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The Heart of the Matter	By : Jad Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7323 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2

Feeling second fiddle to a dead man

Up to my neck with your disregard

Like a beat dog that's walking on the Broadway

Sister luck is screaming out somebody else's name

—Black Crowes, Sister Luck

: : :

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as it turned out, was a very tall, foreboding building that looked as if it had been built out of Black Death and bad memories. Potter led them up steep steps to the black front door. He hissed quietly at the knocker—a twisted serpent, ornate and silver—and Draco shivered; beside him, he felt Snape similarly shudder. With an answering hiss and a soft click, the door swung inward. Snape and Draco followed Potter inside.

In the gloom, the hallway seemed surprisingly small given the size of the building. Wallpaper peeled off walls bearing numerous portraits, all covered, abandoned, or blackened with age. A tall candelabrum shaped like an upright serpent stood off to one side, a troll's leg umbrella stand beside it. At the far end, a staircase disappeared into darkness upstairs.

It was unnaturally quiet and extremely cold in the house, and Draco had never wanted to be at home so much in his entire life. If these were the best Headquarters the other side could muster, he was a dead man for sure.

'What about my mother?' he demanded, rounding on Snape.

'Shh!' Potter hissed at him.

Before Draco could tell Potter just where he could shove his shushing, the curtains covering one of the portraits flew open and a furious voice began screeching at an ear-piercing level. 'FILTH! MUD! BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS! BLOOD TRAIT—'

'Shut up!' Potter snapped, violently yanking the curtains shut, muffling but not entirely silencing the irate portrait. 'Keep your voice down, Malfoy.'

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word or Snape could intervene, the front door burst open behind them. Several figures piled in hurriedly, talking in loud, frantic voices. Draco backed up against the wall as he realised, even in the darkness of the hall, that half the voices were sporting bright-red hair.

'Where is he? I'm going to kill him!'

'Ron, you're not killing anyone—where's—Ginny, here, hold Crookshanks for a mo—'

'You hold your cat yourself. I'm going to kill him first.'

'No one is going to be killing anyone, Miss Weasley,' Snape said firmly, his low monotone slicing through their chatter. He eyed the wand held in her hand. 'And may I remind you that you are still underage and do not possess the privilege of using magic outside of school grounds.'

The two Weasley brats and Granger looked up at him, startled. Lupin appeared behind them, his expression one of relief upon seeing Snape. Ginny looked past Snape, saw Draco, and narrowed her eyes.

'Who said anything about magic?' she demanded. 'I'll kill him with my bare hands.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Draco snapped back.

'Don't you talk to her like that, Malfoy,' Potter said from behind him.

'Or what?'

'Or I'll knock every one of your teeth down your throat!'

'Potter, just because we're off school grounds does not mean I will tolerate you threatening my students,' Snape said coldly.

'I'll threaten who I want in my own house!' Potter snapped back. The portrait began wailing again.

'That's enough,' snarled a deep voice Draco didn't recognise. He turned around and was shocked to find it was Lupin who'd stepped forward. Draco noticed that he looked a lot bigger up close. 'There are more important things happening right now. Your differences can wait. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny—upstairs. I need to have a word with Draco and Severus alone.'

Four mouths opened to protest, only to be quelled by a quiet but firm 'No arguments.'

Draco pressed himself against the wall as Ginny moved past him, practically hissing. Potter stood his ground as her brother and Granger followed, looking furious and determined.

'Harry,' Lupin said patiently. 'Please, upstairs.'

'Why can't I—'

'Potter, did you or did you not hear what he said?' Snape said icily. 'There are more important things than you at the moment. Do us a favour and make yourself scarce.'

Potter gave him a very cold look, and then snarled a long, guttural hiss. Snape narrowed his eyes.

'Upstairs,' Lupin ordered again, his voice now devoid of any remnant of tolerance. Potter gave them all a contemptuous look, swore, and then jogged quietly up the stairs. Lupin waited until they heard him begin the second flight before leading the way into the living room.

'The outcome?' Snape demanded immediately.

'Bad,' Lupin admitted. 'Could be worse, though—no deaths, not on our side, as far as I know, though Bill's pretty badly injured.' He shook his head. 'I don't know how they managed it. Those children should have been killed.'

'Well, we have Potter to thank for instigating their recklessness, I'm sure,' Snape said coldly. 'And the others?'

'Two dead, five incapacitated.'

'And Dumbledore?'

'Still there. The Ministry had just started to arrive when I left, we needed to get as many of them out of there as possible before Scrimgeour got his hands on them. Dumbledore thinks—'

'Excuse me, sir,' Draco cut in, tired of being ignored. 'What about my mother?'

Lupin's expression softened a little. 'Alastor and Kingsley set off for the Manor the minute the situation at Hogwarts was under control.' He turned back to Snape. 'Dumbledore thinks it was primarily a diversion—that would explain why there were so few of them—but of course the Minister won't hear a word of it.'

'Would make sense,' Snape agreed. 'Bellatrix wasn't there, and she would've made sure I was ignorant if she had other plans. I suspect Azkaban—?'

'More than likely.'

'Lovely.'

'What are you talking about?' Draco asked. 'What about Azkaban?'

Before either man could answer him, the door opened again and heavy footsteps could be heard in the hall. Draco turned around to see Mad-Eye Moody and a bald, powerful-looking black wizard enter the room. They were both soaking wet, and Draco belatedly noticed that it had started raining outside.

'Alastor, Kingsley,' Lupin said quickly. 'Was there trouble?'

Draco looked from the two men to Lupin, and back again. 'Where's my mother?' he demanded.

Moody and Kingsley exchanged glances.

'We got there as quickly as we could,' Kingsley said, and Draco suddenly felt his blood run cold.

Moody heaved a heavy sigh and shrugged off his leather cloak, slapping the wet fabric on the sofa. 'Lucius was already there.'

Draco blinked; this was not the response he had expected. 'But my father's in—'

'Was in,' Kingsley corrected him. 'While half of them attacked Hogwarts, the others raided Azkaban. You-Know-Who was with them. With half the Ministry at the school there was no way they could resist—the Dementors all turned on the guards. And they didn't just release Death Eaters,' he added gravely. 'They let them all out.'

'Good lord,' Lupin said.

Draco was growing increasingly furious. He'd been asking the same question since leaving the bloody tower, and though it was a fairly simple one, no one seemed willing to give him a simple answer.

'Where. Is. My. Mother?' he snarled, speaking very slowly.

'I told you, boy,' Moody growled, focusing both eyes on him. 'Lucius got to her first.'

Snape closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, as if he'd just had his worst suspicions confirmed. Lupin moved forward and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco ignored him, still glaring at the pair of them. 'What do you mea—'

'Your mother's dead, Malfoy,' Moody growled. 'Your father killed her.'

There was a tense, deathly silence in the room. When Draco spoke again, his voice was oddly high-pitched. 'You're lying.'

'Why would I bother to lie about it?' Moody asked. He sat down beside his cloak and began calmly charming his clothes dry, as if he hadn't just informed Draco that his entire world had been destroyed.

'I don't know!' Draco exploded, wrenching his shoulder away from Lupin. He had the sudden urge to smash something—perhaps that stupid, ugly face, until he admitted he was lying through his teeth. 'Father wouldn't—he'd never—'

'We saw it happen,' Kingsley interrupted. 'He tried to use her as collateral. Said she'd live if we gave him you.' He sat down across from Moody and wiped the beads of water off his head. 'Narcissa didn't even give us a chance to negotiate. She said she'd rather die than hand you over to—'

'No!' he shouted. He was shaking his head so fervently it was beginning to hurt. 'No. No. You're lying. He'd never—Mother wouldn't—'

The words died in Draco's throat as Moody tossed something small and gold to the floor. Coming to a circumvolutory halt on the threadbare carpet at his feet was his mother's wedding ring.

: : :

Voices coming from a room on the first floor prompted him to hurry past, unconcerned that his thudding had awoken the portrait again. The second floor had two rooms and, only pausing for the briefest moment to make sure it was silent, he picked the one at the far end of the hall and dashed inside.

It just was not his night.

Potter whirled around, startled by his abrupt entrance. He was standing by an open wardrobe in the opposite corner of the room. Draco dimly noted the room's high ceiling and double beds before remembering that the whole reason for all of this—the Dark Lord's return, his father's imprisonment, his mother's death—was standing right in front of him. Sense cast aside and wand forgotten, Draco lunged at him with his bare hands. Potter only had time to raise his own hands in self-defence before Draco slammed him against the wall.

Potter may have been stronger, but Draco was taller, and skinny or not he was still a vigorous teenager and fuelled by adrenaline and fury. Potter cursed and tried to heave him off and go for his wand, but Draco grabbed the hilt of it first and yanked it away from him, throwing it aside. He had one forearm jammed against Potter's throat and the other hand holding the wrist of his wand arm, while Potter punched him hard in the stomach with his left hand.

'Malfoy—get—off!' Potter snarled, swearing.

Draco ignored the second punch and increased the pressure on his throat, slamming Potter's head back into the wall again. He was viciously satisfied to hear Potter choke. 'You stupid—selfish—I should fucking kill you—I fucking hate you, you fucking pillock!'

Potter stopped trying to punch him in favour of dealing with the more immediate problem of being choked. One-handed, he managed to shift Draco's arm enough that he could breathe. 'What the fuck is your problem?'

'You!' Draco snarled, slamming Potter's wrist back as he tried to writhe out of his grip. 'You are the fucking problem, just like you're always the fucking problem!'

Abandoning his hold on Potter's neck and wrist, Draco balled his hands into fists and beat them against every inch of the stupid pillock he could reach. Potter gasped as Draco's fists slammed into his collarbone, and he caught his wrists even as Draco kept trying to hit him, holding him steady. 'Malfoy! Stop!'

But Draco wasn't stopping. He'd never stop, not until he'd hurt Potter as much as he possibly could, until Potter looked like Draco felt—like a beaten, bloody pulp of a corpse, cast aside and forgotten. He had to keep hurting Potter, because he couldn't let Potter see him like this again; he had no right, no fucking business seeing Draco like this, exposed and broken and unable to hold it in. He had no right to see Draco feel.

Potter didn't look angry or contemptuous anymore, simply bewildered. 'Malfoy, what—'

'It's your fault,' Draco rasped out, trying first to hit his shoulder, then to pull away, but Potter's grip was firm, restricting his movement. Draco threw another ineffective punch. 'It's all your fault. Your fault that she's—she's—'

Potter's eyes narrowed briefly, then widened. His hands tightened further on Draco's wrists. 'Your mother?' he asked tentatively.

Draco let out an enraged cry and hit him again, and again; this time Potter made no move to stop him, just closed his eyes and took the assault, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Draco's knees stopped working and he sank to the floor, dimly aware that he was crying. Potter went with him, and all Draco wanted to do was keep hitting him and hitting him until he'd cried enough to drown them both in his misery.

He didn't know how long he crouched there on the floor, forehead pressed against Potter's shoulder and sobbing like a two-year-old, but his body was aching and the left side of Potter's shirt was sopping with his snot and tears by the time he quieted. Potter waited patiently until his breathing came even again before he spoke.

'Listen, Malfoy—'

Draco tried to push him away, but his energy was spent. 'Go away,' he said weakly.

'No,' Potter said. 'Not this time.'

'Fuck off.'

'Shut up,' Potter ordered. He let go of Draco's wrists but did not get up. 'God. Just. Shut up, Malfoy.'

Draco did not waste his breath pointing out that he'd stopped talking. Released, he rolled away from Potter, planting his back against the wall and pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. In his peripheral vision he saw Potter look down at the wet spot on his shirt and wrinkle his nose. He straightened his glasses and leaned forward, picking up something Draco'd dropped in the fight.

After a moment, Potter said, 'Was this hers?'

Draco ignored him, choking down another sob. Potter didn't understand. He never could. His parents had been dead from the beginning.

Lucky him.

'What happened?'

'None of your fucking business.'

'I think it's some of my business.'

'Well, you're wrong.'

Potter finally looked at him. Draco felt his eyes rake down to his left forearm, partially uncovered during the struggle. The mark there was scorched black, cold to the touch and burning into his flesh just the same.

'I'm sorry about your mother,' Potter said finally. 'Really. If there was anything I could have—'

'Shut up!' Draco shouted, curling up more tightly. 'I don't want to hear it. She's dead. I failed, and she's dead.'

'I'm just trying to—'

'I don't want your help, and I don't deserve any comfort!' Draco shouted again, closing his eyes. 'Just shut the fuck up and go away.'

He heard Potter shift, and then there was silence. No sounds of footsteps. When Draco finally opened his eyes again, Potter was still there, watching Draco, eyebrows pinched together.

'Why do you push people away when they try to help you?' he asked.

'What?' Draco looked up at him, startled. 'What the fuck are you—I don't—you're not—'

'I am,' Potter told him firmly. 'You're a right bastard and I've met Blast-Ended Skrewts I like more than you, but I'm still trying to help you. And so was Snape—I heard the two of you arguing at the Christmas party, don't look so surprised. What's your deal?'

Draco managed to lift his lips in a half-hearted sneer before turning away. 'Fuck off, Potter. You don't know the half of it.'

'Oh, don't I? You think you're the only one who's lost somebody, Malfoy? The only one whose had to deal with him?'

'I don't see a tattoo on your arm!'

'Maybe not,' Potter snapped, and Draco recoiled as he crawled closer. Potter thrust his forearm at Draco, sleeve pulled back to show a jagged scar on the underside. 'But he's left more than one reminder for me. I understand a lot better than you think I do.'

'Yes, Potter, I forgot. Your ugly scars give you such a good understanding of the situation.' Draco snorted mirthlessly, looking away. 'Spare me, would you?'

Potter pulled his arm back and studied Draco in silence for several tense moments with an unrelenting green stare that Draco forcibly ignored.

'I don't understand you,' Potter finally admitted.

'I don't care,' Draco informed him coolly, eyes snapping back to his face. 'Why are you still here?'

'Well, this is my house, you see.'

'And?'

'And my room,' Potter finished, raising his eyebrows. 'You burst in on me, remember?'

When Draco didn't answer, Potter stood up, dusting off his jeans and straightening his shirt before offering Draco a hand. Draco scowled at it.

'Please go away,' Draco said again, too exhausted now to care that his voice was thick with fresh tears.

'I will,' Potter told him, hand still extended.

'I don't need your coddling.'

'I'm sure you don't,' Potter replied calmly. 'But if you want me to leave, you'll at least get off the floor.'

'Merlin, you're insufferable,' Draco spat, glaring up at him. 'Why are you doing this? Are you enjoying this that much?'

Potter stared at him, hand faltering slightly. 'No,' he said shortly. He sounded oddly furious. 'I'm not enjoying it at all, actually. Now get the fuck off my floor, Malfoy.'

Ignoring his hand, Draco stood up, glaring through his tears.

Potter scowled in return and shoved his hands in his pockets. 'There's bedding in the wardrobe,' he said. 'Kreacher doesn't do a thing in this house, so you'll have to make your own bed.' When Draco just stared at him, Potter added, 'You do know how, don't you?'

'Of course I fucking know how,' he snapped.

'Good, otherwise you'd be sleeping on a bare mattress,' Potter spat back. 'The bathroom's downstairs, on the left. Don't use the one upstairs, there's a ghoul living in the toilet.'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'A ghoul. How quaint. This is a lovely house you own, Potter.'

There was nothing remotely gracious about the smirk that Potter adopted. 'If Sirius hadn't left it to me, it'd probably be yours, now.'

Before Draco could retort, the door creaked open and Weasley stuck his head in. 'Oh,' he said, his face darkening as he spotted Draco. 'Is he giving you trouble?' he asked Potter.

Draco turned away, his pride still intact enough that he was determined not to let a Weasley see him in his current sorry state. He heard Potter behind him say, 'No, it's all right. Is he here yet?'

'No,' Weasley answered. 'I heard Snape saying Dumbledore won't be here till morning.'

'Right,' Potter returned. Then, 'Okay. I'll be down in a minute.'

Draco heard footsteps, then the door closed again. He experienced a brief moment of hope, entertaining the possibility that Potter might have finally taken the hint and left him to be miserable in peace.

At a quiet shuffle behind him, he heaved a heavy sigh, despairing at Gryffindor levels of intellect.

'Just—' Potter began, then paused. 'Just try to get some sleep, all right?'

Draco rolled his eyes. A waste of effort, he realised afterwards, because Potter couldn't see it. 'You think?'

There was a pause, then more footsteps. Another pause followed the door creaking open, then Potter's tentative voice asked, 'Malfoy?'

Draco was going to kill him. 'What?'

Potter hesitated, then mumbled very quickly, 'D'you need anything?'

He closed his eyes and willed himself not to spin around and hex Potter into next week. 'Just for you to piss off, thanks.'

Potter slammed the door so hard the portrait two floors down started wailing once more. Draco retrieved linens from the wardrobe, sunk onto the nearest bed and attempted to drown himself in the duvet.

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The Heart of the Matter