分卷阅读6（2 / 2）

Draco slowly glances out towards the garden. “Is this the Manor?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

And it’s this conversation again and Harry’s tense, wondering if what happened before will repeat itself. Narcissa isn’t here to help him anymore and Harry wouldn’t know what to do.

But this ti, Draco seems to reconcile what he’s seeing with whatever’s in his head, and he visibly relaxes, leaning back on his wheelchair. “Co to observe in my misery then?”

And Harry realizes that Draco rembers him, rembers a lot more about him, if he’s going to go back to old habits and his usual snark. He feels unbearably happy at that.

“No, Malfoy, I’m just here to eat your pancakes.”

Draco furrows his eyebrows at him, and then at the pancakes on the table. It takes a while for him to respond, but his eyes clear and he says, “Get your filthy fingers off my pancakes.”

“Well, you’re not eating them.”

Draco, as he has always done, responds to the challenge. He lifts a hand, reaches towards the table. It’s slow, but his palm manages to land on the fork. His fingers shake and Harry understands, with another pang in his chest, that it’s probably been a while since Draco used his limbs.

He doesn’t think his help will be wele, but it’s better than watching Draco struggle like this, and Harry looks up, but the words die on his lips when he sees Draco’s gaze is vacant again. He’s not moving anymore.

All of a sudden, the now familiar sense of despair takes hold of him and makes his fingers cold. His eyes are rapidly being warm and he blinks to keep them at bay. A swallow pushes down the lump in his throat and a deep breath eases the pain in his chest, just a bit.

Draco Malfoy isn’t supposed to look like this.

He’s not supposed to be like this.

With another deep, shaky inhale, Harry steps forward and arranges Draco back in his chair.

He removes Draco’s hand from the fork, and Draco’s fingers are long and soft to the touch, but they’re cold, and Harry rubs them with his own to bring the blood back into them. Never mind that it’s his first ti touching Draco Malfoy’s hand since that handshake during first year. His hand had been small then. Smooth, like it had never done a day’s work in his life.

His hand’s bigger now, of course, but it’s calloused, and the nails are bitten to the edge, or scraped, or whatever it is that Draco did with them in those three months in his cell.

He looks at the untouched pancakes and wonders if Draco will get angry if he cuts them up for him.

He cuts them up anyway, because he wants to see Draco angry.