He paced back and forth along the stretch of bars in the holding cell, waiting to hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps, pausing every so often when he thought he heard something, someone.  What felt like hours after Dudley had left them to wait for Hermione, he finally heard it.  The heavy tread of what must be Dudley’s boots and the click, click, click of a woman’s heels.  Draco’s eyes whipped over to Harry to find the wizard laying on the bench, lightly smiling at him.  If he knew his partner at all at this point, which he knew that he did, he could practically hear Potter—no, Harry—saying, good luck, mate, you’re going to need it.