分卷阅读4（2 / 2）

“I really enjoyed the gala,” Potter said after a while. Draco cleared his throat and simply nodded. He refrained from pointing out that Potter had looked utterly uncomfortable the whole evening. “You never got back to me about another drink,” Potter added.

“What?” Draco spluttered.

“You know, I told you to owl me if you wanted to grab drinks.” He didn’t sound offended, which made Draco wonder why he was bringing it up at all.

“We’re having drinks now,” he pointed out. In all honesty, Draco didn’t remember that particular conversation. Apparently, there was a lot he didn’t remember about that night. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have owled Potter. Immediately.

“Yeah, but only because we bumped into each other.” Potter gave him a speculative glance. “Are you anti-social in general or didn’t you want to get drinks with me specifically?”

Draco suppressed the choking noise he had been about to make, pressing his lips into a tight line. Had Potter always been this blunt?

“I’m a busy person,” he shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

“Here you go,” Tom said as he placed a butterbeer in front of Potter and a camomile tea in front of Draco. Potter eyed the tea for a second, before he grinned and took a sip of his butterbeer.

“Feeling nervous, Malfoy?”

Ugh, that cocky bastard!

“Maybe this is why I didn’t want to get drinks with you,” Draco said, almost snapped, actually. “You’re still so full of yourself.”

Potter studied his butterbeer, not taking his eyes off it as he answered. “You’re not still hung up on the past, are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco said, furrowing his brows.

“We’ve grown up,” Potter said with a shrug. “We talked about what happened.”

Indeed they had. Potter had practically forced Draco to talk to him after his trial, even though, or maybe especially because, he had refused to at first. Draco had felt too ashamed, too embarrassed, but also too angry to talk to Potter. It was just the icing on the cake that Potter, of all people, had been the one to save him. Again. And even though gratitude had been somewhere in the mix, it had mostly felt degrading.

As always, things had been complicated.

Draco hadn’t believed his ears when Potter had told him he didn’t hold a grudge against him. Sometimes, Draco almost felt like he had gotten off too easy. He hadn’t understood how Potter could forgive him for what he had done. How could Potter forgive him when Draco hadn’t forgiven himself? Sometimes, when he was feeling gloomy, he still asked himself that question.

“That doesn’t automatically mean everything’s forgotten,” Draco murmured, curling his fingers around his cup. His skin soaked up the warmth, calming him.

“Is that why you avoided me at the gala?” Potter asked. “Or why you’re avoiding looking at me right now?”

Draco’s eyes involuntarily snapped up to Potter’s. They were soft and warm, not at all what he had expected.