“Oh,hehasn’tdonethatsinehewastwelve.”Ginnybreaksin,snappingimpatientlyatthetwoofthem,andHarrystartsughingthewayhedoeswhenRonmakesateasingommentathim.“Andthatwasonlyonegrateextra.Justgoalready,youtwo,Ian’tdistratthepressforever.”

Harryarhesaneyebrow,andrefusingwouldnotjustbesilly,itwouldalsofeellikeDraowasadmittingdefeat.Everythingbetweenthetwoofthemwasstillaonstantompetition,andhewasdeterminedtowinatsomething.

Hetookhishand.

Harry

Whentheideafirstametohim,hedidn’treallythinkitthroughatall.Hehadjustseensomeonewhoneededhelp,andthoughtofhisbigemptyhousestuffedfullwithSirius’shadow,andthoughtthatanextrapersonwouldhelpfillitupwithsomethingliving.Sohehadstood,andthenitwasallhappening,theageoldsayingthatitonlytakesfiveseondsofetohangeyourlife.

AndnowDraoMalfoywasstandinginhislivingroom.

Thestupidthingwas,thatasthetwoofthemlookaroundathishouse,Harryisatuallyembarrassed.It’sstillthesamefurniture,soit’sdarkandgloomy,andHarryisn’talwaysthebestathousekeeping.HeknowsthatitsnothinglikewhatDraohadgottentogohometoeverynight.

“Well,thisishome.”Harrybreakstheiefirst,beausehe’saGryffindorandbraveryiskindofhisthing.“Mybedroomisonthefirstfloor,butIanshowyouaoupleandyoupikwhere’sbest?Kreaherantakeyouaround.”

“Youdon’thavetodothis.”ItwasreallythefirstthingthatDraohadsaidtohim,besidesthejibehemadeinfrontofthefloogate,wherethesmilesplithisfaeapartandHarryouldseetheoldMalfoyunderh.“Whyareyoudoingthis?”

“Idon’tknow.”

“Ideservedit.”Drao’shandswereshaking.Harryknewthefeeling,hadbeendealingwithRon’sboutsofunexpinedangersinethewarended,allthepainandterrorandgriefburstingoutofalloftheminunexpinableways.Harrygoesonwalksinthemiddleofthenight.Hermioneleansandwritespetitions,dependingonthemood.“Imademypeaewiththat,okay,andIwasready,Iwasreadyforit,tohavesomepeaeforone,andthenyouamealonganddidthis,soIwanttoknowwhy.”

ThiswasmoreliketheDraothatHarryknew,theonewhothoughthedeservedthingsandmadehisowndemands.“BeauseIdidn’tthinkyoudeservedit.”HarrywouldneverthinkthatMalfoydeservedaoldellinAzkaban,notafterallthebloodthatseemedtobeoatinghisownhands.“AndIdon’tthinkyoushouldletyourselflokedupjustbeauseyou’vedeidedthatyoufeelguilty,alright?”

Hewastired,allofasudden,theboneahingexhaustionthatomesuponhimsometimes.“Justpikaroom,okay?I’llseeyouinthem.”

Harrywalksaway,upthereakingstairsandtohisroom,andhehopesthatDraoreally,reallydoesn’tdeidetomurderhiminhissleep.

It’dbejusthisluk.

Chapter2

Drao

Thatfirstnight,hedidn’tsleepatall,justyunderthestiffsheetsandountedtheraksrossingtheeiling,listeningtothereakingofthehouseandtryingtoonvinehimselfthattherewerenomonsterssleepingintheloset.Hehadn’tslepteasyinages,notsinehewasinHogwartswiththesoundofotherpeople’sbreathingbesidehim,andinthisnew,strangepehewassharingwithaboy(man,really,they’readultsnow)thatshouldbyallrightshatehim.

Hedoesn’thatehim,though.

Draothinksitwouldbeeasiertodealwith,iftheyouldfallbakintotheirpatternofmutualdislike.Thatwouldhavebeensolidground,afamiliarpatterntofallbakintoanddrawstrengthfrom.HedoesnotknowhowtodealwiththisHarry,theHarrywhoshowshimhowtoworktheshowerfauet(beausethey’retrikyinnewpes,trustme,Iknow)andasksiftherewasapartiurbrandofejuiehewouldprefer,whoofferstolearoutaspaeonthebookshelfforanythingthatDraomightwanttoreadbeauseherememberedfromshoolthatDraolikedbooksandmostofthemareonesthatHermionebroughtovertolearspaeinherft,anyways.

He’shearingalotoftidbitsaboutHarry’sshoolfriends,abouttheWeaselandWeaselette(whoHarryisnotdating,butLunafromthebasementertainlyis),aboutDeanandSeamusandNeville,aboutGeeandOliverWood’sperformaneinthestQuiddithgame.Draowishesthatheouldreturnthefavor,buthedoesn’ttalktoanyofhisoldshoolfriendsanymore.

HedoubtsHarrywouldwanttohearaboutitanyways.

Thesileneinthishouseisstifling,Draothinks,muhlikehedoeseverym,wherehefinallygivesuponhissrapsofshatteredsleepandgetstohisfeet.Thehouseistoodarkandsullentoreallybeahome,eventhoughHarryhastried.Thereareafhganswithrookedstithesthrownoverthearmsoftheouh(Granger’swork)andustomizedmugspilingupontheounter,hippedhinastakedintheupboardsandphotosstukhaphazardlytothewalls.Harryisn’tmuhforthedomestisortofthings,havingitjustbehiminhere,soonthenightswhereDraogivesuponsleepentirely,heoftenfindshimselfputteringaroundthekithenandputtingthingsinorder.

Kreaherhadtriedtoshoohimoutthefirsttime,buthe’snotasapableasheonewas,andafterthethirdtimeDraoignoredhim,theoldhouseelflefthiminpeae.Nowhespendsthetimebetweenteatnightandearlymwithhisarmssoakinginsudsashewashesdishesthemuggleway,moppingthefloor,dustingthepitureframes.Thesentofpineandlemononstantlystaininghishands,butthesharpsentdoesn’tbotherhim,justseemstobringhimmoreintohimself.Andwhenthesunfinallystartstopeakinthroughthewindow,hestartstoookbreakfast,whate

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