分卷阅读31（1 / 2）

Draco was laughing at him in the way he does when he thinks Harry is being silly, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. Harry doesn’t know how to explain the real problem with being the center of attention—that how sometimes it winds you down, picks off pieces of you, takes away all your edges until you have nothing to protect yourself and there is no tough skin to hide behind, only you and the ugly truth of the public opinion. And there’s also the other part, about how going there and smiling and accepting their thanks would seem like he was more important than the others who had risked life and limb to fight beside him, to fight for him, and he couldn’t stomach it, not when the only thing Harry can really think he is being congratulated on is the fact that he had been lucky enough to stay alive, even though he had tried to die.

(Here’s the thing, the little thought in his head that he isn’t telling anyone, certainly not Hermione: He should have protected them all. That’s what he was trying to do, by walking into that forest. He should have protected them, or he should have died with them, and he didn’t quite manage to do either, so what kind of a hero does that make him?”

“They want to know if I have a plus one.” Harry reads over the letter for the third time, already ripping off a piece of parchment to send a RSVP. “Who do they think I’m taking? Everyone knows that Ginny and I broke up.”

They did. It was front page news as soon as it happened. Even the Quibbler covered it, which was sort of endearing more than annoying, because Luna had written it in her HERE’S WHAT MY FRIENDS HAVE BEEN DOING LATELY column, and Harry didn’t have it in him to be mad at her.

“You could take me.” There’s forced casualness in his voice, and even though they’ve gotten past the point where they pretend around each other, Draco is avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I’d be able to help.”

Like that’s the reason that Harry would want to take him. Because he’d be able to help.

“Yeah.” Harry had to clear his throat twice before he could get the word out, because this is raising more questions than it is answers, like if it’s a date and whether Draco wanted it to be a date, if this was part of their attempt to keep moving forward, if Harry should be expecting things to change if they go public like this. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

Draco smiles, even though he still is not looking his way. “You would?”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with him when he is like this, so he just smiles, too, and goes to the cupboard to make his own bowl of cereal, wondering what in the world he was going to wear.

He makes it until thirty minutes before the party before he starts to freak out.

Harry’s wearing an old suit of Draco’s, because apparently it’s in fashion to wear muggle formal wear to things now (or at least, if it’s not in fashion, it will be after they see the two of us wearing it, and it’ll be easier to take you shopping at a muggle place, anyways) and it feels like the collar is strangling him. He tugs at it, hearing Hermione’s voice in his head telling him to leave it alone, and looks at his reflection in the glassware cupboard, nervously trying to flatten his hair, even though Ginny had reassured him at this point in his life, it keeps him from looking less like he’s trying too hard and more bad boy chic.

He doesn’t know what that means, but if Ginny says he looks fine than he probably does, so he spends the rest of the time pacing the living room floor, and it’s only the thought of how excited this had made Draco that keeps him from going to the bottom of the steps and cancelling on him, saying screw it and locking the door and throwing himself down on the couch, and he won’t ever make the mistake of giving into the pressure again, even if they send so many owls the letters fill up the whole house.

“Draco?” He swings himself around on the bannister, even though the wood was creaking in protest. Harry spends half his time seeing how far he can go before this old house breaks, just so he has an excuse to fix it up. So far, no luck. Wizards make things for keeps, apparently. “You almost ready? We’re going to be late.”

Not really, but Hermione wanted pictures, and she also wanted Draco’s opinion on her dress before she throws herself at the mercy of the mob. Ron’s written and said that she had spent all day getting ready, with that hair sleeking potion and doing her nails. It seems that childhood taunts had made her unwilling to go if she looked anything less than perfect.

“We’re not going to be late,” Draco says, and there’s creaking of the steps behind him. Harry knows without turning around that Draco is rolling his eyes and putting the finishing touches on his hair at the same time, like there’s a string twisting the two of them together so Harry knows exactly what’s happening with him at all times. “You can’t rush beauty.”

Harry’s already forming a response, the words right on the tip of his tongue, but then he turns around and forgets anything he might have said, because even though he knew that he found Draco attractive, this was the first time that he was caught off guard enough to allow himself to look without feeling guilty.

“You look…” He’s in a new suit, too, this one grey. He’s in incredibly muted colors, with his pale skin and light hair and the dark grey of his suit, like he wanted to melt into the background while giving Harry all the room to shine, but there was nothing that would let him fall out of sight when he’s walking around looking like this. “Amazing.”

“Thanks.” Draco scratches at his collar, but other than that, there’s no sign that he was flustered at all. “You do too.” He didn’t. Harry didn’t look bad, but he didn’t look great, not the way Draco did, like he was going to be the only thing in the room worth looking at. “Except for the tie, you…”