Empty Spaces

Chapter 49

"Now it's your turn," Sachi pulled Draco and Harry aside as Healer Medlar took over Narcissa's care, "Are you hurt anywhere? Any injuries? How's your head? Neck? Breathing going okay? Were you affected by any curses, either known or unknown?"

"What?? No, we– we're fine," Draco said quickly, hoping Sachi wouldn't start questioning him further. He may be physically unhurt, but he was about to go reeling into pieces at any moment. Guilt over picking a fight with his father. Exhilaration because he won. Guilt because he won. Confusion. Hope. Joy. Sadness. It was all so intense that he mostly now just felt numb. Sachi gave him a scrutinizing look– Draco could tell she knew he was falling apart inside– but she accepted his answer with an understanding smile.

"Mister Malfoy," Healer Medlar came over, "I'm taking Narcissa in for monitoring overnight. She doesn't appear to be in any immediate danger, but I'd prefer to be safe rather than sorry. She should be back in the morning. Healer Yamamoto, are we taking Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy as well?"

"No, they're shaken up, but neither reported any injuries," Sachi confirmed. "Harry, Draco, last chance, are either of you hurt in any way?"

Draco shook his head quickly. He didn't know what he wanted or needed right now, only that it definitely didn't involve a hospital room. His father was gone. His mother had befriended a Muggleborn. Everything he thought he knew had been turned upside down and inside out.

"We'll leave you with a sleeping drought, though," Medlar concluded, conjuring two small flasks, "Enough for a dreamless sleep tonight. Any concerns and you come straight in, understand?"

"Understand," Harry reached out and took the flasks.

"You sure you're okay, Harry?" Sachi raised an eyebrow. Draco saw it, too– so subtle, but... something...

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry dismissed. "Sachi, are you working next weekend? You should come up to Hogsmeade and say hi."

"No, you should all come down to the Manor for tea," Narcissa interjected, "Sachi, dear, I was able to find that... what is it called, mochi? The mochi you brought me that one time. Draco, love, have you ever eaten mochi? Sweet, but not sweet, fluffy but not fluffy, chewy but oh so soft..."

"Anything works for me," Sachi replied, smiling, "Just let me know. Alright. Harry, Draco– sometimes the effects of a curse won't become apparent until later on, so any strange symptoms and you come straight in, okay? I'm on call all night, you can just ask for me directly."

Medlar nodded her approval; Narcissa bid them good night and allowed herself to be escorted back through the fireplace by her Muggleborn healer, chatting away with Sachi about whatever mochi was while Draco looked on in amazement. For all that Narcissa presented on the surface, she was incredibly accepting and caring just below. Images of Hermione and Aberforth meeting his mother flashed across Draco's mind, no longer some far-fetched fantasy but something that could actually become reality... Neither of them fit into the Malfoy category of what was considered to be a "worthy person," but then again, Sachi didn't either and Narcissa seemed to like– and respect– her just as much as she liked Harry...

"Do you want to stay, or go back to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked gently. Draco noted that Harry didn't even bother asking whether Draco was okay or not. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't. But they didn't need to cross that bridge just yet.

"I don't know," Draco admitted, afraid to speak or move, unable to handle or process anything else.

"Back to Hogsmeade?" Harry offered. "Come on, I have some chocolate in our room... Eat some, take the sleeping potion, and we'll see what tomorrow brings. Good enough?"

Draco nodded. Good enough.

They made their way towards the fireplace, Draco's eyes narrowing on his boyfriend's movements. Too deliberate. Too calculated. Harry... What are you hiding...?

"Harry..." Even asking the simple question was too much. Draco moved in a haze, numb to the world. He'd always imagined his freedom would be this grand feeling of liberation, not whatever this paralyzing chaos was. And his attention kept getting pulled to his boyfriend's movement... Harry... Something is off...

"Sorry, I don't know how to make your hot chocolate," Harry apologized, pulling an enormous bar out of their drawer, "But just eat a piece of this, it'll help..."

It was the way Harry snapped that fucking chocolate bar– Draco finally assembled the pieces inside his numb and disconnected brain.

"Harry. Take your shirt off?"

"What??"

"Come on, off with it."

"Anything to get me naked."

"No, I'm serious. Shirt. Off."

"Why?"

"What the fuck, Harry, are you hurt??"

"I'm fine."

"My ass. If you're not hurt, come on, shirt off then."

"It's fine."

"Don't play games, Potter," Draco shook his head in disbelief, tears rising. He never cried. What the fuck. "You didn't tell me my father had been writing. You're hurt– don't even deny it, you're so bad at lying, but you aren't telling me where or how or anything, just– What the fuck, Harry!?"

"I–"

"Just– just show me," Draco fought back his tears and frustration. If Harry was hurt, helping him had to be his first priority. They could fight later.

"It's fine, just sore," Harry protested.

"WILL YOU GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND JUST SHOW ME ALREADY?" Draco had reached the end of his line, "I KNOW EVERY ONE OF LUCIUS' FUCKING SPELLS, FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN GRYFFINDOR LIFE, GET OFF YOUR FUCKING PEDASTOL AND LET ME HELP YOU. ACCIO."

Draco summoned his salve from a back drawer, good for all things that don't involve bones or blood which seemed to be a generally accurate description for whatever Harry had going on. Harry, seeming to finally catch on that there was no winning this fight, peeled off his shirt, revealing angry red marks spreading from his shoulder along with the beginnings of bruising.

"What the actual FUCK, Harry, everyone asked you like a HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES if you were okay," Draco fumed, spreading his salve across his Harry's shoulder.

"I'm okay," Harry argued back, "I've had worse. It's fine. It's YOU we all should be worrying about–"

"Don't play the fucking chivalry card," Draco scolded. "Why didn't you say something??"

"Didn't have much of a chance, now did I?" Harry retorted, "I didn't say I WASN'T hurt. I just didn't say that I was. You answered for both of us."

"You could have spoken up!"

"But I didn't want to! Do you want to spend the night at the hospital? No?? Yeah, that's what I thought. Fine, my shoulder's kind of sore, but it's not worth dragging you to the hospital or leaving you alone!"

"I bet you're going to give the same shit excuses when I ask why you didn't bother telling me my father had been writing to you??" The fire was rising and there was nothing Draco could do to stop it. Was it right? Wrong? Who knows? Who cares? Nothing was real anymore, nothing except the scorching feeling of betrayal upon the realization that Harry had been keeping things from him. After Draco worked SO hard to be open and honest and frank with Harry, after they AGREED not to keep things hidden from each other... Finally, here at the end of all things known and the beginning of all things unknown, Draco realized that what was hurting him the most had nothing to do with either of his parents and everything to do with the one person he had dared to trust blindly, allowing himself to fall head over heels against all logic and reasoning and everything he had ever been taught...

"Keep it," Draco handed over the little jar, "Put some more on in two hours."

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Draco managed to say, fighting back tears once more. "Away. From here. Bye."