分卷阅读15（1 / 2）

“Thank you.” Harry’s eyes are earnest, searching Draco’s face for sothing. “I wanted you to know how much I an that.”

“It’s no problem.” Draco is trying to be nonchalant. He does not know why. Maybe it’s a defense chanism. “You an a lot to .”

Stupid.

It’s a stupid thing to say, but Harry’s voice gets even softer, if that was possible. “You an a lot to , too.”

“I would hope so.” Beneath the table, Draco digs his nails into his thigh, tries to push through the ache that had suddenly sprung into his chest. “I don’t climb into bath tubs with just any man, you know.”

It was, admittedly, a very unsubtle way of feeling out where they stand from last night, but it works. The tension (and the look in Harry’s eyes, whatever it ant) disappears, and suddenly Harry is laughing harder than Draco had ever heard him, and Draco can’t help it, he starts laughing, too. “That was so bloody weird.” Harry agrees, finally, and the mont should be over but he is still staring at Draco with that fond expression and he still has his hand on Draco’s arm. “Drunk people, huh?”

Draco smiles, relieved, and then pulls his hand away, trying hard to chase off the feeling that he was missing sothing. “Drunk people.”

Harry

He’s gone for all of three minutes.

It’s all Harry’s fault, really. He left his scarf at the table, and when Draco told him to go back and get it, that he’d be fine waiting outside in the alley, he believed him. And then when he ca back out, Draco was gone, but there was the unmistakable sound of a fight ing from around the corner.

There’s three of them, and then there’s Draco. It’s not even a fight, really, just a beat down, with two of the boys holding him in place and the other just wailing on him, sending punch after punch. There’s blood streaming from Draco’s nose, and a cut above his eyes, and more dribbling from lip. His coat is gone and shirt sleeve is ripped, and when they finally give him a break, Draco coughs and splutters through the pain until he can breathe again.

“What’s the matter?” The one asks, grabbing Draco by the hair and wrenching his head up, forcing him to look at him. Draco spits in his face, and the guy backhands him, making him fall to the ground. “No daddy here to save you now. Where’s your daddy, huh Draco? Tell us where he went.”

Harry doesn’t know if Draco was going to keep fighting, or if he was really going to give in, stay on the ground. He doesn’t find out, just runs down the alleyway until he gets to them, wand held out and ready to fight.

“Get away from him.” His voice is steady, but more frantic than Harry had ever heard it. He wasn’t even this panicked facing down Voldemort. (Tom Riddle.) (Damn it.) (He was just a man, treat him like one.) “You’ve got three seconds.”

“Oh yeah?” The one who was doing the punching turned around to face him, obviously expecting soone who was more easily scared. “And who’s going to make us?”

There’s not many occasions in which Harry is grateful that he is who he is. This ti, though, he illuminates his wand so they could see his face, and smiles when their eyes dart up to see his scar. “Harry bloody Potter, that’s who,” He says, and steps forward to give Draco a hand up, wishing he had e up with sothing better. “And you’re ssing with my friend.”

“Your friend’s a death eater?” Harry recognized the voice. It was soone from Hogwarts, soone he probably ate lunch with, played a ga of pick up Quidditch with. That’s the worst thing about all this hate, how it divides them. “Thought better of you, Potter. Thought you fought against people like him.”

“You’re wrong.” He says, not knowing what he is saying, just that Draco is bleeding and hurt and scared and Harry did not stop it. “I fought for my friends. For the people I loved. And now he’s one of them. So you should get going.”

It works, finally. Two on three are odds they are not willing to face, especially if one of those two had killed the dark lord less then six months ago. “Fine.” The guy spits at Harry’s feet. He’s just glad it isn’t his face. “But next ti it’s a duel.”