if that’s possible.” Draco admitted, feeling a flush sneak into his face again. “As long as you’re really the person I met in there, and not some cranky git.”
“Oi, call me cranky again!” Ron warned, but a smile twitched at his lips. He remembered. Malfoy had called him just that on several occasions in the cells.
“I’ll call you what you are, Weasley.” Malfoy said, fighting his own smirk to glare at his friend.
“Alright then, what were you apologizing for, exactly, when you lied to me?” Ron said, his smile fading, as he watched Draco’s face. Draco felt his face burn bright red as he was forced to answer.
“For holding your-”
“Shroge! We’re back!”
“-hand.”
The back door had been flung open, and Dean shouted from the back door, before his eyes registered the scene before him.
“What’s HE doing here!” Dean was instantly on guard, as Neville, and a mildly familiar witch entered behind him. Neville looked in nearly as bad a state as he and Ron had, and Malfoy felt bad for him.
“I’ve switched sides. I was in Azkaban, and this lot brought me here.” Malfoy was forced to answer, and turned back to Ron. “I’m still not sorry. I’m going to bed, before I’m forced to answer anymore stupid questions.”
He hurried from the room, just as the dining room group came down the hallway, toward the noise.
“Where’re YOU going?” Bill asked, stopping him in his tracks.
“To bed!” Malfoy said, trying to duck past the larger boy.
“What’s the hurry?” Bill shot at his back.
“I’m sick of the questions.” Malfoy answered, and groaned. He couldn’t say he was tired, could he? Of course not. Stupid potion. He practically ran up the stairs, and disappeared into the bedroom. He slid under the covers, coat and all, and buried his face in the crisp clean linen pillowcase. He didn’t bother with the light, feeling more comfortable in the dark, and glad to give his eyes a rest.
* * *
Ron sat at the table as Dean introduced Amelia Bones to him, a new Order member. Neville had gone upstairs to get cleaned up, and everyone was giving him odd looks.
“What was Malfoy talking about? What’s he not sorry about? Did he do something?” Dean asked, looking much too eager to hear about Malfoy’s faults.
“He didn’t do anything.” Ron denied, and finished his soup, pushing away from the table. “I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”
“But-” Hermione had barely started her argument by the time Ron was out of the room, and headed up the stairs. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. Being alone for so long had really done a number on him. He opened the bedroom door, and closed it behind him as he entered, leaving the lights off, in case Malfoy was sleeping. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, and he saw the body-shaped lump under the sheets, telling him Malfoy wasn’t hiding in a corner again. He shuffled across the plush carpet, to the far side of the bed, and slid in, trying not to disturb Malfoy too much.
“Don’t worry, I’m awake.” The dour voice said from under the fluffy blanket. Ron shrugged to himself, and got comfortable, shucking his leather jacket, but leaving the rest on. He still somehow felt chilly.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I hope they didn’t get too mad that I left.” Malfoy mumbled, pulling the covers off of his head, exposing the blond hair, and thin face to the dim lighting.
“Nah, they’ll live.” Ron said, lying back, and clasping his hands behind his head, trying to get comfortable. The bed was squishy, and the pillows perfect. But somehow, it just wasn’t comfortable. He rolled to his side, facing Malfoy, and curled slightly, like he had in prison. Much better. The soft bed surrounded him, making him feel warm, and cocooned, and almost fetal.
“It was hard not to pick the walls earlier.” Malfoy confessed in an almost joking tone, his face darkening slightly.
“I know how you feel. Sitting at the table, I kept wanting to scratch it.” Ron admitted, realizing that it was something they wouldn’t have hesitated talking about in their cells, but now, facing each other, in a real house, in a real bed, it seemed almost personal to talk about. But the one person he could talk to about it, was Malfoy. The only one who would understand their habits from Azkaban, and not question why.
“How’d you used to sleep? Before?” Malfoy asked, curious, having watched Ron try to get comfortable.
“I dunno. Different ways. Usually splayed, on my stomach, though, by the time I woke up. You?” Ron asked, seeing Malfoy curled in the exact same position he was, mimicked, even, to the hands under the pillow.
“Always on my back. Sometimes I’d be all over the place, or have a leg sticking out.” Malfoy said, smirking at the thought.
“Are you still cold?” Ron asked hesitantly, feeling his fingers already starting to chill under the pillow.
“Yeah. But I think I’m sweating, too, inside this coat. It’s weird, I can’t seem to really get warm.” Malfoy said, and Ron felt his hand reaching out, to touch the wool, and see if he was kidding. His fingers brushed the dark coat, and he pulled them back, laughing.
“You didn’t change, either?” He asked, shuffling his toes against each other, like he used to, to try warming them.
“No. Seemed kind of… pointless.” Malfoy said. “I’d be even colder, and then I’d have to change in the morning, too.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Ron said, wrapping his arms back around himself. “I wonder if the cold will last forever. It’s gotta go away sometime, right?”
“I don’t know. Did… Sirius Black ever talk about it?” He asked.
“No. No one ever talks about Azkaban.” Ron said, remembering how Hagrid had refused to, as well. “But they don’t all wear big winter coats all the time, so I imagine it does.”
“Good point.” Malfoy said, snuggling further into the bed, his head practically disappearing under the blanket again.
“Malfoy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not being a total prat, I mean.” Ron said, smiling across at the silvery eyes that peeked just above the blanket.
“You, too.” Malfoy’s eyes crinkled, and then lowered. “And… thanks for trusting me.”
“No problem.” Ron replied, closing his eyes, and finding that sleep came easier than expected, drifting him away on dreams, that for the first time in a year, were pleasant, and hopeful.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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The Hole