Empty Spaces

Chapter 50

Run away. Escape. Go to the place where nothing can reach you and no one can hurt you.

It was all Draco had ever known. There's no pain when you're numb. No joy, either, but no pain.

"Hey kid. Got a minute?"

Draco closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Past Draco would have ignored the old man, delivering only a sneer or a snide remark at most. Past Draco would have marched right by, walls up and mask on. Past Draco would have hidden away beneath the pain, he would have buried himself so deep that there was no way of knowing what was real and what was not...

"Got a customer complaining in 205 about a doxie infestation. Must've snuck in with someone's bags, happens from time to time. Do you mind starting at 8 tomorrow so I can pick up some more spray?"

Miserable as he was, Draco couldn't help the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He was starting at 8:00 tomorrow anyway and the old man knew it. But Aberforth had already accomplished his goal: Draco's blind march into nowhere was now over, initial rage beginning to diffuse, replaced by something else that Draco couldn't name.

Well. Perhaps he could. Draco had always been taught that love was a rare commodity, reserved only for your closest kin. Anyone who claimed otherwise was using you. And yet...

Is it possible? Deep inside, Draco was sure he already knew the answer to this question. Silent and invisible, Aberforth had been there for him all year, supporting and helping him, fighting for him, yet asking and expecting nothing in return.

"I'm already scheduled for 8," Draco said evenly, trying– and failing– to keep his voice steady.

"Huh," Aberforth tutted, feigning recollection, "Must be getting old. Fancy a drink?"

"What??"

"Unless you have someplace else more important to be," Aberforth ventured knowingly.

The problem with allowing yourself to feel is that once it starts, there's no end to it. As touched as he was by Aberforth's concern, Draco now felt the unbearable sadness beginning to creep in; sadness and disappointment and guilt and a million other things with no name but just as much potency as all the rest. Before he knew it, he was accepting a shot of firewhiskey and settling into a chair in the empty bar.

"Bottoms up, kid," Aberforth threw back his own glass before giving Draco a rare smile. A sad smile. The smile of someone who understood pain. "I'm not going to ask. But I'm here if you need to share."

"It's..." Images of Harry flashed through Draco's mind. Joy. Hope. Love. Pain. Heartbreak. "Personal. Sorry."

"Don't be," Aberforth shrugged, pouring himself another glass before leaning back comfortably. "But you don't have to face it alone."

"Thanks," Draco downed his own firewhiskey. Aberforth had a point. It was nice to not be alone. And Draco suddenly found himself taking a chance, voicing the question that had been on his mind all year.

"Mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," Aberforth invited.

"It's okay if you don't want to answer, I'll understand," Draco prefaced tentatively.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Aberforth shrugged. "Worst that can happen is you get an answer. Words or silence, both count for something."

Draco mused on this wisdom before taking the plunge. It went against everything he'd ever been taught, asking a direct question like this.

"Why did you do it? Why help me?" Draco asked, hardly daring his own nerve. His heart pounded in his ears and his stomach turned. A Malfoy never reveals his heart. But this one can, and this one will.