分卷阅读7（2 / 2）

“Yeah, well.” Harry doesn’t like to think about potions. It opens up a train of thought he would rather stay away from. “Me either.”

But clearly Draco was. Harry liked to watch him do this, because it was one of the rare times that he looked like the boy he was before the war, the one who thought the ground that he walked on was made from gold. And even though Harry hadn’t liked that Draco nearly as much as this was, there was a certain lure to him, a charm, a confidence (a wholeness, an innocence, an arrogance) that was nice to see shining through.

He’s beautiful, Harry thought, and even though he pushed the thought away as soon as he could, it lingered. It was the truth, the way he looked, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back up above his elbows and his hair all in disarray, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he leans over his notes.

Don’t think like that, Harry reminds himself viciously, and when that doesn’t work, he digs his thumbs into his ribs, hissing out in pain. Luna notices but doesn’t comment, just reaches over to pull his hand away, gentle, always gentle.

“I don’t believe it,” George says finally. It had taken an hour for them to be convinced, but now it was the end, everyone staring down at the finished potion. And George seemed excited for the first time since Fred died, just an edge in his voice that meant he was caught up in the moment, happy to have been a part of something. “You actually did it, Malfoy.” He reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, pulled him in for something that could only be described as a hug, and then let him go. “You know what this means?”

“It’s genius.” Hermione said faintly, breathlessly, and then sunk down into the chair and pulled his notes towards her. “It’s revolutionary. All the things this could be applied to… the medical advancements…Draco, do you know what you’ve found?”

“A non addictive sleeping potion.” Draco said, smiling for the first time this whole afternoon, please, happy with himself. He was looking right at Harry, like he was searching for approval, and Harry could only hope he knew how much this moment meant for all of them, how proud he was to be able to call himself Draco’s friend, as unthinkable as that might have been only a few years ago. “Told you I could do it.”

He was standing right beside him, his hand resting on the back of Harry’s chair, and even though it hurt to do it, he twisted around to grab onto him, holding him like an anchor. “I believed you.” Then he raised his voice, because he was in pain, and he was tired, and he was just dying to get the chance to use this sleeping potion. “Now if you could all please get out of my house? I’ve got some sleep to catch up on.”

Draco

He ushers them all out of the house, helping them collect coats and scarves, leading them all down the long hallway. He manages to get George to leave with a promise to stop in at the shop the next time he goes to Diagon Alley, but by the time he turns back around, Hermione is gone.

He finds her in the kitchen, scribbling on a piece of parchment. “Our address,” She says breathlessly, stuffing it into the palm of his hand. “If you have anything else like that—even if its theories, or just in the early stages—I’d love to work on it with you.” Then, without thinking about it, she went on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, brushing past him to get out the door.

She paused, staring back at him. “It was good work Draco.” There was too much of the past caught between them, but it seemed like this was the first step towards breaking it all apart. “I mean it.”

“Thank you,” He said. “I mean that, too.”

Then the door closed, and it was only him alone in the hallway, back to him and Harry in this giant house. He found him in the living room, curled back in the same spot he had been when Draco first came down the steps.

“I didn’t think I could make it up the stairs,” He said, and he looked embarrassed about it, like being hurt and needing help was not acceptable for him. Or maybe it was just that he wasn’t used to having someone besides Ron and Hermione to lean on. “Hurts too bad. And—I’m just so tired.”

“Alright.” Draco didn’t think about what he was doing, just reached out to help him, letting him lean back into the cushions and then throwing one of Granger’s blankets overtop him. “That’s okay. A couch is as good a place as any.”

He meant to go, but then there was a hand on his wrist and a noise of protest coming from Harry, so soft he wasn’t even sure if he meant for Draco to hear. Knowing from how he gets when he has one of these potions, Harry probably wasn’t thinking very clearly right now—that might have even been meant as a word. “Stay.” Harry tugged him closer, tightened his grip, and it was only the thought that he wouldn’t remember this that kept Draco in place. “Just stay.”

“Alright.” He perched on the edge of the couch, close but not close enough, but somehow it still felt like he was beginning to walk a dangerous line. “I’ll stay, Harry.”