Empty Spaces

Chapter 39

The Ministry holding cells, it turns out, were only a slight improvement from Azkaban.

Despite putting up a rather impressive fight, Aberforth had only been allowed to go with Draco as far as the cell block before the Aurors announced he could go no further and took Draco down the long, cold corridor alone. Avoiding the stares and murmurs from his fellow prisoners, Draco kept his eyes focused on the empty space ahead, ignoring everything from calls of recognition to scornful hatred. Alone in his cell, curled up against the cold, ignoring the clamor around him, Draco alternated between actually missing his father's comforting arms and immediately hating himself for doing so.

"Hey," someone's voice stood out against the clamor, "Here you go."

A large overcoat was shoved through the bars, and behind it, a pair of weathered eyes looked over at Draco.

Draco murmured his thanks and wrapped himself up; the coat was tattered and beaten and didn't smell all that great, but it was thick and heavy and Draco was grateful nonetheless.

"What'd they get you in here for?" the owner of those tired eyes asked.

"Nothing," Draco shook his head, not in the mood for conversation but now feeling obligated to give something back in return.

"Yeah," the man nodded sympathetically, "I can see it in your face. A broken system, that's what this is... All about who you know in the higher-ups and what your family connections are... But I'll shut up now, you're young and you don't need to listen to an old fool... Keep the coat, though, I'll steal another," he ended with a wink before settling into silence once more.

"Sorry... I never got your name..." Draco said tentatively, now feeling pangs of guilt for his aloof behavior.

"Never you mind," the man shrugged, "Then when they ask where you got the coat from, you can honestly tell them you don't know."

"Thanks," Draco replied, genuinely grateful as he buried himself deeper into the heavy leather. If nothing else, he was warmer now.

"You bet," the man replied. "Good luck with everything."

When Draco opened his eyes, he still couldn't tell what time of day it was, but he suspected it might be morning. His neighbor was gone now; an empty cell was all that remained, leaving Draco wondering who the man was and whether things really could be as simple as handing your coat over to a complete stranger. A wretched world filled with wretched people... That was what Lucius always said. And yet, Aberforth had gone out of his way to retrieve Draco from Azkaban; someone Draco didn't even know and probably would never see again just handed his coat over for no reason other than seeing that Draco was cold; and Harry... Harry, who gave without question and without expectation... Where was Harry now? Aberforth said he was okay, but with only that bit of information to go on, Draco couldn't help but wonder and worry... As a Malfoy, he supposed it was only a matter of time before something like this happened to him, but Harry... Where is Harry? What's happened to Harry?

---

Harry opened his eyes in an uncomfortably bright room; he squinted into the light as a blurred figure bustled around at his side.

"Awake at last, excellent, good morning!"

Someone handed over his glasses; Harry put them on and found himself staring at Healer Yamamoto's brightly colored hair.

"Oh– hey," Harry said, "Where's Draco? What's going on?"

"Sorry, I'm not officially allowed to answer those questions," Yamamoto replied apologetically, "But you're in good shape, nice and alert, so I'll tell you everything I can and then we'll get you checked out and on your way, good enough?"