分卷阅读16（1 / 2）

Harry frowns. He hasn’t let go of Draco’s wrist yet. There are so many things he doesn’t understand, why Draco’s looking like he’s about to pass out any minute, why he’s lashing out so much, and at the back of his mind, at the very back of his mind, there is a small voice whispering to him that it almost seems like Draco’s…jealous.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he says, as calmly as he can to will away the irritation starting to itch under his skin.

Draco sneers, and suddenly, Harry is hit with a sense of sadness that it’s been such a long ti since he’s seen Draco’s face honest and open, mouth curved into a smile, eyes shining under the bright, morning sun. He hates that Draco’s so guarded. Again. As if sumr never happened. As if those banana pancakes shared together and walks in the garden didn’t exist.

He hates that he’s still holding on to them, like a lovesick idiot.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk, Potter.”

Harry drops his wrist, shaking his head. He glares back, scowling. “Merlin, Malfoy, what’s gotten into you? I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“Great. Splendid. Now, will that be all?” Draco turns away, ready to leave.

“No, Malfoy—”

Draco turns his head back, eyes burning with anger, mouth curled into a snarl as he hisses: “Leave alone. Go fuck Weasley already, if you’re so desperate for a shag—”

Harry slams his fist on the railing. The clang of tal rings loudly in the valley, and the bridge shakes with the force of his fist. There is the sound of blood rushing in his ears and he is light-headed with anger, at Draco for being such a dick, and at himself for still being so affected by him.

There is a look of shock on Draco’s face, as if he hadn’t expected Harry to get so angry like that, but Harry doesn’t care anymore. If Draco wants to be a git, then fine.

He grits his teeth and walks away, before he can do anything else that he might regret later. “I don’t even know why I keep trying. I’m done, Malfoy. I hope you’re happy.”

And he leaves, stomps his way through the bridge and back to the clock tower courtyard, hands shaking and heart beating furiously in his chest.

And behind him, he doesn’t see Draco fall to the floor, bury his face in his hands, and mutter with a sad, shaky laugh:

“Damn it, Potter. Why didn’t you punch ?”

Chapter 2

Draco floats then, from one state of consciousness to another. One minute he’s there, staring at the wooden floor of the bridge, knowing that he’s doing it, his body’s doing it, his own eyes are doing it, and the next he’s in so haze, like sobody else is staring at the floor and he’s just looking through their eyes. And then after that, it goes black all over, and he doesn’t know how much ti passes until the next ti he sees the floor again, but it’s darker now, and in one corner of his mind, it registers that oh, it’s already night ti.

There’s a crack in the wood, and a small spider, so small he’s surprised it hasn’t been blown away by the wind yet, slips through it. He wonders if he can slip through it, too.

What did he say to Potter again? Potter was mad. It’s been a long ti since he last saw Potter that angry. He doesn’t like it. He never did like it. But he could stand it then, years ago, so why does it hurt so much now?