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The Prisoner by weasley-malfoy-aficionado

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Chapter Notes: DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything except the plot of this story. Everything else is the product of JKR's brilliance.


The blinding light was the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes. Squinting against it, he tried to take in his surroundings. But moving was not an option. All he could make out was that he was lying on a bed.

A heavenly soft bed at that.

Suddenly the curtains to the window slipped shut, mercifully cutting out the evil rays of the sun. He turned his head to thank whoever did it but what he saw forced out a yelp from him.

It was the silhouette of a girl. And it was no ordinary girl.

It was her.

Or rather someone who resembled her.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Her frizzy hair tied up in a bun and her slender figure. All were the same as the last time he had seen her. If only he could see her face...

His heart started racing, his mouth suddenly went dry. He inched up higher on the bed using the headboard as leverage. Slowly, he managed to stand up.

The silhouette started backing away. Desperately he took a step forward and WHAM!

He fell hard on the marble floor, hitting his head on the side table in the process.

The world went black again.





The next time Draco Malfoy awoke, he was met with a rare sight. On the table beside his bed, there lay a gold badge glinting in the faint light that showed from a slight crack in the curtains. On it was imprinted in large bold letters the word he had come to despise the most since the last few months.

AUROR.

“I see you are awake,” a familiar voice spoke from somewhere near him.

Draco twisted around and found himself face to face with none other than Ron Weasley.

Correction: Auror Ron Weasley.

Ron was sitting in a plush red chair placed near his bed which Draco was sure was not there when he last awoke.

Ron Weasley was much the same since the last time Draco had seen him. There was the same old freckled face and the mop of unruly red hair.

But gone was the boyish charm once associated with him and gone was the goofy attitude. To Draco, Ron Weasley looked like a better groomed version of himself.

A man with an empty core and an aching heart.

The war had taken its toll on everyone.

A flicker of empathy encased him before it was washed off by the reminder of that fateful day. Ron was one of the Aurors who had hauled him off to Azkaban.

Rage engulfed him and he was overcome by a sudden urge to speak.

“Where am I?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“You are in my home,” Ron replied as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “And before you ask, you have been here since the last six days.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “Six days?” he thought.

Aloud he said, “And why is that so? I am sure you didn’t invite me to tea.”

“You tried to escape if you remember,” Ron continued.

Inspite of himself, Draco nodded in the affirmative. His headache now felt better and Draco could remember snippets of his escape... how he had gotten a broom.. how he was chased by Aurors... the flash of light... him falling... and a concerned voice which he now placed to be as Weasley’s.

“But how did I end up here?” he asked trying to sit up. “I thought they would chuck me back into that pathetic excuse of a cell.”

“I am getting to that,” Ron said suddenly getting up and forcing him back down. “But I must tell you that you had a nasty fall and are not in a condition to walk. The Healers have strictly advised against it. I will answer all your questions. But please rest.”

Draco was baffled. This was certainly weird. Weasley caring for him as though they were never arch enemies. But he didn’t have the strength to argue. So he simply fell abck and let Weasley continue. Besides, he desperately wanted to know what exactly happened that time.

“Well. Your plan was smart but you underestimated the Azkaban alarms. As soon as a prisoner escapes, a silent alarm sounds only to the on-duty Aurors and guards so as not to give the prisoner any clue that the guards are upon him. This was what exactly happened to you. We chased you and you were hit by a very powerful Stunning spell that made you fall off your broom. You got multiple bruises, your arm broke and you had a mild concussion. I thought it prudent to keep you somewhere safe so I brought you here.”

“And why do I need to be kept safe?” Draco scoffed.

“Because we have received information that some Death Eaters are looking for you. To... umm... you know... to get even with you,” Ron replied.

Draco looked up at him to retort but was shocked to see that sometime during his narrative, Ron had risen and was presently bent over a little table on his right mixing something in what looked like a small glass vial.

Unaware of Draco’s eyes on himself, Ron droned on, “Even St Mungo’s wasn’t a viable option. But don’t you fear, I have got the place protected with all sorts of wards and curses. It’s like a fortress now. No one can get you here. Oh.”

Ron turned around and jumped a little when he saw that Draco was staggering at the foot of the bed, his eyes wild and staring directly at his hand. It took Ron only a moment to realise what had caused this reaction: the potion in his hand.

“Look, Draco,” he said patronizingly, remembering to use his first name. The Healer had told him that patients reacted better to their first names than their last. It had a soothing effect on them and gave them an impression that the person addressing them was a friend. “Look, it isn’t going to hurt. It’s only to help you sleep better and save you from a severe headache.”

But Draco wasn’t listening. He started backing away into the wall, but Ron could see that the use of his given name had had the desired effect. He steadied himself and with a supreme effort, slid his trademark smirk in its place.

“You think I would believe a scumbag like you, Weasley?”

“You must have seen that you are under my care for now. And I do not mean harm. Trust me.”

Draco let out a hollow laugh, “Trust YOU? I would rather trust a goblin.”

Ron let out a sigh. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but Draco was making it all the more difficult. Taking a deep breath, he commanded, “Listen, I am asking you the last time to have this potion or else I will have to force you. Do you understand?”

Draco simply glared back at him. Both men were refusing to back down. After some time, Draco saw Ron’s eyes flash dangerously. Then it all happened in a flash.

He saw Weasley pull out his wand from his pocket and wave it once in the air. His eyes widened. But before he could do anything, he felt strong hands forcing his lips open. In no time Ron was upon him and tilting the contents of the vial in his mouth. He tried kicking and screaming but he felt as if his legs were lead blocks and his voice was gone. Once the contents of the vial were all tipped off into his mouth, Ron stepped back

“Sorry, Malfoy. There was no other way. And trust me when I say it’s for your own good.” Ron looked almost apologetic.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Draco turned to see who was there. But all he could see was a hand reaching out to him before he fell.








It seemed like hours or even days later when Draco opened his eyes. He was pleasantly surprised to see that his headache had indeed subsided and was now replaced by a very mild throbbing in his temple. Running his hands on himself and flexing his muscles, he soon found out that he was perfectly fine and healthy.

Racking his brains as to his whereabouts, he slowly remembered Weasley and his potion.

“At least the git wasn’t lying,” he murmured aloud.

But the thing that nagged him was why Weasley was being so kindly to him. It startled him to see his new demeanour. Was he sincere or was this all a ploy?

“Definitely a ploy,” he said.

“What is a ploy, Malfoy?”

Draco visibly jumped at the voice but soon relaxed seeing that it was only Weasley leaning at the door.

“I asked what’s a ploy, Malfoy?” he said and winked good-naturedly.

“Well, your keeping me in this house, feeding me, nursing me and caring for me, I guess,” Draco replied, a bit of the tension leaving him.

“Okay, so what ulterior motive do I have in all this may I ask?” Ron replied cocking his head to the side.

“Umm... let’s think... yes...” Draco suddenly brightened up as an idea took shape in his head, “You would then turn me in and will prove that you are not only an adept Auror but a kind soul as well. Someone who cares for his prisoners but punishes them too. This way you will be able to win people’s heart and become the next Minister of Magic.”

As soon as Draco finished his monologue, Ron burst into one of his loud guffaws. “Well, that was one hell of a theory Malfoy. I must admit that it is a tempting one. But too bad it’s not the case. By the way, I brought you breakfast.”

Ron levitated in a small table which was covered with food. Before Draco could refuse to eat, his stomach gave a loud rumble and he forgot everything else. Famished to the core, the simple toast and tea seemed to him the most sumptuous meal he had ever had and he dug into it with animalistic fervour.

“The food’s not going to disappear, you know,” Ron said from the doorway with a goofy grin and went away.

Even Draco couldn’t suppress a smile.




Days passed and bit by bit Draco regained his strength. For the first few days he had to use Ron as a support and even a single walk to and from the washroom tired him out. Slowly, he started walking on his own. He explored the impressive little two-storeyed cottage that was Weasley’s home and was truly delighted to have found a library there. It was filled with all sort of books from top to bottom (which was very surprising given Ron wasn’t very fond of books from what he had gathered during their school days). But they were a great relief for him. He simply loved the smell of the yellowing pages and devouring the knowledge they provided. Most of all, they reminded him of her. It was like he connected with her among all those texts.

His other favourite place in the house was the garden. He had discovered that Weasley had developed a liking for gardening and spent most of his time tending to his plants. There was a large assortment of flowers ranging from roses to tulips to lilies to orchids. In the middle of the garden, there was a large apple tree and beneath it was a stone bench. It was here that he liked to sit and hear the birds chirping and feel the wind playing with his hair.

But the most intriguing factor of all was Weasley...no...Ron. He never even realised when he came to first-name terms with him. But he was sure about one thing. Ron was proving to be a friend he had always craved for. He was always there for him. Initially, whenever he wanted to read a book or eat something or go for a walk or use the loo, Ron had always helped him without ever treating it as a favour. Lately, he was always available for a good chat and his mere presence gave him hope and strength.

After all this time, Draco was finally realising what friendship meant. He was beginning to understand why Potter stuck with Ron even though he wasn’t the brightest of all people. He was something that very few people were: a true and great friend.

Draco felt a rush of gratitude towards him. After all the years he had made fun of him and his family, he had set aside his prejudices and helped him. And that was when Draco decided he had to talk to him.

The weight on his chest was piling up each day. His sorrow over her and his guilt on whatever happened was becoming too much to bear. He needed somebody to confide to and he was sure that he had found a perfect confidant in Ron. He trusted him.




Ron was sitting in his study sifting through some bland paperwork. After three cups of coffee, he still felt sleepy and was thinking of retiring to bed when there was a soft knock on the door. Looking up, he saw Draco standing there looking quite nervous.

Ron had to admit that in the past few weeks he had developed a special respect for him. He was strong and witty and funny when he wanted to be. He realised that he was just another victim of Voldemort’s prejudices and was pushed on the wrong path without him ever realising it. The day he had realised it had been too late for him to turn back. In short, his life had been a true mess.

Draco cleared his throat breaking his reverie, “Sorry to disturb you. I will come in later.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ron replied with a warm smile, “As it is I was packing up.”

This encouraged Draco, and he entered the room and sat down on the leather sofa across him.

“Well, Ron, I needed to talk to you. It’s about h...her”

Ron visibly stiffened. Draco knew that it was hard for him too since they were best friends and possibly more but he needed to do this.

Checking for confirmation, he saw Ron give a slight nod motioning for him to continue.

“I just want to tell you that I could never have killed her. She meant the world to me. I was in love with her.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, “H...how?” was all he could manage.

“It was in the sixth year. When all hope had died inside me, she showed me light. She was the one that guided me from the dark to the brightness. She made me complete.”

“Start from the beginning,” Ron murmured, horror and confusion etched upon his face.

There was something else in his expression he couldn’t place. Was it sorrow? But surely it couldn’t be... guilt? But Draco was sure that he had looked guilty even though for a moment. But why would he be guilty? Draco shook his head, “I am imagining things,” he decided.

“Yes?” Ron pressed on.

“It’s a long story, mate,” Draco said running his hand through his unruly hair.

Ron leant forward on his seat and said, “And I have all the time in the world.”


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