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To be honest, Ron had expected the cell, and the curses, and the shackles, but he had not expected Draco Malfoy to be there with him.

Ron had spent a lot of time thinking about what he'd do to Malfoy if he ever saw him again. Face to face with him, Ron couldn't think of anything more sophisticated than "Oh."

Malfoy sneered. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"You're one to talk," Ron said. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy didn't answer.


Ron's hands were shaking. "Nerve damage," he could hear Hermione saying. "Too many cruciatus curses, too close together. You need a healer."

"I need a healer," Ron said.

Malfoy snorted, and Ron jumped. "D'you want to ask for one? I suppose they'll be happy to oblige."

"Shut up, Malfoy."



Ron pretended not to notice Malfoy making a rough bandage for a wound on his thigh. Malfoy pretended not to notice the tremors that make it difficult for Ron to hold the ladle fro the water bucket. It was a good arrangement.



"You'd think Potty and the Mudblood would've rescued you by now."

Ron groaned. "Shut up Malfoy."



If Ron hadn't been half out of his mind from whatever potion they'd dosed him with, he would've sworn Malfoy kept him from drowning in his own vomit.

That was impossible of course. He must've been imagining it.



Malfoy was unconscious when they tossed him back. Bleeding as well. Ron did what patching up he could.



"Finally realized you were disposable, eh? What's it matter if the Death Eaters kill you, when they've got fifty others waiting to take your place."

"It's not like that," Ron said. He was surprised to feel the first stirrings of irritation; interrogations normally left him too tired to be angry at Malfoy.

"What's it like, then?" Malfoy asks, taunting. "Was three really a crowd? Did they decide someone stupid enough to let themselves get taken was no use to them?"

"We can't lose them!" Ron snapped. "Harry needs Hermione more than he needs me. I made them promise not to do anything stupid to get me back." Ron's right hand shook, but his left was steady as a rock. They'd both curled into fists. "And I don't see what you've got to be superior about. From the looks of it, you're as expendable as I am."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to hit me? They might be cross."

Ron didn't have the strength to punch a kneazle, but he gave it a shot.



"Why are you even here?"

Ron's thoughts were oddly distant. It was as if he was seeing the world through one of those muggle cee-vees or whatever they were called. He was watching Malfoy by watching the wall behind Malfoy. The stones might be charmed to stay clean.

"Why do you care?"

Ron shrugged, wincing as it sent a sharp pain down his back. "Curious, is all."

Malfoy gave him a searching look. "Looking for a reason to taunt me?"

Ron started to shake his head, then thought better of it. "No. I just want to know. Last anyone heard of you was two years ago, 'nd you were very much the model Death Eater. What changed?"

Malfoy turned to face the wall. Ron assumed he'd decided not to answer.

Malfoy took off his filthy robe. The word "T R A I T O R" was carved into his back.


"If I'm going to tell you, you're going to pay attention. Are you coherent?"

"It's just a minor truth spell," Ron said. "It'll wear off in a while."

Malfoy sniffed and nodded.


Malfoy was eighteen and had helped torture twelve people. He had been involved in twenty raids. He was scared out of his mind.

If Voldemort knew he only participated out of fear, he didn't seem to mind. He apprenticed Malfoy to a few high ranking Death Eaters and touted the Malfoys as the perfect example of a pureblood family.

Then had come his first solo assignment: murdering a family of half bloods.

"I couldn't do it," Malfoy said. "One of them was three years old. I can't murder a three year old. That's barbaric! And anyway, it's utterly wasteful."

Malfoy had done the only thing he could think of. First he'd told the family to bugger off somewhere. Then he'd trashed the house and transfigured a few things into mangled bodies. Then he'd burned down the house.

"There had to be something for the muggle authorities to find, that way everyone would think I'd done it. It would've been odd if there were no bodies; the Dark Lord might catch on that they were alive, and then I'd be praying for a simple killing curse."

Malfoy wrote to Snape via an alias. Snape was the only person to have betrayed Voldemort and walked away largely unscathed. The bastard was dratted lucky.

Malfoy managed to successfully pass on information for a year, until he was caught helping a family to escape.

"Muggles are dumb enough to make you look like a genius," Malfoy said. "One of them was squealing and it drew my partner's attention. I killed him, but he'd managed to sound the alarm." Draco shrugged. "I'm better off than some traitors, and I managed to do some fancy obliviating. How'd you get here?"

"We were searching for something," said Ron. "I got caught in a trap. There wasn't tie to get me out. I had a potion ready, and Hermione did something. They got out. I got captured. I don't remember anything important."

Malfoy made a face. "That's nowhere near as interesting."



"How old are you?" Malfoy asked, out of the blue.

Ron blinked. "Twenty."

"Twenty," Malfoy repeated. "That means I'm twenty as well. Do you know, I didn't expect to make it to twenty."

"None of us thought Harry would make it to seventeen," Ron said. "Especially not Harry. He thinks he should get a galleon for each year past that he's still alive."

Malfoy scowled. "Do you think I care a whit about Potter's plans for adulthood?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Let's just talk about you."

"As it should be."



"How do you know when you've gone insane?"

"When they toss you in the looney bin," Malfoy said.

"My hands...."

"What have your hands got to do with you being mad?"

Ron crossed his arms and hid his hands in his armpits. "Neville's parents got driven mad by your lovely aunt."

"Longbottom?" Malfoy made a face. "When was this?"

"Nineteen years ago, thereabouts."

"Ah. Can't have been fun."

Ron gave him an incredulous look.



Ron woke to Malfoy holding his hands. His entire body burned and stung. Even his hair was sore.

"Whuzzhapnin?"

Malfoy let go his hands. "Are you done clawing yourself?"

"What?"

"When they brought you back you tried to take your skin off. I don't care about you one way or the other, but I don't want to share a cell with a mass of shivering flesh."

"Shivering?"

Malfoy scowled. "You do know how to make sentences longer than a single word?"

Ron considered rolling over. "I think so."

Malfoy huffed. He also helped Ron get a drink of water.



Three days with no interruptions for interrogations had Malfoy and Ron comparing scars.

"This used to be my Dark Mark," Malfoy said, showing Ron a place where the skin had been peeled away. "One of the first things they did, after my back."

"They carved the Dark Mark into my shin." Ron checked both legs. "Twice."

"These make a bit of a pattern. The more recent ones, that is. The others are from Potter."

"Wha- oh. I remember now. Look at this, on my fingers."



Ron stared at the ceiling. Perhaps, if he stared long enough, he'd be able to see through it and find out what's going on.



"What would you do if you ever got out of here?"

"Take my family's fortune, hole up in the manor, and seal it so that no one else can enter.'

"Not even you parents?"

"Perhaps them. My mum would want us all together."

Ron hummed, and studied the stone ceiling above them. "I think I'd take a long shower and sleep for a year."

"That's it?"

"I don't expect to hear anything promising from a healer. You can't be an auror if your wand arm isn't steady."



"I think I'd eat for days, too," Ron said, taking another drink of water from the barrel that refilled itself.

Malfoy agreed.



"Is this some new interrogation technique? Lull you into a sense of security, make you think 'well, I'm starving, but I'm not being spelled', and then...?"

"That'd be too sophisticated."



"It's bloody freezing in here."

"It's always bloody freezing."

"Well, yeah, but I've never been well enough to notice it before."

Malfoy shook his head. "You're pathetic."

Ron stuck out his tongue. Then he went to Malfoy's side of the cell.

"What are you doing?"

"It'll be warmer if we're side by side." Ron waited for protestations and insults that never came. He nodded and lay down.



"Why didn't you throw a fit when you saw me?"

"I was tired. I am tired." Ron tried to find a comfortable position. "I wanted to be angry at you, but it's been four years and we're in a dungeon and I'm getting cursed everyday. Was. Anyway."

There was a moment of silence.

"That doesn't mean you aren't a git," Ron added. "It just means that it's easier to put up with you when we're both exhausted."



Ron was sure Malfoy thought he was asleep. Or that Malfoy was pretending that Ron was asleep, to make things easier.

Malfoy kept talking regardless.

"I wouldn't be averse to continuing this..." Ron treasured the moment of Malfoy floundering for words. "Er...acquaintance, if we were to escape with out lives. It may be the isolation talking, but you're entertaining company. For a blood traitor. And a weasel."

Ron resisted the urge to sigh.



He'd learned to wake up when the door opened - they both had. He wasn't surprised when Malfoy tensed up behind him.

He was surprised when he heard Harry shout his name.

The rest of the day was a blur of faces and portkeys and wands, but he clearly remembered Malfoy sneering. "Potter. Late as ever."



Harry said they were winning. He said Voldemort and his followers had fled when practically an entire army came at them with wands drawn.

Hermione said they'd thought he was dead. Voldemort had apparently bragged about it. She said that Ron's wand was broken, but they'd get him another, easy.

His mum mostly cried.

It was disconcerting to wake up to wood instead of stone, to sleep in a bed instead of on the floor. He'd pissed in a wastebasket before he'd realized that it wasn't the trough from his cell.

He wished Malfoy was around to make fun of him, just for a sense of normality.







They met in an Order safe house. Ron was trying to clean the kitchen. He didn't know what Malfoy was there for. It didn't matter.

They stared at each other for a moment.

They were both thin. Malfoy had cut his hair and shaved. Ron was working on a mustache, but had let his mum cut his hair. He didn't trust his shaking hands, and no one else did either. Relative safety gave Ron the chance to notice that Malfoy had grown since Hogwarts, and that he would probably look quite fetching if he weren't emaciated.

Malfoy growled. "Oh for...give me that."

Malfoy snatched away the plates Ron had been holding and put them away. "That noise was driving me batty."

"Oh."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh? Is that all you know how to say?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

Malfoy crossed his arms. "I have a first name. You might use it."

Ron smiled. "Fuck off, Draco."