分卷阅读43（1 / 2）

“I don’t want it to be like the Dursleys. Nothing like them. It was—there was never—” He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about shiny floor tiles and crystal glasses and blinding lights, expensive couches whose cushions don’t seem very inviting and a cupboard, always ing back to the cupboard, the way the dust would fall into his eyes when people walked through the stairs and how since he never knew what ti it was, he could trick himself into thinking that the hours were really days, months, years, life spinning out in front of him without him ever getting to live it. “It was like living in a glass house. Like if you talked too loud, you would break it.”

“Like you were suffocating,” Draco said, and it reminded Harry that they were building this ho together. That Draco had his own things that he was trying to pull away from. “Like there was never a mont that they weren’t watching.”

“But I don’t want this, either.” Harry said, because even though they had done their best to make it seem like a place they could live in, it was just filled with too many mories. “I want sowhere that has more light.”

“Light.” Draco picked up his quill again and stared at the fire like he regretted throwing away his newspaper. “I can work with light.”

“Tell what you want,” Draco says later, whispering the words right into his ear like it’s so sort of secret, and Harry can barely pay attention because of the way that his hands were moving, searching him out underneath the covers. “Tell what you want and I can give it you.”

A chair with the stuffing ing out of the cushions. Hermione’s afghans stacked up in a basket we keep in the corner. A big front porch with rocking chairs, a garden off to the side that won’t grow in rows no matter how hard we try to make it. Mismatched dishes in the sink and a kitchen table scorched from your constantly overflowing potions and fresh baked bread in the ovens, the radio always turned on low so we can dance when the mood strikes us and a big picture window in our bedroom. And maybe a dog, too, an old dog with a bum leg that we get from a muggle shelter, the one that had been there so long that it had given up hope that anyone was going to love him, we can be the ones to rescue him, can’t we? It’d be a good life, that.

“Nothing,” is what he says, because all that would take too long and would kill the mood and maybe Harry still doesn’t think it’s going to happen, anyways. “Just you.”

He’s started walking through the house again.

See, the thing about moving on that Harry didn’t know is that it’s sort of just another word for goodbye, where you have to loosen your grip on all those mories that you’re afraid of forgetting in order to keep facing the future, in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And it should be easy, in theory, but that was before you take into account all the things that had happened in this miserable old building—how it was the only safe spot for them in the war, the party when Ron and Hermione were prefects, George and Fred together, where Remus and Tonks fell in love, where Sirius was.

Sotis, if Harry is not careful, he can trick himself into thinking that he will turn a corner and see them watching him, waiting to see if he had lived up to the hero that they had taken him to be. Sotis, he wants to rip this house down wall by wall and brick by brick in the hopes that one of them will get to go free. Sotis, he thinks of standing in the doorway and screaming that he is sorry, just in case there is any chance that they would be able to hear.

He is not sure if he’s ready to leave them all behind.

“You don’t have to get rid of it.”

Harry jumps at the sound of Draco’s voice. He’d been caught in the middle of staring at the place where the portrait of Sirius’ mother used to hang.

“And why wouldn’t I get rid of it?”

“Because you’re one of the lucky people who can afford to buy a house without selling the old one.” Draco tilted his head, looking at the empty space, maybe thinking of how he should redo the wallpaper so you cannot even tell where the picture had been. “Too many mories here to just walk away.”

“I don’t want it.”

The idea of keeping it was t with a revulsion so strong that if Harry had had any doubts about moving out before, he wouldn’t have any now.

“Then donate it to the historical society, let it be turned into a museum for rlin’s sakes.” Draco clutched Harry’s fingers in his own, like that would make him listen. “All I’m saying is that you don’t owe this place, or anything in it, any more of you. You don’t have to figure out anything now, and you don’t have to do it alone, rember? I’m here, for good.” He was here. Here, and despite everything, not running away. Harry keeps expecting him to. “Don’t let this war take another piece of you.”

Harry wishes it were that easy.