“Draco—I’m so sorry.”
*lazily* “What? Why?”
“I… Oh God, you haven’t heard?”
“My gracious me, all the company I keep and I still can’t manage to catch all the gossip. Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Draco, don’t. Draco—the Ministry—I showed them your letters, but they… They only took them as proof that you were a traitor. Not just an honourable enemy, but—”
“The wolf in the fold, the viper they nourished in their bosoms? Quite. Well, it was to be expected, I suppose. You know how unsettled things are, and they don’t have many scapegoats left. An officer, the son of the late leader of the notorious and noxious Death Eaters—a new scandal about him is bound to provide a distraction from the latest tax hike, isn’t it?”
*voice softening* “So you don’t think—anything will happen to you?”
“A slap on the wrist, I expect. If I’m lucky, they’ll cut out my therapeutic sessions with Confucius. Which would be a shame, since I think we had a breakthrough this week. He told me his name. I gently pointed out that it was on his door, but still.”
“I was—worried about you.”
*coolly* “Your concern is touching, Potter.”
“Say Harry.”
“No, I don’t think so.” *small grimace* “I think it’s time I stopped this embarrassing little farce.”
“What?”
“It was amusing at first, but now it’s just descended into the realm of the—well, vile, and very disturbing. I really don’t want you to spout any more of the drivel you did last time.”
“You didn’t object last time!”
*dryly* “It’s hard to form a coherent argument when you’re being jerked off.” *pause* “Do you know how long it had been since anyone touched me, Potter? Can you blame me?”
“What have you done?”
“It wasn’t a concerted evil plot, for once. But you showed up, all wide-eyed and unbalanced and obviously, pathetically obsessed. And it had been months since someone touched me—and you’re a good deal more appealing than Confucius the ogre.” *shrug* “What can I tell you?”
“You’re lying.”
“I was desperate.”
“You’re lying!”
“What reason do I have to lie? I had a reason then—not that I did. I didn’t have to. I just had to stand there and let you talk, and you couldn’t take your hands off me. You can remember, can’t you? Did I ever once echo one of your nauseating sentiments? At least I spared us that indignity.”
“Why should it have been an indignity?”
“Because it made my stomach turn to hear you! Knives in the fucking bed, what kind of mind comes up with those things? I don’t want to have this place—my last place—defiled with the rantings of a twisted pervert. Especially since it wasn’t even worth it.”
“What—what do you mean?”
“Let me make myself painfully clear. I’ve done a much better job on myself. And with the restriction of bars, it was obvious that those amateurish fumblings were all I could expect. And… I thought it would be easier to pretend. I thought it couldn’t be too different. But the thought of returning the favour was sickening.”
“Malfoy, what the hell are you saying?”
*savagely* “I’m saying I like women, Potter. Girls. The ones with the breasts. I thought I’d just grab for what I could take, but the idea of rummaging around in your pants for your—urgh, manly parts… while your eyes bulge and you mumble out some more disgusting fantasies… Let’s just say I don’t find it appealing.”
“You’re trying to send me away for my own good—”
“Of course I think it’d be psychologically healthier for you to stay away from me! But I’m not all that concerned with your mental health, Potter, which is a good thing since it seems distinctly fragile to me. I just want you gone from my life. I can’t take this any more.”
“You’re saying this because—”
*hissed* “I’m saying this because you make me ill, Potter! Why must you cherish this persistent delusion that I care about you? I don’t. I never did. I never even said I did. I don’t care what happens to you as long as you stay the hell away from me!”
“I can’t!”
“I don’t even want to look at you. I hate you. Which part of this do you not understand?”
*heavy breathing* “I can’t—why would you—”
“I told you. I was desperately, painfully lonely. I would have done anything for a human touch. But for once in my life… I have to be honest. I can’t do this. I don’t want to.”
“Malfoy, please—”
“Don’t say please as if I could do something about it. I can’t. I’m trapped in a cell already—I don’t want to be trapped in your warped little fantasy. All I can do is remember my dead and I don’t want to be touched by hands red with their blood. Your touch makes my skin crawl. I don’t want it! I don’t want you.”
*half-way between a cry and a snarl* “All right!” *calming slightly* “You’ve made your point.”
“Do you understand it?”
“I understand it.” *coldly* “Was it fun?”
“What?”
“Manipulating me. Watching me… letting me think—I—Was it fun? Did you enjoy it? Do you like it, that old medieval Muggle torture, tearing beating hearts out of chests and watching them slowly come to a stop and letting the victim watch too, and gasp as the blood leaks?”
“I’m not the one with the sick kicks here!”
“Could’ve fooled me.” *savagely* “I hate you.”
“Fine.”
“What?”
*deliberately* “I said ‘fine,’ Potter. As in ‘fine by me.’ See if I care. Your opinion means less than nothing to me and all I want from you is your absence. Have I not made myself sufficiently clear?”
“Is being cruel your aim in life?”
“No, it’s just my shiny life bonus.”
“Would you stop it!” *harsh breathing* “Fine. I’ll go. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.”
*steely* “That’s what I want.”
“All right. I’m sorry I ever bothered with you.”
“So am I.”
“I… Goodbye.” *clink of watch against bars* *pause* “It would be all right to take my hand. It’s a—formal ceremony. A sealing of the goodbye. It isn’t that big a deal—no matter how much my touch sickens you.”
*light, amused* “Don’t be so touchy, Potter. I daresay it won’t kill me.”
*brush of skin against skin, sudden clink of sharp metal against the bars*
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
*attempt to pull away, shocked gasp*
“Jesus, Potter, put away the knife! You’re not even supposed to have that in here!”
“Oh, I always make sure to have a weapon on me. Look—it’s even charmed not to set the alarm off. I owe you for that—you told me about it.”
“Take it away!”
“Tell me you love me.”
”… what?”
“I think you heard me.”
“Oh, I hear you, I just don’t understand you! What’s the matter with you? I don’t love you. I never did. Get that knife off me!”
“I don’t give a damn what you feel. I want to hear you say it!”
*shouting* “Why? What difference would it make?”
“I have to hear you say it!”
“Fuck off, you sick bastard. I’m not going to.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Then do it! Just stop talking! I’m tired of all this talking!”
“If words are all I can have—I’m going to have them. I’m going to hear you tell me that. Once. Now.”
“No!”
*pause, small cry*
*softly* “I can sink it in. Slowly. I can do it, I’ve done it before, until you’ll tell me everything I want to hear. I want to do it.”
*suppressed scream*
*softer* “Tell me that you love me.”
*sound of a door opening*
*incredulous* “Fudge?”
“Now, now, Mr. Potter. I understand the news that Mr Malfoy is even more treacherous than we supposed has hit you hard. But don’t try to get your own revenge. There’s much worse in store for him.”