Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three

Your hands are really shakin' something awful

As your worries crawl around inside your clothes

How long will you be sittin' in the darkness

Heaven knows

- Joan Osborne, Crazy Baby

: : :

Draco spent the next two days in bed.

It felt more like a week, but he carefully counted the number of times the sun appeared and disappeared outside the window, casting warm shadows around his room through the drapes. They began as small orange lines against the door, and slowly stretched into long, diagonal rectangles across the bottom-half of the door and the floor. He would spend most of his day watching the dust turn golden and spin in the light, like a million tiny, dancing Snitches.

The rest of his room remained dark and indistinct, and he sought refuge in the aphotic corner his bed resided in, comparing the tiny dust Snitches to the way sunlight used to reflect off his mother's hair on a bright day. Or thinking about how she'd never send the house-elf to wake him during the summer months when he slept in like Father had, but always came into his room herself, and her soft murmurs and light touch on his hair would slowly pull him from sleep.

And he'd think about how he would never see or hear or feel any of those things ever again.

His bed at home was much larger and comfortable than his bed here. Potter's bed, he corrected himself. Whatever. Potter had obviously found himself somewhere else to sleep, and so far he and his lot had mercifully left Draco alone. Leaving the room only in the early or late hours when the house had grown still to plod downstairs to the loo, Draco was aware but uncaring of the fact that he'd been lying and sleeping in the same robes for three consecutive days. He had not combed his hair or brushed his teeth, much less ingested anything that wasn't water straight from the tap.

He liked the routine; the less energy he had the less of it he could waste on sobbing. If he kept himself exhausted beyond tears, he didn't have to cry. He could mourn like a man was supposed to—aching and in despair, but composed.

What Potter had witnessed had been unfortunate timing and circumstance. It would not happen again.

Draco did not acknowledge the fact that he'd promised himself that very same thing last time Potter caught him weeping like a small child. He decided to skip his evening trip to the loo, and eventually his mind faded into a fitful sort of sleep, filled with blue eyes and golden hair that shone in the sunlight.

: : :

He woke with a start the third day. Judging by the rectangles of light on the floor, it was about midday. The soft knock sounded his door again, and Draco rolled over to face the wall and ignored it.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door open. Whoever it was could sod off, because he refused to acknowledge he was awake. Mother would have known better than to bother him like this.

'Draco? Are you awake, dear?'

The use of his first name startled him, but he did not move and forced his breathing to remain shallow. He had been expecting Potter, demanding his room back, or perhaps the werewolf, but this voice was female. Older. Motherly, even. The concern in her tone was not false, and for half a crazy moment, Draco considered rolling over.

'All right, dear,' said the voice that clearly knew he was awake. 'I'll just leave this for you. But you should know that Severus and Albus will be stopping by this evening after tea, and they'll be wanting to speak with you.'

He waited until the door had closed before rolling over and slowly sitting up. On the stand by his bed—Potter's bed—sat a silver tray with a pitcher of what looked like pumpkin juice, a kettle of tea with a cup, and a small selection of comestibles. Draco had been able to ignore the hunger pangs until now, and his stomach growled aloud and he reached over and plucked an apple off the tray to placate his body for the time being.

On the bed by his feet were a small pile of Muggle clothes. Draco only had to sniff his present robes once to decide that they would be worth changing into, if only to be kind to Snape when he came to call. Finishing the apple and going through the entire kettle, Draco grabbed the clothes and snuck downstairs to the bathroom, which was thankfully deserted.

He had only been to the Black House when he was very small, but he still remembered this bathroom. When he had been three, the tub had been like a pool to him. He could hear the ghoul in the bathroom above his own as he started the bath, howling and clanging against the pipes. While the tub filled, Draco leaned over the sink and studied his face in the mirror; his eyes were sunken and swollen, lids dark pink and raw, old tear trails were caked onto his cheeks, and his hair was an oleaginous disaster, knotted and matted from being cried on and neglected.

'Merlin's beard, you look repulsive,' the mirror informed him. 'Don't let Mistress see you like that.'

Grimacing in self-disgust, Draco turned away from mirror and decided drowning himself in the tub was not an option, as being found by Potter and assorted Weasleys in such a state of disgrace would simply not be fit for his end.

: : :

Either Draco was imagining things, or Potter's house was rather infatuated with him.

After a long and undisturbed soak in the tub, the mirror informed him he'd look much nicer if he removed the scowl, but that he was bound to survive the Mistress' opinion. Draco did not bother pointing out said Mistress had been dead and gone for years, because mirrors didn't tend to retain information all that well, and the simple fact that he thought it was amusing that Potter's own house didn't acknowledge him as the owner.

The Muggle clothes he'd been given fit reasonably well, so they couldn't have been Potter's, because Potter was shorter than he was. Or Weasley's, for that matter, otherwise he'd have had to roll up the cuffs. This made him feel reasonably better about wearing them. They weren't bad, really; The jeans were very dark blue, almost black, and there was a long-sleeved grey shirt to wear under the black, short-sleeved button-up. He looked all right, he decided, and it was nice to get out of the school robes. They had become odorous to a really repulsive degree.

His hair was still damp but in order when he finally left the bathroom, and the portrait on the wall outside had looked up at him and smiled approvingly. Then it had said, 'Those clothes don't suit you at all, but you're fine-looking boy.' Even though Draco was well aware he was nothing special in the looks department, he still possessed enough aristocratic features that he could hardly complain. It wasn't until he'd wandered downstairs into the living room that he realised that he was, perhaps, the only person present that the house seemed willing to cooperate for.

Lupin and a young, brightly-coloured witch were wrestling with the mantle, which was simply refusing to open its iron gate. The young witch had short, shockingly pink hair stuck up in spikes and was dressed similarly to Draco, her wand sticking out the back pocket of her jeans. She had one boot up on the fireplace and clawed at the iron bars with both hands.

'Bloody buggering stupid arsing piece of—'

'Language, darling,' Lupin remarked absently, abandoning the mantle as he looked up and saw Draco. 'Hullo, Draco. How're you feeling?'

The witch turned her head and blinked in surprise at him. She had a heart-shaped face and a pinched-looking nose, but very familiar eyes. As soon as she was distracted, the fireplace slammed its gate closed on her fingers with a loud snap. She uttered a long string of words that made Lupin attempt to frown and smile simultaneously.

'I'm fine,' she declared as Lupin attempted to check her fingers, which she promptly stuck in her mouth to suck on.

It was very cold in the room, Draco decided, and it would be much warmer with a fire going. Stepping between the two, he squatted before the fireplace and tapped the gate with his wand.

'Draco,' Lupin began, 'I don't think that's—'

Draco ignored him and laid his palm against the gate, saying, 'I'm cold. Open up.'

Lupin and the witch blinked as the mantle slid smoothly open at once, and even went as far to set the wood on the grate alight. It crackled merrily, and Draco stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before standing up and turning around. Lupin and the witch were both staring at him dubiously. He smirked.

'Pureblood,' he said, by way of explanation.

Lupin smiled faintly. The witch grimaced. 'That's not fair. I'm just as much Black as you are.'

The full significance of her statement took an extra moment to sink for Draco. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'What?'

'Oh,' the witch said, looking startled. Lupin was smiling openly now and made an encouraging gesture. 'Er,' she said after a moment. 'I don't believe we've properly met.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Obviously.'

'Oh, you are just like your mum,' she remarked absently. Then at the look on his face, added, 'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean—bugger, I'm terrible at this.'

She looked to Lupin for help, who offered, 'She's Andromeda Black's daughter. Your cousin.'

Well, thought Draco, that explained the eyes. 'The half-blood?'

Lupin frowned and the witch folded her arms. 'Yes, I'm half-blood,' she said. 'Just like your buddy Snape.'

'And just like Voldemort,' said a voice behind them, causing everyone to wince. Lupin stepped aside to reveal Potter, standing alone in the hall. 'You remember him, don't you? The one you swore allegiance to?'

'Fuck you, Potter,' Draco spat. 'The Dark Lord is better wizard than any of you.'

'Half the wizard, from your angle,' Potter shot back.

'Children,' Lupin interrupted. 'The bigotry really needs to stop. You are both on the same side, now.'

Draco lifted his chin. 'I'm not on anybody's side.'

'Then you're going to find yourself very alone and without aid,' Lupin informed him. 'I understand times have been hard for you, Draco. They've been hard for all of us, and you are only one of many to have suffered losses.'

'Remus is right,' the witch said before either boy could retort. She cast a wary look at Draco before stepping forward, uninjured hand outstretched. 'We can at least try to get along. I'm Tonks.'

Draco looked at her hand. Just as he decided to tell her where to shove it, he looked up at her eyes, and all he saw there was his mother.

He took her hand and shook it once, and she beamed at him. Lupin looked pleased while Potter just looked dumbstruck.

'Nice to meet you, my dear Tonks,' she supplied for Draco as he remained silent. She did a decent imitation of his drawl. 'My name's Draco. I've heard heaps about you, you look just like your dear mum, but don't we all? Let's skip the pleasantries and go have a drink.'

Lupin suddenly looked a lot less pleased. 'Ah, I'm not sure—'

'I'm of age,' Draco informed him shortly, casting a smirk Potter's way. 'Unlike some people.' He smiled at Tonks. 'I'd love to.'

'Excellent!' Tonks closed her hand around his and dragged him towards the hall. 'You like Firewhisky?'

He sneered smugly at Potter on their way past. 'Love it.'

Draco was viciously pleased to see Potter, scowling, give him the finger as she pulled him the stairs towards the kitchen.

: : :
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Heart of the Matter