ipofhisbutterbeer.

“feelingnervous,malfoy?”

ugh,thatokybastard!

“maybethisiswhyididn’twanttogetdrinkswithyou,”draosaid,almostsnapped,atually.“you’restillsofullofyourself.”

potterstudiedhisbutterbeer,nottakinghiseyesoffitasheanswered.“you’renotstillhunguponthepast,areyou?”

“what’sthatsupposedtomean?”draosaid,furrowinghisbrows.

“we’vegrownup,”pottersaidwithashrug.“wetalkedaboutwhathappened.”

indeedtheyhad.potterhadpratiallyforeddraototalktohimafterhistrial,eventhough,ormaybeespeiallybeause,hehadrefusedtoatfirst.draohadfelttooashamed,tooembarrassed,butalsotooangrytotalktopotter.itwasjusttheiingontheakethatpotter,ofallpeople,hadbeentheosavehim.again.andeventhoughgratitudehadbeensomewhereinthemix,ithadmostlyfeltdegrading.

asalways,thingshadbeenompliated.

draohadn’tbelievedhisearswhenpotterhadtoldhimhedidn’tholdagrudgeagainsthim.sometimes,draoalmostfeltlikehehadgottenofftooeasy.hehadn’tuoodhowpotterouldfivehimforwhathehaddone.howouldpotterfivehimwhendraohadn’tfivenhimself?sometimes,whenhewasfeelinggloomy,hestiskedhimselfthatquestion.

“thatdoesn’tautomatiallymeaneverything’sfotten,”draomurmured,urlinghisfingersaroundhisup.hisskinsoakedupthewarmth,alminghim.

“isthatwhyyouavoidedmeatthega?”potterasked.“orwhyyou’reavoidinglookingatmerightnow?”