Empty Spaces

Chapter 17

"Why not? It is the offer of a lifetime, this is the sort of sponsorship any artist could only dream of..."

"Why not!? I can think of some reasons WHY NOT. So that's it then, you're just..." Do I mean so little to you that Lucius can just PAY you to leave me, just like that????

"Oh, come now, liebling, as if you yourself are any better," Andor chided dismissively, now holding up Narcissa's letter and the newspaper clipping it came with. "I know who you are, and how you operate. Just last night you are begging me to take you away from here, leaving all your past behind."

"I'M no better?!" Draco yelled, feeling childish again in Andor's presence and also furious that Andor was right. He really wasn't any better... still... he wouldn't sell out like that... At least, he was pretty sure he wouldn't.

"I would have taken you with me, too," Andor continued, "You and I, we are the same, we see an opportunity and we seize it, no matter the cost. And this time, it is an admittedly high cost, for you really are absolutely wonderful, liebling," Andor reached over and stroked Draco's cheek with his finger. Draco turned his head away in anger as Andor clucked his tongue in amusement, "I have never loved anyone like you before, there is a fire in you that has been a true gift to uncover... but alas... all good things must come to an end, I suppose. I'm sorry, I wish we could have had more time together, forever maybe even, but it seems fate has other plans for us."

"Fate!?" Draco scoffed. Right, "fate." Up yours, "fate." "Fuck off, and fuck you."

Andor closed his trunks with a flick of his wand before pulling Draco in close.

"Of course, you see, mein liebchen, this is why it's so hard to let you go... one last time, then, before we part ways..."

Draco didn't say yes. But he didn't say no, either. He just gave up, done with love, done with people, done with everything. Lucius, it turned out, still held the noose on his life and still knew exactly what to do to tighten it.

"You'll need to get up too, liebling," Andor rolled out of bed afterwards, tiding himself with another flick of his wand. "I'm giving my keys back to Aberforth now. Come, now, clean yourself up, can't have you walking through the halls like this..."

Numb to all else, the next thing Draco knew, he was back in his own room, more alone than he ever had been in his entire life. Figuring Lucius owed it to him for ruining everything, he conjured up a bottle of firewhiskey from the Manor, uncorked the top, and drank himself into a blissful stupor where nothing mattered and nothing could reach him. How much time passed, Draco had no idea. It could have been hours. Or days. Or weeks. Was that Potter's voice? What the hell was Potter doing in the dark oblivion? Potter, stay away, Lucius will take you too... we can't have that, now can we...

"What the... really Malfoy, what the hell? Why didn't you just come to me?? I told you..."

Oh, it is Potter. Good, I can tell him to fuck off now. Except instead of words, it was something else that came out of Draco's mouth. Oh shit. Sorry, Potter.

With a slew of rather excellent swears, even more impressive considering who it was coming from, Potter conjured a large basin and helped Draco get the last of it out before the darkness set in completely.

When the world came back to him, the room was far too bright and Draco's head was throbbing, but he supposed it was a good thing because that meant he at least hadn't died. Wait, was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"What the actual fuck, Malfoy?" Potter's scolding pounded into his ears. "Do you have ANY idea... I come looking for you, worried out of my mind, and then I find your room unlocked and you're passed out on the fucking floor..."

"Oh, shut up, Potter," Draco groaned, covering his face and ears in a pillow.

"Sorry," Potter dropped his voice to a near whisper. If he had been feeling better, Draco would have rolled his eyes at the sudden change in demeanor, but it was taking everything he had not to start throwing up again. "What do you need, a pepperup potion, some Advil...?"

"The fuck would I need an anvil for?"

"What... never mind," Potter sounded exasperated. "If I ask what happened, would you even answer?"

"No."

"Fine. But you're telling me later."

"Fuck you."

"Is that an invitation?" Potter shot back far too quickly.

"Do you want it to be?"

Silence. Is that a yes, Potter???? Really??

"No," Potter sounded resigned, "You're still drunk."

"Is that a yes then??"

"It's a 'shut up, you're still drunk'."

More silence.

"The fuck are you doing here, Potter?"

"Taking care of you."

Potter said it as if this were something obvious, something easy. Something normal. Draco realized he didn't know how to respond, or what to do, or how he should feel. So he settled for the first thing that came into his head, not having the wherewithal to turn it into something smart or snarky or anything else. Just a simple:

"Thanks."

"Anytime. Rest up. Feel better. I'll be here..."