分卷阅读5（1 / 2）

“No—” Harry is quick to cut her off, disturbed to even hear those words from her. “No. I—I wouldn’t be here. If I didn’t want to.”

And Narcissa looks at him, really looks, as if she’s trying to figure out if what he’s saying is true. And then, finally getting her answer, her shoulders relax and amusement tinges her smile. “Whatever did my son do to inspire such loyalty from you?”

“He saved my life. You saved my life. I…I want to…” Save him, too, Harry thinks, but that’s not quite right. Not completely. Return the favour? That’s not it, too. Not really.

But Narcissa’s looking at him in a way that’s soft, and pitying, as if she understands. Harry has to look away from that.

“You saved us. Believe me, we would not be here if it weren’t for you. The Ministry would have had us all in Azkaban and then conveniently forgotten about us.”

Harry thinks that Kingsley wouldn’t have done that, but the Wizengamot is another issue.

“We made our choices. Now we are atoning for them. I am not proud of them. But given the chance to do it all again, to be given the choice to save the world or save my family, I…I don’t think I would have been any wiser.” This time, she glances back at her son, and says, slowly, “It just pains me, when I look back, to remember him having to make that choice as well.”

The day is peaceful. It is bright and quiet and invisible birds chirp softly from different edges of the garden. It’s a stark contrast from the heaviness of their conversation.

Narcissa sighs, soft and sad. “I hope you understand that I’m not trying to justify what we did.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry replies, and it is. “It’s alright. If you want to talk. I want to…” He pauses, surprised at the truth in his next words. “I want to listen.”

Narcissa smiles that same amused smile. “You are kind. Remember, Harry. The world isn’t nice to kind people.”

She looks down at her hands on her lap, fingers clasped as if in prayer. “But even with that said, I still want to selfishly request this from you.” She raises her head to look at him. “Please take care of my son.”

Harry inhales, flattered and scared, but the answer is already on his lips. “Mrs. Malfoy—”

“Narcissa.” Another smile.

Harry exhales, slowly. He now feels Narcissa’s same surprise when he asked her to call him Harry instead. It feels…nice. “Narcissa. There’s no need to request. I had already planned on it.”

She reaches over, takes his hand in hers, and says, earnestly, “Thank you.”

It’s late afternoon, and Draco hasn’t shown signs of leaving his stupor.

Harry excuses himself, doesn’t want to impose by staying for dinner when he’s already stayed for lunch. By now, he already knows a lot more about Draco than Draco would probably be comfortable with if he knew. He also knows a lot more about Narcissa, and Lucius, and it’s disconcerting, to feel this new empathy for this family.

He wonders, If it were me, what would I have done?

True to her word, Narcissa did not make any justifications. She told her tale as it is, did not pretend that she is a saint. Apologized for what she said to him back then, about her cousin’s death.