分卷阅读39（2 / 2）

Itwasstrange,inthatmoment,becausehewasthinkingofallthethingsthathecoulddo,allthepeoplethathisfatherhadpaidtoteachhim—thelineageofoldhouses,violin,calligraphy,dancing—andyetnowthathewasinimmediatedanger,hecouldnotfigureouthowtomovehisarmsorkickoutwithhislegswellenoughtobringhimselfbacktothesurface.Therewasonlydarknesscoveringupallthelightandweedsbrushingathisheelsandthedesperationbuildingupinsidehim,wherehewouldkickupoffthemurkybottomofthepondandburstintothelightjustlongenoughforonelifegivingbreathofairbeforethedepthspulledhimbackdownunderagain.

Tryingtowakeupwassomethinglikethat.

Buthedoeswakeup,eventually,afterwhatmusthavebeenhoursofdriftinginandoutofconsciousness,wherehewouldopenhiseyesonlytobeblindedbythelightandtakenabackbythefireinhislungs.Hisentirebodyached,andeventhougheachtimetherewerevoicesherecognizeddemandinghisattention(Hermione,askingifhewasokay,Georgeholdingtighttohishand,evenablurryfigurethathethoughtmighthavebeenPansy),hefounditeasiertoslipbackinsidehimselfinstead,untilhefinallytoldhimselfthatenoughwasenoughandforcedhimselftokeephiseyesopen.

“Hey.Mate.”Therewerehandsonhisshoulders,forcinghimbackdownontothepillows.“Takeitslow,willyou?”

Foramoment,hedoesnotunderstandwhyheisthere,cannotrememberwhyeverythinghurts,butthenhedoes—handsmovingtowandsthatwerenotthere,aflashoflightspreadingacrossherfaceasthechandeliersways,themanmeltingbackintothebackground,thewayhewastheonlyonewhounderstoodintimetogettoher—andthepanicmakeshimsurgethepersoninfrontofthem,grappleagainsttheirhandstogripontotheirshoulders.

ItwasGeorgewhohefoundstaringbackathim,coaxinghimtocalmdown,toliebackbeforehehurthimself.NotHarry.Dracowouldliketosaythathedidn’tcarewhowassittingguardbyhisbedside,butjudgingbythedisappointedfeelinginhisstomach,thatwasalie.Ifhehadbeengiventimetothinkwhowouldbethefirstpersontomeethimuponhisreturn,hewouldhavebeenexpectingtoseeHarry.Maybehewashere,avoiceinhisheadwassaying,muchmorereasonablenowthatitwasclearthatnoonewasinimmediatedanger.It’sbeenforever,youreallywouldwanthimtositherewithouteatingorchanginghisclothesorrunninghomeforanap?Anddon’tyouhavemoreimportantthingstoworryabout?

“Where’sHermione?”Dracofellbackontothepillows,wincingashedidso.“Isshealright?”

“Penelopehealedherinhalfasecondafterthecommotionwasover.She’sjustalittlesore.You,ontheotherhand,”GeorgegesturedoverthelengthofDraco’sbody,andforthefirsttimehereallylookedathimself,atthecutsandbruisesandbandages.“Aregoingtobeinhereawhile.”

“Couldn’ttheyfixtheseup?”Dracolookedoverhisarmswithsomeamountofconcern,becauseifthiswaswhathelookedlikeafterbeinginthehandsofqualifiedhealersforhours,howbadwashewhenhefirstcamein?“It’slike,firstlevelhealing.”

“Theygotthebadthingsfirst.Putyourbodyunderalotofstresstohealit,sotheywanttokeepyouunderobservationforabitandlettheresthealnaturally.”Dracomusthavemadeaface,becauseGeorge’shandisgrippingtighttohis,squeezinghisfingerslikeheiskeepingtimewithhispulse.ItmakesDracolookathimandseetheworryinhiseyes,thetightnessintheskinaroundhismouth,likeheisbitingbackthewordsofcautionthathesodesperatelywantstosay.“Youwereinabadshape,Draco.”

It’sthenamethatmakesDracosoberupandpayattention.Theyhadspentsolongaddressingeachotheronlybyhurledcursesandinsultsandasnarled,twistedversionoftheirlastnames(Malfoy.Weasel.)thatthesoundofhisnamebeingspokenwiththatamountoffondnessstillmakeshimpause,andrightnowit’slongenoughtorealizethatmaybe,justmaybe,watchingoneofhisfriendsalmostdiewasaprettyupsettingordealforGeorgetohavetogothrough.Enoughthateventhoughhehadswornoffhospitalsandguarddutyforgood,herehewas,holdingontoDraco’shandandmonitoringeveryonethatcomesthroughthedooruntilhehadwokenup.

“Hey.”Dracomadesurehisvoicewasgentlerthistime.Kinder.Lessdemanding.“I’malright.I’mnotgoinganywhere.”

Georgestaredathimforalongmoment,thenletgoofhim,stalkingbacktothewoodenchairbythedoorandthrowinghimselfintoit.Hewasstillinhisclothesfromthegalathenightbefore(wasitthenightbefore?hehonestlydoesn’tknow)onlynowtheyarerippedanddisheveled.That,combinedwiththeuglylookonhisface,wasmakinghimlooklikesomeoneyouwouldcrossthestreettoavoidbeingnear.

“Don’tIknowit.”George’swordswereteasingbuthiseyeswerestillworried,dartingaroundtheroom,andDracowondershowmanyofthemhavefallenbackintotheirwartimehabitswheretheycheckedincornersformonstersthatwerereallyonlyshadowsandwouldnotbelieveitwhenpeoplepromisedthattheyweresafe.“You’reonetoughbuggertokill,Malfoy.”

Dracosmiles.It’snotthebestwelcomingcrewhecouldimagine,butitwasniceallthesame.

Hegoesthroughroundafterroundofvisitors.

Mrs.Weasleyshowsupwithhomemadebrowniesandflowers,pepperinghimwithanxiousquestionsaboutwhathurtsandhowwellhethoughthewashealingandifthehealersweretreatinghimalright,spendinganunnecessaryamountoftimesmoothingdownthesheetsanddemandingthathelethercombhishairwithawetbrushtomakeitlieflat.She’ssounlikehisownmother,buteventhatreminderofNarcissamakesalumpforminhisthroat,soinsteadoflookingather,hejuststaresatthewallassheprattlesonaboutPercyandPenelopeandhowKingsleyrespondedspectacularlywelltohisfirstin-officecrisis,occasionallyholdingaballofyarnforherwhilesheknits.Bythetimesheleavestwohourslater,sheleavesasmallblanketspreadoverhislap,becauseassheputit,hewasboundtogetchillysittingbythatwindowandshecouldn’tbeartoleavehimsittingthereinthosethinhospitalpajamas.

Pansycomes,too,pushingthroughthedoortohisroomwithherhighheelsclicking,marchingstraighttothewindowandperchingherselfuponthesilllikeshedoesiteverydayandstartstoreadfromthosegossipragsthatsheusedtolovesomuch,keepinghimupdatedonpeoplethatheusedtobefriendswith.Heusedtofollowthisstuffavidly,too,wouldporeoveritwithherduringtheirbreakfastatHogwarts,keepingupwithwhomarriedwhoandwhatscandalsweregoingonandwhatkindofcompetitiontheywerefacingthissummer.Now,it’sthesoundofhervoicethathelikes,lullinghimbackintosleepasshechainsmokesherfilthymugglecigarettesoutthewindow.