A/N: It's time for a fun game of "Guess which Gryffindor's chained to the wall"! This started out as a cookie, and I liked it so much that I expanded it. Yay for random prisoner!slash. Yes, it's slash, so homophobes away. Now, read. Go on. I'm waiting.

Why are you reading this? Get to the fic!


On his way to the desolate cell, Draco Malfoy tries to convince himself that he is simply going to torture the weakling, that he is simply doing his job, and he succeeds, for a while.

That is, until he sees him chained to the wall, and all of his defenses fall.

Disgusting blood traitor... he will tell me today. He will.

That helps. He immediately goes to the boy, cups his chin, smirks.

"Are you going to tell me today?"

Loathing, fury, desperation and determination in the boy's eyes. He says nothing; his gaze says everything.

Draco raises an eyebrow, and mocks a heavy sigh. "He's probably already dead... or at the very least, in a cell like this, getting much worse treatment than you're getting."

He spits in Draco's face, and Draco recoils, pulling out his wand.

"Idiot. Stupefy."

Draco pockets his wand and whips around in disgust, leaving in a huff.

Until the boy speaks.

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

Draco stops dead. He turns around and stuns him again, but somehow, he is conscious.

And he laughs.

"You're weak."

This is a nightmare. The boy is filthy, bloody, with rags for clothing, and yet he still maintains control over Draco in his finery.

"You can't hurt me. You're too weak."

The words are separate, each like the braided whips of the cat 'o nine tails, desperate and deadly. "I'm. Not. Weak. Stupefy." The boy struggles himself awake. Draco smirks. The end is near.

"I'd think a Malfoy… would be more inventive… than this."

Draco walks over to the chained boy, who is smirking not unlike himself. Draco presses his wand against the boy's throat and says, "You say that like you want it."

Their faces are an inch apart. The boy laughs in his face. "Do it."

Draco jerks away. He hadn't considered this. "Masochist, are you?"

"Nothing you can do will hurt me."

Draco pauses, trying to ignore the comment, but the fury rushes red to his face. "Crucio."

The boy's already ragged throat must be in agony as he screams, handcuffs cutting into his wrists as he twitches against the wall like a dying animal. Draco leans against the wall, lazily yawning "Finite Incantatem."

The boy sags, and something hits the floor. Draco grabs it; a silver locket along a chain of silver. He pops the catch and opens it. Draco's eyebrow raises, mocking laughter bubbling up in his voice like dark water. He walks over to the boy, dangles the picture in his face; the boy raises his eyes and the fury is still there.

"I see now." Draco's drawl is made worse by the smugness in his voice. "You're wasting my time so he remains safe. Isn't that it?" He laughs in the boy's face, drawing anger out, the heat he lives from. He stops abruptly. "You love him, don't you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Draco says. "It does." He leans forward that one inch and kisses the boy; sudden blinding pain makes him pull away, nursing a bloody lip. Draco whirls around, making sure that the boy can't see the anger in his face.

He walks to the door, tossing the locket behind him. It falls to the stone floor and glass shatters.

Draco can almost hear the boy's desperation and anger in the ensuing silence. His mind can't let go of the image; the picture of the pauper and his prince.

"Goodbye, Weasley," he says, and slams the door.