Empty Spaces

Chapter 46

Draco lay awake that night processing everything from the past forty-eight hours.

Harry had offered to stay, to which Narcissa promptly announced that she would have a room made up as it was improper for unmarried couples to share a bed. Draco then put an end to the whole thing by insisting that Harry go home because he couldn't risk being late for school in the morning. So now Draco was left alone, cold, and wondering what the hell was going on with the world.

For reasons he could absolutely not wrap his head around, his mother and Harry got along terrifyingly well. Narcissa seemed to be making up for a lifetime of silence as Lucius' trophy wife, chatting Harry's ear off about everything from genealogy to flower arranging. Harry, for his part, took the whole thing in stride, nodding and smiling a lot– Draco couldn't tell if Harry was actually entertained or just a good actor, but his mother seemed happy and Harry seemed to be tolerating whatever it was they were doing, so Draco supposed that could be counted as a win. Then there was Blair Ironbark, who seemed far too invested in Draco's personal life to be coincidental. What did he know, why did he care, and how deeply was he involved? What arrangement did he have with Lucius? Was this something new, or something lingering from before?

Sleep was evading him, so Draco gave up on the prospect entirely and took out his Arithmancy book. Numbers made sense. School made sense. The problems in his book were problems he could solve. Even if he had to go back and re-read the chapter several times, the fact that a very real solution even existed was comforting in and of itself. Unlike the rest of the world, where nothing was as it seemed and every time he thought he'd solved a problem, a new one came up out of nowhere.

"Draco, my love, you look terrible, dear," Naricissa fussed the next morning, "Have you taken ill? Shall I call for some tea?"

"What? No, I was just... up late studying," Draco deflected. It wasn't a lie.

"In any case, you should get some rest before this afternoon," Narcissa clucked affectionately.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Your beau is coming back again for tea today!" Narcissa beamed, "Charming boy, I always knew you had good taste. Do you think Harry would prefer the watercress or cucumber sandwiches?"

Strongly suspecting that Harry would not find either to be all that appealing, Draco settled for a non-committed shrug which had Narcissa deciding to just go with both before floating off into the hallway declaring it was high time someone polished the suits of armor.

Torn between amusement and embarrassment, Draco headed down to the kitchens in search of an espresso maker. Someone's copy of The Prophet was laying on the table and Draco indulged himself by hiding out in the kitchen with his coffee, reading about other people's problems and avoiding his own. It was stupid, but if it made him feel better, albeit temporarily, how stupid could it really be...?

The third page was missing– figures– and eventually Draco was out of coffee and news, so he wandered back upstairs to help his mother. That's what he was here for, after all.

"Draco, my love, were you able to get some rest? You do look better, dear," Narcissa fretted. "Do you think Harry would prefer chocolate cakes, or vanilla?"

"...chocolate...?" Draco replied tentatively, now wondering what kind of boyfriend he was if he didn't know his significant other's cake preferences.

"Yes, I think you're right," Narcissa nodded, thoughtful. "Chocolate will go better with the roses, too... Oh dear." She looked worried as a sudden thought dawned on her.

"Everything alright?" Draco asked warily.

"You are the last Malfoy, and Harry is the last Potter," Narcissa observed, "When you get married, Harry cannot take the Malfoy surname, it wouldn't be right, he's the last of his name. But you can't take his either, my love, the Malfoy name must continue..."