I just want to add a shoutout here to the lovely Hydromiss, without whom this fic would most likely have never been completed, and would most definitely not be nearly as good. You rock, Hydromiss! Also, she has started writing her very own Drarry fic: Murder by Association. You should all go and check it out!

Draco POV

Draco stared.

"How does he do that? He's responding as if he knows what I'm going to say before I do. As if – Oh. Damn."

"What is it?" Lucius leaned forward in his chair, eyes bright, intent.

Draco swallowed. "It's probably nothing. I'll just – "

"Tell me." His father's voice rang with effortless command. Draco hunched his shoulders.

"I – "

But Potter interrupted. "I know what he's going to say because I know him."

Draco gnashed his teeth, but stayed silent. His father's predatory gaze had shifted to Potter, which could only be a good thing, as far as Draco was concerned. Potter gazed up defiantly at Lucius, squinting through his fringe and the trickle of blood from the shallow cut over one eye. Of course, he was probably trying to read Lucius's expression, since he couldn't see clearly without his glasses. For that matter, Draco was surprised he could see anything at all. He'd never realized how blind Potter was. He snorted. Though why Potter hasn't had his eyesight magically restored...

"Draco."

Draco snapped his gaze back to his father, hunching his shoulders a bit more. His face flushed. I'm just not cut out for torture. "Yes, Father?" He tried to match his father's cool tones, but the hint of a grimace on his father's lips told him he hadn't managed it. Potter, damn him, was squinting at Draco, brow furrowed and gaze far too... interested. Draco felt a stab of guilt, which he desperately tried to stifle before it reached his face. He wasn't all that sure he'd succeeded.

"Tell me." His father's voice was soft and dangerous now. Draco shivered. "Why does Potter know you so well that he can predict your torture methods?"

"Well," he said, trying and failing to muster a flippant tone, "we do go to school together, you know."

"Draco."

Potter took pity on him. "He's made it his personal mission to taunt and bully me since we both arrived at Hogwarts. And, frankly, Sir – " Draco didn't miss the sarcasm in the title, and neither did his father, by the way he slowly raised one elegant brow. " – his methods are... rather predictable." Potter almost seemed apologetic as he said the words. Draco's scowl returned.

Lucius turned to Draco, brow still elevated. Draco shivered again.

"Draco..." The words were dangerously cold, for all the casualness the drawl pretended to. "You mean to tell me you've taunted Potter for years – "

Potter started. Draco desperately tried to hold in a snort. Potter didn't know his father. He wouldn't know what was coming...

" – and you dared employ the same methods here? Have you no sense, boy?" Lucius aimed a casual cuff at Draco's ear.

Draco took the blow, grimacing slightly at the way it made his ears ring. Potter's eyes narrowed. He turned his gaze on Draco, and it was far too calculating and knowing for his liking. Draco felt his features rearranging themselves into a scowl that he knew made him look childish.

Lucius waved a hand dismissively. "I was hoping, Draco, that you'd at least manage this, since your schoolboy rivalry is somewhat legendary already. Alas, it seems you cannot even manage so small a task as this. I'll have to give him to Bellatrix, now." He shivered in distaste, a delicate rippling of his shoulders. "Since she's the Dark Lord's favorite, at the moment. Of course," he propped his chin on his hand, "that leaves the problem of what to do with you. This was your last chance, you know. I'm not going to speak up for you again."

Draco closed his eyes. He'd expected that. And, honestly, he wasn't even that upset. He knew he wasn't cut out to be a Death Eater. After the things he'd seen in the past few months... well, he couldn't even muster up any fear for what they'd do to him. He knew what they'd do to him. I might even welcome it...

"No."

His eyes snapped open. Potter's eyes blazed into his, brighter than his mother's emeralds. Brighter than the sun. Draco felt himself falling into that gaze, burning up in it...

"I won't let you do that to him. He's a bully, yes, but not a very competent one. He doesn't deserve... whatever you've planned for him," Potter finished lamely. His eyes, still trained on Draco's, brimmed with compassion and pity.

Draco felt something break inside him. No one has ever stood up for me like this. It won't do any good, of course, I know that, but... that Potter would stand up for me at all...

"Ah, but don't you see?" Lucius practically hissed the words. "That's exactly why he does deserve it."

Potter didn't flinch as he turned his gaze to Lucius. Draco, freed from the intensity of that gaze, wobbled for a moment. He felt like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Draco saw his father's gaze sharpen, and he shoved the feelings aside to deal with later.

"On the other hand," Lucius breathed, "I might have to keep you for myself. You're much more interesting than I thought."

Draco shuddered. No. No, Father can't mean to – but it was clear that he meant just that. Potter's brow furrowed in confusion as Lucius prowled closer to him.

"Much more interesting..." he murmured, brushing Potter's fringe back from his scar with infinitely tender fingers.

Draco's stomach twisted with revulsion.

"Lucius."

The quiet purr startled Draco, making him jump. When had his mother come in? Draco felt a vicious satisfaction as his father's back tensed.

Lucius turned slowly to face his wife, expression carefully blank. "Yes?"

Narcissa glided across the dungeon floor as lightly as if it were a dance floor. "Lucius. Darling. Surely you've not forgotten our bargain?"

Lucius paled. "I – "

Narcissa cut him off smoothly. "I would hate to think you were tempted again."

Potter's head swung back and forth between Draco's parents, expression bewildered. They didn't seem to notice. Narcissa glided right up to Lucius. He backpedaled clumsily, dropping his studied elegance. Potter's mouth dropped open, and Draco felt his own mimic it. He snapped it shut quickly. It wouldn't do to give them more ammunition. Although, they really seem too focused on one another to notice...

An electric jolt of elation buzzed down his spine. They didn't notice. Which means, We might be able to... He inched his wand into his hand, concealing it inside the sleeve of his robe. Then, with as little motion as possible, he flicked it through the spell, muttering the incantation under his breath. Potter's mouth fell open again as he felt his bonds fall away. Draco glared at him, and he closed it silently. Draco inclined his head towards the door behind him in a barely perceptible motion. Potter was watching him closely, as usual. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, toward Draco's parents, embroiled in one of the interminable arguments, then stole silently toward Draco.

Draco muttered another spell, masking Potter's footsteps as he slunk across the space between them. He risked another glance at his parents. They seemed intent on each other still, so he muttered the spell again, this time masking his own footsteps, and together he and Potter slipped through the door.

Once they were out of the room, Potter turned to him. "Draco – "

"Not now Potter!" Draco glared at him exasperatedly, and Potter held up his hands in surrender. Draco quickly locked the door from the outside – it won't delay them long, but it might surprise them enough to give us a few extra seconds – and then grabbed Potter's hand, tugging him along the corridor.

Potter, of course, had to be difficult. He dug in his heels with a mulish expression. Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter." He bit the syllables off. "We have to leave. Now. I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah, but, why?" Potter squinted at him. Oh, right.

Draco pulled Potter's glasses out of his pocket and shoved them into his hands. "I'll explain later, okay? Just – for now, we have to move."

Potter blinked owlishly at him, eyes even larger behind the thick lenses.

"Potter!"

He searched Draco's face intently, but whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he shrugged and allowed Draco to tug him forwards again.

"We have to get out of the manor!" Draco panted. "Once we're beyond the anti-apparition wards – "

There was a shout behind them, and a blast of magic that nearly bowled them over as it barreled down the corridor. Draco closed his eyes. I've chosen the wrong side. Again.

"Draco!" The shout, nearly in his ear, startled his eyes open. Potter was glaring at him, nose shoved practically against his. Draco's pulse sped up. His eyes are so bright– "Draco! Where do we go?"

Draco scowled. "Nowhere, Potter. There's no way we'll get out."

"But you said something about apparating – "

Draco jerked his chin impatiently, cutting him off. "We're behind anti-apparition wards, Potter. We'll never get past them in time." He could hear his father's footsteps pounding towards them. Then Potter's arms wrapped around his middle.

"Potter!" He squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Apparating."

"But you can't, didn't you hear me? I said – "

But his words were ripped away in the maelstrom Potter flung them into. It had to be Potter – that was the only thing he was certain of, the only constant in this screaming place. He held to it, and to Potter himself, as he felt the wards – it must be the wards – trying to rip them to shreds. And then they were through, and the whirling nausea of a normal apparition took over, and it was all too much. Draco felt himself slump against Potter, who clutched him tighter to his chest. And that was all that mattered.

When Draco came to, he was in a bed. At least, he thought it was a bed. It felt like a bed. But he was fairly certain that he shouldn't be in a bed, so he couldn't be sure. He blinked slowly at the ceiling, trying to focus his thoughts. Then the bed moved.

Draco squeaked, scrabbling about for his wand – he must have dropped it while... doing whatever it was he'd been doing before he ended up on this suspiciously moving bed-that-was-probably-not-actually-a-bed – and simultaneously attempting to scramble to his feet. Which didn't work, since part of the not-really-a-bed seemed to be on top of him.

The not-a-bed-at-all groaned. "Geroff"

"What?" Draco frowned suspiciously. It didn't sound like a curse, but with things-masquerading-as-beds one couldn't be sure.

"Get. Off." The grumpy-not-bed shoved at him and finally succeeded in freeing itself, dropping the bits of Draco that had been comfortably supported onto the floor.

"Ow!" He rubbed at the back of his head indignantly. And then Potter's face loomed over him, and he squawked and flailed and generally failed to be dignified.

Potter snorted. "Get up. It wasn't that bad. You mostly landed on me." He motioned impatiently with the hand he held stuck out in front of him, and suddenly Draco understood.

Draco gasped, instantly transported into the memory of his 11-year-old self, holding out his hand to Potter. He grimaced at the snotty expression on his younger self's face. Surely I didn't look like that. Did I? No wonder Potter refused me. A pointed throat clearing brought Draco rudely back to the present. And the hand still thrust in front of his nose. Oh. Draco reached up, hesitantly, and grasped it. Potter pulled him unceremoniously to his feet, frowning at him.

"Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought," he muttered, half to himself.

Draco stiffened. "I'm fine." He winced as he suddenly felt the bruises. "Well, mostly. What in Merlin's name was that, anyway?"

Potter frowned. "I apparated us. No need to thank me or anything."

"Through the wards?" Draco stared at him, aghast. No one could do that. The Dark Lord couldn't even do that. Maybe I picked the right side after all, said something deep in his brain that was still thinking semi-clearly.

"Yes?" Potter pushed his glasses up his nose, as if he needed to see Draco more clearly.

"I – Thank you. For saving me." The words came out more stiffly than he'd intended them – he was thanking Potter, for Merlin's sake – but Potter seemed to accept them. He turned and started walking.

"Wait!" Draco tried not to screech, but wasn't entirely successful. He coughed and tried again. "Wait. Where are you going?" Then he frowned, interested despite himself. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Home." Potter said simply. Draco stared blankly at him until he took the hint and elaborated. "12 Grimmauld Place. The Black House?" he tried, and this time Draco understood. He gaped around, shivering, imagining a chill seeping into his bones from the shadows in the corners. He'd heard stories of the Black House. He'd never wanted to see it for himself. Draco was many things... but foolishly brave was not one of them. Potter, on the other hand... Then he realized Potter had reached the door, and hurried to catch up. There was no way he was going to let Potter leave him here alone.