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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Day 1

Draco felt that warmth again. Just in his fingers. He pried his eyes open, feeling crust had formed overnight. He blinked away the grogginess, and discomfort, and fighting a yawn, looked across at a shock of red hair.
He sat bolt upright, his hand coming free from Weasley’s under the blanket, and he looked around the room. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real. He was really free. Well, as free as he could be, he thought, looking at the glint of gold on his wrist. He looked back down at the still sleeping Weasley, and smiled to himself. They’d gotten out. Together.
He stared down at the red hair, and pale skin, taking in the details he’d seen through a hole so many times, for the first time in sunlight. His hair had darkened and lost some of it’s luster in the black cells, but in the morning sun, it was still a vibrant, eye-catching orange. It was a mess of hacked off bits and a few missed tangles. His eyelids were a tired-looking lavender, his eyes looking almost sunken into his face. Malfoy lied back down, his panic erased, and his mind totally at ease.
He felt blindly around, until his fingers bumped Ron’s hand again. Almost as soon as their hands touched, Ron shifted, his hand stretching, his fingers twining with Malfoy’s. Malfoy closed his eyes, enjoying the small contact, and letting his new best friend’s warmth lull him back to an almost-sleep, where he dreamed, but still heard the birds chirping, and still felt the fingers clutching his.
“Hmm?” Ron’s voice filled the air, pulling Malfoy awake again, and he opened his eyes to see Ron blinking offendedly at the sunlight. He pulled his fingers away, his arms lifting in a wide stretch, and his mouth opening like a chasm, to yawn. “Whatime izzit?”
“No idea.” Malfoy yawned back, and covered his mouth with his freed hand. He slowly sat up, and stretched, feeling only a bit sore from running the previous night.
“Hungry?” Ron asked, bringing himself upright as well.
“Probably.” Malfoy answered, unable to really feel his stomach. The hunger pains had stopped before he and Ron had talked. Maybe he’d never be able to eat right again…
“I’m starving.” Ron said, rolling from the bed, and standing with a wince.
“Sore?” Malfoy asked, doing the same.
“Oh yeah.” Ron replied, rubbing down the front of his legs.
“Cold?” Malfoy asked, and Ron nodded, picking the leather jacket up off the floor, and donning it as he followed the blond.
They walked down the stairs and into the dining room, where there were already several people.
“Good morning.” Dean called cheerfully, from his seat next to Neville. Neville looked up, and watched Malfoy with guarded eyes. Another distrusting ally.
“Morning. Breakfast is almost done.” Hermione said, popping into the room, and setting a pitcher of juice on the table. Malfoy reached for it immediately, feeling his mouth suddenly turn to sand.
“Greedy much?” Dean mocked, watching him pour a glass of it as quickly as he could.
“You go without fresh water for a year. See if you’re a bit thirsty.” Malfoy sneered back. He wasn’t going to pretend to be nicer than he was. Ron knew him, and accepted him. Everyone else could get bent. Neville grabbed the pitcher from in front of Malfoy, pouring himself a drink, too, and slid it to Ron. Ron had nearly two glasses immediately, before letting anyone else have a go at the juice. Dean said nothing further about it, and continued to keep his mouth shut as they were joined by Mr. Weasley, who also seemed to zero in on the pitcher.
“How’d you boys sleep?” Mr. Weasley asked. Neville nodded mutely.
“Alright.” Ron replied easily, shrugging.
“Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley encouraged, setting down his glass, and fixing the young man with an expectant look. Malfoy looked at Dean, and then at the others.
“Alright.” He finally said. He couldn’t mention the cold, the warmth of Ron’s hand, the lack of nightmares. Not in front of them. They didn’t know.
“I slept like a baby. All that running tired me out.” Bill said entering the room, and taking a seat next to his father.
“Morning, Bill.”
“Morning dad.” They smiled at each other, and Malfoy looked away, sipping his juice, and trying not to be jealous.
“Breakfast!” Hermione announced, entering to room, preceded by a veritable swarm of flying trays, her wand keeping them all aloft, and guiding them to their places at the table.
“Ooh, looks delicious, Hermione!” Dean said eagerly, watching hungrily as the food was placed. Hermione took her seat as the boys dug in. Neville seemed almost self-conscious as he reached for a pancake, but Ron was practically snatching up sausages, bacon, and eggs. Mr. Weasley seemed equally as hungry, but showed more restraint, and Malfoy tried to follow his lead, pretending to have more of his old dignity than he felt. Malfoy wanted to ask Mr. Weasley and Neville how long they’d been in Azkaban, but after hearing Dean bring up Draco’s own incarceration, and knowing how it felt to be on the spot, stuck in awful memories, he decided not to be rude. The other’s didn’t mention it either. It was as though some unspoken rule had been set, not to discuss their time in the wizard’s prison.
Malfoy caught Neville stealing nervous glances in his direction, and tried not to feel guilty for how no one trusted him. He’d been right, talking to Ron that first time. Everyone hated him.
A swish of black pulled all eyes briefly to the door as Severus Snape entered, and took a seat near the head of the table, silently and with crisp movements, filling his own plate.
“How’re the others, Severus?” Hermione asked, shocking Draco with the familiarity.
“Resting. They should recover soon.” He answered, his eyes barely meeting hers, before going back to his plate dismissively.
“Who else got here last night?” Malfoy asked, curiosity taking hold, and the presence of his mentor loosening his jaw.
“Luna Lovegood and Hagrid managed to get Sturgis Podmore out, he’s in pretty bad shape. Been in since fifth year.” Hermione said, her face grim. “Then, Parvati came back with Dedalus Diggle. She won’t say what happened yet, but Mundungus wasn’t with them. I’m not sure if he got caught, or ran away, though I know which I suspect.” Hermione’s sour expression labeled Fletcher as a clear coward. “Diggle got hit with a hex, though, so he’s in nearly as bad of shape as Podmore.”
“That’s all?” Malfoy asked, worried.
“That’s all the people we’ve been able to locate. So many have just gone missing. Mundungus is the only one who hasn’t come back, so I’d say it was a hugely successful evening.” Bill said happily, as though Fletcher’s absence was only a step toward better.
Malfoy looked around the table again, meeting eyes with Ron, Mr. Weasley, and Neville. None of them could even imagine what shape Podmore must be in, spending nearly four years in the dark hole. Malfoy picked at his food, feeling nauseous with a full stomach after only a few bites.
“Me too.” Ron’s quiet whisper was barely audible over the noise of everyone talking, but Malfoy looked over to see that all the food Ron got was just sitting on his plate, barely touched. Malfoy smiled wanly at his friend, and poked his fork again at a clump of egg. He really did want more. But he was worried if he tried, he’d vomit.
“You should eat more.” Hermione’s voice called to the pair of them, her watchful eyes noticing the barely touched food. Malfoy just glared, and Ron flushed with embarrassment.
“Don’t be insensitive, Miss Granger.” Snape’s soft reprimand made her face turn red, and her eyes widen.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-. Sorry.” She mumbled, turning her face back to her own food.
“That’s okay, Hermione.” Ron said kindly, but Malfoy pushed away, not wanting to suffer any more stares, glares, or comments. He left the dining room, and decided to go back to bed, where it was slightly less cold.
He pulled the white curtains closed, trying to block out the light, and slid under the covers, pulling them right over his head, and encasing himself in warm darkness. It was warm around him, he could feel the heat building, but inside, he still felt half-frozen. He still fought shivers, and he knew he’d never be the same.
Before he knew it, tears were leaking from his eyes, and he was thinking dark things, feeling just as miserable in this prison of light as he had in the darkness. At least there, no one stared at him. He hadn’t had to deal with anyone’s hatred, or distrust. Here, he was as much a prisoner, with nicer furnishings, and surrounded by people who were even less appealing that being constantly alone. Maybe he was better of dead, afterall. Maybe that’s still all his future held.
* * *
Ron watched Malfoy leave, feeling a twist in his gut that had nothing to do with the greasy breakfast he’d tried to scarf down. The blond hadn’t looked anything more than irritated, but the silent way he left, Ron couldn’t help worrying. In the cells, he’d often been prone to bouts of immense depression, and uncontrollable sobs, unable to even speak as the misery encompassed him. Ron had felt similar at times, but had never been as susceptible to the level of absolute self-loathing he’d heard Malfoy expressing on the rare instances he could verbalize his emotional freefalls.
Ron pushed away from the table, and ignored the staring eyes, and half-formed questions as he headed toward his room. He knew that’s where he’d be. The hallway was silent, but as he opened the door, he heard the quiet whimpers. Malfoy was hiding under the covers, in the darkened room, trying not to cry.
Ron shut the door with a click, and the figure under the sheets went still, a sleek blonde forehead sticking up to see who’d entered. As soon as Malfoy caught sight of the redhead, he flopped right back down, and curled tighter in on himself. Ron stepped toward the bed, feeling empathy, and the need to help. He’d never been able to really comfort Malfoy with more than words before, but now, he slid into the bed on his own side, and said nothing, not needing to ask what was wrong. He’d heard the words enough in the cells, he knew exactly where Malfoy’s mind wandered when he felt alone and trapped.
Ron scooted close to the middle of the bed, and reached his hand out, finding Malfoy’s wool-coated shoulder. He ran his fingers gently down the man’s arm, searching. He felt skin, and curled his fingers through Malfoy’s feeling no shame as he comforted his latest friend the only way he knew how.
Malfoy’s fingers squeezed back, and his sobs got harder, more choking as the comforting touch seemed to release whatever he’d been holding back.
“They should just kill me, and get it over with!” Malfoy gasped pitifully through his tears. Ron squeezed harder, feeling his stomach churn uncomfortably. This was a new low, even for Malfoy.
“No.” Ron argued, feeling a spark of anger ignite within him. “You don’t deserve to die. I don’t either. We’re out now. And I’ll be damned if I let you get out of fighting that easily.” Malfoy’s sobs were broken with a few bursts of almost hysterical laughter.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you.” He managed, before his throat was constricted with gasps of pain. His hand was yanked away, and Malfoy rolled from the bed, practically running from the room. Ron dashed after him, scared by his sudden lurching escape.
“Are you alright?” He asked, following him to the bathroom, and catching the door before it could swing closed. Malfoy was crouched on the floor, spilling his breakfast into the toilet, with violent wretches. Ron stepped in and closed the bathroom door, leaning against it, and waiting for Malfoy to be done.
“I should’ve just had porridge.” Malfoy mumbled, trembling slightly as he reached up to flush the bowl.
“You can still have some, I bet.” Ron teased, bumping his foot into Malfoy’s leg.
“Oh no. I’m not eating anything else.” He growled, pulling himself up against the counter. And rinsing his mouth with water from the sink, spitting it back out.
“Better?” Ron asked, as Malfoy flopped back to the floor, and leaned against the wall next to him. The dark bathroom was small, and comfortable, and the soft drip of water from the recently used tap was almost soothing.
“I think so.” Malfoy said, wiping his mouth, and eyes on his sleeve. “But I don’t think I’m ready to suffer the masses quite yet.”
“Alright. Mind if I sit here with you awhile? It’s… Comfortable.”
“Sure. It even has the same damn dripping, and hard floors.” Malfoy chuckled. Ron grinned back, and leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes. His fingers twitched against the door, and a warmth slid over them.
“You’re scratching.” Malfoy admonished, his hand resting over Ron’s, to stop the movement. Ron held his hand still, and tried not to scratch, his fingers itching with the need to move. He flipped his hand upside down, and curled his anxious fingers around Malfoy’s, fiddling with the pale digits, instead of the wall. Malfoy’s fingers moved, too, releasing their own habitual energy. They began pulling each other’s fingers playfully, slowly building the energy between them, until it became practically a thumb-wrestle, with multiple fingers.
“Ahh!” Malfoy groaned playfully, his whole hand fisting around Ron’s, triumphant for a brief moment, before Ron twisted his hand away, and pinned the pale fingers against the ground, his fingers twined through the other’s and wrapped around the palm, as Malfoy’s fingers flailed uselessly against the trap.
Ron loosened his fingers, enjoying how Malfoy’s curled easily around his own hand, relaxing again into the contact. Neither said anything as they sat, holding hands in the dark, enjoying the quiet drip of the faucet. Ron wondered if it was something they’d have done if they’d been left in the cells. Would they have still found relief like this? Through small doses of physical contact? He found himself wondering if they’d have slowly held more, and more of each other, the further they got through the wall.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the strange thought of sleeping against Malfoy through the wall. It didn’t matter, they weren’t there anymore.
* * *
Draco watched Ron’s relaxed face as he leaned against the door, their hands gripping each other familiarly, some of the itch to scratch worked out in their small wrestle. The red hair fluffed slightly as his head shook, as though denying something.
“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asked. It’d been a familiar question in the cells, one of the few that was asked more than once.
“Nothing.” Ron said, his face holding a trace of pink.
“Liar.” Malfoy said, closing his own eyes with a smirk, and turning his head to face away from his friend.
“I was thinking… How things would be if we weren’t here. If we were still digging that hole.” Ron answered, his fingers flexing around Malfoy’s.
“I’ve thought that, too.” Malfoy said, feeling slight embarrassment as the way he’d contemplated their sleeping arrangement. Would it have been similar if they’d actually gotten through the wall? They already slept against the wall, as near each other as possible. Would it have gotten closer, and closer, the more the hole grew? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure it really mattered. They were out.
“Do you ever… miss the hole?” Ron asked, haltingly.
“All the time. It was the only thing I had for a long time.” Malfoy answered, remembering the time before he’d gotten through, when it was just him, and that slowly growing dent.
“At least I got to take you with me.” Ron’s voice was quiet, and filled with emotion. Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked over to meet bright blue eyes.
“Thank you. For not leaving me. I don’t think I could’ve…” He stopped, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He didn’t need to say it, Ron understood, and nodded.
“Why were you all bloody?” He asked, surprising Malfoy. Draco remembered seeing the blood smeared on his face in the mirror last night. He remembered easily the panicked feeling of trying to follow.
“I saw you leaving, and panicked. I tried to tear the wall apart.” Malfoy said, lifting their combined hands, to display the fingernails even more broken than usual. Ron nodded, and let their hands drop back to the tiles. Silence surrounded them for a moment, quickly interrupted by the sound of feet. The footsteps approached the door, and a loud knocking made them both jump.
“I gotta go!” A voice called, knocking impatiently. Ron was already getting to his feet, pulling Malfoy up after him, their joined hands easily stabilizing each other as Ron reached for the handle.
“Calm down, we’re leaving.” He grumbled, releasing Malfoy’s hand just as Bill came into view.
“What’re you both doing in here?” He looked confusedly from Ron, to Malfoy, standing in the dark.
“Breakfast didn’t sit well.” Ron answered, and pushed past his brother. Draco followed close behind, grateful to Ron for not specifying who’s breakfast. Malfoy followed his friend back to their room, and right into the bed, glad for the warmth, and a chance to rest. He felt halfway to passing out, and buried his face in the plush pillow, stretching his arm halfway across the mattress, his hand invitingly open. Ron’s fingers twined through his almost instantly, the Weasley shuffling down in the bed to get comfortable on his side. Malfoy fell asleep almost immediately, lulled into a sweet dreamless slumber with the familiar breathing of Ron as a background.
* * *
“Dinner’s soon, are you-” Hermione’s voice cut off, as Draco jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, terror etched on his face. He looked around, panting, his hand squeezing almost painfully around Ron’s.
Ron sat up slower, his nap less deep, and less disoriented than Malfoy’s.
“Yeah, we’ll be down in a second.” He answered, squeezing Malfoy’s hand back, the motion hidden under the blankets.
“Alright. You might wanna wash up.” Hermione suggested, eyeing the ruffled blond hair, sleep-filled eyes, and shiny drool-spot on Draco’s face.
“Alright.” Ron agreed, finally letting go of Malfoy’s hand, and rolling from the bed. Hermione left them alone in the room, and Malfoy wiped at his face, the slime cooling, and leaving a frigid spot.
“Uugh.” He groaned, wiping at it with both sleeves, before rolling from the bed, and following Ron to the bathroom. He drug a brush through his messy hair while Ron washed his own face, and as Ron dried his face, he tugged the brush through the red hair once, playfully.
“Your hair’s still a mess.” He teased, leaving the brush imbedded in the coarse red locks, and leaning over to wash his own sleep-muddled face.
“You kept yours.” Ron noted, grabbing the brush from his hair, and yanking it roughly through the rest of his head. His hand flipped one of Malfoy’s long strands, playing back as he rubbed water across his face. Draco’s hair fell in his hand, getting soaked as he lifted handfuls or water toward his cheeks.
“Ah!” Malfoy dropped the water, and brushed the hair out of his way, giving Ron a glare through the mirror. Weasley just smirked, and set the brush down, not at all fooled by the look on Malfoy’s face.
“Cranky git.” Ron teased, leaving the bathroom. Draco couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and hid it in a faceful of water, as though he could wash away the proof of his joviality. He needed to put his mask back in place before dinner, where he’d have to deal with arseholes, and idiots.
By the time he made it to the table, his face was impassive, even as his eyes darted around the table, panic rising inside him. Ron was surrounded on both sides, leaving no room for Malfoy to sit next to him. He kept the dismay from his features as he made his way to an empty chair on the other side of the table, as close as he could get, but still completely opposite his best friend.
“How was your nap, Ron?” Hermione asked, from her position on his left, almost directly in front of Malfoy.
“It was good. Apparently I was more tired than I thought.” He said, rolling his head around, as though still waking up. Malfoy dished himself some food, and tucked in, trying to ignore everyone at the table. He wasn’t sure how to talk to Ron from where he sat, and not be completely embarrassed. Nothing that seemed suitable for the table felt normal, and nothing he and Ron had talked about in the cells really seemed impersonal enough to bring up while surrounded by people. Even things that had been impersonal, or common knowledge seemed uncomfortable to discuss. As though, by bringing it up, he was letting the table in on their conversations in Azkaban. Ron had talked about his past on occasion, but Draco didn’t really feel like dealing with the looks he’d get if he interjected something that familiar into the conversation. It was as though everyone could see that they’d formed some strange friendship, but they didn’t understand, how, or why. They didn’t know that Ron and Malfoy had talked, cried, touched, and relied on each other for almost a year. They didn’t know about their desire to scratch at the wooden tabletop. They wouldn’t understand WHY Ron had told him about his fear of spiders. Or how Malfoy’s insides somersaulted when he heard “Oi, you.” come from across the table.
He looked up, instantly finding blue eyes, a smile twitching at his face.
“What?” He asked, narrowing his eyes in mock annoyance.
“Fancy a game of chess after dinner? Shroge says they’ve got a board.” Ron asked, nodding toward the welcome-wizard.
“As long as you’re not a sore loser, Weasley.” Malfoy agreed, his fingers twitching with the memory of their impromptu game earlier.
“Of course not, I never lose.” Ron said, grinning. Malfoy smirked back, trying on his favorite childhood expression. He could see heads turned in his direction, and ignored them.
“Just don’t flip the board when I win.” He snarked, and tilted his head back to his small dinner. The other conversations resumed, making Malfoy uncomfortable that he and Ron’s conversations were so baffling to everyone else, that it actually paused all other topics. They really didn’t understand why their beloved friend, son, and brother would actually be friendly toward him.
“Are you good at chess, Draco?” Arthur Weasley asked, from his position to Ron’s right. Malfoy looked up again, slightly confused that he was being asked a polite, normal question.
“Er… I have been.” He said, realizing he hadn’t had a good game of it in several years. “I haven’t really played in years.”
“Well, I’m interested to see how you fare against Ron. He’s got a real knack for it.” Arthur said conversationally, his tone not at all bragging, but proud. Malfoy felt his stomach flip, remembering how his father had liked to brag to his own friends how perfect Draco was. He’d never really been proud though. Always telling him he was a disappointment in private, and singing his praises in public.
“Well, I’m done, anyway.” Ron said, expectantly scooting away from the table. Malfoy did the same, saying nothing as he followed Weasley from the dining room, trying his best to ignore the stares, as they left.
“Shroge said it was in here…” Ron mumbled, leading Malfoy into a sitting room, decorated with light colors, and wicker chairs. “Aha!” He pulled the chessboard from a bookshelf, and set it up on a coffee table, while Malfoy took a seat on the floor, tucking his legs under himself, and leaning his arms on the glass surface.
Ron sat opposite him, and began the game by moving a knight, clearly already having a strategy planned. Draco looked at the board for a moment, before he decided on how to start his own.
* * *
Nearly an hour and a half later, Malfoy groaned, as Ron cheered triumphantly, “Checkmate!”
“Well, looks like you were all talk, after all, Malfoy.” Hermione’s snarky observation came from a wicker chair near the window where she sat with her nose in a book. Malfoy glared over at her, and was about to offer a snide reply, but as soon as he opened his mouth, it stretched into a wide yawn.
“I’d offer another game, but I’m ready to drop.” Ron said, catching the contagion, his own mouth opening massively.
“Well then, get up to bed.” Mr. Weasley offered from a matching woven loveseat behind Ron. Malfoy stood, stretching his tingling legs as he fought another yawn.
“Night dad. Goodnight, Hermione.” Ron said, hugging his dad briefly, and following after Malfoy, who was halfway to the door.
“That was a good game.” He said contentedly, patting the blond on the back as they started up the stairs.
“It was. I don’t think I’ve had a challenge like that since playing my father.” Malfoy said, grinning openly as they escaped the watchful eyes.
“Oi, why don’t you do that more? They might not be so suspicious if you’d at least pretend to be human around them.” Ron said, nodding toward Malfoy’s smiling face.
“They’re not going to like me no matter what. So I’d rather keep to myself, thank you.” He replied testily, hopping in bed, and wiggling around to get comfortable.
“They might. Dad seems to like you fine.” Ron observed, climbing into his own side, and stretching his hand out, to find that Malfoy had already been waiting, his own arm extended expectantly. He grinned to himself, clasping the chilled fingers, and settling his head deeply into the plush pillow.
“I think your father’s just trying to be polite.” Malfoy said, shifting his legs.
“He’s not. He hates your dad, but I think he’s actually trying to give you a chance.” Ron said, closing his eyes to the dark room, and the building familiarity of the top of Malfoy’s blond head sticking out just above the blankets. He looked nearly like a snail, Ron thought sleepily, his hand tightening around Malfoy’s.
“I’ll try to be less alien, but-” a yawn interrupted him briefly, the blond head tilting slightly under the blanket. “But I don’t promise to like it.” Ron smiled at that, and let the soft breathing next to him pull him to sleep.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Hole