Disclaimer: I don't own Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, or anyone or anything else mentioned in this story.
Warning: This drabble contains Harry/Draco SLASH. I'd put it at only a PG level, but it involves a boy kissing a boy. If you don't like that, hit the back button now.
Draco huddles in the corner of the small, dingy cell, waiting for the end to come. He feels just like the floor and walls: filthy, inside and out.
He's been caught, and there's no going back now. The Dark Lord has found him out. It was his father, newly escaped from Azkaban, who discovered the papers hidden securely in the depths of his chest back at Malfoy Manor. Only his father could have found them. Only his father could have betrayed him.
Well, Lucius needs to get back in the Dark Lord's good graces, after all. And if his son is the price, he'll pay it.
It was over a year ago that Draco found his way to the Weasleys' house — it really isn't such a hovel, after all — and that Harry Potter opened the door, light pouring out around him from the warm kitchen and making his silhouette stand out in stark contrast. I need your help, Draco said. He didn't even care that this was Potter, his lifelong nemesis. You're Dumbledore's. I need your help.
Dumbledore's dead, Potter said, and made to close the door.
No! Wait! Draco was desperate, ready to do anything. I'll help you. I'll give you information. Anything. Just — I need your help. (There was no way he was saying this — he, Draco Malfoy — )
Potter stared for a moment. Finally, he said, All right, and let Draco in.
Draco can't remember how they convinced him to return to the Dark Lord as a spy. He remembers so little of that evening, when he inadvertantly walked in on a meeting of the remainder of the Order of the Phoenix. He does remember Potter's eyes on him, throughout the interrogation — green, intense, never wavering in their gaze.
He came back. He still doesn't know why, but he came back, for the likes of them. He worked for them in secret, spying and passing information. His diguise was flawless, everything hidden in the secret drawer of his old trunk, the one his father gave to him, a memento from his dead grandfather. Occasionally, he visited the Order in person. It's all a haze now, blurred faces and questions with one pair of constant green eyes standing out of it all.
His very last visit is the only one that stands out in his memory, stands out through the pain of hours of torture. As he was making his way down the corridor to the front door, glancing back over his shoulder, Potter stepped out into the hallway, and they bumped straight into each other. They paused for a moment, stared, eye to eye, and then Draco leaned forward without even thinking about it and kissed Harry roughly on the lips.
That was all. One short kiss, like a question hanging in the air, and Draco half-ran out the door into the windy night, and was gone in a spinning half-turn that made him nearly lose his balance when he appeared back at the Manor.
Only two days ago. Two hellish days ago. And now here he is, huddled in the corner of the dingy cell as Voldemort raises his wand, feeling filthy both inside and out.
A/N: Harry/Draco has become one of my latest obsessions; the ship over on FictionAlley is really quite wonderful, and I wrote this from one of their writing prompts. So I'm sorry if it's not the sort of thing you like from me — what can I say? I don't even know if I even still have any faithful reviewers, seeing as I've been disappeared so long, but if anyone does read this, I hope you enjoyed, and please review.