Empty Spaces

Chapter 55

Draco noticed his aching head first, followed by a stiffness in his neck and shoulders. It was hard to tell how long he'd been sleeping in the chair, but his body was clearly telling him that enough was enough. And then he felt a cool hand on his shoulder, cold but comforting nonetheless...

"Hello, Mother," Draco greeted Narcissa, taking her hand in his.

"Hello dear," Narcissa replied, "You look terrible. A Malfoy never allows himself out in public looking such a mess. One would think you'd have been raised by Muggles. Go clean yourself up, dear, I'll let Harry know where you are if he wakes, alright?"

Biting back his comment about how Harry had been raised by Muggles, Draco obediently got up.

"Don't use the commoner's washroom," Narcissa called out as Draco picked up his bag and headed towards the door, "Go home to the Manor. It's much cleaner and nicer, better suited for someone of your name and title."

Rolling his eyes, Draco ignored her and made straight for the fourth floor washroom. He'd been debating whether to go home or not, but her comments hit all the wrong places. Whether it was defiance or pettiness or something else, Draco didn't know and he didn't care. Names and titles can go fuck themselves. A person is a person.

Trying not to be too irritated that his own bathroom would indeed have been much more comfortable for this, Draco splashed some water on his face and got out Harry's razor. Like so many other things, his mother was right. Except that she wasn't.

"Rough day?" a wizard appeared at his side, looking just as disheveled and just as tired as Draco felt.

"Yeah," Draco replied, not particularly wanting to engage in conversation.

"Same," the wizard nodded, pulling out a toothbrush.

Side by side, Draco and the stranger set about the task of doing whatever it was they were doing. It should have felt awkward, going about such personal things in such a public place. But it didn't. Draco had no idea what his neighbor was going through, but for this one tiny moment, they didn't have to go through it alone. It was strangely comforting.

"Hang in there," the wizard said, packing up his things.

"Thanks. You too," Draco replied, suddenly reminded of the wizard who'd offered up his coat in the Ministry holding cells. He wondered how many of these moments had passed him by before, and he wondered how many more the future held now that he was paying attention to them. Draco knew himself well enough to know that he would always enjoy– and need– his solitude. But apparently there is a difference between solitude and isolation.

He pushed open the door to Harry's room and was immediately enveloped into a familiar embrace that smelled of smoke, firewhiskey, and home. Behind Aberforth, Narcissa looked on with a scrutinizing expression: Public displays of affection are below a Malfoy.

"Aberforth– what are you doing here? Who's running the inn–?" Draco asked as they split apart.

"Just wanted to make sure you and Potter were okay," Aberforth shrugged, "And the inn's been around for hundreds of years. It's not going anywhere. It's alright, Narcissa, you can stay here with Potter and I'll take this one out, get him something to eat."

Before Draco could open his mouth to protest, Aberforth was escorting him back into the hallway under his mother's approving gaze.

"Believe me, kid, I know what it feels like to love someone more than life itself," Aberforth smiled as they strode through the St Mungo's corridors. "But there's only so much you can do for someone else if you're not taking care of yourself, too. Come on, it'll be good for you..."