分卷阅读14（1 / 2）

“Shouldn’t it?”

“No. We’re not in the Manor anymore. You don’t have to keep any more favours for my mother. You’ve done your part.”

“I’m not doing this for your mother.”

“Then what are you doing it for? Because you want to be friends with me?” Draco laughs, harsh and derisive, and Harry tries to stop the hurt from creeping in. “It’s suffocating, Potter. Go bother somebody else with your goddamned hero complex. I’m sure there’s a lot who’d love to have your attention.”

It’s not working. Everything that Draco says still stings.

Harry looks away, unable to look at Draco’s sneer anymore, not when he’s gotten so used to his face without it. “Yes, Malfoy, I do want to be friends with you,” he mutters. He takes a deep breath to ease the tightness in his chest. “I…thought we already were.”

He stands up, ready to flee, ready to lick his wounds. “I guess not.”

And Draco crumples to the floor with a dull thud.

When Draco comes to, Harry’s too tired from the onslaught of emotions he’s been through for the day to explain why they’re sitting on the floor of the compartment, legs folded in awkward angles to fit the tight space, and arms pressed against each other.

“Welcome back,” Harry says instead. “I fixed your face.”

Draco’s head is bent dangerously close to Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t move it. “My face doesn’t need fixing. It’s impeccable.”

The smile is in Harry’s voice. “Mm-hmm.”

Minerva McGonagall, now Headmistress, welcomes all of them. After delivering a short but emotional speech, one that leaves many students dabbing at their eyes with their sleeves, the Sorting and the Welcoming Feast begins. Classes resume as usual, with the eighth years following the schedule of the seventh years.

But much is different, including the unusually quiet atmosphere of the school, made by the reduced student population and the grim, physical reminders of the war that had occurred in these very halls just months ago.

Some areas are still blocked for repairs, with the promise that repairs are to be complete before Halloween.

The first month is the hardest of all: Students have lost their reservations at ambushing them left and right to ask for pictures and autographs. He finds that he can’t even relax in the Common Room without someone sitting next to him and asking him how he ‘vanquished the Dark Lord’. Hermione’s taken to spending long hours in the library just to be able to study in peace, with a grumble of The next time somebody disturbs me in the Common Room, I might actually hex their lips off.

Worst of all, adding to his budding irritation, he can’t even go near Draco anymore without being blocked by a doting fan, though, Harry thinks, this is probably a good thing. Draco never really retracted what he had said back in the Hogwarts Express, and his words have done a good job in convincing Harry to grit his teeth and ignore the urge to actively seek out blond hair and pale skin.

But even so, at night, with a sense of guilt gleefully lounging in his stomach, he can’t help but return to old habits: