分卷阅读23（2 / 2）

“Vernon?” She’s got very white teeth, which makes the lipstick stain stand out that much more. Harry can’t seem to stop looking at it, but Draco doesn’t seem to notice.

Draco looks back for confirmation, and Harry nods mutely. “That’s the one.”

He keeps up a steady stream of chatter on the way to the back of the room, and Harry takes a moment to gather his bearings. This is nothing that he hadn’t done before. He held his tongue and played his part for seventeen years, he could last one evening for Dursley’s sake. And this time, Draco was with him. He would have someone in his corner.

“Hello.” Draco smiled, winningly, giving no sign that he had heard anything bad about the Dursleys. Dudley stands up first, and after exchanging a look, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon follow suit to shake Draco’s hand. “You must be the Dursleys. I’m Draco.”

(Harry can practically feel them calculating the price tag on Draco’s suit, and for once, even though it doesn’t matter and Harry doesn’t care about the suit outside of the context of how good Draco looks in it, he’s horribly glad that it cost much more than either of them would dare spend.)

“I’m Dudley. Heard so much about you.” Harry winces, but other than a slight smile in his direction, Draco doesn’t comment. “And this is my mother, Petunia, and my father, Vernon.”

Harry stays silent through the introductions, watching. Aunt Petunia is in a garishly green dress dotted with pink flowers, her neck just as long and bony as ever, but her hands looked worn down, the skin pale and ripped raw. Uncle Vernon was just as gruff as ever, dressed to impress, like he could bully his way through dinner just like he did every other aspect of his life.

“And you, boy?” Boy. The word still stings. Even now he doesn’t deserve a name. “Seems like you’re doing well for yourself.”

A compliment. Harry didn’t know how to respond to that—if he should play it down and have Vernon say that he was avoiding conversation, or agree and immediately be turned down. He had forgotten how every word with them was like walking through a minefield, not knowing which step was going to blow up in his face.

“He’s working on a presentation with the ministry. All about the war heroes.” Draco sounded proud, but Harry was still tense, waiting, waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“And Draco’s a potion master. Making very large advancements in their medicine, from what Harry tells me.” Dudley nudged Harry under the table and winked, and Harry finally, finally relaxed, thinking that maybe they were going to make it through tonight. “Getting a lot of recognition.”

“Oh?” Aunt Petunia’s beady eyes were focused in on him, but for once, Harry was glad that she knew something about the wizarding community. She could pepper Draco with questions (they would never be rude to a guest like Draco, he looked too much like power for them to let their hate get the best of them) and act as translator for Vernon, and hopefully they would walk away from tonight thinking it hadn’t gone that bad. “In what area?”

This is fine, Harry thought, relaxing just enough to contribute to the conversation, sharing a few war stories just to impress Vernon and teasing Dudley about his new girlfriend, even agreeing to come back to the house for some dessert pudding. Maybe, after everything, he had it in him to forgive them. He knew it would be better to walk away, but the part of him that was still that little boy locked in the cupboard wanted this so, so badly. This is fine.

The calm lasts until they are back at the house, working their way through dessert. The house was a bit dingier than Harry could remember it being, but he supposes they should just be lucky that it survived the war without it being blown up.

“Well.” Uncle Vernon slapped his hand across his knee. “I got to say, boy, I wasn’t sure about you coming tonight, or about meeting another one of those wizard folks—” A brief pause, in which they all remembered Dudley’s pig tail and the blasted apart fireplace. “But it seems that you turned out okay, in spite of everything.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Draco’s smile seemed to become fixed to his face. Harry felt like he had been slapped, even though he really should have been expecting this all along.

“I mean to say,” Vernon went on, like he knew he had made a mistake and was going to fix it. “We must have done something right, raising you, if you turned out to be some sort of war hero.”

Draco’s hand found its way into Harry’s leg, fingers pressing down into his thigh, keeping him still.