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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Six

Hiding the tears in my eyes

I just try to laugh about it

Covering it all up with lies

Because boys don't cry

- The Cure, boys don't cry

: : :

Draco was thoroughly miserable.

After Potter settled down and fell into a quiet slumber, Draco laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling. There were a number of reasons he was unable to immediately fall asleep, including but not limited to the viscous, burning hatred and betrayal festering inside of his chest, more silent tears of sheer frustration at everything, and a pounding headache as a result.

There was also the simple fact of acknowledging that Potter had not only failed to vex Draco because of his emotional weaknesses, but even kipped on the sofa for a few nights to let him recover from it. It boggled Draco that instead of taking advantage of it, Potter'd slept on a couch in his own home so his worst enemy could recover.

Well, perhaps not his worst, but Draco was pretty sure he was up there.

It was a new and strange perturbation and Draco found himself tripped up on what was denoted by the act. He didn't know what to do with it, where to take it, or even if he had to do anything with it at all, and more importantly, he was unable to figure out why he couldn't just brush it off. Should he have acknowledged it? How did someone – especially someone like him, in this case – attest to something like that?

He didn't even know where to begin. Draco wasn't used to being grateful for anything, and the one person Draco never imagined he'd feel anything of the sort for was quietly curled up across the room from him, apparently asleep and unaware of the turmoil he'd caused.

A large knot kept forming in Draco's throat whenever he thought about it, and his headache had grown to epic proportions. What little sleep he managed was fitful, at best. And if he had to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow, forced to reveal the secret he kept for a year and face up to it, it was promising to be just as miserable a day, too.

: : :

The first thing that registered in Draco's head upon waking was that the entire world was screaming and falling apart at the seams. He nearly had a panic attack.

A quick evaluation of the situation enlightened him that the sky was not, in fact, falling down upon London, and that earthquakes didn't normally involve loud, off-key singing. As it turned out, the shaking was due to Tonks bouncing on the edge of his mattress and the thunderous, badly-vocalised lyrics to Its A Kind of Magic! from the latest Weird Sisters album coming through the floor, presumably from the Weasley twins' room. Draco took a moment to pray silently to Merlin for five more minutes because he would surely die if he sat up right now, and stuffed his face back in the pillow.

'Wake up, sleepy head,' Tonks sing-songed, ruffling his hair. 'Breakfast in twenty, and you want to use the loo before Ginny gets it. She takes ages.'

Draco growled incoherently and burrowed his head underneath the pillow.

'All right, but Molly says if you're not down for breakfast, she's sending the twins to get you.'

Draco groaned, slightly more coherent. What these people had in mind, getting up at the crack of dawn, he had no idea.

'Up,' Tonks admonished, forcibly dragging him out of his comfortable cocoon by taking away his pillow, which served as the only barrier he had between his face and the morning sunlight. The girl had been properly sorted, for sure; she was completely evil and unforgiving.

'I don't like you,' he informed her, grimacing.

'I don't like anybody before I've had a cuppa either,' she returned. 'Come on, you haven't eaten a decent meal in half a week.'

'M'not hungry.'

'Hungry or not, if you allow yourself to grow weak and frail, you will be picked off like a sickly animal in this house.'

Draco considered this. It was probably true. 'I'll be picked off anyway.'

'Not if I can help it,' Tonks said cheerfully. 'Up. Merlin, you're worse than Harry. Get up!'

Well, Draco thought, he was already worse than Potter with enough that he did not need to add waking up to the List of Things Potter Did Better. Sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes with one hand, he struggled into a sitting position. Draco was somewhat surprised to find that he did not expire on the spot as expected, although he certainly decided that this is what it must feel like to be an Inferius, and was overcome with a huge surge of sympathy for the undead.

He squinted at Tonks, sitting on the edge of his bed. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'm up.'

'Do I look stupid?' she asked. He was tempted to be honest; anyone with bright pink hair looked fairly stupid, really. 'I'm not falling for that. I'll leave once you're up and walking and off to the loo.'

Like he'd said: completely evil and unforgiving.

Sighing in resignation, Draco paused briefly before hauling himself out of bed and to his feet, stretching, and his back made some muffled cracking noises.

Tonks winced. 'You're all knots, aren't you?' she remarked, frowning. 'Though I suppose you would be, what with the chaos that night and all. We'll have to sort you out later, though, I still need to go wake up the girls.'

She stood up and looked him over. He turned away, aware his eyes were still red and raw and his hair was an absolute disaster, he was just too tired to do anything about it. 'Are you all right, Draco? I mean, all things considering – you look – '

'I'm fine,' he said shortly, squinting at the sunlight pouring through the windowpane. 'Really.'

There was a tell-tale pause in which Draco could imagine her pursing her lips, much in the way his mother used to when she knew he was lying through his teeth. Finally, he heard Tonks sigh. 'All right, I'll take your word for it. But listen, if you need anything – I mean, I know the others aren't very fond of you, but they'll warm up. Just... give them some time.'

Draco wanted to tell her he didn't want them to warm up to him, and really couldn't care less if they all suddenly dropped off the edge of the world. That, in fact, he'd prefer it. Instead, he said, 'I'll be down in ten.'

He waited until he heard the door open and close before he allowed himself to turn around, and noticed a new pile of clothes by his bed. Sighing heavily, Draco miserably wondered when his world had been reduced to the charity of Muggle-lovers, and slowly started to change.

: : :

Life at number twelve, Grimmauld Place was about as far from Draco's norm as was remotely possible.

At home in the Manor, it was always quiet. Even when Draco had had his friends around, the volume was kept minimal by his mother casting Muting charms over the rooms they occupied. Father hated unnecessary noise. His family didn't even talk at mealtimes – meals were for eating, not chatting, Father'd always say. It'd taken Draco a year and half at school to break the habit, before he was comfortable talking all he pleased while at Hogwarts before his plate we clean.

Headquarters was alive with noise. The Weasley twins decided that the best way to wake everyone up would be by galumphing through the halls and down staircases, singing Weird Sisters songs at the top of their voices. Draco had barely opened the bedroom door before he decided that singing was not among the twins' talents. The portrait downstairs was screaming again.

'Oi, Harry!' one of the twins shouted gleefully, thrusting his head in the door before Draco had it open properly. He squinted at Draco. 'Oh, look Fred, it's our new pet ferret,' he sneered. 'Where's Harry?'

Draco sneered right back. 'Snuffing it, hopefully.'

'George, leave him,' said the other twin, tugging him back into the hall. 'Don't want mum starting this early. We can kill him later.'

'After breakfast?' the first inquired hopefully.

Draco watched them disappear down the stairs with a horrible sense of foreboding. He needed to get out of here.

It wasn't that the twins' threats actually troubled him. He still had his wand, and he could take care of himself well enough. It was just that he didn't belong here. The atmosphere was wrong – it upset his internal decorum, just being here with these people. Hogwarts was bad enough, but this place had made him more homesick in three days than school had managed in six years and he felt... he actually felt nauseous. Physically sick right to his stomach. If he'd eaten properly in the past few days, he'd probably need to be sick into the toilet.

After a quick trip to the loo to make himself somewhat presentable, Draco slipped as quietly as he could down three sets of stairs into the basement kitchen, successfully avoiding any collisions. The kitchen itself was quiet aside from the clanking of pots; Mrs Weasley was the only one in the room.

'Fred!' she snapped without turning around as she heard Draco enter. 'I told you, ten minutes!'

She whirled around, sporting a flora apron and wooden spoon in hand. When she saw Draco, both her voice and expression softened immediately. 'Oh, good morning, dear. Here, have a seat, we'll give you an early start – that lot's like a pride of lions in the morning and you've not had a proper meal in days.'

Draco didn't bother to argue. He slipped in the nearest chair as Mrs Weasley bustled around, waving wand and spoon, lowering a plate laden with food in front of him. It wasn't until he'd taken the first bite that Draco's body seemed to remember how very hungry it was, and he was halfway through his second helpings by the time the noise above migrated down the stairs, filling the kitchen with people.

There were two more people this morning than there were the previous night. She-Weasley gave him a scathing look as she took a seat next to an older Weasley Draco didn't recognise – his appearance was similar to that of the twins, and was dressed in dragon hide trousers and a sleeveless shirt, displaying a large burn on one of his upper arms.

Tonks nearly fell over her chair before sitting in it properly, just beside Draco. 'Told you her potatoes were good,' she said, winking at him and stealing a bite off his plate.

By the time the rest had gotten their rations and sat down, Draco was finished, and about to quietly excuse himself when the older Weasley said to the table at large, 'So, the Healers at St Mungo's think Bill's going to be all right.'

Lupin, Potter, and all of the Weasleys looked up as one. Lupin in particular looked interested. 'That's good, Charlie,' he said. 'Do they have any idea what the side-effects will be?'

Charlie shrugged. 'He'll have the scars for life, but they're not nearly as bad as they were.' He smirked at Lupin. 'Apparently, one of the perks of being a werewolf is the ability to heal fast.'

'Indeed it is,' Lupin said mildly.

'Is that it?' Weasley demanded. 'Just the scars?'

'Well, no, they can't say for sure until he's had a few full moons,' Charlie admitted. 'They've had a few cases similar to his, where people've been attacked just before nightfall or after sunrise – probably also by Greyback – and so far none of them have become true werewolves.'

'They said they reckon the worst that'll happen is he'll get a little moody whenever the moon's waning,' She-Weasley added.

'Yeah, Fleur says they'll both have monthlies now,' Charlie finished, looking thoroughly amused. There was a moment's pause before most of the males at the table grimaced and the girls dissolved into giggles.

'That's disgusting,' Weasley said helpfully, pushing his plate away.

'Where are you going?' Tonks asked as Draco tried and failed to use this distraction to make a getaway.

Thinking quickly, Draco supplied, 'To go straighten out your homicidal drape, remember?'

'He shouldn't be going anywhere alone.' Draco froze and narrowed his eyes at the She-Weasley, and she narrowed her own right back. 'Who knows what he's doing.'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley admonished. 'Really, that's uncalled for. Professor Dumbledore – '

'So's what he did to Bill! I don't care what Dumbledore says!'

'You should,' Potter said quietly, eyes on his plate.

'Harry, you can't honestly trust the bastard!'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley exclaimed again, looking scandalised that her daughter even knew that word.

'No, I don't,' Potter said. He looked up at Draco, then back to Ginny. 'But he doesn't need a babysitter, either.'

'If you think I'm letting that slimy, two-faced git out of my sight – '

'I am right here!' Draco snapped, and everyone looked at him. His murderous gaze was still focused on Ginny.

'I'm well aware of that,' she snapped back, baring her teeth at him. 'And I don't care if your mother died, Malfoy, you're not getting any pity from me. It's your own fault she's dead, just as it's yours that Bill's the way he is – '

'Ginny – ' Lupin started to interrupt, but Draco talked right over him.

'I know, and I'm fucking sorry!' he shouted at her, all the frustration and anger and guilt inside of him suddenly bursting, pouring out and coating his words. Ginny recoiled as if he'd slapped her. 'And I don't want your pity! Or your sympathy or your fucking forgiveness! And I don't want to be here anymore than you do, and if I had anywhere else to go, I'd be gone in a heartbeat, because you can all go to hell for all I care!'

On his way out of the kitchen, he heard Weasley remark behind him, 'Well done, Gin.'

Draco took care to slam the door at the top of the stairs with a lot more force than was necessary.

: : :

The murderous drape upstairs was easy enough for Draco to soothe. He'd simply dusted it off and told it to stop trying to strangle his cousin and her partner, mostly because they were the only defence he had against everyone else in the house – who, on the other hand, were fine to choke if they got close enough. The drape had fluttered adoringly against him instead of attempting to wring his neck, which Draco had interpreted as a positive response.

The master bedroom was enormous; nearly occupying the entire top floor, save for the second bathroom across the hall that the ghoul was occupying. The bedroom appeared even larger because it was so empty; there were no portraits or pictures or other decorations around the room, and the surfaces of the minimal amount of furniture were bare save for a few necessities. A wardrobe in one corner was ajar, and one of Tonks' brightly-coloured jumpers was dangling out, clashing against the otherwise drab colours of the room.

The far corner was what drew Draco's attention, however. Something long and large was covered with a canvas sheet, lumpy and uneven and boasting a fine layer of dust. He didn't recognise the shape. His curiosity roused, Draco wandered over to it and carefully peeled back the edge, wrinkling his nose against the unsettled dust as he pulled the canvas up and away.

Shielded from the dust, the chrome remained polished and gleamed against the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. Draco stared at the machine, transfixed by the light, the corner of the canvas still pinched between his fingers. Surprise was an understatement, for a Muggle motorbike was about the last thing he'd have ever expected to find in the old Black house.

'It was Sirius',' said a voice from the doorway.

Draco dropped the canvas like it had burned him and wheeled around. Potter was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with a slight tilt of his head. Draco stared at him. 'SiriusBlack's?'

'D'you know any other Siriuses?' Potter asked, looking smug. 'He was my godfather.'

'I know,' Draco said. 'My father – ' And then he stopped, choking on the word. He snarled and looked away.

He heard Potter shift slightly. After a moment, Potter cleared his throat and said, 'Dumbledore sent an owl – he managed to clear his appointments early, so he'll be coming for us at noon.'

'Us?' Draco scowled. 'He only needs me to open it.'

'I left the same time you did, remember?' Potter asked. 'My trunk and things are all still there, too.'

Draco hadn't even thought of that – his robes, books, even his old broom – they were all still at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, they were probably the only possessions left he had to call his own.

This epiphany did nothing to help Draco's foul mood. He said nothing.

'And, um,' Potter continued in the silence, frowning slightly. 'Sorry about Ginny. She tends to get defensive – especially with Bill, he was her favourite brother.'

'I really don't care, Potter,' Draco snapped, looking back up at him. 'I still meant what I said.'

'Did you?' Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't want their pity. Or yours.'

Potter shrugged. 'That's not what – I mean, I figured you wouldn't,' he said quickly. 'But you meant the apology,' he inquired, looking curious.

Draco met his gaze evenly. 'I wouldn't of said it if I hadn't,' he said stiffly.

And Draco did mean it – he was angry that he hadn't just dealt with Dumbledore and kept his mother alive, but that did not mean he was proud of what happened as a result. He did not like the Weasleys, after all, but he knew Greyback—the werewolf had been a close friend of his father's. He remembered the visits Greyback used to make to the Manor when he was younger, and how his mother would shout at his father about it, and trail Draco from room to room, afraid that if she let her son out of her sight that he might end up alone in a room with the pedophilic beast. Father never seemed worried about it, and Draco had clung to his mother like a shield.

Greyback scared the living hell out of Draco. He'd seen what the monster did to people under the Dark Lord's new regime, and he wouldn't have wished that on anyone.

Not even a Weasley.

Potter just kept looking at him, and Draco wondered when the Gryffindor learned to keep his face impassive. Potter usually didn't disguise what he was feeling, even if it was the worst – Potter was reckless with his emotions like that, it's what made hurting him over six years so easy. But this time Potter just stared at him, eyes and face blank, and Draco would have given his broom to know what was going through Potter's head.

'What?' Draco snapped, unable to withstand the silence a moment longer.

Potter didn't look perturbed by the outburst. He just shrugged again. 'Nothing. I'm just surprised, is all.'

'About what?' Draco demanded.

'You.'

Potter was still staring at him with that blank, unrelenting gaze, and it was driving Draco insane. He hated being searched and analysed, as if he were some sort of poison that – if someone studied thoroughly enough – they could discover a cure for. Snape had been looking at him like that all year; Dumbledore had been looking at him for six years; his father had been looking at him like that hisentire life.

And now Potter was looking at him like that, and Draco had never hated him more.

'By all means, Potter, enjoy your delusions about my reformation,' Draco sneered as he strode up to him. 'Go ahead, get your hopes up.' He smirked at the surprise that flickered over Potter's face as Draco stopped in front of him, lowered his voice and finished, 'So I have something to look forward to when I disappoint you.'

Draco shoved Potter out of the way with his shoulder, pushing him off the door frame, and Draco retreated downstairs before the other boy could muster a response.

: : :

Notes:

Just one quick credit - It's A Kind of Magic is actually a song by Queen. Fred and George aren't singing the Queen song, though – just borrowed the title of the song because I'm not creative like that and I am a Freddie Mercury whore.
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The Heart of the Matter