分卷阅读12（2 / 2）

“No?”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

“Potter.”

“I—” Harry broke eye contact, settling on the bedding in front of him. “I need to remember you, like this. I need to know you’re okay. What happened to you—what I thought happened to you—it made me sick.”

Draco sighed, pulling his legs to his chest. His eyes stung.

“The war was over. The war was over and somehow we both survived and the thought of that, for reasons I couldn’t understand, or maybe just didn’t want to understand, made me relieved. I never thought I would be glad that you would live another day to make me feel like an absolute idiot. But then…Then you were gone and I conveniently figured out why I was so relieved we had both survived the moment you were taken away from us. From me,” Harry spoke so quickly, Draco could hardly be sure of what he was hearing.

“And why was that?” Draco asked, his mouth going dry. He knew the answer, had known the answer for a week now, but he wouldn’t let himself believe it until Harry said it to him directly.

Harry laughed humorlessly.

“I don’t want to say it if you’re just going to obliviate me in a few hours.”

“Answer and maybe I won’t.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe is as good as I can give you, Potter.”

Harry was silent for a moment, studying Draco’s face intently.

“I guess telling you now and not remembering later is better than never telling you at all.”

“I guess it is.”

“You have an idea of what I am going to say, don’t you?”

“I can only hope my idea is anywhere close.”

Harry took a deep breath and Draco braced himself, waiting for whatever Potter was about to tell him. Potter looked at him and swallowed, opening his mouth and closing it again. His gaze fell back to the bed sheets, which he took in his hands, fiddling with the fabric, then rose back to Draco.