Hefeelshimwathinginthedarkness,andpartofhimwantstoreahupandtouhhisfae,toslidehishanduphisarmandtraetheveinsthatstandoutagainsttheskin.Topullhimdowntohim,traealongtheedgesofthedarkmark,tellDraothatheloveshimandnothaveitberefutedonthesolebasisofwhattheyusedtobetoeahother.

“Ineversleep,”Draosays,butthereisnolongeranyfrantibreathing,andintheend,hedoesybakdownbesidehim,evenifHarryissurethatherofthemgetmuhsleep.

Thenight,Draomakeshimselfasleepingdraught.

Harrytriesnottothinkthatit’sanythingtodowithhim.

They’restillnotsleeping,eitherofthem.

Harrykeepsgoingaroundthehouse,eventhoughitwasahabitthathethoughthehadbeenabletostopagesago.Hepeeksbehindurtains,moveshairsaroundtheroomtoseeifanythingishidingbehindthem.Hepullsondoorknobsandrummagesthroughupboards,shovesthelothestoeithersideofthelosetsoheanseeallthewaytothebak.HarrymanagestostopshortofpokinghiswaythroughDrao’sroom,oinghimselfwithpressinghiseartotheheavyoakdoorandseeingifheanhearanything.

(Hedoesn’taskKreahertohekuponhim,nomatterwhatDraomighthavesuggestedthem.)

HeknowsDraoisn’tsleepingeither.Thingskeepshowingupleanerthanever,andHarrystumblesdowntothekitheninthemtofindafullbreakfastwaitingforhim,evenifthereisnoDraoinsight.Hishandsarealwaysrawandhapped,too,evenwhenHermionestartedleavingsomeofherlotionforhimtotry.

“Thisisn’tw.”Harrytellshimonenight,whenthetwoofthemfindthemselvesinthekithenatthesametime.Harryhadbeentriplehekingtheloksonthefrontdoor,andDraowassrubbingthefloorsbyhand.Heouldn’ttellwhihoneofthemwasmoreembarrassedtobeaught.“Notforeitherofus.”

“That’swhatsleepingdraughtsarefor.”Draowastalkingfromhispeontheground,thenrealizedhowitmusthavelooked,sohegotup,kneesgroaningandsoapsudsdrippingoffhishands.“That’sallIwaswaitingfor.”

Right,Harrythinks,lookingatthebuketandtheolletionofspongesontheounter.Likeyouweren’tgoingtobottleituptousetomorrowandjustkeepgoing,fromthefloortothewindowstothekithensink,andthentothebathroom,allofwhihispratiallyspotlessbeauseIknowforafatthatyouleanedthewholedownstairsthenightbefore.

“Whatever.”Harry’sannoyed,suddenly,beauseifitwasn’tforDraoandhisstubbornideathatheoulddoeverythingonhisown,Harrywouldn’thavetodothis.Instead,heouldjustwakeupandturnhisheadtothesideandreassurehimselfthatDraowasstillthere,stillalright,stillbreathing,howherofthemwereabouttobemurderedbydeatheaters.Heouldjusthektheroom,then,notthewholehouse,andwhenDraostartedwithhisompulsiveleaning,Harrywouldbeabletobringhimbaktobed.Itwouldworkoutbetterforbothofthem.

“Harry.”Harrydoesn’tturnaround,andthenthereisahandonhisarm,solightheouldignoreitbutsopleadingthathedoesn’t.“Wait.”

Harrydoeswait.Andheturnsaround,findinghimfaetofaewithasteaminggobletfullofDrao’spotion.

Partofhim,thenastypart,wantstosayno.ThatifDraodoesn’twanthishelp,Harrywon’tbetakinganythingfromhim.Buthean’tquitebringhimselftodoit.

Hetakesthegoblet,foreshimselftotryandshowabitofgratitude.“Thanks.”

Draoisn’tfooled,butthatdoesn’tstophimfromtappingtherimofhisownupagainstHarry’s,quirkinganeyebrowtogether.“Cheers.”

Theydrinkittogether,butwhenHarrygoesbaktobed,Draostays.

There’ssreamingagain,butthistime,Harrystaysinbed.

Heountstheraksintheeiling,disoversthatthere’sfifty-sevenofthem,andthenountsthemagain.Andagain.Hekeepstryingtotellhimselfeverythingisfine,thatnooneisattakinganyone,thatthereisnothinghidinginhislosetorunderthebed,thatifanything,heneedstoallHermionelikeshehadtoldhimto,anythingtostopthisbeforeitstarts,beauseDraoisfine,youarefine,stopbeinganidiot.

Onlyeverythingmustnothavebeenfine,beausethedoorreaksopenaseondter.HarryalmosthexesthepersonstandinginthedoorwaybeforethebrainathesupwithhispaniandherealizesthatitwasDraohewasabouttosendtoSt.Mungo’s.

“Drao?”Hesitsupandblinksagainsttheblurryimageinfrontofhim,gropinginthedarknessforhisgsses.“What’swrong?”

“Don’tsayanything.”EventhoughHarryhadhearditeveryday,hestillwasn’tusedtothispleadingtoneinDrao’svoie,howheasksinsteadofdemands,andasksitinawaythatmadeitlearhewasexpetingtobeturnedawayeahtime.“Pleasedon’tsayanything.”

“Okay.”Harrydidn’tuandwhathewassupposedtodo.Hedidn’tknowhowtohelpanyone,anymore.“Whatdoyouwant?”

“bsp;Ijuststayhere?”Helookedsosmall,hunhedinonhimselfwhenheshouldbefillinguptheroom.“Justfortonight.”

“Yeah.”Harrysramblesforthempandthenwinesatthesuddenlight,tryingtolearaspaebesidehim.Itwasaninrediblysmallbed.“Anything.”

Anything.Itwassuhasmallword,butitmeantsomuh.Draodidn’tseemtohavetimeforseondthoughtstonight,justwalkedtotheedgeofthebed,hesitatingbeforegoinganyfurther.

“It’salrightDrao.”HarryreahesupandpullsDrao’shandaway,theonehehadbeenusingtowathisarm.“It’sgoingtobeokay.”

“Itwon’t,”Draosays,shouldersshuddering,buthestillgetsintothebed,fallingintoitmorethanlimbing,likeithadtakenallhisstr

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