Chapter 25 The Eve Before Dawn
"I think you should go to the Leaky Cauldron or the Knight Bus instead of this place. After all, there are neither comfortable beds nor exquisite cuisine here. What do you think, little Malfoy?"
Grindelwald's silver hair shone coldly under the wall lamp, and his posture leaning against the door frame looked like an osprey on the frozen Black Lake.
"I'm sorry, sir." Draco tugged at the sleeve of his school uniform, his Adam's apple rolling under his pale skin.
He studiously ignored the stinging pain on his tongue from the word "sir," and had to dig his fingertips into his palms to keep his voice steady.
"We have been discovered by Fenrir Greyback's men. Harry...Mr. Potter is in dire need of Wolfsbane Potion."
The arc of Grindelwald's raised eyebrows made Draco's neck tighten. Those eyes, which were as terrifying as Voldemort's scarlet pupils, swept behind Draco and disappeared in the shadow of the sofa behind the door - the black blood oozing from the werewolf's scratches spread out as small stains on his cuffs.
"Draco," Harry asked worriedly. Just as he was about to get up, worried that the wolfsbane on his wound would spread, Draco quickly pressed down on his shoulders to stop him.
"It's okay Harry, this is... my mother's distant relative, Mr. Green."
Draco could hear his voice trembling, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the hair at the back of Harry's neck, where the pale red marks from his nails last night still remained. "Good at healing—right, Mr. Green?"
Draco clasped his hands nervously, his fingers trembling slightly, and his eyes occasionally stole glances at the other person, fearing that he would be hit by a Cruciatus Curse.
Oh, no. The one who likes the Cruciatus Curse is You-Know-Who. Is he going to give me a Fiendfyre?
The more Draco thought about it, the more frightened he became. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. He didn't know whether Dumbledore would be able to save him in time before he turned into ashes.
"The young master of the Malfoy family always likes to exaggerate. I'm just an old man who can mix potions."
Grindelwald's low laugh mixed with the blue light from the tip of his wand passed over Draco's shoulder, and a bottle of black potion sparkling with star-like light fell into Draco's almost wet palm.
Draco was holding the scorching hot glass bottle in his palm in a daze. No, he's not dead?
"Also, let Mr. Potter get more rest. After all... the family wizard's private recipes always have some particularities that are inconvenient to be passed on to others."
Grindelwald slowly turned to Draco, a faint smile on his lips and a cunning look in his eyes.
He brushed off the corner of his clothes lightly, as if nothing had happened, and turned around calmly, leaving Draco staring blankly there.
When the old man turned around, the corner of his robe brought up the smell of potion, mixed with a certain smell that belonged to the Dark Lord's blood, which Draco didn't want to think about.
When he turned around, the corner of his robe brushed against Draco's wrist, like a snake's tongue scratching across ice. The slight sound of clothes touching skin startled Draco and made his shoulders tremble slightly.
There was the sound of boot heels hitting the stone steps at the corner of the stairs. Draco turned around and saw Harry bending down to unbutton his shirt. The scratches on the muscles of his right hand were a strange purple-blue.
He hurriedly grabbed the potion bottle and rubbed his fingertips over the small gold-plated words on the label that were dyed with phoenix tail feathers.
Suddenly I remembered the silver-blue feather that Dumbledore saw when he fell from the Astronomy Tower three months ago.
It wasn't until Harry's warm palm touched the back of his cold hand that Draco realized that he had been squeezing the potion bottle so hard that the glass almost shattered.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
Draco pulled his hand away in a panic, his cheeks flushing slightly.
He avoided Harry's concerned gaze, took a deep breath, tried to calm himself, and quickly took out his wand and hovered it above Harry's exposed right hand, trying to hide the turmoil in his heart.
The pale golden magic power at the tip of the wand pulled the wolfsbane potion, moving it over the three intersecting claw marks, and several times it dispersed into tiny points of light like a startled silver fish.
The bluish-black color left by the werewolf venom was fading from the edge of the wound, but it left a shocking red mark on Harry's pale skin.
"Why are your hands shaking?" Harry's voice broke the silence in the room, with a bit of confusion and concern.
Draco seemed to be burned by these words and suddenly retracted his hand. He bit his lower lip tightly, avoiding Harry's burning gaze, and secretly regretted his loss of composure.
He thought of Voldemort's cold order and looked into Harry's sincere eyes, feeling mixed emotions.
Draco was torn between his conscience and his desires. He knew very well his mission as a Malfoy, but Harry's unconditional trust in him time and time again made his defenses gradually collapse.
Every time I faced Voldemort, the chill went straight to my bones, but as soon as I returned to Hogwarts and saw Harry's smile, it was as if I was in warm spring again.
He was afraid, afraid that his hesitation would bring disaster to the family, and even more afraid that Harry would leave him completely after knowing what he had done behind his back.
But at this moment, Harry's wound was like a glaring streak of blood, disturbing the tangled threads in his heart. He understood that some choices had to be made.
He clenched his fists, as if making some kind of determination, and approached Harry again.
He raised his eyes and looked at Harry. There was struggle and hesitation in his eyes, as well as a hint of expectation that he himself had not noticed.
"Why are you blocking for me?"
He heard himself ask, his voice more fragmented than the dying sparks in the fireplace.
"What?" Harry turned over and sat up, and most of his clothes fell off his waist.
Draco's eyes uncontrollably swept across the other man's waistline, where there were many old scars from his anger last night, scratching and digging, which now formed a dramatic echo with the new wounds.
There was a light in those green eyes that Draco couldn't read, like the stars reflected in the Hogwarts lake that he could never catch.
"Answer my question first." Draco's fingers clasped his wrist and pressed the ointment-soaked wand against Harry's neck.
"You knew it was a werewolf attack and you would be torn to pieces if you weren't careful. You couldn't even do Lupin II, so why did you help me block it?"
Draco stared at the spread of ointment on Harry's wound. His eyes, which usually held a hint of mockery, were now full of struggle. His hands unconsciously pressed harder against Harry.
"Shouldn't you wish I were dead?" Draco asked, with some pain in his eyes.
His tall neck held his usual arrogance, but his slightly trembling voice betrayed his inner panic.
"I don't know, I just blocked it subconsciously."
Harry also didn't understand why, even though he had already made a decision, he couldn't help but soften his heart when he saw the horror in Draco's eyes, and even didn't want him to be hurt again.
He loves beauty so much, he will definitely cry if he gets a scar.
He didn't know what he was thinking at the time, but he subconsciously pushed him forward.
When Draco heard this, his grip suddenly tightened, and a trace of blood oozed from his wand.
He didn't say anything, his eyes were red, "Idiot."
Harry was slightly stunned, then burst into laughter. His laughter echoed in the room, dispelling some of the tense atmosphere.
He smiled, gently shook his injured right hand, and said nonchalantly: "Why, do you feel sorry for me?"
Harry raised an eyebrow and suddenly put his injured hand in front of Draco, shaking it violently on purpose. "Your hand is injured like this, young master, shouldn't you show some appreciation?"
The ending tone carried a familiar provocation, but the moment Draco suddenly raised his head, it turned into tenderness hidden in his eyes.
Draco was furious and stabbed Harry's shoulder with his wand. His voice trembled: "It will hurt you to death!"
But her fingertips quietly moved towards Harry's wrist, and she seemed to be examining the wound with disgust, while the tip of her ear was red and dripping with blood.
Harry's eyes flashed with cunning, and a triumphant smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.
"That won't do. I still have to wait for the young master's reward."
Having said that, when he looked at Draco's red ears, a special tenderness arose in his heart.
Draco turned his head away, not wanting Harry to see his embarrassment. He pretended to sort the potion bottles, but his fingers trembled slightly.
Harry's coquettishness just now kept echoing in his mind, and his heart was pounding as if it was about to burst out of his chest.
He tried to calm himself down, but as soon as he glanced at Harry's injured right hand, his heart became even more confused.
He should have hated the teasing, Potter always did that, using understatement to mask foolish self-sacrifice.
But when my fingertips stroked the protruding joints of the other person's spine, my heart beat inappropriately in my chest.
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