Empty Spaces

Chapter 34

The remaining days of December were flying by in a rush, and Draco still hadn't told Harry what he'd done. He kept making excuses to himself– the timing wasn't right, he was too tired from work, and that Harry didn't need to get entangled any further than he already was. But underneath it all, the truth was beginning to reveal itself: That telling Harry meant making it real, and Draco still couldn't quite bring himself to face the reality that his days in school might just be ending a whole lot sooner than he'd originally hoped.

For the moment he returned to work after Christmas, Draco summoned up his courage and approached his boss. Avoiding as many unnecessary details as possible, Draco apologetically asked for his advance payment back, offering to work in exchange for his room instead. He'd paid with his father's money, cursed money, and as long as his father was involved, no matter how remotely, nothing good could come out of it. Aberforth didn't say much, although Draco knew by now that the old man knew more than he let on; he simply handed Draco a small pile of gold and said the arrangement was fine with him. Despite being slightly terrified about what he was getting himself into, Draco breathed easier than he ever had before. And yet, for some reason, he didn't tell Harry what he'd done. He couldn't.

Draco slept better that night than he ever had in his entire life. Granted, having Harry at his side was sure to help with that. But he'd slept with Harry before, and as wonderful as it had been, nothing prepared him for the deep, peaceful, calming sleep he got that night. If there had been any doubt in Draco's mind that he'd done the right thing, it was long gone by the time he woke up in Harry's arms the next morning. So why couldn't he say anything? December turned to January and still, Draco remained silent.

In Draco's defense, his days were incredibly busy now. By this point, Aberforth entrusted him with most aspects of running the inn, everything from the front desk to manning the bar. Draco even managed to convince the old man to give him a chance in the kitchen, which resulted in the Hog's Head bar overflowing with guests for the first time in living memory. Despite falling exhausted into bed every night, Draco had never been happier. He was doing something. Not only that, he was doing something that mattered; something that other people appreciated. And the start of school loomed ominously ahead of him, the bitter reality beginning to sink in: How could he keep up with both?

Aberforth sat him down on the last day of holidays, ledger and a quill in hand.

"Right, kid, so based on what you've done so far, I'll need you for a full day on the weekend and two weekday afternoons. What's your class schedule this term?"

"Wait, I'm sorry, what?" Draco did some quick calculations in his head, "No, that's not right... That's nowhere near enough–"

"Yeah it is," Aberforth shrugged. "What's your schedule this spring?"

"No, I know the going rate for every one of these rooms, and I know how much I paid–" Draco started arguing.

"Nope," Aberforth dismissed, "The inn is busiest in the fall and during the holidays, so your room rate was higher over the past four months. It goes for less in the spring."

"What the hell, that's not a thing," Draco retorted, "And that's not the amount you gave me back, either."

"No, no, that's correct, I've got the account ledger right here," Aberforth replied.

"What, let me see– no, you gave me–" Draco argued.

"It's my goddamn inn, I decide the going rates," Aberforth said, taking back his book, "Your room has the best view of the fall foliage and the Christmas lights, but it sucks in the springtime, so I have to charge less. That's your rental rate for the next five months, and I better not hear a word of complaint that the view is shit this spring. What weekdays can you come in?"