分卷阅读3（2 / 2）

Groggily,hetrudgedbacktohisbedbutbeforehecouldplopdownonit,heheardsomethingoverbythewindows.Frowning,helettheunfamiliarbarn-owlflutterinandwatcheditlandonachair.Hiseyesfelltothelettertiedtotheowl’sfoot.IfthiswasanotefromBlaise,mockinghimforlastnight,Dracowouldmakesurehewouldneverbeabletousehishandsagain.

Meresecondsafterhefinisheduntyingtheletter,theowlscreechedandtookoffagain.Apparently,whoeverhadsentitdidn’texpectareply.Dracowatchedtheowlvanishintothesky,beforesinkingdownonhisbed,carefulnottomakeanysuddenmovements.Thepotionwasworking,hedidfeelbetter,buthestillhadasplittingheadache.

Itwashisownfault.HenevershouldhaveagreedtodrinkingfirewhiskeywithPotter.Oh.Ohno.HehaddrunkfirewhiskeywithPotter.But…fuck,hecouldn’trememberwhattheyhadtalkedabout.Something…aboutBlaise’sconstantflirting…and…maybePotter’sworkand…nothing,hehadnoidea.Well,shit!

Absentmindedly,heopenedtheletterhewasstillholding,takinginthefamiliarhandwriting.

Hopefullyyou’restillinbedwhenyouseethis.

Youcanthankmelaterforsparingyouthepainofspillinghotcoffeealloveryourself.

B

Dracofrowned.Heturnedtheletterovertofindsomethingattachedtothebackofit.ItlookedlikeanarticlefromtheDailyProphet;today’sDailyProphet,Dracorealisedashiseyeswidened.TherewasapictureofhimandPotter,talkinganimatedly.ThecaptionreadsomethingaboutthehighlysuccessfulcharitygalaandhowPotterhadhelpedwithitblahblahblah.Itwasthesamebalderdashasalways.Hescannedtheparagraphsforthewords“Ex-DeathEater”butfoundtheyhadsimplycalledhim“socialiteDracoMalfoy”.Hescruncheduphisnose,notsureifhelikedthatnewtitle.But,whatever,hewasfarmoreinterestedinthepictureanyway.Hedidn’trememberthat.Anyofit.Potterstartedlaughing,apparentlyatsomethingDracohadsaid.Itdidweirdthingstohisstomach.

SomethingelseseemedtohavecaughtPotter’sattention,andwhilehelookedaway,picture-Draco’seyeswerestillfixedonhim.Hislookwassofullofyearning,Dracosuddenlyfeltsickagain.Oh,forfuck’ssake!Andthiswasintoday’sProphet?ForthewholefreakingWizardingWorldtosee?Potterhadprobablyseenitbynowaswell.Fuck!Fuck!

WhyhadDracoagreedtothefirewhiskey?WhyhadheinvitedPottertothegala?Whywashestillhere?Whycouldn’tthegroundopenandswallowhimup?

AsDracosatthere,feelingdizzyalloveragain,hecametotheconclusionhecouldn’treallybeblamedforanyofthis.Itwasn’thisfaulthecouldn’tgettheinsufferablepratoutofhishead.No,itwasentirelyPotter’sfault.Andhewasgoingtopayforit.

Monday,23December2002

WhenDracoleftMadamMalkin’s,holdingabagwithhisnewrobesheplannedtowearonChristmas,thecommotioninfrontofQualityQuidditchSuppliesimmediatelycaughthisattention.Archinganeyebrow,heapproachedtheclusterofpeople,carefulnottogettooclosetotheoneswhoweresqueakingandjumpingupanddown.Whatwerethey—Ah,ofcourse.Potter.

Apparently,hewastryingtopolitelydeclineallthebiscuitsandpresentsthatwerebeingshovedathim.

“That’sverykindofyou,Madam,truly,butIreallycan’t—Oh,thankyou,butIshouldn’t—”

Theydidn’tevenlethimtalk,Dracothoughtirritatedly.Fourbloodyyearsafterthewar,andpeoplestilllosttheirmindsoverhim.Ugh.

“Potter,”hecalled,startlingthewitchbesidehim.Potter’seyesinstantlyfoundhis,amixtureofconfusionandexcitementinthem.Fuck,whydidhehavetolookatDracolikethat?“Comehere,comeon,weneedtogo.Now!”HestretchedouthisarmtomakeroomforPottertowalkthrough,notgivingadamnaboutbeingscowledat.

Pottershookhandswithafewpeople,thankedthemoverandoveragain,andevenapologised,beforehethrewDracoagratefullookastheyhurrieddownDiagonAlley.

“Thanks,”hemuttered,rubbinghistemple.“Peoplegetabitcrazyaroundtheholidays.”