seven days lost

Willing to leave him alone again.Draco turned his head and looked around, but he didn't see anyone familiar.He hesitated for a while, picked up his teacup and walked to him, and tapped lightly on the table.The man immediately turned to look at him.

"May I sit here, please?" Draco asked, feeling a little uneasy.

"Ah, of course." He was a little surprised, smiled shyly at him, and lowered his head again.

Draco opened the chair and sat down, put the cup on the table, tapped the table with his fingertips, and asked softly, "Are you here alone?"

"Uh... no." Harry glanced at him and shook his head.

Lying skills are still so poor, Draco thought, probably escaped from home.

He didn't expose him, but fell silent again, too embarrassed to know what to say.Why didn't you say anything once you got in front of this person?He was very annoyed, obviously he was eloquent to everyone, and he had never been at a disadvantage, but when he met him, he seemed to be shorter, one look, one sentence, one section at a time, like burning Candles are exhausted, and finally there is nothing.

Just as Draco was thinking about what to say to break the deadlock, Harry suddenly said, "Are you nervous?"

"Ok?"

"If I made you so nervous, then I apologize to you." He said seriously, as if he was about to apologize, Draco stopped him quickly.

"No, of course not, it's not your problem. It's me—I think you look a lot like an old friend of mine," Draco hesitated, "Please don't mind—"

"A friend of yours looks a lot like me?" Harry looked at him curiously, "Do I look alike?"

"Hmm - maybe so." Draco squeezed the coffee cup in his hand, "His hair is just as messy as yours."

Only after he finished speaking did he realize what he had said, and he was so regretful that he wanted to slap himself in the face.Why did he mention this? Doesn't the scene not embarrass him enough?Merlin, what would Potter think of him?

Harry subconsciously scratched his hair, buried his head, a little embarrassed.

"Ah, sorry. I mean... I can't do anything with my hair." He shrugged. "My hair has always grown so fast that my aunt used to scold me for it."

"I didn't mean to say this, I..."

"It's okay. Your hair looks docile." Harry looked up at the top of his head.Draco froze, realizing that he was looking at him now, so focused on him alone, that it was almost unbearable.He refrained himself from touching his hair.

"What does that friend of yours do with his hair?" Harry's voice brought him back to consciousness, and Draco rolled his eyes and replied in a low voice, "Oh, he never takes care of his hair. He doesn't care about such things.”

"Then what does he care about?"

"I think maybe it's his friends and ideals. He's always been—knew what he was going to do."

"Oh, that's nice. I want to be that kind of person too." Harry sighed, staring at the bitter liquid in his coffee cup, "I don't know what I should do, I always feel like... weird , even I-" He realized he had said too much and bit his lip.Draco gasped for breath, his heart clenched.

He didn't look for him, nor did he find out about his recent situation.What he did the most this year was to stay in that dark room, fill himself with all kinds of complicated knowledge, and not think about anything else.

He forced himself to forget him and let go of those thoughts.He convinced himself that he was fine, that his friends would take care of him, that he didn't need him in his life, never did.

But now he wavered again.His wavering was so easy that he even felt that his previous forbearance was just a thin piece of paper, meaningless.But he also understood that Harry's condition might still not be cured, and his life was repeating the same tragedy. Is this really what he wanted to see?

"I think you can be like him if you want," Draco said cautiously.

"No, it's impossible..." Harry shook his head with a wry smile, "You don't know."

Draco held his hands tightly together, he hesitated for a moment, and asked softly, "Why?"

"I—I don't even know what I'm going to wake up with tomorrow. I mean..." Harry dropped his eyes, "I actually ran away from home because they never let me out. They seemed to think It's dangerous, but—but I can barely bear it."

He spoke intermittently, and there were several times when he could hardly continue, and Draco guided him patiently, but his heart was getting colder and colder.

Not only did Harry's condition not improve, but it moved in another weird direction.According to his words, every day when he wakes up, he will forget what happened the previous day. He has never seen such a case.And now, although he is an adult on the surface, his mind has recovered to the level he had before going to Hogwarts at the age of 11.

No wonder he was so easy to deceive, he thought, fortunately he met him, what if he was a bad guy?

Draco sent him back to the Burrow, only to find out that the street was next to the Burrow, and Harry's "rebellious run away" was only a few hundred meters away.And he told him a little shyly that he only had enough money with him to buy a cup of coffee.

"I didn't really want to run away," he repeatedly said to Draco, as if trying to hide his uneasiness, "I just wanted to come out and get some air, they couldn't keep me locked in the house, wouldn't that fair."

So cute, he thought, how can there be such a cute person.

He stood at the gate of the yard watching him walk back into the house, waved at him vigorously at the door, and closed the door.Draco stood silently for a moment, then turned to leave.

He knew he would forget about him tomorrow.

What kind of thing is memory?

Draco took out the proposition that he had just entered the Department of Mysteries, stared blankly in front of his eyes, and remained silent.Why can't Harry's memory leave a trace in his mind, while his own memory has been fresh for a long time, and every inch of emotion has branded new footprints on the old wounds that have scabbed?

While he was continuing to forget, he was in pain that was unforgettable.He can't forget, he not only can't forget, but also hates himself for remembering too clearly, every detail has become a wound for him to chew on.

Draco scratched his face, he wanted to cry but couldn't cry, he wanted to talk but couldn't find someone.Who can understand?His love and hatred have lost the object of sustenance, who can really understand him?

He found himself back where he started.Every time he feels that he has bid farewell to the past, but reality will always cruelly make him understand that not only did he not escape, but he sank even deeper.

That coffee shop became his go-to place after get off work.He always sat where he and Harry had met that time, ordered a glass of mocha, and quietly looked at the blue mist rising and falling in the distance.He imagined a house roof in the mist, where the person he liked lived, combing his hair in distress in the mirror.

Just imagining it made his heart flutter, and he was full of expectations for everything like a young boy who just fell in love.

He rarely gets to meet him there.If he was lucky, he and Ginny could be seen talking and laughing at the outdoor tables and chairs for two days in a row—maybe it wasn't good luck; if he was unlucky, he wouldn't see him for a month.

But he was still sitting there, even the waiter didn't know him well enough, and every time he came, he would bring him a cup of mocha.

He still sat there like the old man at the door singing the blues and his empty guitar.His time was so simple and long that he forgot his own existence.

So what exactly is memory?

A piece of code, a bunch of molecular cells buried in the brain, a few vague impressions, a heart-pounding pain in recollection, what else is there?

It will fade, it will mottle, it will disappear with pain, it will be as fragile as foam in the sun.In the cosmic space, it is just a phantom on a time axis, weaving false dreams with light.No one takes dreams so seriously. Only human beings manipulated by emotions regard every mark left by time on the soul as a treasure.

Humans are creatures of memory, Draco thought, and as he stood by the street tree blowing the wind, there was a colorful noise coming from the shops behind him.Human beings cannot survive without memory, and without relying on past experience and trust, human beings will fall into self-destructive mode.

But not all memories bring joy, some only pain and torment.His memory is filled with pain in varying degrees.There is no happiness, there is only joy in bitterness.

He hardly spoke to Harry anymore because he was always surrounded by someone and he had forgotten about him.Sometimes when he thinks that the traces he left can only remain for a few hours, he will fall into endless despair. What is the point of all this?Is it just for a few hours of self-deception, is it just for the endless loneliness after that, and the other party will never know?

he is tired.He couldn't hold on anymore.He was not a strong-willed person, and his persistence has surprised himself.He wanted to let go, he really wanted to, and he should.

He never does nonsense.He has broken his own rules for far too long.

every night he does this