“You’reright.Idon’tknowwhyIthoughtIouldhelpyou,”hesays,voieshaking.Heisbzinglymad,andthereisagerouslumpinhisthroat,andhedoesnotwanttolookdiretlyatDraoforfearofwhathe’llseeonhisfae.HiseyesndinsteadonDrao’ssaggingolr,whereheanjustseethethreadysilver-whiteendofthesetumsemprasar,almostthesameolorasDrao’shair.“Butit’sridiulousyou’dthinkI’dgooutofmywaytomakeyousiker,”Harryontinues,“whenthetruthisIdon’tarewhetheryouliveordie.Youdon’tmattertome.Atall.”
HarryspinsaroundandgetsaboutthreepaesawaybeforehehearsDraohokingbehindhim.Hewavers,waitingone,two,threeseondstoseeifDraowillstop.Butthisisabadone.Hekeepsoughing,harshlyandwithhiswholebodybythesoundofit,andHarryan’tleavehimlikethat.
Hedropshisbagandturns,butthesightofDraomakeshimfreezewherehestands.Draoisnotjustoughing.Heisvomitingasteadystreamofflowers,swallowinghardandgaspingforbreatheverytimehehasahane,onlytosputterandoughoutanotherwaveofliliesasthediseasefightshim.Mostofwhatheexpelsarewholeflowerheads,therimsoftheirpetalsandthetipsoftheirinnerfimentsstreakedwithbrightredblood.Draoishunhedalmostinhalf,onehandftonhishestwherethesarHarrymadeishiddenunderhisrobesandtheotherhandluthinghisthroat,andheisstillnotstopping,he’snotbreathing,andHarryfallsatsttohiskneesandthesontoDraoasifheouldsomehowholdhimtogether.
HiseyesfallfromDrao’sopenmouthandlosedeyes—asthoughheweresreaming—tothearpetofliliesfaroundtheirknees.Somehowthat’swhatdoesit,thelilies,beforeheevengetsaroundtorememberingthelookonPansy’sfaewhenHarryhadaskedherforaname,orMGonagall’sresigned,wearyvoieashe’dfledthehospitalwing.
HarryhadatuallytoldDraohedidn’tareifhelivedordied.
Harrywillneverfivehimselfforbeingsostupid.
BythetimehekissesDrao’slips,they’returningblue.Draoistakingamuh-needed,too-shallowbreath,histhroatalreadywaroundanothersurgeofblossoms.Harrypullshimupstraightandgetshishandsonthatsharp,smoothjawline.HishandsfeeltoobigandlumsyagainstDrao’sdeliatefeatures,butDraoblinkswateryeyesathimandHarryswipeshisthumboverhislips,wipingoffthebloodasbesthean,andoversthatsofthurtingmouthwithhisown.Everythingwithinhimattunestothepeswheretheirbodiesmeet;everythingsleepingsitsupandpaysattention;heiseletrifiedfromtheinsideout.
Itstsnomorethanaseondortwo.Draofightshim.Harryloseshisheadforaninstantandtriestoholdon,resistingwhenDrao’shandspushhardagainsthishest.Harrytastesbloodandfeelsthesilkytextureoflilypetalsandhiseveryinstinttellshimtodeepenthekiss—
Andthenherealizeswhatthehellhe’sdoing,andheletsDraogo.
Draofallsfullyawayfromhim,sprawlingontheground.Theflowershavestoppedoming,butDraoisstillgasping,thistimeapparentlyfromrage.Harryreahesforhimbutdoesnottouh.
“Letme,”Harrybegs.
“Howdareyou,”Draosays,voieshakingsohardHarryanbarelymakeoutthewords.“Idon’twantyourpity.I’mnotjustanothervitimforyoutosave.”
“It’snotlikethat,”Harrysays.
Draowshiswaytohisfeet,soopsupahandfulofliliesandpresentstheminviious,morbidtriumph.
“Ithinkitis.”
“It’sbeauseyoudon’tbelieveme,”Harrysays.“Drao.Please.Ididn’tknowbefore,Ididn’tuand,butIwant—”
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