Empty Spaces

Chapter 23

- Harry -

Being friends with Malfoy was turning out to be two things: It was easier than Harry thought it would be, and it somehow exceeded all his expectations– not that he'd had any, of course. But there was something so comforting about knowing that Malfoy understood . True, their stories and struggles had been extremely different, both before the war and during it, but there was something at its core that they both felt. The war was Harry's past, present, and future– and then it all ended, leaving him with nothing. Malfoy didn't ask him to simply "move on" or "get over it" or "be thankful you survived" or any of that other nonsense because Malfoy understood. Harry didn't say any of that crap, either. It was a refreshing change from his interactions with almost everyone else, and Harry had a feeling Malfoy felt the same.

He entered the bar, half hoping Malfoy would be there, shaking the snow out of his hair and schoolbag before it melted. Sure enough, from his usual table in the far corner of the bar, a pair of gray eyes caught Harry's green ones and he headed over with what felt like a dopey smile on his face, but he didn't care anymore. He was happy to see Malfoy, and from the looks of it, Malfoy was happy to see him too. It was a good feeling.

"Hey," Harry sat himself down, "You look happy. What happened?"

For a moment, Harry worried he'd said the wrong thing. The familiar ghosts passed over Malfoy's face, ghosts Harry could see only because he knew Malfoy so much better now. But the moment passed quickly, and Malfoy gave Harry a nonchalant smile and a shrug.

"Dunno."

"Well... I'm happy you're happy," Harry replied, pulling out his own homework while Malfoy looked on, lost in thought once more.

"Hey," Malfoy said suddenly, with what Harry could only interpret as a gleam of rebellion, "Want to move this all upstairs? It's freezing down here..."

"Yea, sure," Harry grinned. He was slowly catching on to the fact that Malfoy didn't like the cold, a detail Harry found far more endearing than he ever wanted to admit out loud. He followed Malfoy up the stairs (Malfoy always held open doors for him– another detail) and into the little flat where Malfoy promptly sent some things into a small pot and tapped the hot plate with his wand.

"Hot chocolate?" he offered, summoning two mugs from a side shelf.

"Sure, thanks," Harry replied, amused. He didn't think he would ever get over just how much Malfoy needed to be warm , all the time. He shoved a whole lot of personal thoughts aside regarding ways they could keep warm together and settled for accepting the mug in front of him, now full of steaming hot chocolate.

"Wow," Harry said, taking a sip, genuinely impressed. "Since when do you cook?" This is new. Or is it? Harry didn't remember the kitchenette in Malfoy's room being this well stocked, but then again, he'd really only been in Malfoy's room once before.

Malfoy scoffed, but Harry could tell he secretly enjoyed the praise.

"If you count this as cooking, that's pretty sad, Potter," he said, teasing, smiling, wrapping his hands around his own mug. "It's the same as Potions, more or less. You should try it some time."

"I've tried. I suck," Harry admitted. "And this is good." It was. Damn, Malfoy, what the hell did you put in this?

Malfoy laughed– he hardly laughed like this, but it happened from time to time. A genuine laugh that sounded like happiness... it was just one more detail that had Harry's imagination running wild to all sorts of places...

"Got any plans for the holidays?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light although he knew there was a very real chance that he was approaching a difficult place.