Bereft

by: darklydraco*

Summary: Burdened by grief and guilt, Remus Lupin returns to Spinner's End after the War to find a bereft Draco Malfoy sleeping in Severus' empty bed. A soft, slow romance about love and loss.

Pairing: RL/DM

Warnings: sadness and sex

*Disclaimer: The potter-verse belongs to JKR, all hail.

Part One:

The Empty Spaces You Left Behind

The house looked exactly the same. Still old, and worn. The shutters dark and drawn. The lawn unkempt, the vines growing up the side wilting even in the summer rain, the walls a sallow off-white, the front door protruding unwelcomingly. Unapproachable. Uninviting. In every way a reflection of its owner.

Previous owner, he corrected himself.

For some reason, he had almost expected the house to show some sort of sign… some indication of loss.

But then, Remus looked exactly the same, too. A little shabbier, a little older. The house and he… they belonged to each other now, he figured. All that was left.

The wards on the gate prickled, but they let him through. The wards on the door stung, but the knob gave way, and opened obligingly to him. How like its previous owner. Bristly and hard to get close to.

He stood staring into the dark little house for several long minutes before he could bring himself to set a foot over the threshold. He held his breath and tried to still the beating in his chest before he finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Everything was as he had left it. Bookshelves lined the walls, leaving space only for the windows and floo. Two worn leather chairs, with an occasional table between them, sat facing the fireplace, now cold and dark.

A flood of memories assaulted him as he remembered nights spent sitting here, reading in front of the fire. In his memories, the house seems larger, warmer, more alive. Now, standing here in the cold daylight, everything seems so much… smaller… almost unreal, like a diorama of a life, not the real thing.

Off to the right, the kitchen with the little breakfast table, and the windows that overlook the garden and the greenhouse. He could almost smell the tea and biscuits that ought to be out, now, going on four o'clock in the afternoon.

Severus insisted on regular tea. Even in the middle of a war. You needn't have dressed up for me, he would sneer. Remus could almost hear it. This time of year, he would drink Rosehip tea and refuse to talk about his mother.

Remus crossed toward the bookshelf that hid the stairs, practiced fingers sliding effortlessly into the hidden groove to pull the lever that releases it.

He climbed slowly, allowing himself the respite of this monotonous task, because it distracted him from what he would inevitably find up there: emptiness.

A diorama of a life, of a home.

He paused outside the door to the lab, decided to forgo it. The lab and it's contents were not his, afterall.

His was the bed. How cruel, to leave him an empty house. An empty bed.

I deserve no better; I don't even deserve this, he told himself.

He stepped toward the bedroom door and took a deep breath, trying to fight down the clenching in his chest that was rising, slowly but surely, into his throat.

The door opened at his touch to reveal the threadbare rug on worn, sagging wooden floors, the aged dresser and writing desk, and in the middle of the room, against the wall to the left, the large four-poster bed…

Remus heart stopped.

For one terrifyingly blissful moment, he thought… Severus?

But no… Severus is dead. And the person lying there in his place is smaller. He stepped forward, wand drawn, but the intruder didn't move.

Then he saw the shock of white-blond hair, splayed across Severus' pillow, and thought: oh.

He turned around and walked back to the door, to leave the boy to his grief, when he heard a faint, "Severus?"

His chest clenched to hear his own foolishly hopeful sentiment echoed, and he turned around to see the boy groggily sitting up, peering at him. His eyes were red, and his face drawn and ashen, Remus noted.

"Professor Lupin?" he asked, frowning.

"Hello, Draco," he answered. "I'm…" he grasped for the words… 'grieving,' 'lost,' or maybe 'empty'… he settled for, "I'm just making tea. Would you like some?"

The boy looked thoroughly bewildered but nodded, and slipped out of bed to follow him, barefoot, back down into the kitchen.

Draco sat down at the table and Remus moved to retrieve the blackened pot and a tray, and try to find some biscuits. Remus set the water to boil, and rummaged through cabinet. Rosehip, he thought. Severus would have liked that.

"How did you get in?" the boy finally asked, as though he'd been resisting the urge.

"The house… Severus left the house to me," Remus answered quietly, turning around.

"Oh," Draco nodded stiffly. He chewed his lip and looked like he was considering asking something more, but didn't.

And then it occurred to Remus to ask, "how did you get in? The Ministry said no one could get through his wards…"

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, looking vaguely uneasy. "I mean, I just walked in, too. The house remembered me, I guess." Remus remained quiet. Draco shifted uneasily. "I suppose I should leave, though, now…" the boy said, his voice so full of resignation that Remus almost surprised to see blond hair instead of black when he looked up.

"No," he said, trying to put something like warmth into it, "stay. Besides," he added, suddenly remembering, "some of this is yours," he said, and watched the boy in front of him perk up a little, his eyes almost, but not quite, sparkling.

Remus nodded and reached into his robe pockets, wincing with the effort of the strain. It was only the second day after his transformation, and he was still so, so sore. Draco's expression was a familiar mix of suspicion and curiosity as Remus withdrew the heavy parchment roll. He unfurled it and handed it to Draco, who stared at the curling script for a few moments, then looked up frowning.

"His lab," Remus said quietly. "He left you his lab here, and all his papers and stores from Hogwarts. Everything to do with his career as a Potions Master, is yours."

Draco's hands seemed to tremble slightly as he held the parchment in front of him, but his eyes unfocused. Remus turned around to give him some kind of privacy. He heard the boy take a shaky breath, and then cough to cover it.

"I have nowhere to keep it all," Draco said suddenly, and Remus turned around to look at him again. He was still staring at the parchment, his face an inscrutable mask. But Remus heard the unspoken confession: 'I have no where to go.'

"You can stay here until you get back on your feet," he offered, trying to leech out every ounce of compassion, lest he mistake it for pity, and refuse. "The house doesn't seem to mind, anyway. And neither do I."

Draco nodded but didn't look up, and Remus sat down with the tea service, and poured for each of them.

He watched as Draco reached out to take his cup, long white fingers wrapping around the chipped porcelain vessel. He lifted it up to his aristocratic nose and breathed in. His eyelids almost fluttered, and the hint of something tugged at the corners of his lips. "Rosehip," he whispered, his eyes immediately seeking out Remus', searching his face. Remus nodded, unable to find words in all the pain. Draco's voice broke as he said, "he would have liked that."

Something clenched in Remus' chest, then, and he felt his eyes stinging, but before he could even try to hide it with his sleeve, he heard Draco sniff loudly and excuse himself, before he bolted out of the room. A strangled sob floated down from the hidden staircase, and Remus didn't try to hide the tears.

How…?

How could he be gone…?

It was dark outside when Remus finally climbed the stairs and peered in through the bedroom door. Draco was curled under the blankets in Severus' bed, facing the doorway, his brow furrowed. He was shaking his head and whimpering something unintelligible.

Remus walked up to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Draco," he said softly. The boy opened his eyes groggily, and sat up half-way, before he recognized him.

"Oh," he said quietly. And then, "sorry."

And then, instead of lying back down, he threw back the covers on his side and rolled over to sleep on the other side of the bed.

Remus faltered… stood there frozen for much too long, until he thought he heard Draco's breathing evening out.

And then…

And then he climbed into the familiar bed and lay down beside Draco, instinctively curling up into the warm space his body had left behind. He pressed his cheek into the pillow, and inhaled deeply.

"It smells like him," he murmured.

He was only a little surprised to hear a quiet reply, "I know."

More to come soon...