分卷阅读18（1 / 2）

If there was ever a question whether or not Pansy had served her penance for transgressions past, the answer would be a firm and resounding NO. She handled the glares and the judgment, not always with poise and dignity, but she generally withstood it without losing her last shred of composure.

However, after apparating with Draco and Potter to Hogsmeade, Pansy felt like she was losing her mind. The pair of them argued over everything. Only it wasn’t quite arguing. Salazar, it was almost like a lover’s quarrel. First, Draco insisted they go straight to Neville, but Potter wanted to send an owl ahead of them. “I’ve seen you at the owlery, Potter. Snails send letters faster.”

Potter huffed as they made their way down the steps of the hotel. “Oh, you mean when you lied to my face?”

“As I recall, it actually wasn’t your face, and I never once lied to you,” Draco drawled. He turned to Pansy and held out his arm. “Sidealong, dear?” Pansy took the offered arm and watched Draco quirk an eyebrow at Potter. “If you’ve got an owl to send, I suppose we will see you when we see you.” And then they disapparated.

Potter caught up to them less than a minute later. “If we hurry,” he panted, “maybe we can catch him before dinner.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, each of them probably reacquainting themselves with the scenery. It had been ages since Pansy had come to Hogsmeade, let alone Hogwarts, in fact, it might have been years. A part of her ached with the good memories she had there, while other parts of her cracked at the thought of all the pain that followed those wonderful times.

Finally, Draco broke the silence to suggest they try the greenhouses first. Potter countered that Neville usually took his afternoon tea in the castle after lessons. Pansy sensed an affront on Neville Longbottom on the tip of Draco’s tongue, so she decided to change the subject.

“I never thought I would be rushing back to Hogwarts so soon.”

Draco let out a harsh laugh. “It’s a bit too soon for my liking.”

“No one is making you come along, Malfoy,” Potter muttered under his breath.

That was it. Pansy parked her boots in the ground and grabbed Potter by the sleeve. “What is your problem, Potter?” The action made him jerk backward and his glasses practically flew off his face.

“Piss off, Parkinson.”

“No, you piss off, Potter!” she yelled. Pansy stuck a finger into his chest and then pointed to Draco. “Can’t you see that I’m here for Bertrice? Would I trust Draco with this if for one second I believed he’d had something to do with it?” Pansy paced between them, shaking her head. “Your stupid, inflated schoolboy rivalry, your ridiculous stolen glances, the taunts, the jeers, the misplaced assumptions—can you put the idiocy aside and be adults so we can save a child’s life? This is serious!”

She saw Potter gulp and heard Draco sigh.

“If I hear another—” she shook her head and decided to let it go. “Throw you to the squid myself,” she grumbled and stomped up the path.

If Draco felt a little bit guilty after Pansy’s outburst, he blamed Potter. Draco had been baiting him all afternoon, so for that, he was at fault. But it was almost as if the very presence of Draco set Potter off. Maybe it was their close proximity and the landscape changing from the wet streets of Edinburgh to the traveled paths of Hogwarts. With each forward step, Draco could feel the weight of his own past pulling him inside himself to the places he had come to fear the most. For every level of Hell he’d experienced during the War, he supposed Potter went levels above him.

The three of them fell in step and walked in silence the rest of the way to the castle. With Pansy between them, Draco briefly imagined a world where he could commiserate with Potter on the shared wrath of her silver tongue. What a scene that would be, he thought. But that was a slippery road, imagining anything to do with Potter.

The cool Scottish air around him should have given him chills, but instead the pull of a greater purpose left Draco feeling electric. It was as if the threads of Fate were beckoning him forward. He hadn’t felt a connection to it so strong since he’d been hit with the curse.

At the entrance to the castle, Potter cast his Patronus—a large, majestic stag, clearer and crisper than Draco’s white stoat had ever been. They watched it rush off into the castle and Potter turned to Draco and Pansy. “Just letting the headmistress know we’re here.”

Draco didn’t doubt Potter maintained a close relationship with Minerva McGonagall. Perhaps that was a major difference between the two of them. Where Potter might seek to maintain his bonds to the places that held both good and terrible memories, Draco doubted he possessed the strength to rise above the darkness. Or maybe he still let the fear of its power over him prevent him from even trying.