Sleeping With Thine Enemies

Sleeping With Thine Enemies (Part 1)

Draco knows he should not be down here.

He knows that if his father finds him here, there will be hell to pay.

And yet this bit of knowledge does not stop him from being here, it only makes everything that much more exciting.

No one has deigned to tell him what they are hiding down here; down in the dungeons. Or who. But Draco knows anyway.

And he intends to see for himself.

Two nights ago, when he was wandering the halls of the mansion trying to rid himself of his insomnia, he heard muffled voices.

Secret voices.

He froze, then moved against a wall so as to not be seen. And he listened.

Voices...

Shouting...

A scream...

And he knew. Knew it as surely as if he had seen it with his own eyes. He knew who the scream belonged to. Ron Weasley was in his house. And he was not there as a guest.

That was two nights ago. He has endured two days and two nights of almost unbearable curiosity. And no one will tell him anything. When he asks his parents, they ignore him and pointedly change the topic of conversation.

Stupid.

They obviously have no idea that this only makes Draco more curious. So finally, not able to contain himself any longer, Draco picks this night to sneak out of bed and to hunt for the Weasel.

He’s fairly sure that he’s in the dungeons. It makes sense - where else would they keep a prisoner? Well, if he’s still alive, that is.

So he continues to step carefully, slowly, making his way through the dark with only the light of his wand to guide him.

As he moves he makes note of the fact that the dungeons are surprisingly warm. Draco has always assumed they would be cold and dank. At first he finds this pleasant, but the longer he’s down here, the more unpleasant the warmth becomes.

Soon it is a suffocating heat that seems intent on drawing the sweat from his pores.

Draco grimaces.

He hates sweating.

A few minutes later and Draco believes he has reached his destination. He has come upon the only cell within the dungeons that is closed. And locked.

He holds his wand in front of him and cautiously peers inside the cell.

And there he is, just as Draco knew he would be - Ron Weasley. He is sitting against the far wall, his arms stretched above his head, wrists shackled to the stone. Ron’s head hangs down against his chest, as if he’s sleeping.

Draco furrows his brow in puzzlement. Ron looks a little the worse for wear, but not overly so. It appears that his father has barely been torturing him and Draco can’t help but wonder why. The boy should be half-dead already.

Maybe he’s keeping him in good condition for the Dark Lord.

At any rate, Draco feels it is time to make his presence known.

He moves closer to the bars of the cell and clears his throat.

Ron slowly lifts his head up from his chest as he speaks. “Thought you were done for the night,” he says with a voice that manages to be both tired and angry at the same time.

Draco winces involuntarily at the sound of that voice. It sounds like it hurt like hell just to say that one sentence. He is about to reply when he sees Ron’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow dangerously.

“God, it’s you. What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits the question out, as if it’s venom that he can’t get rid of fast enough.

Ah, the moment Draco’s been waiting for. Time to taunt the Weasel. He sneers, and presses himself close to the bars. “I just wanted to see how the little dungeon rat is doing. How do you like your new home? Better than your usual one, I’d wager.”

“Shut the hell up, Malfoy,” Ron hisses.

Draco smirks. As if he would do anything remotely like shut up. This is so much fun. “Now, now Weasley. Is that anyway to talk to the person who holds your life in their hands?”

“Oh please Malfoy. You’re not in control of anything of anything here. Your father is,” Ron says as he throws himself forward in anger, momentarily forgetting the fact that he is attached to the wall. He falls back instantly with a gasp, eyes widening in pain.

Draco ignores the truth in that comment and smiles. “Speaking of Father, did he hit you a little too hard, Weasley? Were you a bad boy? ”

“My grandmother hits harder than your father, Malfoy.”

For some reason, this one little sentence angers Draco to no end. That he would have the nerve to insult his father, here in his own house, and when he is trussed up like such a victim...

Draco throws himself against the bars of the cell and reaches his arm through them, his hand grasping greedily for Ron’s throat. “Why you insolent, little bastard! I ought to cut out your fucking...”

For a brief moment, Ron looks surprised at Draco’s violent reaction. Then he sighs and turns his head to the side. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “Just go away, Malfoy,” he says in a tired voice.

Draco freezes, his hand clenched in mid-air. He can’t quite believe what he has just heard. “What?”

Without opening his eyes, Ron answers, “Go play your little Death Eater games somewhere else. I’m tired. I’m done with you.”

Draco withdraws his hand. Through gritted teeth, he says, “You are done when I say you are done.”

Ron snorts softly. “Whatever, Malfoy.”

Now this is entirely too much. No one dismisses Draco. No one. Without thinking about what he is doing and what the reprucussions might be, he mutters spell after spell until he finds the one that unlocks the cell.

Then he rushes inside, feeling as if he could rend the insolent boy limb from limb.

He grabs Ron by his shirt and pulls him toward him, enjoying the look of fear that shines in the red-head’s eyes.

‘Not so cocky now, are you?’ Draco thinks as he slams him back against the wall. The back of Ron’s head hits the stone and he grunts with pain.

Draco grabs Ron’s chin and forces the other boy to look at him. He leans in close and snarls, “You are done when I say you’re done.” Then he lets go, takes a step back and back-hands him across the cheek.

Draco feels a rush of power unlike any he has ever felt before. He pulls back his arm to do it again, maybe with a closed fist this time, when he sees the red mark made by his hand.

He stops, and slowly puts his arm down.

Evidence.

He has left a little bit of evidence that he was here. And if he continues to hurt Ron, there will be more evidence. And he isn’t even supposed to be down here.

He was told NEVER to come here. He’s known this rule since the age of six. His father will flay him alive for disobeying him.

Draco stalks away from Ron, who is now looking at him with a mixture of awe and fear, and begins to pace the cell. He is still angry, but damn it, he can’t do anything to the other boy. He can’t leave marks.

But he is still so damn angry, and Ron is still sitting there with that precious look on his face and his hands still immobile above him, which makes him look oh-so vulnerable...

Again without thinking, Draco lunges forward, one hand holding on to Ron’s chin, the other snaking around to the back of his head. Holding his head still, he brings his mouth to Ron’s. It’s not so much kissing as it is devouring.

Hurting.

Dominance.

And it won’t leave any marks.

Ron struggles to break free of the kiss - his legs kicking, his hips bucking, anything to get the other boy off of him. In desperation, he bites Draco lower lip. But Draco merely bites back and pulls his hair so hard that tears come to his eyes.

The kiss is brutal but it is short. When Draco pulls away from him, Ron turns his head to the side, panting heavily. He looks as if he is about to be sick. “What the fuck was that?” he asks in desperate confusion as he only half-looks at Draco.

Draco, who is panting as well, stands up, straightens robes, and then runs a hand through his hair. He walks over to his discarded wand and picks it up, pointing it at Ron. “Now, we are done,” he says smugly.

Then he walks out the cell and locks it.

And then he is gone.