分卷阅读13（2 / 2）

“Why didn’t you?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “We bumped into each other often enough.”

“How was I supposed to bring that up?”

Draco had to admit, Potter had always been pants at making conversation. And if he was being honest, he probably wouldn’t have let Potter explain everything properly. It would have hurt his pride too much. It still did, a little bit.

“I was surprised you wanted to stay here,” Potter said. “I would have thought you’d get a new place. One without so many…memories.”

Draco inwardly groaned. “It’s one of the few things the Ministry let me keep,” he said, almost defensively. “Were you involved in those decisions, too?”

Potter slowly shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

“I see,” Draco repeated, because, honestly, he had no idea what else to say. This conversation was awkward and unpleasant and far from how he wanted to spend his Sunday morning. Casting a quick glance at the coffee machine, he turned around and marched back to the dining room, Potter at his heels. Draco watched him closely, and warily, as he sat down opposite of him. Neither of them commented on the fact that Draco hadn’t chosen to sit at the head of the table. He couldn’t. Aside from the fact that the Dark Lord had sat there while he had made Malfoy Manor his headquarters, it was his father’s seat. And as much as Draco had distanced himself from him by now, a part of him still couldn’t shake him completely. Maybe he never would.

Not wanting to ponder on that, especially with Potter right in front of him, he quickly summoned two napkins. Of course Potter had forgotten about that. The heathen. His eyes scanned the food Potter had brought, irritation flaring up in him when he noticed the prat had actually managed to pick up a lot of his favourites. Huffing, he grabbed a croissant and a few raspberries and put them on his plate.

“So, how come you’re having breakfast with me? Was everyone else unavailable? Are you that desperate for company, Potter?” Draco inwardly cringed. He had meant to insult Potter, not flaunt his self-loathing.

Potter shrugged. “I told you, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, except, I don’t buy it,” Draco said, biting into the croissant. “Why are you really here?”

Potter started fidgeting with his jumper again, making him look very suspicious. “We, err, we didn’t really get to talk last night. I mean, we did, but…not really. Not enough.”

Draco’s eyes widened. Not enough. What was Potter on about?

“You want to talk,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Nothing,” Potter shrugged. “And everything.”

Draco’s brow rose even higher at that. “You have enough friends, Potter. You don’t need any more.”

“You can never have enough friends. True friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He gave him a speculative glance. “Trouble in Gryffindor-paradise?”

“No, no,” Potter laughed with a dismissive gesture. “My friends are great, it’s just…” He bit his lip again. “Most of them are a package deal, these days. They’re…They all have partners.”

“I see,” Draco said, annoyance ringing loudly in his voice.