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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.

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Chapter Twenty-One

All of the darkness in the world cannot overcome the light shed by a single flame.

- Unknown

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Draco did not have long to think about just what Jack McKinnon was doing with the Order, for at the corner of Grimmauld Place they were met with a familiar face. Apparently unconcerned with the dawn light appearing behind the dark houses around them, Dumbledore had arrived in bright blue wizard robes and a tall hat that drooped off to one side, beard tucked neatly into his belt and eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

'Good morning,' he greeted cheerily. 'I take it all is in order, Alastor?'

'So far,' Moody grunted. 'Tonks'll have their things taken on the train with the others.'

'We're not taking the train?' Potter blurted loudly, earning a discreet kick from Jack and a hiss from Moody.

'Quiet, boy. Don't ask questions.'

'Not to worry,' Dumbledore said assuringly, 'arrangements have been made.'

Draco was not convinced this was the case as Dumbledore thrust out his wand sharply into the street. A few moments later, with a bang loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood, a purple triple-decker bus blasted to the curbside. The Knight Bus hissed as it halted, sinking several inches as the body of the bus came back in line with gravity and settled. A moment later, the doors rattled open.

A small, slightly hunch-backed man hopped down the steps. He was dressed in shaggy purple robes, with a nameplate on the front displaying 'Wilmer'. Draco supposed this was Stan Shunpike's replacement.

'Mornin', lads,' he said, voice quiet;y cheerful despite his ragged appearance and the disgustingly early hour. His large brown eyes seemed unaffected by the darkness, travelling over the three visible wizards before him. 'Just the three? That'll be—'

'That's the Headmaster,' called the driver from inside, 'just get 'em in, Willy, they're good to go.'

Apparently, arrangements had indeed been made. Draco and Potter shuffled in between Dumbledore and Moody and were led to top floor of the bus, which was deserted. Three large beds filled the tight space and the boys were obliged to take the middle one with Dumbledore, who perched on the edge of the mattress and asked Wilmer to bring them some tea when he was able. Moody and Jack took an end of the floor each, and with a shuddering thrust the bus took off again, leaving the dark gloomy buildings of Grimmauld Place behind.

'Sir,' Potter ventured quietly after the tea had come. 'Are we taking the bus all the way to Hogwarts?'

'Just to Hogsmeade,' Dumbledore replied, offering them each in turn a place full of biscuits, which they devoured quickly.

'Why don't we just Apparate?' Potter asked. 'Or take a Portkey?'

Draco, too, had just wondered this, and looked to Dumbledore for explaination.

'Oh, it's quite simple, I'm afraid. Any sort of direct transport magic like Apparation or Porting can be tapped into quite easily, if one knows what they are doing, and both are easily intercepted if one is determined.' In other words, Draco thought grimly, was Dumbledore suspected that the Ministry or even the Order had spies for the Dark Lord infiltrating any approval they'd need for such a long-range Portkey.

Dumbledore however did not seem to be bothered by this revelation and continued, 'You can take the cloak off for now, if you like. No point in being uncomfortable, we'll be travelling a small while.'

Draco disentangled himself as quickly as he could quite happily; he did not miss the significant smile Dumbledore cast on them as he and Potter sat as far away as physically possible from one another without leaving the bed. 'Tea?' he offered to Draco, who grimaced but took the cup anyway, Dumbledore then turning to Potter and offering another.

Draco nearly upset the hot liquid all over himself as the bus screeched to a stop. Potter tentatively took a sip just as the bus had settled, but before he could get any the bus shot off again and ended up with tea all over his jeans.

'Bit of a hazardous way to travel,' Dumbledore said apologetically, cleaning the mess with a swish of his wand and refilling Potter's cup. 'But I was very pleased to hear you two have managed to come through the summer together relatively unscathed.'

Draco snorted indiscreetly into his cup and Potter made a face, before taking a much quicker sip this time and managing to not spill as the bus tettered to another stop. 'I suppose there's no point in my asking why aren't we taking the train, Professor?'

'I'm sure there is a point, and the point being you desire an answer,' Dumbledore answered smartly. 'It's very simple, Harry. It is no secret to yourselves nor the general public that the two of you are indeed in much greater danger than any other students under my supervision this year, therefore I did not see any reason to complicate matters.'

'In other words, no use endangering more lives than you have to,' Draco added sourly.

'Precisely,' Dumbledore added, 'though not quite the words I would have chosen. I do believe it would be better for all interested parties if I oversaw your trip to Hogwarts.'

Apparently their arrangements did not include a non-stop trip to Scotland; the Knight Bus made an uncountable number of stops during the first few hours, so that by the time the sun was shining through the windows as the high morning approached, the beds had been replaced by pleasant glass tables and wicker chairs with fat, purple cushions. Wilmer brought up a basket of baguettes and some nondescript cheese for lunch, followed by pitchers of pumpkin juice and an assurance that everything was on schedule. He did not seem surprised to find two extra boys upstairs with the three he let on board earlier, but instead hurried back with extra cheese and juice to make sure everyone was comfortable.

No one else seemed to be admitted to the top floor; by eight o'clock, the wizarding rush hour was shared with Muggles after all, he could hear quite a number of muffled voices below in-between the frequent thrusts, bangs, shots and screeches of the bus. However crowded it was downstairs, only Wilmer bothered them with his presence occasionally, refilling their pitchers and tiding their tables when needed. Once or twice Moody stalked down the stairs, probably to make sure there weren't any suspect dark wizards travelling along with them, before clamouring back up and taking a long swig of something from his flask.

It was a very dull morning. Dumbledore attempted to make small talk with Draco and eventually gave up, turning to Potter, who chatted with him for a while about nothing particularly important or interesting before returning to an awkward sort of silence. He and Draco were purposely avoiding one another's gaze, as if the oncoming school year negated all that had pasted that summer. Not that any one would believe the two had been able to survive three months inside a single house, much less shared a room and occasionally a bed—whatever the reasons. The first time they had been sloshed, sure, but the second time...

Draco grimaced, angry that he could even feel embarrassed on Potter's behalf, or even pity him enough that he would do the prat a favour even if it was the only way he'd get a decent night's sleep. It had become apparent quite early into their summer that Potter suffered horrible nightmares, or visions, or whatever he wanted to call them. But they had seemed to have vanished without reason, and Draco had been quite happy to forget they existed, until last night. Apparently the lack of Theodore—or rather Theodore's talent at Occulemency—the nightmares had come back, and resulted in Draco shaking Potter awake at three in the morning lest leading the entire house to believe they were being murdered in their sleep.

Potter seemed quite happy to forget Draco ever crawling into his bed, too—and Draco was happy to oblige just as no one would ever mention Draco crying himself into a disgusting heap in Potter's lap that first night. It was a silent, mutual, perfectly beneficial agreement between the two. They were even. They could kill each other all they wanted when they went back to school, just like Jack said. Anything embarrassing or degrading besides the aforementioned instances was fair game.

There was also that weird part about Potter sleeping with a bloke, but Draco decided that Potter obviously was into bestiality and while it would supply him with a lot of ammo to make his life miserable, the prospect of a Theo-wolf appearing in his bedroom one night to eat him was enough to discourage him from ever acknowledging that he saw anything of the sort.

They were still in London, dashing through Muggle traffic, and the bus made a particularly long stop outside of the Leaky Cauldron, likely emptying the majority of its contents to be let into Diagon Alley before racing off again, leaving the Tower Bridge in its wake. Draco had just decided to grab another slice of bread and cheese when the bus slammed to a stop again, even more violently than usual.

When the bus remained stationary for a full two minutes, Dumbledore stood up. Moody thundered down the stairs as quickly as he could, leaving just Jack and Dumbledore upstairs, both with wands drawn. Potter did not need telling; he grabbed the cloak and Draco stood as he threw the cloak over the both of them.

They waited.

'Alastor?' Dumbledore inquired mildly down the stairs.

'Trouble with the engine, he says,' came the distant growl. 'I don't like it, we're in the middle of nowhere here.'

Draco looked out the windows. On both sides, they were surrounded by tall, ghastly looking brick buildings with boarded up windows. The sun, which had been shining merrily all morning into the afternoon, had been hidden by a blanket of misty, grey clouds and the street outside was eerily silent.

'I think it would be best if we waited outside,' Dumbledore decided, hinting at the boys to follow him as discreetly as they could down the stairs. Jack brought up the rear, silent and eyes cast over his shoulder.

The rest of the passengers had also pooled outside into the street, as there was no pavement to be seen beside the tall brick houses. There was a very fat man in a bursting suit-vest carrying a very large briefcase, talking in urgent, distressed tones to Wilmer, who was assuring him that he would make his meeting on time. Behind him stood two tall, elder witches with matching green robes and velvet Victorian hats laden with large, yellow chrysanthemums, whispering to one another about shoddy mechanical upkeep these days. A wiry old wizard at the back looked quite delighted to be off the bus and was commenting to no one in particular about the shifty weather. A dozen or so others were wrapped tightly up in cloaks, doing their best to wait patiently despite the sudden chill. Dumbledore ushered the invisible boys to the back of the group and left Jack to stand guard while he went to speak with the driver.

It looked more like an alleyway than a street, Draco noticed, looking around. The lack of pavement and doors to the buildings seemed to confirm this, although it was a rather large alleyway—the Knight Bus only took up perhaps half of the cobbled lane.

'How often has the Knight Bus broken down?' Potter asked quietly.

Draco shrugged, as if he'd know, he knew of the bus but had never had to use it before. It was Jack who answered, however. looking uncharacteristically serious: 'Never.'

The sky seemed to grow darker, as if dusk was approaching even thought Draco knew it was only about noon. A fine mist had settled on the alleyway, and even inside Tonks' jacket Draco began to shiver.

He should have seen it coming. Potter had, apparently; he threw off the cloak and shouted 'Professor!' just before the first one swept down from the roof of the building beside them, going straight for them. Before Draco could draw his wand despite having no idea what in the world to do with it, a ghostly blur shot between him and Potter, impaling the Dementor with its tusks and tossing it away, screaming. The warthog pawed the ground before turning and returning to Jack, who looked whiter than Draco had ever seen him.

'Just one?' Potter asked. 'But all the mist—'

There was a sudden stillness, and Draco watched it all happen as if it were slow motion: either end of the alleyway grew pitch black, leading off into black holes of coldness, and Dumbledore raised his wand from the front of the bus and out of it burst the shining light of heaven. A great phoenix erupted, ghostly white feathers swirling in the midst of the darkness, beak open in a silent scream that seemed to make the darkness at the far end of the alleyway shudder.

Behind them, Potter had whirled and thrust his own wand forward, summoning the giant stag Draco had seen only twice before, he and could never remember it being quite so huge. It galloped courageously into the black pit of Dementors bearing towards them, throwing them back with a pulse of light that blinded Draco temporarily. The screaming of the Dementors was deafening, drowning out the cries of the frightened passengers.

For a brief moment Draco was able to breathe again, thinking the worst was over. The Patronuses were solid, the Dementors were gone—but they had not come alone. They swooped on above, diving down inbetween the bright spells dashing to and fro trying to fend them off, scaly hands reaching down menacingly as if they meant to pick them all up and carry them off. That was when the first curse was fired, and missed Moody by inches, shattering a first-floor window of the bus instead in a bright green burst of light.

Draco felt someone grab his jacket by the collar and yank him down. He found himself on the ground, face-to-face with Jack, who followed to grab Potter by the belt and yank him down by the bumper of the bus to use for cover. 'Stay down,' he ordered. 'What the hell did you do with the cloak?' Another jet of light, red this time, hit the wall opposite them and sent chunks of brick flying in all directions. 'Oh, fuck, nevermind it, move.'

He was behind them, pushing them along. Potter was in the lead, gripping Draco by the wrist as if he would try to scurry off at first opportunity or possibly to make sure if Draco got blown to smithereens he could steal his jacket.

A hex ricocheted off the wall and slammed into the bus, nearly decapitating Jack, who was forced to fall back. Potter seemed to decided that all hell had broken lose and that, for once, instead of running into it wand ablaze, hiding like a coward would be for the best and slipped under the bus, dragging Draco with him just as another curse slammed into the side of the bus where they had knelt.

Potter was cursing profusely. Draco could hardly hear it over the uproar outside; Dumbledore was clearly waging one side of a war on the Dementors, the blinding light of his Patronus lighting up even the underside of the bus as it flew past. Moody was cackling madly, duelling whoever it was throwing curses at them, and he could see Jack's feet get surrounded by the green robes of the witches with the hats, probably trying to use him as a human shield.

Draco wanted to ask Potter What now? but didn't get the chance: scaly hands had appeared from the other side of the bus and were reaching for Potter's ankle. Draco made a strangled sort of sound and pointed frantically, and Potter rolled out of the way, smashing into Draco as they both attempted to scoot back out from under the bus.

The word of their location had spread fast, apparently, in every direction, it seemed black cloaks, pit-like mouths and bony fingers were reaching in for them.

'Malfoy,' Potter said, looking from one side to the other, 'can you Apparate?'

Draco stared dubiously at him for a minute, which was impressive considering their current predicament. 'Are you mad, Potter? I haven't even taken my test, I wasn't going to be old enough until this—'

'Then hold on,' Potter interrupted him, grabbing him roughly by the upper arm. For a moment, Draco thought they were doomed: the Dementors had grabbed him, and he could feel himself slowly slipping away...

Then he realised that the Dementor hadn't grabbed him by the gut, and that his stomach was slipping away with Potter, wherever he was taking them. Back to Headquarters, surely, it was the safest place to go—Draco concentrated on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place as hard as he could, imagining the run-down state of the house, the wilted lawn, the twisted iron snake acting as a knocker... he just wanted to be anywhere but here.

It felt like he and Potter had been squeezed through a straw much too small for two boys who were anything but pleased to be squished together. When Draco stumbled to his feet, feeling distinctly nauseous, he noticed with a horrified glance that the street he planned to be sick on was cobbled, and for a moment thought they hadn't gone anywhere. Then he looked up, and the sickness vanished and was replaced with complete bewilderment.

They weren't at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

First thing he noticed was that it was sunny again; the light filtered down through yellowing trees that swayed in a gentle breeze, rustling the fallen leaves on the road they had landed on. Potter was still on his backside, looking quite taken aback. 'This isn't Hogsmeade,' he said a bit stupidly.

Any response Draco had was interrupted but a deep, grunting voice that was singing from the ground nearby.

'When I'm sitting on a windowsill blowing my horn,

nobody's up except the moon 'n me,

and a large ol' tomcat on a midnight spree,

all that you left me was a melody...'

Sprawled the the bottom of a signpost was a very peculiar looking Muggle. He was dressed shabbily, stains throughout his jeans and shirt, but what took Draco off guard was the gleaming white cowboy hat perched on the dishevelled head, framing large, round glasses that made his eyes look protuberant and a bushy moustache. He was at least ten feet from them, but Draco could already pick up his odour, which made the nausea come rushing back tenfold. He seemed unsurprised by the sudden company, and raised his bottle of cider in greeting.

'No,' Draco said, rubbing his head. 'Definitely not Hogsmeade.'

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The Heart of the Matter