The Heart of the Matter (Harry/Draco)

Chapter Eight

It was ten minutes after Dumbledore had left and Potter still hadn't come back upstairs. Draco stared down at the dark hallway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, but couldn't see anything except a particularly ugly portrait of Cassiopeia Black with her head lolling to one side and snoring, and part of the dirty threadbare carpet below. Already irritated at being ignored as if he were a child and growing even more irritated that there was very little he could do about it, Draco stood up straight and made his way down the stairs, taking care to be quiet enough not to wake anything.

He found Potter just opposite of the portrait of Cassiopeia Black, back against the wall of the stairs facing the portrait. His shoulders were held taut, legs brought up to his chest, arms crossed and forehead down against his knees. Potter didn't look up as Draco came to stand in front of him, leaning his back against the wall under the portrait and sliding down to sit opposite of him, staring relentlessly at his mop of untidy black hair.

Draco knew the position. He'd spent his first three days here alternating between lying curled on the bed and sitting similarly to how Potter was now. He almost felt sorry for him; it was fortunate that Draco was not a very empathetic person.

'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to why you needed to see Dumbledore at three in the morning,' Draco said.

Potter looked up and Draco tried not to wince at the severity of his glare. 'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to everything you've learned about Voldemort, either,' he snapped back.

At the mention of the Dark Lord's name, Draco did wince. He kept his mouth shut.

Potter sneered. Draco was impressed with the viciousness of it. 'Thought so.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't know anything important,' he said. Well, it was sort of the truth. 'Certainly not anything of use to your lot.'

'Sorry if I don't believe you.'

'Sorry if I don't care,' Draco replied coolly. 'What – '

Draco never got to finish, as at the very moment there were several muffed cracks that sounded as if they landed right outside the front door. Both boys looked up at it expectantly, and could hear hushed, fervent whispers on the other side before someone said 'Shh! D'you lot have any idea what time it is?' and the door slowly clicked open.

A large, jumbled shadow entered through the doorway, taking care to remain as quiet as possible. It wasn't very effective, as the hall wasn't very large and there had to be at least a dozen bodies trying to navigate in the dark.

Someone tripped over Draco's bent knee. He sighed and helped her off the floor. ''Lo,' he said.

Tonks muttered a curse and blinked at him. ''Lo,' she answered. 'What are you doing up? And on the floor in the dark, of all places? You could kill somebody.' She followed Draco's gaze to Potter, frowned, and pushed herself to her feet. 'You two should be in bed.'

Potter ignored her words. 'Well?' he asked, voice rising with every word. 'What's happened? Did you find him? Is he all right? Did Dumbledore – '

'Shh,' Tonks hissed at him. 'Later, Harry. I'm not the one to tell – you boys need to get off the floor, we need to get to the kitchen – '

As Draco started to stand, Potter followed, looking murderous.

'What do you mean, you're not – at least tell me if he's – '

'Later, Harry,' said a tired voice. Lupin had come up behind Tonks to see what the holdup was; the rest of the Order members were peering over his shoulder curiously, looking at Draco and Potter and whispering to one another. 'Please.'