Warnings: Mild gore, torture
Word Count: 300
Author’s Notes ‘Oh yes, yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but it always resurfaces.’ --Ollivander
Their captor dangles Draco’s body above a tank of water with a Levicorpus.Draco’s head is submerged, his hands tied, his feet kicking, body spasming, fighting to breathe for the third time in less than an hour.
Their captor smirks, looking Harry straight in the eyes. ‘He’ll die if you don’t give up the Deathstick, Potter.’
Harry’s on his knees, hands bound. His captor flicks his wand, jerking Draco’s body out of the water and dropping him in a heap near Harry’s knees. Draco rolls over, coughing and vomiting water from his lungs.
Their captor kneels and grabs Draco’s hair, yanking his head upwards. Harry is inches from them both. More than anything he wants to touch Draco. He wants to reassure himself with Draco’s warmth and breath.
His mind is this close to breaking.
Draco looks at him, still gasping for air, his hair flattened against his skull. A gash above his eyebrow oozes thick, dark blood.
Harry can’t watch him die. Not like this.
Draco shakes his head slowly as if reading Harry’s thoughts. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he says. ‘Not for me.’
Their captor smacks Draco hard in the face. ‘Do you want to feel the torture curse, Malfoy?’ he taunts.
Draco’s eyes flick to his. ‘Fuck you.’
Draco’s body spasms, but he doesn’t cry out. Instead he locks eyes with Harry as the Cruciatus racks his body.
If Harry is a coward because he shuts his eyes, so be it. He cannot watch his partner, his friend --his life, die.
Not like this.
The curse lifts, and Draco slumps forward.
His captor leans over, pointing his wand in Draco’s direction. ‘The next curse will be the Killing Curse, Potter.’
Draco rolls over, groaning. ‘Harry, don’t.’
But Harry ignores him, closes his eyes, and then...