The air inside the Shrieking Shack was stagnant and smelled of dust and rot. Draconia pressed her back against the lath of the wall, her breath catching in her throat as the darkness of the tunnel behind her began to lift. She could see the outline of the furniture, the heavy, slumped shapes of broken chairs and a table that looked as though it had been struck by a blunt object. Harry was a silhouette just a few feet away, his shoulders hunched as he stood near the centre of the room. He looked smaller here than he did in the corridors of the castle, stripped of the bravado that usually accompanied his name.
"Are you still there?" Harry asked. His voice was low, a mere vibration in the stale air.
"I am not going anywhere," Draconia replied. She stepped forward, the floorboards groaning under her feet. The wood was old and splintered, a treacherous surface that felt as though it might give way at any moment.
Harry turned to look at her, and for a moment, his eyes caught the dim light filtering through the cracks in the shutters. There was a frantic quality to his gaze, a sense that he was searching for something he could not quite name. He looked exhausted, the shadows beneath his eyes dark and bruised against his pale skin.
"You shouldn't have come," he said. It was not a command, but a warning that felt heavy with a sudden, unexpected gravity.
"I could not just stay in the tunnel," Draconia said. She moved closer to him, her fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his sleeve. "It is too quiet in there. The silence is a lie."
Harry let out a short, breathless laugh that lacked any real mirth. "Everything in this place is a lie, Draconia. The house, the name, the way people look at us. It is all just a way to hide the rot."
"Is that what this is?" she asked, gesturing to the wreckage around them. "The rot?"
"It is the truth," he said. He stepped toward her, and the distance between them vanished. "The truth is usually messy. It is rarely as clean as the stories make it out to be."
"I am not interested in stories," Draconia said. She reached up, her hand hovering near his jaw before she pulled it back, hesitant. "I am interested in what is actually here."
"Then you are looking at it," Harry whispered.
A sudden, sharp sound from the doorway made them both freeze. It was the sound of a heavy footfall, followed by the unmistakable rustle of a heavy cloak. Draconia felt a jolt of adrenaline hit her system, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She instinctively moved toward the shadows, her eyes searching the gloom for the source of the noise.
"Who is there?" a voice called out. It was a clear, commanding voice, one that brooked no argument.
Granger appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the corridor. She held her wand aloft, the tip glowing with a faint, flickering light that did little to illuminate the room. Her face was set in a mask of determination, but there was a tremor in her hand that betrayed her unease.
"Harry?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch. "Is that you?"
Harry stepped back, his movement sudden and jagged. He looked as though he wanted to hide, to pull the shadows around him like a shroud. Draconia felt a sudden, sharp pang of apprehension. She did not know how to act, how to exist in this space between his secret and the world’s expectations.
"Granger," Harry said, his voice returning to a level of forced calm. "You should not be here."
"And where should I be?" Granger demanded, stepping into the room. The light from her wand swept across the floor, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. "The castle is in an uproar, and you are out here, running through the grounds like a madman."
"It is not that simple," Harry said. He looked at Draconia, a brief, panicked glance that she saw and understood.
"Nothing is ever simple with you," Granger said. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes scanning the room before settling on the two of them. Her gaze was sharp, dissecting the scene with a clinical precision. "What is happening? Why are you both hiding in a derelict shack in the middle of the night?"
Draconia felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The room felt smaller than it had a moment ago, the walls closing in as the reality of their situation took shape. She could feel the heat of Harry’s presence beside her, a stark contrast to the chill of the room.
"It is just a conversation," Draconia said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Nothing more."
Granger narrowed her eyes. "A conversation? You look like you have been through a war, Malfoy. Your hair is a wreck and your robes are covered in dirt."
"The dirt is the least of our problems," Draconia replied, a small, defiant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Is that so?" Granger asked. She stepped closer, her wand still held high. "Then tell me the truth. What is the truth of it?"
Harry looked down at his boots, a heavy silence falling over him. He seemed to be weighing the cost of a single word, the weight of a single confession. Draconia watched him, her heart aching with a sudden, fierce loyalty that she could not quite rationalise.
"The truth is that we are all just trying to survive the night," Harry said finally.
"That is a very vague answer," Granger said. She moved toward the door, her eyes darting between the two of them. "Is there someone else? Are there more of you hiding in the dark?"
"There is no one else," Harry said.
"Then why do you look as though you are guarding a secret?" Granger asked. She reached out as if to touch the doorframe, her hand hovering in the air.
Draconia felt the urge to move, to bridge the gap between the known and the unknown. The tension in the room was a physical thing, a cord stretched to the breaking point. She looked at the door, then back at Harry, seeing the way his jaw tightened as he waited for her reaction.
The choice felt heavy, a divide between the person she was supposed to be and the person she was becoming. She looked at the doorway where Granger stood, a figure of order and expectation, and then at the man beside her, a figure of chaos and truth.
She had to decide where she belonged in this moment of fractured reality. She had to choose which side of the door to stand on and she stands on his.