第11章 章節
’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead; his too-large collar is askew, sliding almost all the way off one shoulder, and Harry can make out the tip of the Sectumsempra scar peeking out over the top of his shirt. He hates the sight of it, but it reminds him not to lose his temper when Draco adds, panting, “I see…nothing’s changed. Still…desperate for my attention…are you?”
He’s so pathetic I can’t even be angry, Harry thinks.
“Hermione told me you’re researching Hanahaki,” says Harry, “that you’re looking for a cure.”
“There is no cure,” Draco says. “I’m not looking for one. I’m going to make one.”
“How?” Harry asks.
“I’m working on that.”
“Ah.” Harry scuffs the toe of his shoe against the stone floor. “Bet it would go faster if you had someone to help you go through those books.”
“Are you offering?” Draco says, like he fully expects the answer to be no, but Harry nods. “Why would you do that?” He appears genuinely baffled, bordering on suspicious.
“Erm, well,” says Harry, “I’m worried about your mum.”
He hadn’t planned on saying that. It’s barely true.
“Excuse me?” says Draco, flatly.
“You heard what I said at her trial,” says Harry, deciding to stick with his story. “I would’ve died if not for her. She defied Voldemort for you. It would be beyond unfair for her to lose you now, like this.”
Draco’s expression is blank, his lips pressed thin, his eyes even and unblinking as they look at Harry. It’s the way he looks when he’s calculating or deep in thought, and doesn’t want to betray his emotions.
“If you’re going to stay,” Draco says at last, “you’ll need to follow my instructions carefully, so we don’t miss anything important.”
“You’ve been waiting all your life to boss me around, haven’t you?” Harry says cheerfully, and Draco almost smiles.
Researching with Draco is not at all like studying with his friends. Draco has Hermione’s stamina and unassailable focus when ites to long hours of reading, but he likes to talk. In fact, he can’t help himself. That first afternoon together, Draco manages to maintain a chilly silence for all of ten minutes before he starts chattering.
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He talks about…a lot of things. Mainly, he likes to use Harry as a sounding board for his ideas, all the theories he’s trying to work through in his head before he puts them to paper. Draco still migrates all over the castle to work, but with Harry present they spend less time holed up inside and more time wandering the grounds. There is one spot by the lake— under a bowed tree with branches that fan out expansively, casting a shadow over shore and water like the wide brim of a hat—which Harry starts to think of as “theirs.”
Distressingly enough, Harry also bes Draco’s lab assistant when he wants to experiment on himself. “Anything can be cured with a potion,” he tells Harry firmly. “You just have to find the right one.”
And by “find” he means “invent.”
He keeps a clutch of bezoars on hand—“There are dozens here, how did you get so many—” “Money, Potter. Money is alway