分卷阅读29（1 / 2）

“No.” Harry holds the scroll out to him, the owl hooting balefully at the window, waiting for one of them to sign the scrap of paper saying that it was received and understood. “It’s addressed to you.”

Harry wanted to know what was inside as badly as he needed to keep breathing, but he also didn’t have a clue what it might contain, and as he watched the emotions flicked across Draco’s face, he realized that maybe he didn’t want to.

“What?” Draco threw the parchment down to the table in disgust and Harry ripped it up. “What’s wrong?”

“They’ve cleared the manor.” Draco’s hands were shaking again. Harry had thought it was getting better. “All evidence has been removed, everything dangerous taken out, and the property is returned to the only next of kin with a clear name.” His tone made it clear what he thought about all of this, dripping in derision. “Me.”

Harry didn’t know what was upsetting him so much, if it was the manor and the memories it held, of the fact that the ministry had the audacity to claim it as their own in the sake of justice, or maybe it was the fact that they considered him with the best reputation.

“That’s a good thing, right?” He felt like he was treading into unknown waters, where he won’t know how deep it goes until he takes the step off solid ground and falls down into the deep. He never had learned to swim. “To have your home back?”

Draco looked at him like he was stupid, then threw that scrap of parchment into the fire, not relaxing until he sees the corners curl and blacken. “You can’t go home again, Harry.” He passed behind him and clapped a hand down on his shoulder in a way that might have considered friendly, had they not been half asleep with their arms wrapped around each other only hours before. “Not even sure I’d want to.”

Draco

Can’t go home again Harry, Draco had said, leaving the room like he was leaving real life behind, like walking away from a problem was the same thing as solving it.

He had thought that burning up the letter and pushing it to the back of his mind was the best option, because then, at least, he would never have to step foot in it again. But then the owls kept coming, one the next morning and that night and the next and the next and the next, and finally one demanding his presence in the legal department of the ministry.

“They can’t make you go,” Hermione tells him, when they’ve traded out their musty old potion books for fashion magazines, poring over dresses for her to wear to a formal. “If you wait another thirty days, it’ll be turned over to the state and they’ll sell it to collect money for some charity or another.”

“Another thirty days of owls?” Draco had snorted out, feigning horror, but that wasn’t really what was bothering. He didn’t like the thought of strangers combing through his home, and even if it was mostly bad, he didn’t want the Malfoy Manor’s history to be boiled down to this: raffled off in some auction just to be torn down, destroyed for its minerals and marble and turned into scrap, just a blank stretch of land on the face of the earth, all because the last Malfoy was a coward. Horrible things had happened there, but it deserved better than that.

He doesn’t ever really make a decision. Just one day he gets up before Harry does and gets dressed, telling himself that he was just going for a walk. And then he turned towards the town, and then he was in London, and then he was flooing his way into the public entrance of the ministry, turning his wand over to a witch that didn’t recognize him and following the map to where they said legal was, collar turned up to hide his face.

“Hey.” There’s a witch behind the desk in bright purple robes, so he chooses to go up to her for help, figuring anyone that dresses like that can’t be too painful, but then she turns to face him and he sees it’s Lavender, who supposedly hadn’t been out of the house since the war, sitting there scars and all.

“Draco.” She taps her feather on the window between them. He knows it’s hers because it’s bright yellow and has a puff ball on the top of it. “What can I do for you?”

He cannot stop staring at her, and then immediately feels horrible about it, so he looks at his shoes instead. Greyback had mauled her pretty bad. “The ministry sent me letters.” He rummages in his pocket for one of them. “About the manor.”

She clicks her tongue and reads over the parchment, and it makes Draco feel like a prat, because what kind of person has a manor? But she doesn’t seem to care. “Yeah, we’ve got that.” Lavender didn’t get up, just wheeled her chair across the room and rummaged through cabinets until she came up with an envelope. “Here’s the key. And you’ve just got to sign here, and it’s yours.”

Draco fumbled for the pen, and she smiled at him, as bright as he could remember her being at Hogwarts, if a little less giddy. “Right. Thanks.” He’d done what he came for, technically, but it doesn’t seem like enough. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Considering that they’ve never had a nice word to say about each other, she seemed surprisingly ready to talk. Maybe it was depressing, hiding here down in the dark all day, just waiting for someone to claim dead people’s possessions. “Heard you’re living with Harry.”