“Tobefair,”Draosaid,tryingtosoundnormaleventhoughthiswasthelosesttheyhadbeentoeahothersinethatnightatthehospital,“Iwasativelytryingtokillyou.”
“Yeah,well.”Harryhadmovedontootherpes,othersars,otherstorieswithunhappierendings,histouhsohesitantthatitwasbarelymorethanabrushingofhisskinagainstDrao’s.“Youweren’tverygoodatit.”
“No.”Draosaid,andtogethertheyseemtoometotheuandingthattheyhavehadenoughofthepastandtodealwiththefutureinstead,ormaybeithadonlyourredtoHarryatthatmomentwhatapreariouspositiontheyarein,butwhateveritwas,Harryapparatesthemboththetenfeettotheouh,athingDraobeforeheouldstumbleandmeetinghimhalfway,movingdownjustasDraowasreahingupforhim.
It’sonlyafter,whenthingshavealmeddownbetweenthem,thatDraofinallylooksdownathimself,attheskinandtheruinpainteduponit,allthewaysthatthislifehadleftitsmarkonhim.“There’ssomany.”Hetwistedtolookatthepartofhisbakthatwasrefletedinthemirror,fHarrytomovewithhim.“Ididn’trealizethereweresomany.”
“IwishIouldtakethemaway,”Harrysays,hishandsstillmoving,likeheistryingtomapoutanimageofeverymarkinhishead.
“Theydolookterrible.”Notterribleasinugly,exatly,butterribleasintheyarespeakingofapainthatDraowouldratherfet,ofapastthatheannotpossiblyhopetowipeawaywhenitiswrittenarosshisskin.
“That’snotwhatImeant.”
Draopulledthebbakovertopbothofthem,vanishinghimselfandhissarsfromview.“Iknow.”
Chapter33
Harry
He’sgotathingformakingdramatipromations.
Harry’sreallyonlyawareofitbeauseHermionehadpointeditouttohim,one,bakintheirsixthyear.Shehadn’tmeantittobeoneofthosetimeswhereshesayssomethingveryintrospetiveandreal,butithadbeen,beausesuddenlyHarrywasfindinghimselflookingbakonallt
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