Harrystepsinclose,ascloseashedares,toclasptherobestogether.Hefeelsjustalittlebitguiltyathisulteriormotives.“Youhavenoidea,Malfoy.”
Finally,hestepsback,peruseshishandiwork,andchuckles.“Reddoesn’tsuityouatall.”
Dracogiveshimadistastefullook.“It’sagarishcolour,”hesays,walkingtowardshiswardrobemirrortolookathimself.Hescruncheshisnoseup,andthensighs.HeglancesbackatHarrythroughthemirror,studieshimagainfromheadtotoe,andmurmursthoughtfully.“Greensuitsyou.Itmatchesyoureyes.”
Harrygrinsathim.“See?IwouldhavebeenagreatSlytherin.”
“Youdon’tbelonghere,”Dracoreplies,rollinghiseyes.“You’retoonice.Wehaveareputationtouphold.”
“Hmm,that’strue.AndSnapewouldn’thaveknownwhethertodockHousepointsfrommeorgivememore.”
HewatchesDracolaugh,letsthewarmthandhappinessofthemomentsinkin,andletsthatpropelhimintotellinganotherstory.
ThestoryofSeverusSnape.
Chapter4
Dracodoesn’tknowwhenhestoppedtryingtogetPottertoleavehimalone.
Hejustrealizesthathehasonedayduringlunchwhenanunfamiliarowldropsanunsuspectingletteronhislap.It’snothisfirsttimereceivinghatemail,andsohe’snotreallysurprisedwhenheopensitandseesoneline:
LeaveHarryPotteralone.
Whatsurpriseshimishisreaction,hisconviction,ashethinksstronglytohimself,No.Idon’twantto.
Helooksacrosstheroom,totheGryffindortable,wherePottersits,laughingatwhateverinanejokeWeasleyhadsaid.Helookshappy,surroundedbyhisfriends,withnoweightofanyDarkLordpressingdownonhisshoulders.
AndthenPotterlooksup,catcheshiseye,andthensendshimthemostdazzlingsmile,andDracothinks,withhisheartdroppingtohisstomachandhisfistcrumplingthenote,No.Don’ttakethisawayfromme.
Itbecomesfrequent.Daily,even.SincecomingtoHogwarts,hehadalreadyaskedtheHeadmistresstobantheHowlers,butifpeoplearesendinghimOwlsundertheguiseofinnocent,envelopedletters,thenthatwoulddefinitelybehardertostop.
Instead,DracostopsreadingthemintheGreatHall.Hepocketsthem,likedirtysecrets,andreadsthematnight,beforePottercomes.Ithurts,ofcourseitdoes,andatfirst,hehadreadthemwiththegoaloffindingoutwhotheywerefrom,butintheend,herealizesthathehadbeenreadingthemlikeanactofpenitence.
Butit’sduringonenightthatheopensaletterwithahiddenStingingHex,andthepainfromtheweltonhiswristmakeshimwonder,WhyamIdoingthisagain?
Andit’swhenPottercomesin,stumblesonhimsittingonhisbedwithamessofopenedlettersscatteredaroundhimandcradlinghiswristthatherememberswhatPotterhadsaid:Youcanaskforhelp,youknow.
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