Mostlybeauseitomesquikerthanheexpeteditto.Hermionehadtoldhimnottothinkofitasanending,butHarryhadahardtimefindinganotherwordforit,whenboxingupthepieesofhishousefeltlikeboxinguppieesofhimself,too,oldbaggagethatheshouldhaveshovedintostealongtimeagofinallybeingletgoofandalltheoldghostsofthewarfinallyfindingsomethingthatfeelslikepeae,settlingdownintohisskinwherehean’tevenfeelthemanymore.
Somethingsanend,hethinks,lookingupattheneweilingoverhisheadandreahingouttowhereheanfeelDraotohim.Thatdoesn’tmeanthateverythinghasto.
“Youreallyneedtogotosleep.”Drao’svoieisnothingmorethanamurmur,thewordsslurredfromthewaythatheisburiedintothepillow.Theyhavebeenlyingherefortwohoursnow,butHarryannotgettosleep,notwheneverynerveinhisbodyisawakeandready,notabletosettleinthisnewpe.Therearesomanyornerstohekforraks,somanyshadowsthatouldshapeintomonstersatanymoment.AndaslongasHarryannotsleep,Draoannotsleep,sousedtohavinghiseasybreathingtosetthepaeforthenight.“Theweddingisinlikefourhours.”
Thewedding.He’dalmostfotten.Lunahadthoughtitwassortofsymboliforthefourofthem,thatthesenewhaptersoftheirliveswouldbothbestartingatthesametime,butHarryjustthoughtitwassortofaggravating.BothheandDraowereheavilyinvolvedintheweddingpnning,andalmostsolelyresponsibleforthepaking(thoughwhenHermioneisstressedfromwork,shesometimesomesoverwithabelmakerandpretendsit’sbeauseshedoesnottrusttheirabilities,butthatexuseworksbetterwithHarryandRonthanHarryandDrao),whihmeantthatthestfewweekshadbeennothinglessthanheti.Itseemslikehehadn’tevenbeabletofindtimetobreathe.
“Youmeanwean’tjustsleepthroughtheeremony?”Harryrubbedathiseyesuntilitstung,wifitmightjustbemoreprudenttostayupthroughthenightanddrainagallonofoffeeinthem.“It’swhatIwaspnningtodo.”
“Probablynot,seeingaswe’resittinginthefrontrow.”
Harrysnorted.“Lunawouldn’tmind.”
“ButGinnywouldkillyou.”
Harrybarksoutaugh,andthenquietsagain,tryingtoforehimselftosleep.Italmostworks,butthenDraoistalkingagain,hishandsearhingoutforHarry’ssoheansqueezeittight.“Youneedtoknowsomething.”Hisvoieisalittlebitbreathless,alittlebitstrangled,andalittlebitsared.“Iprobablyloveyou.”
Hehadn’tsaidityet,eventhoughHarryhad.Hadn’tsaidit,eventhoughtheybothknewthetruth.Hadn’tsaiditbeause,astheboggartproved,hewasstillterrifiedoftrustingwhatheknowstobetrue.Harryhadn’tmindedthewait.Butthis?Thiswassomuhbetter.
“Okay.”
“Imean,I’mprettysureIdo.IthinkIdo.”There’sasmileinhisvoie,andnowDraoisnotafraidanymore,apparentlyomfortedatHarry’sontinuedpresenebesidehimandthefatthathewasn’ttryingtomakeanygrandderationsofhisown.“Hardtotell.”
“Howertainareyou,then?”Wedothingsabitbakward,iswhatHarryisthinking,buthe’snotreallybotheredbyit,notwhenheanrollovertohoverontopofDrao,smilingdownathim.“Like,agoodbit,oronlyasmallbit?”
“Agoodbit.”Draopretendedtothink.“Atleasty-fiveperent.”
“y-five?”Harrybitbakaughagain.“IthoughtI’dbeworthy-seven,atleast.”