Sheshoveshisshoulder,makinghimtakeanotherstepbakfromthedoors.Behindhim,someoneobjets—ateaher,heguesses,maybeProfessorMGonagall,warningPansyaboutputtinghandsonotherstudents.RonandHermionearemakingtheirwayroundtheGryffindortable,andtheSlytherinsarewathingthemwarily.
AllHarryanthinkisthatDraoisgettingfartherandfartherawayfromhim.
“Iamsure,”hetellsher.
“Youareaboutsevenyearstooteforthat,”shesays,butBiselooksathimonsideringly.Harry’sthroatistightandthereisaweightinhishestandhisbreathingomesinraggedspurts,andwhenhelooksatBise,Bise’sfaehanges,minutely.Hetwithesasidesoasuallythere’snowayoftellingifitwasonpurpose,andHarrytakesitashisuetolungethroughthegapbetweenhimandPansy,ignheredriesashespeedsthroughthedoorsandouttheentranehallintotherispmsunshine.
Theool,dampairsootheshisthroat,whihissrathyandahingasifhe’somingdownwithaold.Hiseyesaredrawnunerringlytothedistantgates;hehalfexpetstoseeaarriagetrundlingawaydowntheroad,andhe’sready,he’llsummonhisbroomstikandgoafteritifhehasto—butthenherealizesDraoisrightthere.
Draostands,unsteadily,atthefootofthestepstotheastle,hismotherstraighteninghisolrandsmoothingbakhishair.Theybothturnatthesightofhim.AndDrao’seyesmeetHarry’s.
Thethingis—thethingis,nothinghashanged.DraolooksatHarrythewayhe’salwayslookedathim:withhisfull,undividedattention.NomatterwhatHarryhasthoughtDraodidordidn’tfeelforhimovertheyears,nomatterwhathappenedbetweenthem,hehasneveronehadtoonfrontDrao’sindifferene.
Draomightdietoday,andifhedoesnotdie,DraomightomebakandneverlookatHarrylikethisagain.Itsmsintohimallatone.ThethoughtofDrao’sgazesweepingoverHarrywithoutpausing—thethoughtthatHarrymightmeetDrao’seyesandseenothingthereatall,notevenhatred—thethoughtofDraonotlovinghimbak…isabominable,andmakesabottomlesspaintakerootinhishest.
Buttheonlywordshehasforthisfeelingare:“Don’tgo.”
NarissaMalfoy’slipsdrawbakinwhatmightatuallybeasnarl.Draopushesherhandsaway,gently,andwathesasHarrytakesthestepstwoatatimeandstaggersontothegrassafewfeetfromDrao.
“Thisagain,Potter?”heaskstiredly.
HarrywishesDraowould’veshoutedathim.Thisexasperation,solosetohtdismissiveness,isverymuhworse,andHarryan’ttakeitrightnow.
Heshouldbemakingsomegrandiosepromationofhisfeelings,he’ssure.Instead,hedoeswhathedoesbest:hepiksafight.
“You’redoingthistoyourself,”Harrytellshim.
“Exuseme?”Draosays,hisvoiegerouslylow.ThesparkofangerinhiseyesgoadsHarryon.
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