“Butwe’renotmuggles,love,”Ronsaidgently,liketheyhadthisoionbefore.Andmaybetheyhad,justdifferentversionsofit,aboutanimalwelfareandmuggleretionsandhouseelfrights.“Wedon’thaveanyofthat.”
“Well,weshould.IbetIoulddoit.It’djusttakealittleappliedsieneandpotions.”AndthensuddenlyHermioneisturningtohimandreahingarossthetabletograbathisarm,likehehadn’talledhermudbloodandspatinherfaeandwathedashisaunttorturedherforinformationshewouldnevergive.“You’llhelpme,won’tyou?”
Later,Draowouldlookbakonthismomentandbegratefulforit.Atthemoment,hewasonlymortifiedthatshewouldeventhinktoask,horrifiedatallthefaesthathadsuddenlyswiveledtolookathim.Hedidn’tknowwhattosay.
ButthenhethoughtofHarryandhissleepingdraughts.OfGeeandtheemptyspaesontheshelves.OfSeamus’rippeduparm,ofLuna’snightmares,hisowninessantleaningofahousethatwasnothistoarefor.Hethoughtaboutallofthatwassortofhisfault,inaedsenseoftheworld,andmaybeitwastimehetrytomakeupforit.
Andhefoundhimselfsayingyes.
Harry
Theytakethenightbushome,beausetheyareafraidtoapparrate,andfindthemselvesstumblingthroughthefrontdooratthreeinthem.He’strippingoverhisowntwofeet,andhehearsDraoknokoverthatstupidumbrelstandheouldn’tbringhimselftoevenmove,andthenapairofhandswashis,helpinghimpeelofhisjaket.
“Letme.”Harryouldn’treallyseehim,butthewhisperamefromloseby.Hethoughtaboutreahingout,butthenthehandsweregoneandsowashisjaket,andheknewthatDraohadsteppedaway,leavingasfastasheame.
“Iouldhavedoneit.”
“No,yououldn’thave.”Draowassnikeringathim,butitwasdifferentfromthewayHarryexpetedittosound.Itwasn’ttauntinganymore,justfond,likeDraoouldn’tbelievehegottobefriendswithsomeonewhoatedlikethis.“You’reatuallyprettydrunk.”
Andmaybehewas.Harry’sbeentoldthatheneverknowshe’sdrunkuntilhe’sreallydrunk.
(Hermioneallsitsoialdrinking,saysit’sabadthing.Ronallsitagoodtime.)
“Good.”Isheslurring?He’snot.MaybeDrao’stheonewhoan’ttellwhenpeoplearedrunk.“Iwantedtobe.”
Silene,abeattoolong,beauseeventhoughtheywerejusthappy,Harrywentandbroughtthebadthingbaktothefrontoftheirminds.Hedidn’twanttodothat,beausethatmeantthinkingaboutDeanandSeamus,ofDeanholdingSeamus’limphand,thewayhelethisthumbtraeoverthefreklesonSeamus’knukleswithoutlooking.Hedidn’thavetolooktoknowwheretheywere.
Itmakesalumpforminhisthroatbutheswallowsitdown,blinksjustinasethereweretears.Hedoesnotry.Hewillnotryoverthis,whenSeamusisnotdead,whenSeamusisgoingtobeperfetlyfineassoonasthepotionskikin.