分卷阅读25（1 / 2）

Incidentally, Draco was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure if it was the Unbreakable Vow or the fact that Potter had left no space between them. Maybe it was something in between the two. All he could do was concentrate on breathing and actively focus on a small fiber of something caught in the purple shag coat on Harry’s shoulder.

He didn’t want to think about how Harry’s frustrated reaction lit something inside of him, or how messed up that made him feel. Draco knew what love was. He knew what it meant to be tethered to someone and yearn for their happiness and safety. There were those he loved like his mother or Pansy. He knew of desire, of building up to the edge of oblivion and then shattering oneself after a moment of its touch. While many people would state that what Draco and Harry might have felt in their past was hate toward each other, Draco disagreed. Such a powerful emotion like hatred had few facets, to wish harm upon someone, retribution, revenge, and the complete dismantling of everything that person both loved and desired before their very eyes. As he’d come to understand them in that moment, Draco’s feelings for Harry weren’t exactly love, desire, or hate but instead a maddening combination of all three, never staying constant, always changing with the flicker of a stare or the wit off a tongue.

The threads he saw that connected them seemed to prove his point in the way they’d changed every time they touched, argued, agreed, or somehow comforted the other.

“Well?” Harry breathed.

“I think you know the answer to that.” Draco met his eyes. “I think you’ve known for a while, you just couldn’t admit it.”

Harry let go of Draco and turned away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The loss of contact almost hurt. “I’m not a bloody mind healer, Potter, how the fuck would I know what goes on in your scar-addled head?” Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head. He needed to tell Harry the truth, and he needed to keep a level head. “Because if I’m not in opposition to you, then it must mean, on some level, I’m with you.” Draco watched as Harry’s chest relaxed, shifting to something rhythmic and more even. His calm seemed to reach across the room and pull Draco toward him.

“Sometimes,” Harry started to say but stopped. He turned and gazed at Draco, who almost gasped at the disillusionment he found within them. “Sometimes it feels like I know everything about you, and sometimes it feels—” he shook his head “—it just feels like it will never be enough.”

“I’m cursed,” Draco rushed out. He thought briefly it might’ve been Harry’s raw honesty that compelled him to tell one of his last secrets. Harry’s eyes went wide and he took a step toward Draco, who shook his head and bit his lip. “There were six of us cursed,” he explained. “Granger included.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand. “What sort of curse? Are you two in danger?”

“Each curse is different, I can’t speak for hers, but mine is—well, it’s hard to explain. It’s like I can see Fate. I see the threads between people.”

Potter was quiet for a long time, but his hand remained firmly wrapped around Draco’s. “So all that nonsense about fate having woven us together,” Potter started.

“Turns out it’s not nonsense.”

“So these threads,” Potter said. “There’s one connecting us?”

“You could say that,” was all Draco could bring himself to say. How could he tell Harry? How could he find the words to explain the thickest threads he’d seen were the four that tethered them to each other?

Potter spoke up so Draco wouldn’t have to. “Is it because of the case? We’re meant to do this together?” Draco knew his face was betraying him. “Not the case then.”

Draco decided to explain what he understood about threads in generalities. “I don’t see them all the time. They appear in moments where the connections are relevant or simply close. There are threads for past links, present, and future. Threads for love, hate, or rather —variations of light and darkness. It takes a bit of time to learn the gradients, the colors, and their meaning.” Draco took a breath. “I think—because I’m a person with my own connections, not an outside force—I feel pulled to certain threads, drawn forward to act in service of my own inevitable design.”

“So there are multiple threads between us?” Potter took a step closer. Draco could barely breathe. Suddenly they were inches apart and all he could focus on was the fervency in Potter’s gaze.

“Past,” Draco nodded.

“I’d imagine,” Potter’s lips quirked.