分卷阅读3（1 / 2）

Draco pushed the name out of his mind. He found it there more and more frequently as of late, if that was possible. Draco’s stomach tightened as he tried to forget the article he had read in the Prophet the day before.

Potter Confirmed Bachelor? The headline rung through his mind again. He had broken up with the Weaselette shortly after Draco had “died.” Draco tried to tell himself that was a coincidence but a voice in somewhere in the deepest hollows of his heart whispered maybe it wasn’t. That voice accompanied with claims made in the gossip rags he had unfortunately found himself reading for a lack of entertainment cemented his irrational hopes even further into his brain. He kept a scrapbook of articles and clippings that mentioned people he had gone to school with, as familiar names were the closest things he had to friends, but because Potter was the most frequently mentioned in the papers, it was quickly becoming Harry Potter: A History. He looked at it so often now that he was certain he could recite most articles by heart. Particularly the ones about Potter, but he chose not to notice that correlation.

He lay on the bed, a particular article he had read nearly six months after he “died,” the one that planted the idea in his mind originally, which he wholeheartedly wished he had never read, running through his head.

Potter Carrying a Torch for Former Nemesis?

Sources close to the young wizard say a certain recent loss has much to do with the break up of Hogwarts sweethearts Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley.

“I thought maybe the whole fixation he had on Malfoy in school would fade away as we got older,” the very, very close source says, “and certainly after he passed. Can’t do anything sneaky when he’s—well, when he’s not here.”

The source suspects there was something more to Potter and Malfoy’s rivalry in school, though perhaps only on Potter’s behalf.

“It would be different if he couldn’t get over the war. That I understand. I’m not over it myself, and don’t know that I ever will be completely. But the war hardly seems to be what really got to him. It was Malfoy. He just can’t move past it. It’s a bit embarrassing, being jealous of corpse,” the redheaded source concluded.

The article had been accompanied by a photograph of the two of them, the day they had exchanged wands at the muggle coffee shop. In it, Harry was holding Draco’s hand where it rest on his shoulder, the other boy looking up at Draco with an easy smile on his face. Draco couldn’t deny it looked particularly incriminating.

Draco remembered losing feeling in his hands the first time he had read it. It was heavily implied that the source was Ginny herself, but surely, magazines that report on subjects such as that were not to be trusted. He had leaked false information about Potter back in school himself, and he knew how easy it was to get something published if you wanted to ruin someone, especially someone who held as much public interest as Potter. What scared him most, however, was that he wanted it to be true. He knew Potter had been to his funeral, had been one of the last to leave, in fact, outstayed only by his mother and Minerva McGonagall. He also knew that Harry Potter, the boy who lost nearly everything but never shed a tear, was weeping rather openly at the event. It had crossed his mind, of course, that perhaps it was a culmination of events that lead to this display of emotion. He would have continued to think so if it weren’t for this article, accompanied with the fact that nearly three years after the articles publication, Potter hadn’t dated anyone publically. Draco found it hard to believe that a man approaching twenty-two would not be caught once in a while in some sort of fling. But Potter never was, which either meant he was Polyjuicing heavily, or he just didn’t go out.

Draco was broken out of this oft visited train of thought by a sudden blow to his stomach.

“Omph, I was sleeping,” he groaned, opening his eyes to see the green eyes of his calico staring back at him. The look she gave him in return seemed to say she knew full well he hadn’t been. “I was,” he insisted, defensive to her silent judgement.

She mewed at him and he sighed.

“Alright, alright,” he said, scratching between her ears. She had been a gift from McGonagall, and he loved her dearly. He had been slightly wary of her being an animagus, as the markings around her eyes looked very much like glasses, but McGonagall insisted she was just a cat, she had made sure of it. He was only completely convinced when he became an Animagus himself, as her energy did not feel like McGonagall’s. When McGonagall had told him her name was Harriet, Draco was sure it was some cruel joke, but there was no hint of laughter in McGonagall’s eyes. She had given him a bespectacled cat named Harriet and seemingly thought nothing of it. Though he supposed most normal people would think nothing of it. All the same, he had taken to calling her Potter, as she was just as hard headed and rebellious.

“I’ll let you out, but please, don’t bring any mice back,” he pleaded with her, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.

She hopped down in pursuit of him, following him to the hole in the wall that began to click open at his touch. She meowed again.

“I mean it, Potter, no mice or you’re grounded,” Draco replied, knowing that even if he didn’t let her out, she would find another way, bullying the house elves into letting her through when they came to gather his dishes.

She mewled again in response, sounding none too threatened, and dashed out into the hall. Draco closed the entrance again and dragged himself back to bed.