A "Visit" from Slytherin (IV)

"Ron," Harry interrupted him, his voice calm—so calm that even he found it unfamiliar. "He said some things. I need you to help me analyze them."

Hermione pulled over the chair Draco had been sitting in—the dent in the cushion had already completely disappeared. She sat down, placing both hands on her knees, her gaze focused and serious.

Ron sat down too, but he still kept glancing at the fruit basket from time to time, as if wary that it might suddenly explode.

Harry took a deep breath and repeated every word Draco had said. He heard that hissing voice. He said I was the heir. He told me not to make a fuss, or tomorrow's Daily Prophet headline would be about my scandal. He said there were some things we could never figure out.

He did not mention the part where Draco held down his hand and said, "You smell so good." It was not because he wanted to hide anything; he simply did not know how to describe it himself.

Harry leaned back against the pillow, unconsciously rubbing the edge of the blanket with his right hand as his gaze fell on the carnations on the windowsill. Pink, white, pale green, tied with a silver ribbon, they stood quietly and innocently in the sunlight, like an ordinary get-well gift.

Draco had brought those flowers in today, along with that fruit basket and that fake, skin-crawling smile. He had sat beside the bed with one leg crossed over the other, like a lord inspecting his territory.

Harry's fingers tightened around the blanket without him noticing.

He remembered every detail of Draco leaning close. Not because he wanted to remember; those details had forced their way in on their own, nailing themselves into his memory like nails that could not