第10章 章節
eloved returns his feelings?”
Obviously not, Harry thinks, already halfway through the door. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sick, would he?
But Professor McGonagall’s cryptic response follows him out the room: “If it is who I think it is,” she says, dryly, “not even the beloved, as you put it, likely knows the answer to that question.”
Harry doesn’t know what bothers him more: the idea that Draco is capable of feeling so strongly about someone…or the fact that Harry, in contrast, hasn’t felt much more than numb since the War ended. In fact, the times he feels the most alive nowadays are when he’s flying, or fighting with Draco. Except Draco can’t fight back anymore.
It takes him one night of fitful sleep—less than that, truthfully—to decide he has to help Draco. Harry saved his life and spoke at his trial even after all he’d done wrong, because he knew there was something good in him. This is that something good, Harry thinks. This love he feels has to be the good in Draco, the thing that had kept him from being swallowed up by the Dark Lord and by his father’s mistakes. He shouldn’t be punished for the one good thing about him.
The last time he’d spoken to Draco had been the disastrous encounter near the library. This time, Harry seeks him out, determined things will be different. Hermione’s voice in his head says saviorplex and Ron does not look impressed when he sees Harry with his nose buried in the Marauder’s Map, but Harry can’t be bothered to care. He’s on a mission.
Draco never seems to stay in one place. He makes periodic trips to the library to change out his books, but as for where he settles in to get his research done—he’llmandeer empty classrooms, the Room of Requirement, various spots around the lake, the shade beneath the Quidditch stands, the kitchens, the astronomy tower. Harry doesn’t want to let on he’s been keeping an eye on Draco’s whereabouts, so he waits for his dot on the Map to turn up at the library again, and catches Draco as he’s emerging with a stack of books.
“Here,” says Harry, holding out his hands, “let me get some of those.”
Draco’s eyes are the only part of his face visible over the teetering pile, and they are glaring.
“I’m not dead yet, Potter,” he snaps. “I can carry my own damn books.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” says Harry, with a wince. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said before.”
Draco sneers. He hoists the books higher and swerves around Harry to keep walking.
“You could at least use a Hover Charm—”
“I’m aware of that, and I will use a charm if and only if I need one. Which I don’t.”
Harry trails along after him, empty-handed, as Draco makes a perilous trip, swaying, down two flights of steps into the dungeons. He chooses an empty classroom near the one where they take Potions, kicks it open, and finally sets the books down.
He’s out of breath and trying, very poorly, to hide it.
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“You’re…still here…Potter?” Draco says, feigning surprise while trying visibly not to gasp for air. He’s flushed, and there
