Thethingabouttheartileisthatit’sshowingthewholeworldapartofthemselvesthattheyhaven’tevensatdownandtalkedabout,onlyedaround,likeit’safmethat’sfuntohasebutwouldburnthemiftheygottoolose.Draodoesn’twanttobetheonetobringitup,butitseemslikeherdoesHarry,sotheyjustgoabouttheirday,andthewholetimethatartileisinthebakofDrao’smind,makinghimthinkthattheyreally,reallyshouldtalk.

Andalsothatmaybetheyshouldn’ttalk,beauseiftheystarttalkingthentheyweregoingtoometoanunavoidableonlusion:thatmaybetheWithWeeklydywasright,andthey’rejustpushingofftheiable,andthateveryonearoundthemknowswhattheyarebothsodesperatelytryingtogetawaywithnottalkingabout,beausethey’reafraidthatoneofthemwillwanttowalkaway.Butatthispoint,wheretheyewitheahotherinfrontofeveryoneandshareabedandspendmostoftheirtimewitheahother,maybeit’smorestupidthananythingelsetogoonthinkingthattheydon’thavefeelingsforeahother.

Andthenwhat,Drao?Thevoiepopsupagain,andDraotriestoquietit,hereallydoestry,hehatesthevoieandwhatitsaysandthethingsitmakeshimthinkabouthimself,andhehatesitevenmorebeausewhenhetakesastepbaktolookatthingsobjetively,it’snotlikeitswrong.It’sonlytellingthetruththateveryoneelseistoopolitetosay.Yougoonadateandeverything’sgoodforaday,oraweek,oramonth,butthenyougetinafightandherememberswhoyouare,whatyou’vedone,andtheminuteyoufindyourselfinaellinAzkabanandevenworsethanyoustarted.Youan’tfoolyourselfthatanyonewouldhavearedaboutyouifHarrydoesn’t.

Whihisthetruth,andalsowhyhean’tbethepersontotalkaboutit.Hean’tbeausehe’safraid,andbeauseeventhoughheloveshim,eventhoughhe’sfairlysureHarryloveshimbak,DraohastolivewiththefatthatheishereandfreeallbeauseofHarry,thatthisisadebthewillneverbeabletopaybak,andthatheshouldbeonhiskneesgrovelingforhisfiveness,thathehasnorighttoevenexist.Ifheweretotakeahane,itmightbefineforawhile,butafewmistakesdowntheroadandthisnieprotetionthatHarryhasgivenhimwillgoupinsmokelikeit’snoteventhere.HeisfreewithHarry’sblessing,andnothingmore,andnomatterwhatDraohadthoughtbeforeorhowmuhlessthreateningAzkabanisnowthatitksdementors,heannotgiveupfreedomnowthathehasasensetoknowwhatitmeans.

Sohereadsthepaperinstead.

AbouthowHarryandGinnybrokeup,onlytoberepedbyLunadaysterintheaftermathofthewar.AboutthesenteninghearingandhowHarrystoodup,whihstartedawholeotherartilespeutingaboutwhethertheyhadbeentogetherbeforethat,maybeevenbakattheirHogwartsdays,andsomekidshehadnevertalkedtowormedtheirwayintoaminuteoffametotellthepressthatitwasdefinitelyapossibility,whih,hello,Harryalmostkilledhimintheirsixthyear,anditwasn’tevenonaident.Thenitgoesontotalkaboutthepestheyhadbeensightedtogetherandhowstnightwastheirfirstrealpublian,andbytheendofit,Draoouldalmostbeonvinedofithimself.

Hewantstobeonvinedofit.

Hewantsittobereal,wantsitinawaythatmakeshimahe,andjustforamomentashelosesthepaper,hethinksthatAzkabanannotbeworsethanthis.

What’sthepointofpyingitsafeifyouneverlearnwhatitfeelsliketoburn,anyways?

Theystillsleeptogether.

Draohadbeenafraidtheywouldn’t,andsineitisoneofthedaysthattheysleepinHarry’sroom,itisuptoDraotodeidewhetherornothewillbebraveenoughtotry.HeknowsthatHarrywillbekindaboutit,makeanexuseaboutwantingtostayupteorhavingaheadahe,butbothofthemwillknow,andDraodidn’twanttofaethat.Hestandsoutsidehisroomforawhile,longenoughthatthetikingofhislokisstartingtodrivehiminsane,butthenheshiftshisweightandtheboardsreakunderhisfeetandheknowsthatitispointlesstokeepwaiting,sineHarryknowsheisthereanyways.

“Hey.”Heknoksandthenpushesthedoortherestofthewayopen,hesitatinginthedoorway.“Doyoustillwantto…”

Hetrailsoff,andHarrygresathim.Hishairisevenmessierthanusual.Drao,ontheotherhand,looksevenmoreputtogether.

“Shutup.”Hethrowsthebsinwhatwasprobablymeanttobeasignofwelomebutwasreallyjustangrylooking.“Getoverhere.”

Draodoesn’targue,justrossestheroomandthenrawlsintobed,andthenstartstheroutineofountingHarry’sbreathsuntilheanfallasleep.Butthatdoesn’twork,beauseHarryisangryandDraoantell,sohepunhesthepillowftandliesonhisbaktofollowtheraksuttingaparttheeilinglikeaspiderweb,hopingthatmightwork,too.

Itdoesn’t.

There’sapapersittingonthenightstand,henoties.It’sdark,butheanstillmakeouttheheadlineinglowingprintandheknowsthatHarrymusthavebeenreadingtheirartileupuntilthemomentthatheheardDraooutsidethedoor.“Isitbeauseofme?”

Hehadn’tmeanttotalkaboutit.Hedidn’twanttomakethingsbadforeitherofthem.Hedidn’twantAzkaban,didn’twantthisfinalsignthathewasnevergoingtoreahredemption.Drao’slearnedthatifHarrygivesuponyou,thenmaybeyouaren’tworthsaving.

“What?”

“Thepaper.TheytalkedaboutyouandGinnyallthetime.”DraowsatthedarkmarkandthenrealizesthatHarrymightfeelthemotion,soheswithestotwistingthesheetsbetweenhisfingersinstead.“Areyousoupsetthistimebeauseit’sme?”

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