Empty Spaces

Chapter 20

Malfoy opened the door to his room, ushering Harry inside before summoning a small, unmarked jar from his trunk.

"Alright, Potter, where is it?" he asked, unscrewing the lid.

"Er- over here?" Harry gestured vaguely to the right side of his back. Malfoy rolled his eyes and scooped out some of the white, unassuming cream with his fingers.

"I can do that myself, you know," Harry protested halfheartedly– the thought of Malfoy touching his bare skin had his breath catching in a way that he hoped only he noticed. Not now, idiot.

"And hurt yourself more by twisting around?" Malfoy dismissed, "No. Here, just let me..." And Malfoy slid his hand up the back of Harry's shirt– a chaste touch, but Harry still felt his heart stop and his stomach did a strange flip nonetheless. Not now, idiot.

"Alright, Potter, that should help," Malfoy stepped away far too quickly for Harry's liking. Whatever it was on Harry's back had an immediate effect, warming and cooling at once, giving off the faintest minty smell.

"Yea, thanks," Harry said, kicking himself internally for sounding stupid again, "Wow. It's really good... where on earth did you find this??" The sensation was getting stronger as a pleasant tingling started radiating down into his angry muscle, although he wasn't entirely sure whether the pleasantness was because of Malfoy's salve or Malfoy's touch.

"Made it myself," Malfoy replied, replacing the top and sending the little jar back into his trunk. "Came up with the recipe in... fifth year?" There was a smugness that Harry was more than familiar with, but the intimacy of the situation let him pick up on something darker lying just beneath the pride. Or maybe he was just getting to know him better– beneath the protective shell of snark and snobbery, Draco was turning out to be... well... Keep those thoughts to yourself, idiot.

"Damn. It's really good," Harry said, trying to sound casual and not too impressed. "Any plans to become a healer?"

"No." Malfoy answered far too quickly, using the same tone that Harry used whenever anyone asked about his plans to become an Auror. Harry instantly regretted his question.

"Got it," he acknowledged, trying to correct the damage, "Sorry I asked, that was stupid."

"Yea, it was," Malfoy agreed. "But you're not the first."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Harry said, not really knowing where he was going with this or what he was getting into. "Everyone telling you what you 'should' be doing with your life, but nobody bothering to ask what you think or care or want..."

"Yea," Malfoy agreed quietly, "It sucks."

They stayed for a moment longer, caught in the empty space between past and future, before Malfoy spoke again.

"I don't think I ever thanked you," he said quietly, "For yesterday."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Harry replied, "I'm just glad you're okay."

"That would make you the first, wouldn't it?" Malfoy scoffed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "All these years, I just assumed... I never bothered asking..."

"Yea, well, you and everyone else," Malfoy said, sounding dismissive again. "Including him . It never would have worked out between us anyway... it was stupid and naive to think it could... but still..."

"Do I get to find out what he did now?"

"He left."

"That's it?" Harry knew there was no way it could be that simple.

"That's it."

"Asshole," Harry said while Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't deserve you anyway."

"How the hell do you know what kind of person I deserve?" Malfoy asked. "I'm a piece of shit. I've done terrible things, I've seen terrible things–"

"And so have I! So have all of us!" Harry interrupted. "That doesn't make you a terrible person, and it definitely doesn't mean you deserve to be with one. I've killed just as many people as you, more probably. You think I don't know what that's like?? Having to get up and face yourself every goddamn day???"

"Yea, well, the people you killed were 'bad guys,' so it doesn't count," Malfoy spat out bitterly, sounding like it was something he'd wanted to get off his chest for a while.

"Doesn't matter, a person's a person," Harry argued.

"It does matter!" Malfoy continued, "Do you have to report to the goddamn law enforcement office every fucking Saturday??? NO. When you walk through the school, does everyone around you, including the fucking teachers, either want you either in prison, dead, or both?? NO. You're just as shitty as I am, Potter, except that you're an acceptable kind of shitty and I'm just shit."

"No, Malfoy, will you just shut up and listen to me!?" Harry realized he was yelling, but somehow couldn't stop now that he'd started. "I'm the worstkind of shit because of what you just said!! I'm the goddamn 'Chosen One,' the one who ended the war and is now somehow supposed to bring peace to the whole fucking universe, and what am I doing instead!? Wasting my life feeling sorry for myself because I now suck at Quidditch in addition to sucking at everything else. I can't even help you feel better after your idiot boyfriend dumps you. I'm SUPPOSED to be all these wonderful fucking things, but REALLY, I'm absolutely NONE of them!! YOU, on the other hand, are 'SUPPOSEDLY' all these awful things, except that for some crazy, inexplicable reason, YOU'RE NOT!"

Harry stopped before he said anything else he might regret, but Malfoy didn't recoil or argue. Instead, he almost looked sad, taking a breath before finally speaking in a quiet voice so different from his usual snark.

"Nobody should ask for any of that from you, and it's not your fault that they do," he said, avoiding Harry's eye. "Would anyone else do any better in your place? I know I wouldn't. You've done the best you could with what you were given."

"So have you," Harry pointed out, hoping Malfoy would pick up on the sincerity in his statement. "You know that, right?" He fought back the urge to reach over and take Malfoy's hand. What would it be like to hold that hand... both hands... what would it feel like to... He swallowed and pushed those thoughts far down and far away.

"Looks like we were both handed the wrong end of the wand," Malfoy mused. "How's the back?"

"What? Er– fine, loads better now," Harry twisted around, happy to discover that he could move freely again. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Glad you're okay," Malfoy said, indicating that the deeper parts of their conversation were now over.

"You hungry at all?" Harry asked suddenly, feeling weirdly brave while also wondering why he needed to feel brave in order to ask in the first place. "Did you have plans for dinner, or...?"

"Is that an invitation, Potter?" Malfoy asked with the slightest hint of a cheeky grin.

"Is that an acceptance, Malfoy?" Harry shot back.

"It's a 'I'm hungry and so are you so let's remedy that'," Malfoy retorted.

"What the hell even is that?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "Yea, okay, let's go..."

They went to the same small cafe because it was cheap, close, and open late. Their conversation flowed easier this time, ranging from school and Quidditch to things bordering on deeper thoughts yet still steering clear of the difficult places. By the time they made it back to the inn, Harry had the distinct feeling that whatever they had before was gone and whatever they had now was something new. Friendship? Camaraderie? He couldn't quite name it, but whatever it was, he decided he liked it. And he could only hope Draco did too.