“Hey.”Heknoksandthenpushesthedoortherestofthewayopen,hesitatinginthedoorway.“Doyoustillwantto…”
Hetrailsoff,andHarrygresathim.Hishairisevenmessierthanusual.Drao,ontheotherhand,looksevenmoreputtogether.
“Shutup.”Hethrowsthebsinwhatwasprobablymeanttobeasignofwelomebutwasreallyjustangrylooking.“Getoverhere.”
Draodoesn’targue,justrossestheroomandthenrawlsintobed,andthenstartstheroutineofountingHarry’sbreathsuntilheanfallasleep.Butthatdoesn’twork,beauseHarryisangryandDraoantell,sohepunhesthepillowftandliesonhisbaktofollowtheraksuttingaparttheeilinglikeaspiderweb,hopingthatmightwork,too.
Itdoesn’t.
There’sapapersittingonthenightstand,henoties.It’sdark,butheanstillmakeouttheheadlineinglowingprintandheknowsthatHarrymusthavebeenreadingtheirartileupuntilthemomentthatheheardDraooutsidethedoor.“Isitbeauseofme?”
Hehadn’tmeanttotalkaboutit.Hedidn’twanttomakethingsbadforeitherofthem.Hedidn’twantAzkaban,didn’twantthisfinalsignthathewasnevergoingtoreahredemption.Drao’slearnedthatifHarrygivesuponyou,thenmaybeyouaren’tworthsaving.
“What?”
“Thepaper.TheytalkedaboutyouandGinnyallthetime.”DraowsatthedarkmarkandthenrealizesthatHarrymightfeelthemotion,soheswithestotwistingthesheetsbetweenhisfingersinstead.“Areyousoupsetthistimebeauseit’sme?”
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