分卷阅读54（2 / 2）

“I got old. Got sick. Got useless.” Her voice raises to reach the table across from them, a heap of redheads all intend on ignoring her presence. “Got shut up in my house so this lot didn’t have to deal with me.”

It must be a bitter life that she leads. Draco would have almost thought that this war was a blessing for her, if only for the fact that it drove people into her house. Everyone, even the mean ones, starve for a little bit of human contact. It’s the one thing that draws them together.

“I’ve heard it was a large house,” he says fairly, mostly to draw the attention back into calmer waters and also because he felt bad for her, just a bit.

“Yes. Yes, it is. You used to have a large house, too.” Her wands is resting in her fist and she flicks it upward so a glass of champagne lifts from the hands of one of her many nephews and finds its way there, never mind that her nearly full glass was right in front of her. “And now you have a cottage.”

“I like it better there.”

“So I’ve been told.” She tilts her head. “You’re not like them, you know.”

He’s caught off guard. The entire conversation was giving him whip lash. “Who?”

“Your parents, your aunt, all the rest. They walk through a room like they’re carved from stone and expect everyone to pay homage. And a lot of people did. But not you.” She sticks her tongue between her teeth, biting down. “You’re softer.”

“Is that a good thing?” He didn’t know why he was looking for absolution with Aunt Muriel, of all places. “To be soft?”

“It’s better to bend than break, don’t you think? When they lost, that’s what your parents found out.” She drains the glass in one go, and out of the corner of his eye, Draco can see George at the edge of the row of table watching them, clearly weighing the benefit of saving Draco in return of being called the wrong name, probably on purpose. “They broke.”

“And I surrendered.”

“You bent. And let yourself be shaped anew.” She raises her empty, withered hands out around her. “The world is changing, Draco Malfoy. Best to change with it.” Startling advice, from the woman who was being left behind and seemed to know it. “Now get. I need that seat empty for a red head who might actually listen to me for a change.”

Draco leaves. The power of a good influence, he thinks, when he sees Harry bending a bit so Mrs. Weasley can speak to him, and finds his path cut off by George. “She alright to you?” He nods his head at his aunt, and there was none of the kind exasperation that he used to be known for, just a dull, shimmering hatred. “We can sneak a puking pasty into her food”

“Nah, she was fine. And your mother would kill you. It’s alright, George.” Draco puts a hand on his shoulder and drags him forward a bit, away from all these relatives who only see Fred’s ghost when they should see him, away from the people who could only stare at the knot of scar tissue on his face instead of look at the person. There’s not enough time in life to waste on the people who bring you pain. “We’re all alright.”

Harry

Ginny dances with her father, and her mother, and then with each other her brothers. And then, just when Harry thought that it would be okay for him to stop watching and tuck into the cake, she’s standing in front of him, her skirt gathered up over her arm and one hand held out to him.

“I don’t dance,” is what he says, when he realizes what she wants and takes into account everyone staring at him, giving him an uncomfortable flashback from the yule ball.

“And I thought you knew.” She laughs at him, pulling him up. “Today, Harry, is not about you.”

It’s not. It’s about her, and this is what she wants, so Harry lets her lead him out to the floor and tries not to pay attention to the way that everyone is staring at him, letting his hands find their way to her waist. “I didn’t think I’d be worthy of a dance.”