Empty Spaces

Chapter 18

When Draco opened his eyes again, it was thankfully quite a bit darker. His head still pounded, but his stomach at least felt better. With a surge of guilt, he noticed Potter had done a passable job of cleaning things up.

"Hey," Potter said quietly, keeping a safe distance on the chair. "Feeling any better?"

"Yea," Draco groaned, "Sorry. About... everything."

Potter just shook his head and handed over a couple of little pills with a glass of water. Draco took them, looking skeptical.

"Sorry, all I had was Advil," Potter apologized, "It should take the edge off the headache at least."

Draco's retort got lost in his throat. Even last year, he would never have blindly eaten any mystery substance Potter just casually handed over. Although, come to think of it, he was a Malfoy and a Malfoy would never do such a thing regardless of who it came from. Still, Draco figured he had nothing left to lose. If he was going to die hungover, poisoned at Potter's hand in a shabby old inn, so be it. Here's to the end of the Malfoy line, he thought, swallowing the two little pills while Potter made an annoying face at his side.

"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't do it like this," Potter said, "Besides, you've practically beat me to it. How much did you drink today??"

"Don't ask," Draco said, wondering how long it would take for Potter's mystery substances to start working.

"Think you can make it to the shower...?" Potter asked, half offering and half not. Potter, you prude, Draco almost managed to laugh.

"Yea... just... hand me that towel over there..."

Whether it was the warmth of the shower washing everything away, or maybe Potter's strange Muggle remedy was actually working, or it could just be that he wasn't alone anymore... whatever it was, Draco emerged from the bathroom feeling considerably better than when he'd gone in.

"What day is it?" he finally asked, drying off his hair and pulling on some fresh clothes, smirking to himself that Potter's reaction was to chivalrously look away.

"Still Monday," Potter said to the wall, "You hungry? If you're feeling up for it, we can go get something to eat... I've got some stuff in my flat, we can always go back there too, I'm not leaving you alone tonight, though."

Not really wanting to drag Granger into everything, Draco said he was feeling up for going out somewhere. He'd have to be careful with his money again that there was no Andor to buy him coffee, and Lucius was most likely far from done with his retaliation for Draco's blatant defiance. But now... now... now the throbbing in his head had dulled to an ache... and Potter was here... why was Potter here?

They went to the corner cafe that had been a favorite of Andor's– Draco's stomach clenched at the memories as he shoved them down with a combination of anger and guilt. Andor had been right– he'd used him just as much as it went the other way around. At the end of it all, he really was no better.

"Care to talk about it yet?" Potter invited as they sat down.

No.

"Why are you here?" Draco deferred instead.

"I told you already," Potter said dismissively, "Nothing's changed in the past six hours, well, except that you're coherent again, and clean, that's changed..."

"Yes, but why?" Draco pressed, sounding infuriatingly like Potter once again.

Potter was giving him a very strange look across the table. Alright, so I am not the only one keeping secrets here.

"You deserve better," Potter settled for saying. "Oh, here's my notes from Potions, I can get Hermione's from Arithmancy, but here's what we did on Friday..."

And Potter launched into the relatively safe and neutral territory of school. While it was nice to have something to talk about freely, with far fewer awkward moments, Draco couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment– When would he find out why Potter was so adamant about being on better terms this year??

School brought them nearly all the way through dinner. Draco didn't eat much, but it was comforting to have something to drink and someone to be with. He was happy to discover that despite Potter's generally unkept and somewhat idiotic outward appearance, there was actually a half-decent mind hidden under there. But while Draco was all calculations and planning, Potter seemed to learn towards instinct. Draco had always looked down on this sort of behavior– he was, after all, still a Malfoy, albeit a terrible one– but he quickly realized that evening that Potter knew quite a bit more than he let on. Still, the reality of the day's events kept insisting on crashing through, and Draco found himself alternating between being angrier at Lucius, then Andor, before eventually deciding that they could both just go to hell and take him with them.

"I meant it, I'm not leaving you alone tonight," Potter said on the way back to the inn, "I don't trust him."

"He's gone anyway," Draco scoffed bitterly. "You don't have anything to worry about there."

"Well then I'm worried about you," Potter said, undeterred.

"Suit yourself," Draco tried to pass as indifferent, but could hear himself failing at it.

Potter made Draco come with him into his flat to pick up a few things. Granger merely looked up from her homework at the table, said hello as if this were all completely normal, and then they were back in Draco's room facing the awkward truth that Draco's flat only had one bed.

"I can take the chair," Potter offered. What is it with you and your stupid chivalry?

"That sounds miserable, including for me when you wake up all irritable tomorrow," Draco said dismissively. "You get this half, I get this half," he tossed over a pillow. "Don't make that face, Potter, it's not like that." It's really not. Still feeling like he would fall apart at any second, sleeping with Potter was the last thing on Draco's mind... well... maybe not the last last thing. But no. Everything I touch ends up broken, destroyed. The curse of being a Malfoy. Sorry, Potter... I can't risk it... Can't risk... this. What even is this?

Whatever it was, Draco decided he was taking no chances. He turned his back to Potter and lay awake long into the night, feigning sleep, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into now.