Out of Darkness
Another 15minuteficlets post, for the word "Hold."
Pairing: It eventually will be H/D
Word Count: 366 after 15 minutes, 629 now.
Notes: Not many, except that, like last week, I did my own version of a basic H/D plotline: Harry/Draco in the dungeons. And yes, it's Harry that's captured. Oh, and yeah, this is completely unedited. I think I actually used words that aren't really words.
I mean to expand more on this, and for those of you wondering, I have written more of last week's fic, and am not yet finished with that either... :-)
--
Harry's hold over Draco grew stronger after every day that passed in a haze of darkness, interrupted only by the filtered light that appeared sporadically at the top of the stairs.
At first, Draco had accepted this job mostly because he wanted to see Potter defeated, at last. He was too arrogant to care that he knew the others had only put him here to keep him busy and out of the way. He wrongly assumed that Harry didn't know this unhappy fact.
Harry spent the first week ignoring Draco completely. The insults and insinuations and baiting did nothing, and it gave Harry distinct pleasure to know that he was driving Draco crazy by not rising to it. But it wasn't only that. He knew that Malfoy knew nothing, was not privileged to any information that would be of any use of Harry.
It took too much effort to say anything back, anyway.
Harry supposes that his behavior was what kept Draco around for so long. At first, he only came down the stairs to deliver meals, and even then stayed for only minutes at a time. To Harry's slight disappointment (and thus his everlasting confusion), Draco never asked any questions, never gave Harry the chance to speak in something other than his defense. It was this inexplicable need to say something, to be given the chance to talk, that made Harry look forward to Draco's visits.
There wasn't much else to do, after all.
Draco knew the irregularities in the stairs by heart now, and could keep his eyes trained on Harry as he descended them, food in his hands. He watched the slow but steady transition from complete unacknowledgement to anticipation of his arrival. After the first week, Harry had still not said anything to Draco, so Draco, instead of getting angrier, simply stopped talking to Harry, as well. He made his appearances in the dungeons as scarce as he could, and left as soon as possible.
It was one of these days around the end of the first week, the ninth day, something told him, that as he pushed the food through the slats in Harry's cell, that Harry said, simply, "Thank you." Draco tensed but stood, and, giving Harry no second glance, left the dungeons in silence. It was not until he reached the top of the stairs, had taken his first step back into the brightness of the day, that he realized he was shaking.
He knew Harry's voice probably better than anybody else's. He could pick it out from a crowd of a thousand people after hearing only a few words. But hearing it in the dungeon, itself unexpected, was something Draco wasn't ready for. He remembered Harry's voice how it was at school: loud, strong, and confident. But now, it held every sign of resignment, of failure. Soft and slightly harsh from lack of use, Harry's voice rang in Draco's ears, more powerful than it had ever been before.
Harry hadn't meant to say anything. He didn't even realize that he had, at the time. But over the past week, he was slowly becoming grateful of Draco's visits, of being able to see something so acutely familiar even in the solidity of the dungeons. And by now, true hunger was starting to set in, having been fed only bread, cheese, and water, and small amounts at that. Saying "thank you" to Draco had been normal, as automatic as breathing, now that he had other things to concentrate on than not speaking. The memory of that moment came to him later on during the night, as he was tossing and turning, trying to sleep. His eyes grew wide, surprised, and then they closed, his mind relaxed, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Pairing: It eventually will be H/D
Word Count: 366 after 15 minutes, 629 now.
Notes: Not many, except that, like last week, I did my own version of a basic H/D plotline: Harry/Draco in the dungeons. And yes, it's Harry that's captured. Oh, and yeah, this is completely unedited. I think I actually used words that aren't really words.
I mean to expand more on this, and for those of you wondering, I have written more of last week's fic, and am not yet finished with that either... :-)
--
Harry's hold over Draco grew stronger after every day that passed in a haze of darkness, interrupted only by the filtered light that appeared sporadically at the top of the stairs.
At first, Draco had accepted this job mostly because he wanted to see Potter defeated, at last. He was too arrogant to care that he knew the others had only put him here to keep him busy and out of the way. He wrongly assumed that Harry didn't know this unhappy fact.
Harry spent the first week ignoring Draco completely. The insults and insinuations and baiting did nothing, and it gave Harry distinct pleasure to know that he was driving Draco crazy by not rising to it. But it wasn't only that. He knew that Malfoy knew nothing, was not privileged to any information that would be of any use of Harry.
It took too much effort to say anything back, anyway.
Harry supposes that his behavior was what kept Draco around for so long. At first, he only came down the stairs to deliver meals, and even then stayed for only minutes at a time. To Harry's slight disappointment (and thus his everlasting confusion), Draco never asked any questions, never gave Harry the chance to speak in something other than his defense. It was this inexplicable need to say something, to be given the chance to talk, that made Harry look forward to Draco's visits.
There wasn't much else to do, after all.
Draco knew the irregularities in the stairs by heart now, and could keep his eyes trained on Harry as he descended them, food in his hands. He watched the slow but steady transition from complete unacknowledgement to anticipation of his arrival. After the first week, Harry had still not said anything to Draco, so Draco, instead of getting angrier, simply stopped talking to Harry, as well. He made his appearances in the dungeons as scarce as he could, and left as soon as possible.
It was one of these days around the end of the first week, the ninth day, something told him, that as he pushed the food through the slats in Harry's cell, that Harry said, simply, "Thank you." Draco tensed but stood, and, giving Harry no second glance, left the dungeons in silence. It was not until he reached the top of the stairs, had taken his first step back into the brightness of the day, that he realized he was shaking.
He knew Harry's voice probably better than anybody else's. He could pick it out from a crowd of a thousand people after hearing only a few words. But hearing it in the dungeon, itself unexpected, was something Draco wasn't ready for. He remembered Harry's voice how it was at school: loud, strong, and confident. But now, it held every sign of resignment, of failure. Soft and slightly harsh from lack of use, Harry's voice rang in Draco's ears, more powerful than it had ever been before.
Harry hadn't meant to say anything. He didn't even realize that he had, at the time. But over the past week, he was slowly becoming grateful of Draco's visits, of being able to see something so acutely familiar even in the solidity of the dungeons. And by now, true hunger was starting to set in, having been fed only bread, cheese, and water, and small amounts at that. Saying "thank you" to Draco had been normal, as automatic as breathing, now that he had other things to concentrate on than not speaking. The memory of that moment came to him later on during the night, as he was tossing and turning, trying to sleep. His eyes grew wide, surprised, and then they closed, his mind relaxed, and he fell into a deep sleep.