分卷阅读2（2 / 2）

Blinking, Malfoy turns his head around, looks at his surroundings. “Am I…”

“No,” Harry responds quickly. He shakes his head, tries to calm himself. Right. He’s supposed to be the calm one here. “You’re out. You’re in the Manor.”

“Oh.” The furrow deepens. There is a frown on his face, as he slowly looks at the marble floor, the white pillars, the white ledge of the balcony, and the garden. He looks at the table, his lap. His eyes widen, and then he takes a big, shaky breath. “Oh. Okay.”

And Harry isn’t prepared for the tears, the sudden, quiet tears that stream from Malfoy’s eyes.

Malfoy opens his hands, stares at his palms, clean and pristine, and takes another shaky inhale. “Merlin.”

Harry is at a loss. “Malfoy…” He starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. There’s something stuck in his throat.

“Merlin. Finally. I thought…I thought I was never going to get out.”

Harry swallows whatever it is that’s in his throat and it goes down, hard. “I…I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

But Malfoy doesn’t seem to hear him anymore, doesn’t seem to remember that he’s there.

He’s sobbing, head buried in his lap, and whole body trembling in his wheelchair.

Harry looks at that small frame—those sharp elbows digging into his knees and his thin wrists hiding little of the stream of tears on his face crumpled in despair and agony. The line of his back hunched over on the wheelchair, with his shoulder blades jutting so sharply out, Harry’s almost scared that it’ll tear his skin.

It looks hideous, and he has to close his eyes and look away from the scene, from the image of Draco Malfoy falling into pieces.

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if Malfoy remembers he’s there, doesn’t think that Malfoy will welcome a hug. Not from him.

So he leaves the room, as quietly as he can, and stumbles his way to where Narcissa said the master room was.

He doesn’t really know how he gets there, his vision’s blurred and Harry belatedly realizes that they’re tears. There’s something really painful in his chest, like something clamping on his heart, and all he can think of is oh, god, I’m so sorry, Malfoy.

He registers the stunned surprise colouring her face once she sees him, but he doesn’t know what he says to her, only remembers Malfoy’s name slipping through his lips, and Narcissa’s off, hurried footsteps, and then, down the hall, a turn of the knob and the creak of the door opening and the click as it closes.

And Harry crumples to the floor, gasping, and finally lets himself cry.

He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand why it affected him so much.

He thinks he’s crying because he didn’t expect it…like this. He expected something to happen, people don’t get out of Azkaban in the right state of mind, or at all, but he didn’t… He doesn’t even know what he thought anymore.