AndDraohadexpetedittofeelliketattling,orlikegivingup,butwhenhesaysit,hefindsthathe’sjustreally,reallyrelievedtofinallybeabletoshareanythingwiththisman.
“I’vebeenreeivingletters.”
“Oh?”Potterasksuriously,takingoffhisrobesandthrowingitonhisbedwithoutpreamble,asifheliveshere.Draolikesit.
Potterpeersattheletters,butthey’reallfolded,andsoDraohandshimtheone,theveryfirstone.
ThewayPotter’sfaedarkensatthemessagewarmshimfromtheinside.It’sfukedup,buthelikesknowingthatheanaffetPotterlikethis.
Potterunfoldsanotherletter,thenanother,thenanother,untilhe’sgonethroughallofthem,andherushesthestoneinhisfistwithhislipsurledindistaste.Hethrowsitinthegarbagebin,andgresattheremaininglettersonthebed.“Howlonghasthisbeengoingon?”hedemands.
Draostartstogatherthelettersintoapile.“Aweek,maybemore?”
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”Potter’sangry,andDraowantstokisshisfrownaway.
It’shardwhenPotter’ssweetenoughtogetangryforhim.Draoloseshiseyesandtakesadeepbreathbeforehedoessomethingstupidlikeonfess.
Whenheopenshiseyes,helooksstraightatHarry’sandsays,“I’mtellingyounow.”
Andheknows,withthewayPotter’stenseshouldersslowlyrexandthefurrowinhiseyebrowsease,thatPotteruandsthetrustandhumilitythathe’sgivinginthatsingleatoftelling.
“Givethattome,”PottermuttersinsteadandsnathesthepileoflettersfromDrao’shand.Heturnsbaktohisrobesontheotherbed,andshovesthelettersinsideoneofitspoketswithagrumble.“I’mgivingthesetoProfessorMGonagall.Haveyoureadallofthem?”
“Yes.”
“Stopreadingthem.”Pottersighs,fingerspressingonhistemple.“Whydoyouevenkeeponopeningthem?”
DraosmilesslightlyatthefrustratedfigurePotter’sbakmakes.“Thoughtitmightonvineme.”
“Towhat?”
“Toleaveyoualone.”
Potterwhipshisheadbaktolookathim,stunnedandhurtathisadmission.“Whywouldyou—”
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