Hepausedinhisstride,fightingtheurgetogoback.Hecouldn’tgoback,hereallycouldn’t.HedoubtedProfessorMcGonagallwasstillup,butthepossibilitythatDracocalledherdownwastoogreat.Notthathispresencewouldchangeanything.Hewouldeathisownshoesifhewasn’tonthetrainbacktoKing’sCrossattheendofthesummer.Hemuckeditup.Butdidn’thealways.
Heresumedhiswalkofshamebacktowardshiscorridors.Hewouldbeginpackingtonight.Hedidn’tknowwherehewouldgo.Well,backtoGrimmauldPlace,obviously,buthedidn’tknowwhathewoulddo.Thehope,orratherthefantasy,thatDracohadwantedhim,eveninasmallway,hadreallybeenoneoftheonlythoughtshehadtakensolaceinsincethewar.Andnow…andnowheknewthatDraco,aliveandwell-well,aliveandbreathingandbetterthandead,ifnotexactlywell—wantedhimbutwouldn’thavehim.Orwantedhim,butnotenough.Orhadwantedhim,atsomepoint,butdidn’tanymore.
Hemarvelledatthefactthatitdidn’tmakehimfeelanybetter,toknowthatinsomeplaceandtimeofDracoMalfoy’slife,hehadfeltsomethingforHarry.Buthesupposedthatwasbecausetheknowledgemadeallofhisimaginedlossesreal.Theawkwardfirstfewmealstheywouldhavesharedafterthewar,bothworriedthattheotherwasjustgoingthroughthemotionsofbeingciviltohelpmovealongthepost-warunitymovement.Thefirstfewcautioustouchesthatwouldleadthembothtooverthink,becausesurely,surelyhehadn’tmeant—Buthadhe?Andwhentheyrealizedthattheotherhadmeantit,thentheywouldbefacingalltherebuildingtheyhadtodo,personally,globally,togetherinsteadofseparatelyandsoincrediblyalone.Andmaybethey’dhavefought,screamedateachotheruntiltheywerehoarse,thrownthings,madeanabsolutetipofGrimmauldPlacewiththesmallwarstheywagedeverynight,whichwaswhateveryonewouldhaveexpected.Butmaybetheywouldhavebeenhappy.Harrylikedtothinkthey’dhavebeenhappy.
ButDracohadbeendead.Hehadbeendead,sotherewasbeyondadoubtnopossibilityofthesethoughtsbeingmorethanafantasy.Butnowhewasalive,andifonlyDracowasn’tsoscared,ifonlyMcGonagallwasn’tsocareful,hecouldtry.Itdidn’thavetowork,butgod,hewishedtheycouldtry.
Chapter7
“Mr.Potter,itisratherlate.”
“I’msorry,Professor,Irealizethisisaninconvenience.Ifitweren’timportant,Iwouldhavewaiteduntilmorning,”Harrysaid,fidgetingnervouslyontheothersideofMcGonagall’sdesk.“Ineedtomakethisright.”
“Mr.Potter,Ihaven’ttheslightestideaastowhatcouldbesowrongthatitwarrantedmakingrightattwointhemorning,”McGonagallsighed.“Iwasundertheimpressionthattheseunfortunatelatenightmeetingsofourswouldendwithyourlearningtobehavelikeanadult.”
“That’swhatIamtryingtodo,Professor.Intellingyou.”
“Tellingmewhat?”
“Ilovehim,Professor.Ilovehimandforhissafety,IfeellikeitwouldbebetterthatIleft,”Harrysaid.“I’msureyouagree.”
McGonagallfroze.
“I’msureIdon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Thewolf.He’snotsomuchwhiteasheisblonde,isn’the?Haveyoueverseenablondewolf?”
“I’mnotparticularlywellversedinthecolorationpatternsofwolves,Mr.Potter,”McGonagallrepliedslowly.
“Therewasn’tabody,”Harrycontinued.
“Whatdoyoumeanabody?Doyoususpectthewolfofhavingkilledsomeone?Surelynotastudent,therearenoneleftonthegrounds.”
“Professor,you’resmarterthanthis.Don’tdomethedisserviceofpretendingyouaren’t.Hismother’stestimonywastheonlyreasonwehadtobelievethepileofasheswashim.Therewasnoidentifiablebody.”
“How?”McGonagallasked,herfacedarkeningastheactshewasputtingonfellaway.
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