“Still.”They’retimeintheubilewaswindingdown,whentheywouldbeforedtohandintheirreportswithoutanythingtoshowforit.ItwastimeslikethesewhereHarrymissesHermionethemost,whenhehastodohomeworkonhisown.“Istillthinkyou’velostyourmind.War’sfinallymadeyourak,mate.”

It’sajoke,butitisn’twrong.He’daughtDraoathistenightobsessions,butthat’sonlybeauseHarryhashisownroutine,wherehewandersthroughthehousewithhiswandstrethedoutinfrontofhim,pokingintoeahroomandorner,hekingtheloksoneverdoorandwindow.WithDraothere,hesleepsalittleeasier,andtheweightonhishestwhenhe’saughtoffguardbysomethingthatremindshimofthewarisalittleless.Hethinksitisimprovement,eveniftheybarelyseemtobeabletotalktoeahother,andeveniftheywereoneonsideredtobemortalenemiestoeahother.

(Itisamarkofgrowingup,hethinks,thatthetwoofthemanlookbakandseehowpurewhattheyhadreallywas,anseethesimpliitythatamefromthatonedimensionalhatred,wheretherewerenoonsequenestotheations.Ifthingswerebetter,theywouldhavegrownupandgottenoveritintheirowntime,beenabletofeabondoffriendship,butVoldemortwashedthehanetothataway.)

(Tom.TomRiddle.That’swhathekeepstryingtoallhiminhishead,toremindhimthathewasonlyaman,afterallofit.It’snotathingon.)

“Ireallydon’tmindhim.It’skindofnie,atually.”HewouldnotbetellingRonaboutthosembreakfasts,orthenightsspentaroundthetelevision,orhowDraomanagestomaketheteajusthowHarrylikesit.HedoesnottellhimhowitisonlyaweekbutthatDraoalreadyhasbeomeapermafixtureinhislife,somethingthatisnotexatlygoodbutalsonotbad,either,andhethinkshemightbesadiftheourtwouldsuddenlywaveawayhisprobationandturnDraoloose.

“Tellingyou,mate.”Ronhashisopinionsonthis,everyonedoes,buthemostlykeepsthemquiet.“Bonkers.”

Drao

Friends.

That’swhathehearsHarryallhim,whenheisonthephonewithsomeonenamedDudley.Atually,heallsthemmates,asin,sorryDudley,butIan’ttalktoyouforlongtonight,mymateMalfoyhasomeover.

AndDraoknowsthatthatwasprobablyjustanexusetohanguponsomeonewhotalkstoomuh.Heknowsthatitprobablydidn’tmeananything,athrowawayommentthatHarryusedbeauseheouldn’tthinkofanythingtoreallyexpinthiswholesituation.Heknowsthis,butthenhethinksofhowtheyworkedtogethertoookdinnerstnight,andhowHarrybroughthomeanewDVDseriesalledSherlokjustbeausehethoughtDraowouldlikeit,andhowheknowsexatlyhowmuhmilktoputinhistea.Andsuddenlyitdoesn’tseemtoofar-fethedtothinkthathewasfriendswiththegreatHarryPotter.

(Hisfatherwouldbedevastated.)

(What’sitmatter?Hisfatherisrottinginajailell.)

(Shutup.)

“Whyareyoustaringatmelikethat?”Harryhungthetelephonebakonitspeonthewall.Ithadaurlywirethatkeptyoustandingrightbyit.Harrysaidthatphonesweren’talllikethat,now,butthathedeidedtogetanoldfashionedonebeausehethoughtthathewouldloseit,otherwise.“DoIhavesomethingonmyfae?”

“No,it’sjust…”Heusesthewordjustalotnow,justandmaybeandifyouwouldn’tmind.He’snotsurewhenthatstarted.“Maybeweshouldalleahotherbyourfirstnames.Sinewe’relivingtogetherandall.”

“Meallyoubyyourfirstname?AndyouallmeHarry?”Foramoment,Draothinkshehasmadeaterriblemistake,thathemisalutedallofit.ButthenHarry’sfaespitsintoasmileandheanfeeltheairbeingknokedbakintohislungs.“Sure.Whynot.Soundslikeapn,Drao.”

“Alright,Harry.”Draosmileshimself,andissurprisedtofindthatitatuallyfeelslikeitbelongsthere.

Friends.Heoulddothat.

Chapter3

Harry

Sometimes,ifheisn’tareful,hefindshimselfgoingdownthebkholethatwashismemoriesfromthewar.

Forthemostpart,Harrytriesnottothinkaboutit,butthenheturnstheornerandthegreenishlightfromthefloopowderstainingthefiregrateremindshimofthefshofthekillingurse,orheaidentlysrathesathisskinandthestingremindshimoftheprikleofhissar,whihhadn’treallypainedhimsinethemomenthegottowathVoldemortfall.

Orsometimesit’sjustafeeling,anulingsensethatsomethingwaswrong,broughtonbynothingmorethanDraomovingaouhushionorKreahernotappearingrightaway.Itsendshimdownthemetaphorialrabbithole,andtheonlywayoutistogothroughhisfamiliarroutineofheking,heking,heking,pokinghisheadintoshadowedornersandlosetsandunderthebed,wathingfromtheornerofhiseyefordeatheaterstoleapoutathim,eventhoughheandHermionehadmadesurethatnooneouldmakeitintohishousewithoutsufferingseverebodilyharm.

(Sheisnotsomerifulanymore—therearespellsthatshedoesn’tfeeltheneedtostopusing,eventhoughwithoutthewarthereisnoneedforit,likeshe’sbuildingawallaroundthepeopleshelovesbrikbybrik,ursebydeadlyurse.)

Itwasn’tabigdeal,bakwhenhewasalone.Hewouldjustifyittohimself,sayingthateveryoneameoutofthewarwithafewquirksandifthiswasallhehadtodotogetby,thenmaybeitwasn’tthatbigofadeal.ButthatwasbeforehehadtopeekbehindtheurtainswithDraowathinghim,andhektheloksthreetimesbeforeheouldomebakintothesittingroomandpretendlikenothingwaswrong.

Onlyheouldn’tpretendlikenothingwaswrong,beauseDraowaswathinghim.

“Ianmakeyouaalmingdro

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