Empty Spaces

Chapter 52

"St. Mungo's," Draco replied, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. Suddenly, his fight from the night before seemed insignificant compared to what could be happening now. "I have to go, I need to know..."

"Oh- okay, Draco, I– I'm going too, but I have to let Flume know that I won't be coming in today, can you let Harry know that I'll be there soon then?"

"Sure, okay," Draco nodded before seeking Aberforth's eye. Thanks for everything. Sorry for running off. I appreciate everything, I really do, and I will make it up to you, I promise...

"It's okay, kid," Aberforth nodded towards the fireplace. "Go do what you need to do. I'll be here."

"Thanks," Draco replied, tossing a handful of powder of flames into the flames and hoping Aberforth understood. He usually did. "St Mungo's, London."

---

When Harry opened his eyes again, his head was noticeably clearer and the pain had dulled. He blinked a few times in the brightness, searching the blurry room...

"Good morning dear, how are you feeling? No, no, you lie still. Here, may I?"

The world came into focus as Narcissa Malfoy gently placed Harry's glasses on his face.

"Sachi said you might be thirsty when you wake," Narcissa's cool fingertips stroked back his hair, "She left a glass of water for you, would you like some?"

"What– er– yes? Um, thanks," Harry stammered, still trying to make sense of everything. He was having a hard time distinguishing what was real and what wasn't– everything felt real, at least his bed and pillows did, but the events leading up to this moment all felt like one long and crazy dream. Did Lucius really show up at The Manor...? Yes, pretty sure he did. We all fought, were we fighting Lucius or Ironbark? You got hurt. I think I did too... I fucked up and Draco and I got in a fight, was that before or after...?

"You're still looking so pale..." Narcissa fussed, helping Harry sit up and drink. "There dear... What on earth those Aurors were thinking, making you come in at all hours of the night, it was awful, just awful of them... Why didn't you tell us you were hurt? Harry, dear, look at me..."

I fucked up so badly that your son might never want to speak to me again. What will you do when you find out? Will you still look at me the same...?

"Harry..." Narcissa said gently, placing the glass back down. "It's alright dear, I'm just glad you're safe. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Harry replied. It didn't take much, considering he was on death's door just hours before. Hours? Days? How much time had passed? "What... er... what day is it?"

"Saturday morning, dear. They let me in with you just after midnight. You were so pale... Would you like some more water? Sachi said you should try and drink as much as you can..."

"Sure, um– ok, thanks," Harry let Narcissa help him once more, torn between gratitude and guilt. I hurt your son. I hurt him badly. Would you still be here if you knew...?

Better, do better. This was the sort of crap that brought you here in the first place. You made a promise to yourself, a bargain with fate, and if the war taught you anything, it's that those are the sorts of promises you keep. So get your shit together.

"Harry, love, you look troubled..." Narcissa observed. "Sometimes, dear, the only thing that helps is simply waiting for it to pass. So I'll wait with you, is that okay?"

Loads of well-intentioned people offered their "help" to Harry after the war. The problem was that nobody seemed to know what what that meant, including Harry himself. But Narcissa's eyes told him she understood: Nobody could save Harry from himself, only Harry could do that. All she could do was stay with him while he tried. She asked him questions, easy ones, like what his favorite sweets were and whether he'd eaten mochi before. She told him stories of her travels and the different places she'd been, from the crowded streets of Rome to the sprawling Swiss countryside. Harry could see where Draco inherited his love of languages from. For someone who put on such an outward display of prejudice, Narcissa absolutely adored learning about different cultures and different people. And Harry felt the guilt beginning to melt away, his ruthless inner monologue silenced by Narcissa's gentle voice telling him about how the best hot chocolate you will ever drink is located in Prague.