“Hedidittohimself.”Shesaid,andthenthetearsameforreal,atorrentofthem.“HedidsomedamageRon.”

Harrydoesn’trememberlisteningtoher.AllheremembersisthatonemomenthispitureofSeamusinludedtheSeamusheknewfromshool,thehappyonethatwasinlovewithDean,andnowtherewasthisotherSeamusinhishead,theonethatkissedDeangoodbyeonhiswaytoworkandthensatdowntowriteanote,wholokedhimselfinabathroom,whogotfoundbyLunathreehoursteroveredinhisownbloodandryingabouthowheouldn’tmakehimselfutdeepenough,ouldshefinishit,please.

Please,hehadapparentlysobbed,lettingherpullhimintoherarmslikehewasstillalittlekid.Pleaseletitend.

Harryfeltlikehehadbeenpunhedinthestomah,soheturnedaway,butheouldn’thidefromitforever,beauseRonwasonhisfeet,onearmedaroundhissister’sshoulders.“I’mgoinghome.”Hesaid,voiegrim,butdeterminedinthewayithadbeenbakwhentheywerepreparingtodosomethinggerous,likehewashekingthingsoffofato-dolist.“Makingherastrongupoftea.YouwanttogokeepDeanompanyinthehospitaluntilHermionegetsthere?”

No,hewantedtosay,beausehedidnotwantthat,hedidnotwanttoseeSeamuslikethis,hedidnotwanttositinunomfortablehairsandtellhisfriendmeaninglessptitudes,hedidnothavetobetheonetodealwithallofthis.

Butthat’snotwhathesays.

“Sure,”Hehearshimselfsaying,reahingforhisshirttogetdressed,inexpliablywishingDraoouldomebutrealizinginthesamemomentthathewouldn’tbewelome.ThiswasnotaboutHarry’somfort.“OfourseI’llgo.”

Drao

Harrywaste,whihmeantthatDraowaswaitingwhenheamehome,settledintotheorneroftheouhwithabookspreadarosshisp.

“I’mte.Iknow.”Harrydidn’tgiveDraotimetorespond,justyankedoffhisoatandthrewitdownonthehairwithanangerthatDraohadn’tseensinetheywereinshool.“Somethingameup.”

“Iseverything—”Hemeanttoaskifeverythingwasokay,butdoesn’t,beausethewordsaren’toutofhismouthbeforeHarryislevelinghisstareathim.

“Everything’snotokay,atually.Youwanttoknowwhy?”Draodidn’t,really.Hedidn’twanttoknowwhyHarrylookedsopale,orwhyhiseyesareredenoughtomakeDraothinkhehadbeenrying,orwhatthatstainonhisshirtsleevewas.Hedidn’twanttoknowwhyhewassoteorwhyhishandsorshakingorwhyhehadsmmedthedoorsohardwhenheamein.Hejustwantedthingstobeokay.“Seamuswentandbloodytriedtokillhimself,that’swhy,rippedhimselfapartfromwristtoelbow.”

HeseemedtobewaitingforsomesortofreationonDrao’spart,andDraofelthorriblylikehewasfailingsomesortofatest.Heputsthebookdownandthegetstohisfeet,likehemightatuallybethinkingaboutwalkingoverandgivingHarryahug,ofallthestupidideas.ButthenHarryleavestheroomentirely,andDraofollows.

Harryiskikingthehair.Repeatedly.Andthenheissittinginit,hunhedoverwithhiselbowsonhisknees,handsyankingathishair.Andthenhe’sstaringupatDraolikehemightfindsomeomfortthere,thefaeofsomeonewhohasreahedtheirbreakingpoint.“Itneverends,doesit?”Hesoundslikehehasbeendrainedofeverystdropofmotivation,likefinallyaftereverything,Seamuswillbetheonewhobreakshim.“Itjustbringsmorepain.”

“It’llstop.”Draosays,wifthisishelpful,wifheshouldleaveHarrytoworkthroughthisonhisown.“We’vejustgotalongwaytogo.”

Harrystaresathimforamomentandthenhestands,andforhalfamomentDraothinksheisleavingbeausewhathesaidwaswrong,wasuive,andhe’salreadyhalfwaytoapologizingwhenHarryre-enterstheroomwhileshruggingonhisoat.“Ineedadrink.”AndjustbeforeDraoanstartwthatithadbeenhimthatdrovehimawayfromhisownhome,Harryturnsaroundonesttime,raisinganeyebrowwithsomethingthatmighthavebeenimpatiene.“Youoming?”

Draodoesn’thesitate.

Harry

Draodoesnotreallyfitwiththepeoplehere,butsineHarryhadstarteddragginghimalongtoeverythingashisplusone,noonethoughttoargue,justorderedanotherroundofdrinksandsaiditwasonthetwoofthem.

“Youdidn’ttellmeitwasgoingtobeeverybody.”Draosaid,butdoesn’targue,justthrowshisoatoverthehairandrollshissleevesuptotheelbowinthewaythathean’tknowHarrylikes.“It’snotreallymype.”

“You’refine,”Harrytellshimbak,andheis.Truthfully,Harrydidn’tknowthateveryonewouldbehere,butmaybetheyshouldhave.Thisiswhattheyalwaysdidafterthewar,throughthereportsandthetrialsandtherebuildingandthegrief,findabaranddrinkuntiltheyan’tstandontheirown.Maybeitwasabadwayofdealingwiththings,butitwastheonlytimesheouldrememberbeinghappyinthattimerightaftertheyear,andtheydeservedahanetobeyounganddumb,justforafewmonthsoftheirlife.

It’sallofthem.RonandHermioneareataboothsharingapteoffriesthatherofthemareeating,andGinnyandLunaareslowingintheornertothesongontheradio,nevermindthereportersnappingpituresofthem.Nevillehadfoundhiswaytothebar,andGeewasrightbesideDrao,wherehehadalreadyseemedtobehalfwaydowntheroadtobeingadrunkenmess.Padmaandhersisterarethere,too,thespaebesidethemremindingthemallofLavender,whoshouldhavebeenherewiththembutstillwon’tleaveherhousebeauseofthesarring.Andthat’sjusttheonesloseenoughforHarrytosee.

“Iheard.”Geesays,beingthefirstonetobreakthesileneabo

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