A/N: Hiya, folks!! I can't help it, my muses were in a twisted D/R mood, so I had to comply. *grin* So anyway, this fic is going to be as dark as ickle me can make it, since I have a whole bunch of trouble with keeping my writing serious and on the ball. *pause* That sounded kinky. ANYWAY!! It's sad, so I don't reccomend (sp?) reading it if you're sad, for it would be bad, and I would be mad, if you stayed sad..... O_o And THAT, my friends, is why I stick mainly to comedy writing. You can be shameless with no consequences. Hee. Enjoy.

Chapter One: Between a Rock and a Soft Place

"No! Sirius, please-"

The older wizard shoved him away, bravely holding back tears even as the blood flowed past in thickening rivulets.

"Harry," he coughed hoarsely, flecking his already crimson lips with fresh blood, "Go with Ron."

"No, I won't leave you," Harry whispered into Sirius' hair, clinging to him as if he were his life force. An explosion rocked a tree nearby and Sirius flinched when a rock struck his bruised cheek.

"Ron, take him, quickly." Sirius lifted his shredded lips to give his Godson one last kiss before Ron ripped him away, missing a volley of debris that completely covered Sirius. Harry cried out, fighting Ron with blood stained hands, tears streaking the red on his face.

Noise roared around the two boys as they stumbled away from the carnage. The sky above the hundreds of witches and wizards stormed and turned in an angry rage. Wind whipped at the remaining trees and ice rain pelted them in stinging blows, stabbing at their eyes.

Ron dragged Harry along, limp and weakly fighting his hold. The green eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, were brimming with tears and screaming in silence. He ground his teeth together, scraping at Ron's hands with mutilated fingers, slicked with blood.

"Stop it, Harry," Ron whispered, stumbling into the smoking ministry building, strewn with bodies, both fresh and old. The redhead's stomach clenched when he saw the fingers of a young woman reaching for another body, that of a little girl. He turned his wet eyes away, clenching his jaw in pain.

They made it to the place Ron had been warned of. The only place where Harry could be safe. He must keep Harry safe.

Blood bubbled up over his lips and seared through the air as Harry sobbed again, retching, hands scratching the floor, cries hysterical. Ron held him up as he vomited up the contents of his empty stomach, ribs heaving under the nearly translucent white of his skin. Blotches of dirt and grime clung to his flesh and Ron wiped at a streak of blood while his friend curled up in his lap, eyes the only vivid and beautiful color in the place.

Ron wiped at Harry's brow, looking mournfully at the pile of rubble covering the secret door he needed to get to. If he didn't, Harry would undoubtedly be found and killed.

Laying Harry's head gently on the pieces of stone and wood that used to make up a wall, Ron limped over to the pile of rubble and began pushing and pulling at the loosely piled rocks, further slicing his swollen purple fingers.

Finally he managed to uncover a ragged rug depicting the scene of a wizard looking up at a star and raising his staff to it as if in salute. Ron shoved it aside roughly and yanked at the iron handle that would open the door. He did it, whimpering at the stinging of his hands and the needling heat of his infected cuts and burns.

Harry was nearly out cold when Ron threw his arm over his shoulder and scooped up Harry's legs. On tottery feet he carried the shrunken boy, trying desperately to ignore the blood squirting from the scar standing out vividly on the sickly pale surface of Harry's forehead. Down the wooden stairs he went, nearly tripping and crying out in both pain and frustration as his teeth went through his tongue, filling his mouth with the hot coppery taste of his own blood.

He tried to breathe through his nose, but it had been stopped up by clotted blood for a time and he ended up spewing blood all over Harry's front trying to breathe through his mouth. The boy opened his emerald eyes fleetingly, blinking and sending tears sprinkling down his cheeks. Ron looked at this and shushed his friend when Harry made a small sound.

At the end of the stairs was another door. Ron's legs gave out in a buckling wave of pain and he nearly dropped Harry, crumpling to the ground in a heap with the smaller boy resting over him at a sideways angle, eyes staring dully into his, clouded in exhaustion.

"I have you, Harry," he soothed in a cracked and dry voice scraping its way through his crackling throat. Distractedly he brushed at a thin, but deep cut along his throat, feeling a sticky substance thicker than blood oozing out of it. Growling, he slung Harry's arm over his shoulder again and stood, his muscles screaming in torture, to push open the door.

Stumbling in, he fell to his knees in the middle of the tiny circular room, eyes crusted with blood, lips chapped and shredded to ribbons of crimson, cheeks pale and bruised, fingers numb and swollen, body covered in wounds oozing both fresh blood and yellow pus.

Harry lay halfway in his lap, in even worse state than Ron was. He has lost his shirt, uncovering the skeletal remains of his once healthy body. Weeks ago the scar had taken over Harry Potter, the evil power within breaking free inside of him and tormenting the way he thought and acted, like a vile parasite eating away at him from the inside.

Ron played his fingers over the sharply jutting ribs, a new worry taking seed in his mind. What if the scar killed Harry?

There was a sound in front of Ron and his head snapped up, fuzzy eyes skimming the room, lashes caked with blood and bent down over his gaze, not allowing him to fully open his eyes. He reached out tentatively before him and groped the air with fingers that would not unfurl all the way. The muscles in his arms creaked with the movement, and Harry stirred at his side, arching in a spasm of pain.

Suddenly Harry was lifted roughly into the air by his limp arm. Ron cried out hoarsely and scrambled to his knees, scratching at his eyes with one hand to see and reaching for Harry with the other.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of four Death Eaters standing in a row in front of him, one with their wand pointed right at his face. His frightened eyes wandered past the line of black cloaked figures to fall on two others holding Harry between them like a limp marionette. He hung from their grasp by his arms, resting on his knees, head bowed down before him, almost touching the ground. A small puddle of drool was forming below his face, dripping in a mixture of fresh blood.

"Let go of him," he rasped, grasping at hands that came down to grip the collar of his shredded shirt.

"Or you'll do what exactly, boy?"

He knew that voice. Struggling to focus his fading gaze, Ron looked up into the dark hood bent toward him. The face peering back was a familiar one. A long face, almost gaunt in its sharp beauty, as if carved from ice.

"Malfoy," he hissed, coughing weakly as the man threw him to the ground, shoving a dragon hyde boot onto his throat.

"Weasly," the man sneered in return, digging his heel into Ron's neck, tearing the long cut there and reopening the stream of blood and pus.

"I - I won't let you take him."

Lucius Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, sleet gray eyes dancing with evil mirth. "Oh really?" He lifted his foot from Ron's neck, resting his toe under the boy's chin and lifting it until Ron had climbed to his knees again. Red hair slid back and brushed the long white neck as his face was upturned to stare into the piercing eyes of Lucius.

"What will you do, boy?"

"I'll not let you take him," he said through clenched teeth, a deadly anger fueling his energy. "I made a promise to Sirius, and I won't let him down."

"Dirt making promises to low life criminals. What does it mean to me?"

Ron ignored this comment, yanking his chin away from Lucius' boot and turning in Harry's direction.

"You'll have to kill me to take him," he yelled brokenly, crawling towards his immobile friend, tears running down his face anew.


Lucius swept his hand through the air where it met Ron's face with a resounding slap, sending the boy sprawling.

"Yet muggle loving scum like you almost do not deserve so just a punishment as death." A cruel smile played over the thin lips. "No, death is too good for the likes of you, Weasly."

He turned around and waved at the men holding Harry. They began to drag the boy away, his bare feet scraping over the stone on the floor. Ron made to go after him, weak as he was, but was stopped by Lucius' iron grip on the back of his neck. He thrashed and twisted like a feral cat, but Lucius merely threw him to the ground again and pointed his wand at him. That cruel smile was back again, reaching deep into his eyes where the most savage hate resided. Ron sat up on his elbows, looking Malfoy straight in the eyes with a silent plea.

Don't do it, his eyes cried.

"To think I finally have a Weasel cornered," Lucius drawled, coming closer to Ron and squatting down next to him, the wand in his hand never wavering. "Harry Potter's sidekick no less." He ran a clean white finger over Ron's soiled cheek, smiling as his sharp curved nail glided over a soft bruise, slicing the skin open like fruit.

Ron winced, but did not break their gaze. If he had to go down by Lucius' hand, he would go down looking into the raw hatred and cruelty of those haunting eyes. For his mother, his father, and his siblings, he would go down with honor.

"Such a proud young boy," Lucius whispered against his cheek, running his hot tongue over the fresh cut made by his nail. Ron stiffened.

"I know just what to do with you," he continued, grabbing Ron's chin and forcing his face to the side, craning his neck to its breaking point. Ron shifted, but Lucius stopped him from moving any further, enjoying the slow pain in the boy's eyes as his neck screamed in protest.


Lucius stopped the boy's speech by pressing his lips to Ron's, sweeping his tongue over the swollen lower lip and delving it inside to taste the copper blood off the boy's tongue, and sample the thick fear off his quivering lips. His hands went to Ron's back, pulling him up into his lap, straddling his hips. Ron tried to push away, his eyes suddenly alive and wild with fear, but Lucius snatched his hands away roughly, pinning them to the floor beside them and forcing Ron to bend. With his slender wrists pinned, he glanced sidelong back at the smirking face coming closer to his, drawing that hot tongue again over his lips and teeth.

"Such a beautiful boy," Lucius whispered, pressing against the small of Ron's back and forcing him to arch into his chest with a weak cry.

There was still defiance lingering in boy's eyes and Lucius found it delicious. He lapped wetly at the blood caked lashes, wiping them clean, and snaked his hand up underneath the soiled shirt Ron wore. The boy gasped, shaking his head from side to side, trying to move away from the cold hands hovering over his flushed skin.

"Lucius." The voice sliced through the air like a dagger through flesh. Lucius drew back from Ron, his lips dotted with the boy's blood, harboring the expression of a sated cat. Ron looked beyond dully and saw a clouded figure standing in the circular doorway, robed in deep black, shrunken and small.

"My lord," Lucius said smoothly, rising to his feet, still grasping Ron's wrists in a painfully tight grip. Ron stood beside him, nearly hanging from his hands, the one wounded leg throbbing like mad and resting out from him at a strange angle.

"You have not the time for this boy here. Either kill him or do otherwise."

"I think it would be wise to keep him alive, my lord."

"Why so?"

"This boy here is the youngest male Weasly; Potter's best friend."

"I see, Lucius," the voice said, breaking into a quiet, high-pitched laugh that slithered through the air to sting at Ron' ears. "Good, good!"

The figure approached him, putting its horrid white face so that it was nearly touching Ron's. It was then he realized that he was standing less than a foot away from the wizard behind the deaths of so many.

"Voldemort," he choked out, shrinking back from the beast in a rising fear and awe. He tried to drag his hands free, but Lucius jerked him back, stumbling forward. Falling again to his knees, Ron looked up, petrified, into the blaring white face, into the red slits for eyes of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Harry Potter's closest companion," the Dark Lord hissed in a sarcastic tone. "His truest friend until the very end." He smiled, lipless mouth curving sharply as if the corners were drawn up by string. "And the end is very near, my young one."

He cupped Ron's face and the young wizard felt an impossible fear racking at his body, sending tremors of fright spiraling down his spine. A ball of lead dropped in his stomach as the clawed thumb trailed over his lips, resting against them and moistening in the hot breath issuing from the bloodied mouth in quick gasps.

"You are a valuable tool, boy," the Dark Lord informed him. Then he gave Lucius a long look that said much, and slithered from the room.

Alone again with Lucius, Ron's legs gave out and he crashed to the floor, elbows cracking on the stone. Lucius watched him in disgust.

"You are weak in the shadow of such power," he admonished harshly, cuffing Ron on the ear and smiling when the boy cried out sharply.

"Why don't you just kill me!" Ron begged, still twisting his wrists vainly to get free. Lucius lifted him slightly, smiling when the boy's bones snapped under his pressuring grip and Ron went completely limp with pain.

"Oh no," he soothed, wrapping an arm around Ron's back and lifting him so that the shaking mouth brushed his, "Our fun is only just beginning."

With those words he crushed his lips to Ron's, shoving the boy's head painfully back and capturing the sweet tongue between his teeth. His wand speared into Ron's stomach and Lucius moaned against the wet and bleeding mouth.....



Gray light filtered in through a tiny hole in the wall of thick stone. Ron stood on his tiptoes and tried to gasp a breath of fresh air, digging his fingers into the muddy hand holds he had dug for himself in the thick moss of the dungeon wall.

Splashing slightly in the puddle of rain water, Ron limped toward the door where his meal had just been pushed in through the bars. He squatted down by the food, scooping it up with his bare hands and eating ravenously under the scrutinizing gaze of the grisly house elf.

"Young master is hungry today," the elf commented idly, taking the plate back through the bars with a nod and wrinkling his pug nose at Ron licking his fingers free of any remaining juices.

"It's been nearly three days hasn't it?" Ron asked him, leaning against the door of his cell, scratching the side of his nose with his thumb.

The elf looked down each of the three passages leading from Ron's cell to see if anyone else was about. Then he looked back at Ron with glittering eyes and shoved something through the bars of the cell, hissing, "In case Master forgets to feed his prisoner again." Then the squat elf hurried away without another look back.

Ron stared down at the bumpy lump of bread in his hands with a small smile. These days he had so little to smile about. This bread was like.... well, food to a starving prisoner.

He barely remembered how long it had been since he had arrived here, and even that painful event was cloudy. Could be days, could be weeks. Maybe not months, certainly not years. His eyes went to the markings on the walls; small carvings in the moss and slime where his dull nails had dug.

At first he had tried keeping track of the days going by in the Malfoy dungeons. But he soon gave up after one of Lucius' numerous visits. The man had noticed the marks and wiped them away angrily. Ron shivered at the memory of Lucius' hands on him as the Crucio spell swam through his blood like stinging poison.

Lucius was the only person Ron ever saw. Anyone else were either house elves or wandering spirits who never took the time to talk to him. It was odd, especially for Ron who had been surrounded by chatty people all his life.

Well, Harry was never very chatty.

The thought of his friend made Ron suddenly very sad. He spent most of his time replaying that day when Harry was taken from him, wondering if maybe there was a chance his friend was still alive somewhere. Maybe even safe.

Depression had been fast to take over him, nearly drowning him. But it was doused by a sort of grim acceptance. He was captured. Everyone else was either dead, lost, or the same as he was. Why think about things like that?

So he spent the days talking with himself, or the house elves that were sent to check up on him. He had won most of them over, rewarded by extra food and company. There were still some, though, who would whimper and cower at his voice, frightened of the possibility that Lucius may be watching them from within the very walls.

Days, or maybe hours later, Ron roused at the sound of someone coming down the hall. He quickly hid the lumpy bread away, taking one last nibble before sticking it with the rest of his store up on a tiny ledge above the barred door. Dropping down from climbing the bars to reach his hiding place, Ron backed into the middle of the room, standing straight and tall. Then he steeled himself for Lucius. The man had not been to see him in almost two days, as far as Ron could keep track by the rising and setting of the sun. All he knew was that Lucius was long over due on one of his visits, which meant one of two things: Could be he was out raiding and has come back in a drunken stupor. These proved to be the worst times for him to remember the little redhead he had stored down in his dungeons. For Lucius Malfoy did not grow dull or stupid when he drank, he became a whole new animal, more conniving and violent than the man he usually was.

At the chilling thought, Ron shivered. But he shook it off, throwing back his shoulders and lifting his chin proudly. May Malfoy never see him weak.

Really he shouldnÕt be frightened until Lucius arrived. For if the man was not drunk, or angry, or.... himself, he may come to just hold Ron as he had done maybe twice since the boy had been captured. Yet those visits scared Ron worse than any rage, or drunken cruelty. To feel the mild warmth of the man's torso, and his cold hands merely holding Ron still while he lay his head in the crook of the boy's neck. As if he were his son.

Or his lover.

Stop it! Ron bit his lip, angry with himself for thinking such things. Lucius Malfoy was an odd man, a monster. But he would never take on a minor as a lover. Ron paused in his thoughts. Or would he? No, certainly not with a Weasly. Though there was something he had said on his last visit right before he left, when his hands had pinned Ron to the floor.

'Such a gift you'll make.'

Ron hadn't gotten a chance to inquire further, not that he ever really spoke to Lucius, except to cry out, or moan. Sometimes he would curse the man, but it was a dangerous risk to do, so usually he just closed his eyes and bit his tongue. Yet Lucius was sure to always do *that* for him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that when the door to his cell opened, Ron didn't even move. Movement did indeed come though when a darkly cloaked figure approached him and stopped about half a foot from where he stood.

"So used to living in poor conditions, you can't even feel the cold, Weasel," sneered a voice that brought Ron back to reality as swiftly as a rock from the air.

He blinked, lips parting slightly in mutual surprise and an instinctual anger. Taking two giant steps back, and nearly stumbling on his bum leg, Ron winced upon the back of his head striking the wall, and gaped at the willowy figure that had just lowered the vast hood of its cloak.

Hair as fine and white as the mist of clouds shown in the dim torch light. Spears of light glittered within the frozen depths of silver, eyes like twin points of light through smoky darkness. A smile as sharp as a fresh dagger blade sliced up into his eyes, sending more glimmers of light to shoot through them. The distortedly angelic face smirked as a whole while the long slender arms came up to cross, tapered waist curving when the tiny hips cocked to the side.

"You were born with an attitude, Malfoy," Ron hissed, fists unconsciously clenching.

Draco chuckled coldly, eyes piercing into Ron as he looked the redhead over skeptically, walking a little ways around him, stopping when he stood a little off to the left. Ron turned his head, uttering a low hiss as his neck screamed in protest. Draco smiled, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Your neck bothering you, then?" His eyes trailed down Ron's chest and his smirk grew. "Perhaps I was mistaken. You *are* cold."

Glaring hotly, Ron crossed his arms over his chest and moved away from the shorter boy, repulsed by this situation. Draco was squeaky clean in fine robes beneath the even finer cloak he wore. Ron couldn't help but flush deeply at what he must look like: Bedraggled, even more gangly with the loss of weight, greasy tendrils of hair nearly dreadlocked and hanging into his animalistic eyes driven by hunger and fear, skin blotched with dirt and grime, though cleaned of cuts and healed of bruises.

Next to the blonde bastard Ron would look like a rat dipped in sewage.

Dammit. This wasn't good. Oh yes, not to mention that he was practically at his worst enemy's mercy. He had almost totally forgotten Draco's existence. He had not seen or heard from the other wizard for two years. The last time had been at graduation when Ron had gotten his diploma in wizardry. He had raised his eyes to see Harry's exuberant face, Hermione bawling into the dark haired boy's shoulder, his family with the other families cheering him on.

Than Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy who had graduated with honors. His eyes were fixed on Ron with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met and Draco's turned to look back at Ron's family before coming back to rest on his. His look had changed then, eyes becoming panes of glass. Then he had smiled. It was an odd, empty smile, and Ron found himself captivated by it.

When he had taken his seat, Ron had found his gaze tugged at again. He look up to meet Draco's eyes. This time the boy look angry, twin points of red beating at the tops of his cheekbones, mouth turned down in a sharp scowl. Ron had blinked at him, a little surprised. Then Draco had held up his hand, so that only Ron could see. Resting on his palm was what looked like a tiny weasel, wrapped in chains. Ron leaned a little closer to see clearer, taking in the vibrant red color of the weasel's fur.

Same color as my hair, he had thought.

Draco had smiled at him, and closed his hand to crush the tiny weasel in a puff of smoke.

Now in the Malfoy dungeons facing Draco, the little chained weasel came back to haunt Ron. Harry often told him that Draco was just jealous of Ron and his loving family. Hermione had told him she heard that Draco and his father never showed any emotion to each other, that they treated each other like cold acquaintances.

There *was* jealousy in those cold silver eyes as Draco stood before him now, pale face turned up a little to look Ron straight in the eyes.

"What do you want with me, Malfoy?" Ron asked softly, his voice filled with venom, his eyes filled with fear he struggled to hide.

Draco looked as if he wanted to laugh, but he instead composed himself and said regally, "Whatever do you mean, Weasel?"

"Don't play your games with me, Malfoy," Ron warned, pushing away from the wall to get right in Draco's face. The other wizard grinned nastily and fell back a step.

"Let's hope you can clean up a bit, even though on *you* Weasly, magic can only do so much."

"Why do you have me here?"

"Why not? I suppose you would rather be here than dead."

"You'll have to give me time to think about that one."

Draco's smile disappeared. "Don't push me, Weasel. I have the power to kill you right here and now. I don't think you realized that, did you? Don't think for an instant that I'll show you mercy like my father has. Actually, I've been waiting for just an opportunity such as this one to arise so that I may perfect my Unforgivable." His grinned turned wolfish. "For instance," he drawled lazily, flicking his wand in Ron's direction and saying clearly, "Imperio."

Ron gasped as he felt himself drift among clouds of feathers. A feeling of utter calmness overtook him and he dizzily heard a muffled voice above him.

"Ron, get on your knees before me."

He abided in bliss, sliding over to Draco and raising his eyes, unfocussed and fogged with the spell. He fleetingly shut his eyes as a hand cupped the side of his face and titled his head back all the way so that he looked straight up into the ceiling. Then Draco ordered he part his lips. Ron did so, and numbly his mouth complied as Draco's lips caressed his, tongue delving into the wet cavern of his mouth and gently sliding along the ribs on the roof inside.

But the blissful cloud dissipated beneath him and Ron fell back to the cold dungeon, eyes snapping to focus as cold fingers began to push him backwards.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he demanded, shoving Draco away. The other boy's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into burning slits of ice.

"You resisted the spell," he said flatly. "Potter must've rubbed off on you after all these years."

Ron wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, cheeks burning, eyes blazing. He scooted backwards away from Draco, watching the former Slytherin closely. A whole new fear had started up in him. That touch had felt too much like Lucius', too much like a bloody block of ice. Too able of inflicting serious damage to his broken form.

"D-don't touch me," Ron stuttered, his back pressing against the wall again. He shoved the back of his head into the coarse moss, eyes wide as Draco knelt down right in front of him, tiny hands resting on either side of his legs, face nearly up against his own.

"I can do whatever I want to you now, Ron."

The sound of his own name dropping like poison from those pale lips made Ron wince and turn his face away. He knew he was helpless. If he took a swing at Malfoy, he would never make it past the first punch.

"Look at me, Weasel," Draco demanded softly, taking Ron's chin in his fingers and forcing his face back to his own. "Ron, open your eyes."

Ron lifted his thick red lashes, blinking slightly as he realized how close the blonde wizard was to him. He shifted uncomfortably, flinching when his nose brushed Draco's.

"I can make this easier on you, Ron," Draco whispered, lowering his lips to Ron's collarbone and sucking gently. He licked up his neck, lapping at the lips which were frozen shut. "You only need to give me one thing, Ron, and you will no longer dwell in this horrible place down hear, and no longer will my father come to you."

Ron looked up.

"All you have to do is give the word."

He worried his lower lip. "Give the word that will what?"

Draco breathed against his mouth, moving closer to Ron and grinding his hips into the redhead's, shoving him hard against the wall. "Give the word.... and you will be mine."

0-o *tingles* Oooooh.

A/N: *giggles* Typical side effect of an authoress on heavy hyporization; the evil cliffhanger. Hee. I'm so mean, I know. I revel in it, hee hee hee! *waves* Next chappie will be out really soon, I think! *shifty eyes* Maybe, even though finals are coming up, therefor that means extra practice, homework, and the test results looming over me.

*thoroughly de-hypernized*

Well, those are pleasant thoughts. *mopes about* I guess I'm in a morbid enough mood to write another dark chapter. *brightens up* Yay! Au revior!!