Empty Spaces

Chapter 52

Draco's eyes shot open, heart pounding as raw panic flooded through his entire body. Nothing was familiar; these weren't his sheets, this wasn't his room, this wasn't... Someone was shuffling around in the dark, where was his wand???

"Lumos. Hey kid, here you go," Aberforth's face appeared with his voice, wand in one hand and a mug of something in the other. "Bad dream?"

Draco gulped the night air, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Sorry, kid, tea is all I have, I'm no potion-brewer, but it's warm," Aberforth apologized, pulling a chair to Draco's bedside. Draco had offered to take the couch, but Aberforth flat out refused, saying that at his age, sleeping on a soft bed was bad for him anyway and in the end, Draco was so tired that he just gave in.

Not particularly thirsty but not wanting to be rude, Draco took a tentative sip. Aberforth was the first person to admit his own lack of proficiency in the kitchen, but the simple combination of chamomile and honey was soothing in its own right. He took another sip.

"Take your time," Aberforth leaned back in his chair, giving Draco the distinct impression that this wasn't his first nighttime vigil, "We've got all the time in the world."

Draco raised a wary eyebrow, glancing up at the fatherly figure at his side.

"It's the truth," Aberforth reassured. "Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. But this moment, right here, right now? Timeless. You're safe here. Nobody messes with the Hog's Head. Did I tell you about the time some bloke thought he could sneak a bloody fire crab into one of my rooms? Said he had no idea how it got into his luggage..."

And Draco finally felt the last vestiges of terror slowly melt away as Aberforth launched into a whole slew of stories about his years as innkeeper. Some were funny. Some were mundane. All featured a fascinating glimpse into what had clearly been a very colorful life for one so determined to live a quiet and anonymous existence. Eventually, Draco couldn't tell whether Aberforth was still talking or whether he'd slipped into dreams, but it didn't matter. He was with Aberforth. He was safe.

The next thing he knew, early morning light was beginning to peek through the open window.

"Hey, good morning kid," Aberforth crouched down by Draco's bedside, "Sorry to wake you, but your friend here has a letter from the hospital. She says it's urgent. It's about Potter."

"Wait– wait, what!?" Draco shot upright, his brain slowly making connections as his imagination started running wild. Harry!? What's happened to Harry??? He cursed himself for leaving Harry alone– who knows what kind of crap Lucius hit him with... what if it was a spell Draco didn't know? What if...

"Hey, slow down kid," Aberforth placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, calm and secure. "One thing at a time. Let's go see this letter."

Draco scrambled out of bed, not caring that he was still in yesterday's clothes, looking and smelling like a complete disaster. A Malfoy would die before going out in public like that. But this Malfoy had more important things to worry about than whether his shirt was wrinkled or his face was shaved.

"Hey– Hermione– what's this, what's going on?" Draco raced out to the bar where an anxious Hermione waited, letter in hand.

"It's Harry– Sachi wrote this morning– He was supposed to go down to the Ministry last night to give a statement, only it sounds like he never made it– all she said was that he's ok now, but he'll probably have to stay in the hospital all weekend!?"

"WHAT!?"

"Draco, where are you going–?" Hermione asked as Draco headed straight for the fireplace.