分卷阅读2（1 / 2）

Pansy is one of those girls who hardly ever seem to look any older. Her sleek black hair is cut in a bob, the way she’s always worn it, with a green headband. Her thin lips are covered in a light pink gloss, which makes her look even younger, but she’s grown into her snub nose and doesn’t remind him so much of a pug anymore. She’s almost pretty.

Pretty enough for Draco? he wonders, and then banishes the thought. Pansy’s crush on Draco in third and fourth year had been common knowledge amongst the student body; even if she’d grown out of it, there was no way she wouldn’t give Draco a chance if he’d asked.

“Well?” she says, shutting the door behind her.

He has no idea what he wanted to say to her.

“Thank you for your letter,” he begins, awkwardly.

“You already said that,” she reminds him. He must look baffled, because she adds, “I got your note.”

Harry flushes, suddenly feeling very small and petty.

“Right, well, erm,” he says, “I wanted to say in person. That I appreciated it. And that I don’t…blame you.”

He doesn’t, either. He hasn’t thought much about Pansy either way in a long time, but he doesn’t hold it against her that she’d wanted to live.

“I wouldn’t care if you did,” she informs him. “That’s not why I wrote you.”

“Then why?”

“Common fucking sense, Potter,” she says. “The Wizarding World is small, and you’re probably going to be one of its influencers, even if you don’t make Minister of Magic one day. Why would I want to be your enemy?” She tosses her head a little, flicking a stray strand of hair off her cheek. “That doesn’t mean I want to be your friend, either. Disinterested but courteous acquaintances, that’s the sweet spot. I’m sure you agree.”

“Sure,” Harry says, entirely out of his depth. “Right. Glad that’s sorted, then.”

She nods once, sharply, and reaches for the door.

“I’m sorry about Malfoy,” he says in a rush, before she can open it. Her hand slides off the knob.

“Don’t be. He’s going to get better,” she says, in a tone that dares him to contradict her.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. “Do you have any idea who…?”

“Yes.” She’s still facing the door.

“Well, who is it?” Harry asks, impatient and dropping all pretense of tact.

“That’s none of your business.”