分卷阅读24（1 / 2）

And Draco cuts him off, because he’s ready for this, he’s been ready with these words for so long, and he just needs to try, one last time. “I’m not someone you should be friends with, Potter.”

“Malfoy.” Potter says, like a warning. “You’re starting with that crap again.”

“It’s not crap,” Draco affirms. He can feel the well of emotions rising up again, the shame, the guilt, and the need to escape from it, and it’s making the edges of his vision go dark. He inhales sharply, struggles to keep himself here. “It’s…People are obviously going to talk, you know. This isn’t going to be the last time, and there’s really nothing else that they can say about me that hasn’t already been said, but you—you’re going to get the worst of it. Harry Potter being friends with an ex-Death Eater, someone who’s a little insane—”

A hand closes around his fingers, grips them tight and firm. Draco pulls himself back, fights his way back from the comfortable darkness in his head, towards the grounding, exhilarating reality of the hand holding his.

When he returns, completely returns, Potter’s sitting on his bed, still holding his hand, and looking straight at him.

“I don’t really care about what Harry Potter those people are imagining,” Potter is murmuring. “This Harry Potter wants to be friends with that ex-Death Eater, someone who’s a little insane.”

Draco chuckles, smiles at him weakly. “Salazar, Potter, you didn’t have to agree with the insane part.”

Potter smiles back at him. “Your words, not mine. And look. You fought it off, didn’t you?”

He did. He did. And he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s the first time he’s managed to stop himself from falling in the rabbit hole his mind has made, or if it’s because of the pride in Potter’s eyes as he looks at him, or Potter wanting to stay with him, that he finds his eyes becoming warm.

“Yeah.” His voice is shaking. “Thanks.”

Potter still hasn’t let go of his hand. “Well then, has it convinced you?”

It’s making Draco have a hard time concentrating. “What?”

“Have the letters convinced you to leave me alone?”

And Potter’s too close, too near, and there is a traitorous hope crawling up his stomach and swelling in his chest at Potter’s proximity, his words, the way he’s looking at him. “No.”

“I’m glad.” There’s a crinkle at the corner of Potter’s eyes when he smiles, and Draco hates it, as much as he hates the way Potter’s thumb is slowly tracing circles against his palm. There is pink colouring Potter’s cheeks and he hates that, too. “I, err, I suppose this is a good time to tell you that I don’t have exactly innocent intentions in, uhm, being friends with you.”