分卷阅读6（1 / 2）

Narcissa blinks slowly at him, surprised. “I…Are you sure, Harry?”

No, but he’s becoming more sure as he says it. The decision settles in his chest, comfortable and right. “I am.” Then, he hastily adds, “If it’s not too imposing.”

Narcissa gives him another smile, and it’s a little relieved, and real. “Nonsense, Harry. We’re the ones imposing.”

The next time that Harry comes to the Manor, it is a week after Draco was released. Narcissa is in Scotland. There are pancakes on the table, covered with temperature spells, and two sets of plates and cutlery. There is also a note in Narcissa’s elegant handwriting, telling him to please help himself.

It is 8 in the morning, but Draco is already in his wheelchair, eyes staring distantly into the garden.

He is looking fuller now, more alive. His cheeks have filled and the colour is coming back to his skin. Inexplicably, Harry is suddenly very, very relieved that Draco isn’t indisposed enough that he can’t eat. Narcissa has told him, through the letters that they have started to exchange, that Draco’s spending more and more time present with her lately.

His hair shines with the bright morning sun and Harry resists the urge to touch.

He sits down on the chair across Draco and lets the weirdness and the overall awkwardness of the situation sink in and settle. This is the first time he’s here without Narcissa to talk to, just him and Draco, who’s currently awake but is off in some other world in his head.

Draco Malfoy. From Slytherin.

Who lied to the Death Eaters to save you.

When he closes his eyes, he can still remember the heat of the flames of Fiendfyre licking his clothes. Draco screaming “DON’T KILL HIM” and the tight grip that Draco had on his waist as they flew above and out of the inferno.

That wasn’t the grip of someone who wanted to serve Voldemort.

That was just the grip of someone who wanted to stay alive.

He turns away, from Draco’s soft hair and the memories of fire.

He picks up his fork, takes a pancake from the serving plate, and lets it plop on his own.

“Potter.”

His fork drops in surprise. Flushing, he looks up. “Malfoy.”

“You’re…” Malfoy squints.

Harry shrugs nervously. He feels like he’s just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He supposes that it is weird to suddenly wake up and have your long- time enemy in your house eating your pancakes. “Yeah.”

Harry sees the moment that Draco confirms that he really is indeed Harry Potter.