Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: This chapter is rather sad and contains hint of abuse but nothing too severe I promise. Thanks to my wonderful editor saras_girl.

Chapter 6

Negative Space

Last night it came as a picture

With a good reason a warning sign

This place is void of all passion

If you can imagine it's easy if you try

Should I go back, should I go back, should I

I feel alone and tired

Should I go back, should I go back, should I

I hope I won't forget you.

Asthenia - Blink 182

Monday June 22nd, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

Dark clouds gathered over the distant Silbury Hill and the wind whipped up, carrying with it the scent of rain and lightning. Draco sat on his balcony and gratefully watched the storm roll in.

June had been an unbearably hot month and the break in the weather would be more than welcome. Draco had hoped, when the temperature had begun to climb, that he would finally be grateful for the unseasonable chill that had settled throughout the manor.

The contrast, however, had simply unsettled him further and he had taken to escaping into Harry's company with increasing frequency. Whilst this provided a welcome reprieve it was becoming harder to return to the solitude of the manor after the comforting familiarity of Grimmauld.

That was still surprising to him. Even though he had come to rely heavily on Harry's friendship, he couldn't quite comprehend how easily they had slipped in to the gratifying companionship which they now shared. It had been one month since their first… their first what? Draco's first inclination was to call it a date, but he wasn't sure if this was simply wishful thinking on his part. There had been indications from Harry, of course.

Draco had flirted with him rather furiously that day. It had been the very least he had been willing to allow himself, when he had spotted Harry leaning so casually against that Muggle contraption, looking like he'd stepped right out of one of Draco's more pleasant dreams. The white shirt had caused his tan appear even deeper and Draco had spent a good portion of their time together watching the muscles flex and tense in Harry's exposed forearms.

What he couldn't be certain of was whether Harry had been flirting back. He thought he might have been, Draco even thought that he might have caught Harry checking him out at one point, but he couldn't be completely sure. Normally this wouldn't matter to him but at the moment Harry was his only friend and he was far too important for Draco to screw up their relationship by making an ill-advised pass at him.

Their second date would normally have offered more than enough proof for Draco to make his move. Unfortunately, by then he had been hit by one of his unpredictable waves of insecurity and he could no longer force himself to cross the line, to take the risk.

Archimedes had arrived on the morning of the fifth with Harry's request that, if he didn't have anything better to do, he would love it if Draco could join him for tea that afternoon. It hadn't crossed his mind that Harry would even know when his birthday was, let alone actually have prepared a mini celebration. So he was understandably shocked when Harry presented him with tea and Birthday cake whilst sitting on Grimmauld's roof terrace, Cooling Charms set against the intense heat.

He had been even more surprised when Harry reached under his chair and produced a brightly wrapped box from beneath his invisibility cloak with a flourish.

'Go on then, open it,' Harry urged as Draco stared at the box in his hands, dumbstruck.

Draco's eyes gleamed with excitement before he began to tear ferociously at the blue paper and yank the lid free from the box. There inside, several items sat nestled in the shredded silver tissue paper. Draco picked up the largest item and began to turn it over slowly in his hands, inspecting the music disc device from all sides.

'It's just like yours,' he said, slightly awed, and Harry nodded enthusiastically. Draco had been intrigued by the device ever since he had headed into the kitchen, following his night on Harry's sofa, only to discover Harry dancing around to some unheard music. Harry had eagerly explained the CD player, though Draco was unsure if this was to satisfy his curiosity, or to reduce Harry's own embarrassment at being caught in such a carefree moment.

'I even did the charm on it so you won't need batteries,' Harry enthused, nudging the back of the device and Draco rolled his eyes.

'You know, I think you talk about Muggle things just to keep me wrong footed,' Draco accused and was rewarded with Harry launching into a full description of what batteries were and how and why they were used. Draco loved it when Harry explained things.

Usually, Draco hated having to admit that he didn't know something; it was a knock to his pride. With Harry, he would almost be willing to pretend he didn't know the things he did, if it gave Harry a chance to explain them. Explaining would always cause brightness to flare in his eyes, as well as a very special smile that Harry seemed to save for when he felt like he was helping someone. It was such an unrepentantly Gryffindor trait, but Merlin help him if Draco didn't find it adorable.

There had been music discs in the box, too, and, at the bottom, a leather wrist band. When Draco had pulled it from the box Harry had flushed and mumbled to himself about how it was probably stupid but he though it was cool. Draco hadn't said anything, he had simply slipped the band around his wrist and asked Harry about the music he had been gifted.

Later that evening, Harry had taken Draco out for dinner at an upmarket Muggle restaurant and made sure that there was just enough alcohol provided so that he had an excuse not to Apparate home again.

That was not the last time he had stayed with Harry, either. As the month wore on, Harry began to come up with more and more creative excuses for why it was that Draco couldn't or shouldn't go home. In the beginning, Harry had made up the spare room each time, as if he hadn't been expecting Draco to stay, continuing the charade that Draco had absolutely no fear of returning to his own home.

That had changed about a week ago when Draco had stumbled sleepily into the spare room to find that the book that he had been reading from the Black library had been left at his bedside. In addition, Draco's t-shirt and boxers, which he had apparently left behind a few days previously, had been laundered for him, carefully folded and left on the end of the bed. Draco had been touched by way Harry had calmly accepted him into his home with no fanfare at all.

That would change again after tonight. There would be far fewer excuses for Draco to stay over once he was living in London, and although he had started staying at Harry's to avoid the Manor, he couldn't pretend that he wouldn't miss Harry's company. They would still see each other, of course, but he would miss talking in hushed voices late into the night and the lazy breakfasts on the terrace in t-shirt and boxers, as they mused over their plans for the day.

He couldn't go on like this, however, it was getting so that the only sleep Draco got was at Grimmauld. Harry had been with Teddy for the past three days and Draco had managed to catch no more than three hours continuous sleep in that entire time. The sleep he did get was unsettled, troubled and he would often wake in a cold sweat.

The decision to close up the Manor and stay at the Leaky Cauldron for a spell had come to him at about one o'clock that morning, and not having anything else to do with his time, he had immediately put his plan into action. He ensured sure that jewellery and silver were removed to the family vault, that the more delicate antiques were packed away and the larger items protected from the dust.

By the time he had finished, he had worked right through the night and through most of the morning. He had asked for the house-elves to assemble in the ballroom after lunch and had explained to them what was happening.

A couple of the older elves would remain on to prevent the manor falling into disrepair. Harry had inspired his idea of what to do with the rest; those who wished freedom would be granted it, the rest would be sent to Hogwarts to help with the restorations.

There had been a great deal of sobbing and wringing of hands and twisting of ears at that but Draco had retreated to his rooms to pack and shrink his own belongings, letting the elves get on with adapting to the news in peace.

He had finished now; the innocuous looking rucksack was sitting at his feet containing everything he owned. The insides had been magically expanded to avoid crumpling his enormous wardrobe and he had been forced to apply a complex series of Lightening Charms to make it possible for him to lift it. Still, it was disconcerting to think that his entire life could fit in a bag, no matter how much magic had been used to make it happen.

He rose from his chair, preformed a quick Cleaning Spell of the oversized mug he had retrieved from the kitchen for his final cup of tea, and tucked the mug into the top of his rucksack. Swinging the bag up onto his shoulders, he began to move through the house, applying the heavy Locking Charms to the doors and windows.

The time first he was overwhelmed by memory was in his mother's room. He remembered how, as a teenager, he and his mother would take advantage of the times Lucius was away from home on business. They would sit in her rooms with tea and scones, whilst Draco would read to her for hours at a time.

She had once told him that, whilst they were courting, Lucius had read to her all the time. It had been one of the things that had made her fall in love with him. She had been bitterly disappointed that these quiet moments had faded as soon as the marriage had been consummated and, whilst she had never said so to Draco, he knew that her love for Lucius had faded entirely not long after.

As he paced the room, collecting a few stray items that he had a mind to move to his mother's new home, he couldn't help but wonder how she would feel about him abandoning the manor. Would she understand? Would she be disappointed at him running away? He would give anything to be able to ask her opinion but she no longer recognised him as her son. On good days she would recognise him as the nice boy who came to read to her occasionally and Draco would draw the tiniest bit of comfort from her distant smile on those occasions.

It was with reluctance, born from years of negative reinforcement, that Draco entered his father's study. He had no good memories of this room. As he checked the windows, the curtains shifted, releasing the scent of cigar smoke and whisky that caused Draco's stomach to tie in knots. He had been twelve when he had first learnt to fear this room.

He had returned from his first year at Hogwarts with excellent grades and had been proud of himself, until Lucius had informed him that Granger had beat him out to the top spot. He had been told that his failure might have been excused had he excelled at Quidditch but he hadn't even made the team.

Draco had tried desperately to excuse his shortcomings, had promised improvement and begged his father's understanding. He had been cut off by a slap to the face. The blow had been so hard that his vision had dimmed and he had fallen to his knees on the carpet, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. That was the last time he had ever pleaded with his father but was far from the last time he had ever been punished.

As his father had slipped further into madness, he would delight in mixing some of the crueller curses with his physical attacks, all of which were conducted with same detached iciness as the first. Draco did all he could to stay out of his way and in his favour, until he had begun to hurt his mother. Then Draco had tried for all he was worth to draw his fire, occasionally resorting to deliberate insubordination in order to distract him. Not that it had been enough in the end.

Draco withheld his checks of the most troubling room until last. As he stood outside the tall double doors of the main drawing room, he seriously considered not checking the room at all. Draco had not been in there since the end of the war, and he did not want to go in there now.

This room was the epicentre of the cold chill, the darkness and miasma which had spread though out the manor. This was the place where Voldemort had held court, where countless Muggles and Muggle-borns had been tortured and murdered, and though Draco was not a superstitious person he could feel their anguish, still hanging around the room like a shroud.

Steeling himself, he stepped forward. If he could face this room, just once, he could tell himself that he did not flee from his ancestral home as a coward. Placing his hands on the ornate bronze doorknobs he breathed deeply and pushed.

The heavy double doors swung inwards with a creak and a hiss and the chill rushed out to wrap around him forcing an involuntary shiver from Draco. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he stepped over the threshold of the room. Nothing had been touched. The furniture was still pushed haphazardly against the walls, to make room for the long wooden table in the centre, chairs still gathered around it.

He remembered the night he had fled from Hogwarts, his Aunt Bella dragging him into the drawing room by his collar and declaring his failure to the entire room. Voldemort's cruelty had a rival that night however. Given the chance by his Master to redeem himself by punishing failure, Lucius had delighted in placing Draco under Cruciatus and leaving him to writhe in pain for the amusement of the assembled Death Eaters.

There on the floor in front of him, a black mark marred the highly polished wood. His blood, left there after he had hit his head during a particularly violent convulsion. Still, he was well aware that he was one of the lucky ones.

As he approached the table, his head supplied the terrified screams of the countless victims who had not been so lucky. The air was heavy with the odour of copper and singed hair and a touch of sulphur and Draco suddenly felt very sick as he thought of the Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage.

Dumbledore may have been the first person he'd watched die but Professor Burbage was the first time Draco had seen how indiscriminate Voldemort was being. Regardless of how you felt about it, Dumbledore was a General in the war, much as Voldemort was. Professor Burbage had been innocent and Draco had been forced to watch as she had been cut down in the prime of her life.

Shaking his head furiously Draco cast the last few spells to secure the room and span on his heel marching back out into the hall way. Once there he pulled the doors shut firmly behind him.

'Colloportus Infinitus,' Draco whispered, pointing his wand at the doors and he watched as the surrounding gaps melted away, leaving nothing but blank wood in its place. The bronze handles fused and morphed until they formed a solid bar, reaching across the indentation of the door frame, preventing the doorway from ever being used again.

Draco hitched his rucksack a little higher on his back and made his way from the house. As he stood on the front step and activated the ancient Malfoy wards with a smear of his blood, the first promised drops of summer rain began to fall. By the time he reached the bottom of the drive, the rain had become a deluge.

Draco turned his face towards the fat, fragrant summer rain that was battering his skin and begged whom ever might be listening that the despair, which had entered his heart in the drawing room might be washed away. His thoughts drifted to Harry and he decided that although they weren't due to meet until tomorrow, the other boy wouldn't mind if he were to show up unannounced and right then he needed some company.

The first thing Draco noticed when he landed in the dark corner of the park opposite Grimmauld was that it wasn't raining in London. White fluffy clouds, tinged with orange from the slowly sinking sun, drifted lazily in a rich blue sky. Feeling slightly out of place, Draco darted out of his hiding spot and up the front steps, knocking firmly on the door. From within the depths of the house he heard what sounded like a squeak followed by approaching footsteps and Harry's muffled voice affecting a strange pitch.

'Who could that be? Who could that be, hey?'

Locks clicked and wood scraped and the door opened to reveal Harry. He had a baby perched on his hip, and was wearing a ratty grey t-shirt that was so thin in places the fabric was almost transparent, he had a bottle shoved in a pocket.

The expression which graced Harry's face was one of pleased surprise. Spice, vanilla, baby powder and warmth rushed out to meet Draco and he instantly felt soothed. There was still a lot more to do however and this was made clear as Harry's pleasure drifted into concern and he shifted to the side, silently granting Draco entry.

'Merlin, Draco, are you alright?' he asked as Draco shuffled past him into the hall and hung his rucksack from the coat rack. He was just here for a chat, he told himself.

'Man, you're drenched.' Harry reached out the hand that wasn't holding the wriggling baby securely to his hip and swiped dripping hair from Draco's face.

'And you're freezing,' he fussed, shifting an increasingly irritable Teddy to his other hip and Draco noticed the baby's hair was slowly turning red. So did Harry.

'Uh-oh,' he muttered. 'Look, I need to give him his bottle. You go upstairs, have a shower, there should be some clean jogging bottoms and a t-shirt on the end of my bed. I'll feed him and put him down and we can have a cup of tea, yeah?' Harry asked.

Draco nodded, realising he was yet to utter a word since his arrival.

'Thanks,' he whispered harshly. Harry simply smiled a concerned smile and gave Draco a little shove towards the stairs.

Draco stepped into the shower cubicle and relaxed slightly as the warm water began to rinse away the chill that had settled in his bones. He washed his hair quickly with a shampoo that smelt like mint and rushed out of the shower. Dressing rapidly, he pulled on the slightly too short navy blue jogging bottoms that Harry had invited him to borrow. This was balanced by a T-shirt that was slightly too large, Harry being slightly broader in the shoulder than he was.

Despite how eager he was to get back down stairs, he still spared himself a brief look in the mirror and cast a quick Drying Charm over his hair, deciding that if he was going to forgo his usually immaculate appearance, then he was at least going to make sure that his hair was acceptable.

Draco headed back downstairs as quietly as he could manage; if Teddy was already sleeping he didn't want to wake him. As he reached the stairs to the kitchen he heard a soft, melodic voice and sank silently down onto the top step, drawing his knees up in front of him. Harry was standing near the kitchen table, facing away from him, Teddy pressed firmly against his chest, sleepy brown eyes peering over one shoulder as Harry sang softly and twisted at the waist to rock him to sleep.

The words were sad and melancholy, though the tune sounded like a normal lullaby. Slowly, Harry turned and caught sight of Draco. He smiled and flushed slightly with embarrassment but did not stop singing. Draco smiled back and leaned his head against the wall, listening.

Eventually, Harry seemed happy that the baby was asleep and laid him in his basket, casting a charm over it so their voices wouldn't wake him.

'Is there anything you aren't good at?' Draco asked with a touch of exasperation in his voice and Harry blushed, dropping his eyes to the floor.

'Ah yes,' Draco said kindly, smiling at the other boy. 'You can't take a compliment.'

Harry chuckled softly and made his way towards where Draco was still sitting on the step. He held out his hand, as if to pull Draco to his feet but when he took it, Harry pulled him into a rough hug. Draco returned it, nuzzling into the warmth at Harry's neck that smelt like milk and talcum powder as well as spiciness that was just Harry. Harry's hand slid up and down Draco's back, trying to comfort him.

'What happened earlier, babe?' Harry asked and Draco stiffened slightly, wondering if he was aware of what he'd just said.

'When I opened the door it looked like you'd been tangling with a Dementor or something.'

'Mmmphf,' was all Draco could manage from the spot he had burrowed into. Exhaling heavily, he extracted himself reluctantly from Harry's warmth and stepped back.

'It's been a rough couple of days,' he admitted.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down into the nearest chair, moving off to make tea.

'Tell me what happened,' Harry insisted, placing the kettle on the stove and leaning back against the counter.

'I closed up the manor today,' Draco explained, folding his hands on the table in front of him. 'I've left, I can't go back there. I'm going to stay at a hotel whilst I figure out what I'm going to do but there was no way I could spend another night in that house.'

'Don't be daft,' Harry said, pouring the water over the tea bags and adding sugar and milk.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him indignantly. He couldn't believe Harry was being so glib about this; he had thought he understood about his problems with the house. He was just about to issue a cutting response and storm from the kitchen, when Harry turned round, concern etched into his face, and pushed a cup of tea towards Draco.

'There's no need for you to stay in a hotel, you can stay here,' he said simply and Draco thanked whatever force it was, that had helped him to keep his mouth shut, just for once.

'I can't do that Harry,' he protested, shaking his head slightly.

'Of course you can, it's not like it will be any trouble and it may have escaped your notice but I'm happy to have you here.' Harry smirked.

The way that Harry had approached the subject, as though it were the obvious solution, was probably the only thing he could have done to convince Draco to remain at Grimmauld. He did not want Harry to invite him to stay simply because his hero complex insisted upon it. There was no sense of obligation hidden in the words, however, just a genuine desire to have Draco remain with him.

'Okay,' Draco assented quietly and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

***

The bed was different but the dreams were the same. A cacophony of screams filled his head. Crabbe, Pansy, Professor Burbage and countless others combined their voices to be underlined by the maniacal cackle of his Aunt Bella. Draco struggled upwards through the blanket of sleep but the screaming didn't cease; it just altered into something less sinister.

'Hush now, you're going to wake Draco.' Harry's voice drifted through the bedroom door that sat slightly ajar, along with the tired cries of Teddy Lupin. Draco heard Harry descend the stairs and, after a moment of indecision, chose to follow him. He listened carefully as he reached the first floor landing but heard nothing. He was about to head down to the kitchen, when he noticed the slight glow coming from under the drawing room door; gently, he pushed it open.

Harry sat on the couch, baby cuddled in his arms, as he fed him from a bottle. The only light came from the fireplace and Draco simply watched the silent scene for a moment before he realised that Harry's lips were moving. He stepped through the Silencing Charm and became aware that Harry was singing again, his low, mellifluous voice filling the room.

Harry smiled his embarrassment when he caught sight of Draco and were it not for that fear of breaking the peaceful spell that had been cast on this room, he would have assured Harry that he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Instead, he opted to simply join them, lounging at the other end of the couch, allowing his feet to tangle with Harry's. He watched them happily, overwhelmed by the feeling of contentment. Slowly, his eyelids began to droop as Harry's gentle lullaby encouraged him back into sleep.