Empty Spaces

Chapter 8

- Malfoy -

It was stupid, he knew, but maybe there was a chance... in hindsight, however, Draco was now deeply regretting not setting a more specific time for their next rendez-vous, but he had also been rather distracted by Potter's sudden need to show up and do something idiotic. The door to the bar opened and Draco looked up, wondering whether it would be too obvious that he had been waiting, except that it was green eyes instead of dark ones. Really, again?

"Malfoy," was all Potter said.

Fine then, be impossible to read.

"Potter," Draco replied. Two can play this game.

"Bit early for a pint, isn't it?" This is your attempt at small talk? Potter, that's sad, even for you.

"Never too early for a good firewhiskey. But I'm not drinking. Not yet anyway. Just waiting for a friend," Draco replied, interested to see Potter's reaction. Is that jealousy? No. Yes? Potter had gotten all flustered this morning when he met Markos. It was... it was... whatever it was, Draco had no idea, only that he wanted to see if he could get Potter to do it again.

"Yea, well, you're in my way," Potter said irritably, shouldering Draco out of the way and heading to the stairs. "Have fun with your 'friend'."

"Jealous, Potter?" Draco called after him, unable to resist. When they were younger, Draco had taken Potter's rejections far too personally before coming to accept that maybe Potter simply didn't share the same... preferences... as he did. By the time that revelation hit, however, they were simply too far down the rabbit hole as rivals to be anything else. But in recent months, Draco started to come to another realization that maybe Potter simply didn't know what he wanted, both back then and maybe now... maybe he even cast his spells in both directions, so to speak... It was all infuriatingly complicated. Figuring he'd better be gone before Potter came back down again, Draco gave up on the slim prospect of scoring a lunch date and headed somewhat begrudgingly up to the castle– maybe there would still be something good left in the Great Hall...

All in all, he supposed the first day could have been far worse. At least everyone was leaving him alone, which at the beginning seemed to be a good thing, but as the day wore on, he realized that the hushed whispers and fearful reluctance to even look in his direction weren't all that great either. Still, he was good at school– he was clever with words, learned quickly, and caught onto details well. Whether he really was smart or if he'd just picked it up as a survival skill from his tutors' various (and questionable) teaching methods was a different story, but in any case, he generally found his Hogwarts lessons to be a breeze in comparison, and this year's classes were no different. He returned to the inn with a load of homework, ordered a firewhiskey against his better judgment, and started his essay on the morality of transfiguration on animals, glad to finally be away from people but also oddly thankful to have something real to do.

"Mind if I join?"

Draco looked up and hoped his lifetime of masking all emotion was working because he swore he could hear his own heart jump. He brushed some of his papers aside and gestured to the empty seat opposite.

"Not at all."

"Homework?" Markos asked, eyeing Draco's textbooks. Draco nodded, feeling childish once more.

"I would have finished my studies last year, but the war... interrupted things. So I'm back for another term to sit my exams." Somehow, it seemed important to point out that he may be a student, but he was, by all accounts, a full and legal adult.

"Ah," Markos accepted the explanation, "Shall I leave you to your studies then?"

"No, I'm done," Draco lied, "First day back. I've had enough of school." That much at least was true.

"I was thinking of going for some dinner," Markos invited, "Care to come?"

"Is that a date?" Draco put on his best Malfoy smile.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Only if you do," Draco replied, hoping he was coming across as flirtatious rather than inexperienced. Markos, however, seemed undeterred, getting up and offering his hand with a youthful grin. Draco realized he was having a hard time figuring out his age– sometimes, he seemed at least ten years older and other times, it was more like two or three at most.

Markos– or Andor– he insisted on being called, turned out to be refreshingly neutral. He didn't press on about Draco's past, or the war, and he didn't seem put off by Draco still being a student, albeit an overage one. He'd wanted to come to England sooner to practice his English, but couldn't because of the war; he'd arrived in London right after the borders reopened and traveled north soon after, arriving in Hogsmeade at the end of August. By the time they headed back to the inn with plans for breakfast in place, Draco was feeling far more optimistic about his grand escape – could it really be this simple?

And so passed the first week.

Saturday rolled around and under the guise of needing time to study, Draco slipped out the inn and made for the Ministry office at the edge of the village square. For some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to tell his new... boyfriend? Is that what they were? Whatever they were, Draco still hadn't said much about the war or his part in it- Andor didn't press the topic and Draco didn't offer. It worked, at least for now, and that was all Draco really cared about.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he said to the bored looking witch working the law enforcement desk, "I'm here to file my weekly report."

"Weekly report..." the witch clucked, taking out a book full of empty pages before tapping it with her wand. "Malfoy... ah, here we are. Draco. Student at Hogwarts."

"Yes," Draco said hastily, "This is a confidential report, correct?"

"Yes," the Ministry witch said, a bit too haphazardly for Draco's liking.

"I am of age and a legal adult," Draco said, putting on his Malfoy-voice, "These records are accessible only to myself and select authorized Ministry workers. Correct?"

"Yes, dear," the witch replied.

"Family members, including immediate family, are unable to access my account without my knowledge and consent. Correct?"

"That's right, dear."

"Can I have that in writing?"

The witch sighed and produced an official-looking parchment. On some level, Draco felt bad for being difficult, but he had to do this properly: He had to make sure Lucius couldn't easily find out what he was doing. He was sure Lucius could, if he really wanted to, but dammit he would make it as difficult as possible for him.

"Thank you," Draco pocked the parchment before launching into a rather concise but accurate update on his whereabouts of the past week.

"Thanks, dear," the witch said, glancing down at her book, "Says here that if you stay out of trouble, you'll be done with reports at the end of December. See you next Saturday."

Four months to go. Lovely.

The door opened and Draco barely had time to dive behind a desk– what was Andor doing here? Oh. Right. He's Hungarian and probably has some business in the foreign relations department. Sure enough, Andor headed to the wizard at the international desk, leaving Draco wishing he'd brought some of his Invisibility Potion from Holmberg's class. He settled for a disillusionment charm and bolted. He supposed he could have just been honest, but Andor looked at him without scorn or judgment... Would he still look at me the same way if he knew? Draco realized that he didn't really want to find out.