分卷阅读36（2 / 2）

“Doyouneedhelp?”HarryisshruggingoffDraco’scoatandyellinghellototheothersatthesametime,andit’soneofthosemomentsthatmakesomethinginsideDracopulltight,becauseit’sareminderofhoweasythisthingcouldbe.Howitwouldbelikebreathing,likeknowingthelyricstoasongthatyouusedtolovebuthadn’theardinnews,likeknowingallthestepsonapathyou’vewalkedeverydayforayear.“Icandoit.”

“No,no.”Percywaveshimoffwithachuckle,butDracocanseehowhewavers.“PennyandIhavegotit.Go.Relax.Enjoyyourselves.”

Draco’sneverquitesureifenjoymentistherightword.

Like,sure,it’sfun.Normally,thenightspassbywithoutanythingcompletelyhorriblehappening,andifitdid,hecouldalwaysretreattohidebehindHarry,anyways.Still,hedoesn’tlikethebalancingact,wherehe’stakingpartintheconversationwhilestillexceptingittobetakenaway.

“Horrid,isn’tit?”Georgehaddressedupfortheoccasion,inabuttondownwithactualcuffsonthesleeves.It’sachangefromtheoldjeansandwashwarnt-shirtthathenormallyshowsupinwhendinnerisathisparents’house,butDracosupposestherearedifferentruleswhenyougotoPercy’s.“Havingtosithereandpretendtobefine.”

Hisvoiceisbitter,buthedoesn’tlooklikehe’supset.Justseparatesomehow.Other.Notliketherestofhisfamily,whohavefallenintotheirplaceswithoutquestionandpickedupwheretheyhadleftoffthelasttimetheyhadseeneachother,pullingaboardgameofftheshelvesandsittingcrossleggedaroundthecoffeetablewithoutPercyinvitingthemtodoso.

(Maybehecan’tdothatanymore,Dracothinks,watchinghimsettlebackintotheleathercouchcushionsandstarepasttherimofhisbeerbottle.Maybethere’snowaytofindyourplace,whenyouonlyoccupyonehalfofwhatitusedtobe.Maybeallthegoodparts,thepartsthatbelong,gotcutawaywiththepartthatleftandnowhe’sleftwiththis.)

“It’snotterrible.”There’saparticularlyloudburstoflaughterfromthefloor,andDracowatchedasGinnybentdoubleoverwithlaughter,leaningintoHarryforsupport.Herhairisthrownoverhisshoulder,liketheiredgeshaveblurredsotheybecomeonepersoninsteadoftwo.He’ssurprisedtofindthathewasn’tjealous.“Wejustneedtimetoeaseourwayintothings.”

Itwasthebestdescription.Dracolikedtothinkofwhenhewaslittleandjuststartedwadingintothepool,how,evenwhenalltheotherkidscouldjumpofftheedgeintothedeependordiveheadfirstintothelakesandpondsandrivers,hetookhistime,standingontheedge,whateveritmightbe.Hewouldwaitonthatsandorstonesorstepsasthewaterlappedupoverhisankles,hisshins,hisknees,becauseassmallashewas,hecouldnotstandthefeelingofallthatcoldwashingoverhimatonce.Hewouldhavetowadeinstepbystep,momentbymoment,breathbybreath,untilhecouldnolongerpinpointwhichpartsofhimwerewaterandwhichpartswereskin.

Thesedinnerswerekindoflikethat.

Besidehim,Georgesnortsandthenstandsup,pattingatthepocketofhisjeansuntilhelocateshiscigarettes.HepauseslongenoughtobenddownandtaphisbottleagainstDraco’s.“Cheers,mate.”He’sundoinghiscuffs,andDracoknowsthatthisisoneofthetimeswherehecannottakeit.Wherehehastoleave.“ButIwasalwaysabletodiverightin.”

Dinnerisstifling.AttheBurrow,dinnerisbowlsspillingoverwithfoodandoldstainsontablecloths,elbowsknockingintoeachotherandextraservingsyoudidn’twantbeingheapedontoyourplatewithoutaskingyoufirst,Molly’sadmonishmentsandArthur’squestionsandGinny’sneverendinglaughter.Itisalwaysoutinthegarden,too,withumbrellacharmscastovertheirheadswhenitwasraining,becausewithalltheextraguests,theynolongerfitinthekitchen.Itwasnotthekindofmealhehadgrownupwith(thatwasalongtablewithonlythreeseatstaken,hisfatherattheheadandhismotherpickingatherfood,pinchingofftinyportions,hishandstenseatthethoughtofwhatmighthappenifheweretospillsomething,thiswasnotahousemeantformessesandmistakes),butitwasonethathehadgottenusedto.

This—hereatPercy’s,withhisdull-coloreddecorationsandfancyplatesandgirlfriendwhowastryingtoohardtoplaythehostess—wassomethingthatclearlynoneofthemwerereadyfor.Inastrangetwistofevents,itwasDracowhowascarryingontheconversation,pepperingeachguestinturnwithsmalltalkwhenthetalkingdieddown,complimentingPenelopeonanythinghecouldthinkof,evenstartingadebateonQuidditchinthelagbetweendinneranddessert.Everyoneshootshimgratefullooks,especiallywhenhepullsPercyawayfromthetopicoftheministryandwhenthemealwasdone,Penelopetookabreakfromclearingthetabletostandbesidehim.

“Thankyousomuch.”Nowthatit’sjustthem,shehasrelaxed—hersmileisnotsowideandhervoiceisnotsoloud,likeshehasstoppedusingherstagepersona.“I’veonlyeverhadtheonesibling,andI’mstillnotusedtoallofthem.Anditisn’t,well,”SheinclinesherheadtowardsPercy,whoisdesperatelytryingtointerjecthimselfinBillandCharlie’sconversationbutisclearlyfailing,likeeverytimehethinksofsomethingclevertosay,thetopichasalreadymovedon.“It’sneverbeeneasyforhim,andespeciallynotafterlastyear.”

Lastyear.Thewar.TheBattle.Draco’shearditcalledalotofnames,butitallboilsdowntothesamething,liketheyarestretchingouttheirarmstotheinvisiblecarnageandsaying:lookatus.Lookatthispaststillwrittenonourskin.thisisthethingthatruinedus.

“Itwasn’taproblem.It’llgeteasier.Firstdinnerpartyisalwaysthehardest.”Hepatsherontheshoulder,triestotoethelinebetweencomfortingandsnobbish.Sometimes,hedoesn’tknowwhentostop.“Youdidfine.”

Hemeanstotellherotherthings—thatherporkroastwascookedjusttherightamount,whereitpracticallyfellapartonherfork,thattherewasaplacethatrentsouthouseelves,afullstaffofthemwhereshecouldpickonetoholdonretainerfornightslikethis,thatthewinedidn’treallymatchwithwhatshewasservingbutthatherchoiceinartworkwasimpeccable,alltheselessonshehadlearnedwithoutmeaningtoo—butthenPercystoodup,clearinghisthroatandtappingaforkagainsthisglass,likethiswassomeJaneAustennovelandhewastheirleadman.

“IfIcouldhaveyourattention.”Hesaysitlikehe’sconductinganorchestra,butmaybethat’swhatittook,tomakeafamilyofninepayattentiontoyou.AndLuna.ItwashardtograbLuna’sattention.“Ididn’tjustcallyouhereforafamilygettogether.IcallyouherebecauseIhaveanannouncement.”