TakeintotheAir(MyQuietBreath)
GuardianMira
Summary：DraoisdyingofHanahakiDisease.Serveshimright,Harrythinks.
He’sbeensiksinesixthyear,iftherumormillhasitright,butonlyonethewarisoverdoesDraogettoosiktohideitanymore.
They’veallreturnedtoHogwartsasthefirst-everssofeighthyears,Harryandmostofthepeoplehegrewupwith—theoneswhosurvivedandtheoneswhoouldfaeomingbak,anyway.Hisirleisrgelyintat,andiedseamlesslywiththerestofthestudentbody.
Somehow,though,thewhispersdon’treahHarry’sears.It’snotuntilheseesDraooughthelilypetalsoutofhislungsandontohisbreakfastthatitevenourstohimthatsomethingmightbewrongwiththegit.
“Isitsomekindofaurse?”Harryasksqueasily.Draoprimlydabsawaythebloodattheornerofhislipswithahandkerhief—embroideredwithhisinitials,Harryknows—andsweepsthepetalsoffthetablebeforepikinguphisforkasifnothingatallhadhappened.
AfewothersarestaringatDrao,likeHarryis,butmostlypeopleaverttheireyeswithexpressionsrangingfrompitytodisgust.
Ronswallowshardaroundhismouthfulofeggs,lookingaboutasedasHarryfeels.“It’sbloodyhorrifying,iswhatitis.”
Harry’sfaemustbetrayhisshok,beauseRonflushes.
“What?Mymum’sousinhadthesamething,”hemumbles.“Wesawheratthehospital,andshelooked…”Heshuddersabit.“Gavemenightmaresforweeks.”
“It’snotaurse,”saysHermione.“It’sadisease.”
“Oh,”Harrysays.“Is’poseMadamPomfreywillputhimright,then.”
RonandHermionetrademeaningfullooks.Harrywaitsitout,alltooaustomedtotheirsilentexhangesbynow,untilHermioneomesoutwith:“There’snoure.”
“Noure?”hesays.“So,what,hevomitsflowersfortherestofhislife?”
“Yes,Harry,”saysHermione,astentativelyasifsheweredefusingabomb.“Buthewon’tliveverymuhlonger.HanahakiDiseaseisfatal.”
Hehearsthatword,fatal,asifatagreatdistane.IsitpossibleDraoMalfoysurvivedawaronlytodieofdisease?Itseemssofarfethed.Sopedestrian.Harryised,blindinglyso,outofnowhere.
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