But those are the monts that Harry looks forward to the most, humbled by the trust he’s being given.
Draco tells him about Goyle once.
Harry tells him a story about the Marauders.
(He cries during that one. He talks and talks and talks, until he realizes he’s crying and his voice isn’t ing out anymore, and he doesn’t get to finish, but Draco already knows the ending anyway.)
On the night that November ends, Harry is lounging on his—it hasn’t been ‘Goyle’s’ for a while now—bed, staring at the green curtains falling from the bed’s canopy. The colour is starting to grow on him. He likes it best on pale skin.
“Sothing that Astoria said disturbs . She said she thought I might not have wanted to talk to her, just because she’s a Slytherin,” he starts, re-imagining that particular mory.
Draco looks up from his textbook, and tilts his head at the sudden topic. He is lying down on his bed, his chest on the mattress, in only his regular uniform after having thrown his robes over the chair. His hair is tousled from rolling over on the bed so much, and Harry’s been trying not to look (or stare) at him.
“We’re not exactly well-liked, Potter. You know that best.”
Harry smiles wryly, recalling the utter dislike he used to have for anybody wearing green. Then, he recalls Draco in the Manor, Narcissa in the Forest, and Snape in the Shrieking Shack. “I also know best, now, that not everything is as simple as black and white.” He glances at Draco. “I’m still alive because of a lot of Slytherins, you know.”
One edge of Draco’s lips quirk up into a small smile, as if he’s still amused that Harry’s still glorifying them. “There needs to be a villain in a narrative. That’s what we’re here for,” he murmurs, eyes traveling to his clothed arm. “That’s how the balance works.”
Harry follows his eyes with his own and takes a deep breath. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put in Slytherin.”
Imdiately, Draco’s head shoot up. He’s staring at Harry in disbelief. “What?”
Harry grins at him. “I told him I didn’t want to be put here.”
“You can choose?”
“Well, it is our choices that make us who we are.”
“Don’t pretend to be wise, Potter. It’s unbeing.”
Harry bursts into laughter.
Draco shakes his head. “I can’t imagine you as a Slytherin.”
“Really? We would have been roommates.”
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