分卷阅读1（2 / 2）

A wistful smile slowly slides its way on Malfoy’s lips. “I did, didn’t I?” And there is a distant look to his eyes, as if he is mulling over a thought that he has long since pondered. He sighs and fixes his robes, if only to avoid Harry’s gaze.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad I did.”

Harry can’t help his legs from moving forward at that admission, but a hand on his shoulder steadies him before he can do sothing stupid like grab Malfoy’s shoulders and shake him and demand that he be angry.

One glance over his shoulder has him looking into Narcissa Malfoy’s blank expression. She shakes her head, a minute tilt to the side, before returning her gaze to her son.

“I’ll be waiting, Draco.”

Malfoy nods to her, and Harry is sure that they have already had their mont before he had burst in the room to personally apologize. Or at least try to, but the words didn’t want to e out.

“Take care of my mother,” Malfoy says, the smile not quite reaching his eyes anymore. “It seems she’s taken a liking to you. See you later, Potter.”

And as he turns around and walks through the doors—because if he is going to hell, he certainly isn’t going to be dragged there—, Harry thinks that no matter what anyone says, Draco Malfoy is undoubtedly a very brave man.

The Manor is beautiful in the morning, with its pristine white walls and marble floors. Sunlight filters through the halls and the air is fresh and crisp. Harry definitely believes that there is so magic in the works here, but is noheless grateful for all efforts to remove the remnants of Voldemort’s stay.

Draco’s room is no exception, and it’s like his whole room is bathed in spring. It is large and spacious, with green walls and a beige carpet. His bed, with its green and white forter, is situated on one side, and there is a large amount of floor before one reaches the other side and arrives at the balcony.

The glass doors and heavy curtains are pushed aside, revealing a table, two chairs, and a garden.

The sky is blue, the air is refreshingly cold, and in the middle of it all is soft, blonde hair swaying with the wind.

Harry swallows hard at the sight. He doesn’t know if the heavy feeling in his gut is because of seeing Malfoy again or because of seeing the wheelchair that Malfoy is in.

Malfoy has his back to them, and doesn’t show any sign that he heard them enter the room. Harry thinks that maybe he’s asleep, but Narcissa strides towards the balcony and Harry follows mutely, and then he sees—

Draco Malfoy. Thin. Cheeks hollowed. Ghostly pale. And eyes open.

“Malfoy,” Harry croaks out in greeting, but there is no response.

Malfoy doesn’t raise his head or even turn to look at him. He’s staring at the floor, eyes vacant, with only the rise and fall of his chest the indication that he’s still alive.

The revulsion takes Harry by surprise and he takes a step back before he can stop himself.

The smile that Narcissa gives him is sad.