“Thankyou.”Harry’seyesareear,searhingDrao’sfaeforsomething.“IwantedyoutoknowhowmuhImeanthat.”

“It’snoproblem.”Draoistryingtobenonhant.Hedoesnotknowwhy.Maybeit’sadefensemehanism.“Youmeanalottome.”

Stupid.

It’sastupidthingtosay,butHarry’svoiegetsevensofter,ifthatwaspossible.“Youmeanalottome,too.”

“Iwouldhopeso.”Behthetable,Draodigshisnailsintohisthigh,triestopushthroughtheahethathadsuddenlysprungintohishest.“Idon’tlimbintobathtubswithjustanyman,youknow.”

Itwas,admittedly,averyunsubtlewayoffeelingoutwheretheystandfromstnight,butitworks.Thetension(andthelookinHarry’seyes,whateveritmeant)disappears,andsuddenlyHarryisughingharderthanDraohadeverheardhim,andDraoan’thelpit,hestartsughing,too.“Thatwassobloodyweird.”Harryagrees,finally,andthemomentshouldbeoverbutheisstillstaringatDraowiththatfondexpressionandhestillhashishandonDrao’sarm.“Drunkpeople,huh?”

Draosmiles,relieved,andthenpullshishandaway,tryinghardtohaseoffthefeelingthathewasmissingsomething.“Drunkpeople.”

Harry

He’sgoneforallofthreeminutes.

It’sallHarry’sfault,really.Helefthissarfatthetable,andwhenDraotoldhimtogobakandgetit,thathe’dbefinewaitingoutsideinthealley,hebelievedhim.Andthenwhenheamebakout,Draowasgone,buttherewastheunmistakablesoundofafightomingfromaroundtheorner.

There’sthreeofthem,andthenthere’sDrao.It’snotevenafight,really,justabeatdown,withtwooftheboysholdinghiminpeandtheotherjustwailingonhim,sendingpunhafterpunh.There’sbloodstreamingfromDrao’snose,andautabovehiseyes,andmoredribblingfromlip.Hisoatisgoneandshirtsleeveisripped,andwhentheyfinallygivehimabreak,Draooughsandspluttersthroughthepainuntilheanbreatheagain.

“What’sthematter?”Theoneasks,grabbingDraobythehairandwrenhinghisheadup,fhimtolookathim.Draospitsinhisfae,andtheguybakhandshim,makinghimfalltotheground.“Nodaddyheretosaveyounow.Where’syourdaddy,huhDrao?Telluswherehewent.”

Harrydoesn’tknowifDraowasgoingtokeepfighting,orifhewasreallygoingtogivein,stayontheground.Hedoesn’tfindout,justrunsdownthealleywayuntilhegetstothem,wandheldoutandreadytofight.

“Getawayfromhim.”Hisvoieissteady,butmorefrantithanHarryhadeverheardit.Hewasn’teventhispanikedfaingdownVoldemort.(TomRiddle.)(Damnit.)(Hewasjustaman,treathimlikeone.)“You’vegotthreeseonds.”

“Ohyeah?”Theonewhowasdoingthepunhingturnedaroundtofaehim,obviouslyexpetingsomeonewhowasmoreeasilysared.“Andwho’sgoingtomakeus?”

There’snotmanyoasionsinwhihHarryisgratefulthatheiswhoheis.Thistime,though,heilluminateshiswandsotheyouldseehisfae,andsmileswhentheireyesdartuptoseehissar.“HarrybloodyPotter,that’swho,”Hesays,andstepsforwardtogiveDraoahandup,wishinghehadomeupwithsomethingbetter.“Andyou’remessingwithmyfriend.”

“Yourfriend’sadeatheater?”Harryreognizedthevoie.ItwassomeonefromHogwarts,someoneheprobablyatelunhwith,pyedagameofpikupQuiddithwith.That’stheworstthingaboutallthishate,howitdividesthem.“Thoughtbetterofyou,Potter.Thoughtyoufoughtagainstpeoplelikehim.”

“You’rewrong.”Hesays,notknowingwhatheissaying,justthatDraoisbleedingandhurtandsaredandHarrydidnotstopit.“Ifoughtformyfriends.ForthepeopleIloved.Andnowhe’soneofthem.Soyoushouldgetgoing.”

Itworks,finally.Twoonthreeareoddstheyarenotwillingtofae,espeiallyifoneofthosetwohadkilledthedarklordlessthensixmonthsago.“Fine.”TheguyspitsatHarry’sfeet.He’sjustgditisn’thisfae.“Buttimeit’saduel.”

Harrysnorts.“Lookingforwardtoit.”

Theyleave,andDraomakesasoundthatHarrytakesforasobbutisatuallyjustaugh.He’sinhysteris,rightthereinthisdirtyalleywithhisbrokennose,andHarrydoesn’treallyknowwhattodowiththat,soherouhesonthegroundbesidehimtogetabetterlookathisfae.

Helikshistongue,beausethat’swhatHermionealwaysdidwhentheywerehurt,andthenusestheendofhisshirtsleevetolearawaysomeoftheblood.“It’salright,Drao.”Hesanarmaroundhisshoulderandthenpullshimtohisfeet.“We’llgetyousortedout.”

Drao

Gettingbeatupsuks.

It’shappeningmoreandmoreoften,tely,butnoneasbadasthisone.IttookHarryahalfhourtopathhimup,buteventhatwasn’tasbadastheideathatHarryhadseenthat,hadhadtoresuehimfromthat,likesomesortofdamselindistress.AndevenworsewasthefatthatDraohadn’tevenfought.

(That,hethinks,isthebiggestdifferenebetweenhimandHarry.Harrywouldneverstopfighting.)

“MaybeIshouldbeanauror,afterall.”Harry’sughisalittledryforittobefunny,butDraostillsnapshisheadupwhenhesaysit.“Wasgoodatit.”

Hewas.He’dbeagreatone.“Don’tbeomeoneonmyaount.”

He’sonlyhalfjoking,butHarryisn’twhenhereahesoutandupsDrao’sfaeinhishand,histhumpbrushingoverwhereDrao’sliphadsplit.“Who’sgoingtolookoutforyouifIdon’t?”

Somewhereinthebakofhismind,Draoknowsthathedoesn’tmeanhim,speifially.Hemeansanyonewhoeverhadbeendisriminatedagainst,whohadfeltwhatitwasliketobedraggedtotheendofadarkalleyandnotknowifyouareomingoutagain.Theommonpeople.Still,itmakeshimang

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