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Summary
Something about Malfoy had changed over the summer—and Harry was going to find out exactly what it was.
Even if it killed him.
“You don’t even like him!" Nott shouted. “You hate him, you’ve always have! Yet here you are—forcing yourself into a situation that doesn’t concern you.” He tightened his fist against his legs, looking as if he wanted to drill one into Harry’s face. “What the fuck do you even want from him?”
Harry backpedaled, staring at him. At a loss for what to say.
Nott had hit the nail on the head, really. Harry still hadn’t any idea why he was doing what he was. And if he didn’t understand it, then it must seem absolutely insane to anyone else who looked in from the outside.