“Still.”They’retimeinthecubiclewaswindingdown,whentheywouldbeforcedtohandintheirreportswithoutanythingtoshowforit.ItwastimeslikethesewhereHarrymissesHermionethemost,whenhehastodohomeworkonhisown.“Istillthinkyou’velostyourmind.War’sfinallymadeyoucrack,mate.”
It’sajoke,butitisn’twrong.He’dcaughtDracoathislatenightobsessions,butthat’sonlybecauseHarryhashisownroutine,wherehewandersthroughthehousewithhiswandstretchedoutinfrontofhim,pokingintoeachroomandcorner,checkingthelocksoneverdoorandwindow.WithDracothere,hesleepsalittleeasier,andtheweightonhischestwhenhe’scaughtoffguardbysomethingthatremindshimofthewarisalittleless.Hethinksitisimprovement,eveniftheybarelyseemtobeabletotalktoeachother,andeveniftheywereonceconsideredtobemortalenemiestoeachother.
(Itisamarkofgrowingup,hethinks,thatthetwoofthemcanlookbackandseehowpurewhattheyhadreallywas,canseethesimplicitythatcamefromthatonedimensionalhatred,wheretherewerenoconsequencestotheactions.Ifthingswerebetter,theywouldhavegrownupandgottenoveritintheirowntime,beenabletoforgeabondoffriendship,butVoldemortwashedthechancetothataway.)
(Tom.TomRiddle.That’swhathekeepstryingtocallhiminhishead,toremindhimthathewasonlyaman,afterallofit.It’snotcatchingon.)
“Ireallydon’tmindhim.It’skindofnice,actually.”HewouldnotbetellingRonaboutthosemorningbreakfasts,orthenightsspentaroundthetelevision,orhowDracomanagestomaketheteajusthowHarrylikesit.HedoesnottellhimhowitisonlyaweekbutthatDracoalreadyhasbecomeapermanentfixtureinhislife,somethingthatisnotexactlygoodbutalsonotbad,either,andhethinkshemightbesadifthecourtwouldsuddenlywaveawayhisprobationandturnDracoloose.
“Tellingyou,mate.”Ronhashisopinionsonthis,everyonedoes,buthemostlykeepsthemquiet.“Bonkers.”
Draco
Friends.
That’swhathehearsHarrycallhim,whenheisonthephonewithsomeonenamedDudley.Actually,hecallsthemmates,asin,sorryDudley,butIcan’ttalktoyouforlongtonight,mymateMalfoyhascomeover.
AndDracoknowsthatthatwasprobablyjustanexcusetohanguponsomeonewhotalkstoomuch.Heknowsthatitprobablydidn’tmeananything,athrowawaycommentthatHarryusedbecausehecouldn’tthinkofanythingtoreallyexplainthiswholesituation.Heknowsthis,butthenhethinksofhowtheyworkedtogethertocookdinnerlastnight,andhowHarrybroughthomeanewDVDseriescalledSherlockjustbecausehethoughtDracowouldlikeit,andhowheknowsexactlyhowmuchmilktoputinhistea.Andsuddenlyitdoesn’tseemtoofar-fetchedtothinkthathewasfriendswiththegreatHarryPotter.
(Hisfatherwouldbedevastated.)
(What’sitmatter?Hisfatherisrottinginajailcell.)
(Shutup.)
“Whyareyoustaringatmelikethat?”Harryhungthetelephonebackonitsplaceonthewall.Ithadacurlywirethatkeptyoustandingrightbyit.Harrysaidthatphonesweren’talllikethat,now,butthathedecidedtogetanoldfashionedonebecausehethoughtthathewouldloseit,otherwise.“DoIhavesomethingonmyface?”
“No,it’sjust…”Heusesthewordjustalotnow,justandmaybeandifyouwouldn’tmind.He’snotsurewhenthatstarted.“Maybeweshouldcalleachotherbyourfirstnames.Sincewe’relivingtogetherandall.”
“Mecallyoubyyourfirstname?AndyoucallmeHarry?”Foramoment,Dracothinkshehasmadeaterriblemistake,thathemiscalculatedallofit.ButthenHarry’sfacespitsintoasmileandhecanfeeltheairbeingknockedbackintohislungs.“Sure.Whynot.Soundslikeaplan,Draco.”
“Alright,Harry.”Dracosmileshimself,andissurprisedtofindthatitactuallyfeelslikeitbelongsthere.
Friends.Hecoulddothat.
Chapter3
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