“Idon’twantittobeliketheDursleys.Nothinglikethem.Itwas—therewasnever—”Hesqueezedhiseyesshutandthoughtaboutshinyfloortilesandrystalgssesandblindinglights,expensiveouheswhoseushionsdon’tseemveryinvitingandaupboard,alwaysomingbaktotheupboard,thewaythedustwouldfallintohiseyeswhenpeoplewalkedthroughthestairsandhowsineheneverknewwhattimeitwas,heouldtrikhimselfintothinkingthatthehourswerereallydays,months,years,lifespinningoutinfrontofhimwithouthimevergettingtoliveit.“Itwaslikelivinginagsshouse.Likeifyoutalkedtooloud,youwouldbreakit.”

“Likeyouweresuffoating,”Draosaid,anditremindedHarrythattheywerebuildingthishometogether.ThatDraohadhisownthingsthathewastryingtopullawayfrom.“Liketherewasneveramomentthattheyweren’twathing.”

“ButIdon’twantthis,either.”Harrysaid,beauseeventhoughtheyhaddonetheirbesttomakeitseemlikeapetheyouldlivein,itwasjustfilledwithtoomanymemories.“Iwantsomewherethathasmorelight.”

“Light.”Draopikeduphisquillagainandstaredatthefirelikeheregrettedthrowingawayhisneer.“Ianworkwithlight.”

“Tellmewhatyouwant,”Draosayster,whisperingthewordsrightintohisearlikeit’ssomesortofseret,andHarryanbarelypayattentionbeauseofthewaythathishandsweremoving,searhinghimoutunderhtheovers.“TellmewhatyouwantandIangiveityou.”

Ahairwiththestuffingomingoutoftheushions.Hermione’safghansstakedupinabasketwekeepintheorner.Abigfrontporhwithrokinghairs,agardenofftothesidethatwon’tgrowinrowsnomatterhowhardwetrytomakeit.Mismatheddishesinthesinkandakithentablesorhedfromyouronstantlyoverflowingpotionsandfreshbakedbreadintheovens,theradioalwaysturnedonlowsoweanewhenthemoodstrikesusandabigpiturewindowinourbedroom.Andmaybeadog,too,anolddogwithabumlegthatwegetfromamuggleshelter,theonethathadbeentheresolongthatithadgivenuphopethatanyonewasgoingtolovehim,weanbetheonestoresuehim,an’twe?It’dbeagoodlife,that.

“Nothing,”iswhathesays,beauseallthatwouldtaketoolongandwouldkillthemoodandmaybeHarrystilldoesn’tthinkit’sgoingtohappen,anyways.“Justyou.”

He’sstartedwalkingthroughthehouseagain.

See,thethingaboutmovingonthatHarrydidn’tknowisthatit’ssortofjustanotherwordforgoodbye,whereyouhavetoloosenyourgriponallthosememoriesthatyou’reafraidoffettinginordertokeepfaingthefuture,inordertokeepputtingonefootinfrontoftheother.Anditshouldbeeasy,intheory,butthatwasbeforeyoutakeintoaountallthethingsthathadhappenedinthismiserableoldbuilding—howitwastheonlysafespotfortheminthewar,thepartywhenRonandHermionewereprefets,GeeandFredtogether,whereRemusandTonksfellinlove,whereSiriuswas.

Sometimes,ifHarryisnotareful,heantrikhimselfintothinkingthathewillturnaornerandseethemwathinghim,waitingtoseeifhehadliveduptotheherothattheyhadtakenhimtobe.Sometimes,hewantstoripthishousedownwallbywallandbrikbybrikinthehopesthatoneofthemwillgettogofree.Sometimes,hethinksofstandinginthedoorwayandsreamingthatheissorry,justinasethereisanyhanethattheywouldbeabletohear.

Heisnotsureifhe’sreadytoleavethemallbehind.

“Youdon’thavetogetridofit.”

HarryjumpsatthesoundofDrao’svoie.He’dbeenaughtinthemiddleofstaringatthepewheretheportraitofSirius’motherusedtohang.

“Andwhywouldn’tIgetridofit?”

“Beauseyou’reoneofthelukypeoplewhoanaffordtobuyahousewithoutsellingtheoldone.”Draotiltedhishead,lookingattheemptyspae,maybethinkingofhowheshouldredotheapersoyouannoteventellwherethepiturehadbeen.“Toomanymemoriesheretojustwalkaway.”

“Idon’twantit.”

TheideaofkeepingitwasmetwitharevulsionsostrongthatifHarryhadhadanydoubtsaboutmovingoutbefore,hewouldn’thaveanynow.

“Thendonateittothehistorialsoiety,letitbeturnedintoamuseumformerlin’ssakes.”DraoluthedHarry’sfingersinhisown,likethatwouldmakehimlisten.“AllI’msayingisthatyoudon’towethispe,oranythinginit,anymoreofyou.Youdon’thavetofigureoutanythingnow,andyoudon’thavetodoitalone,remember?I’mhere,forgood.”Hewashere.Here,anddespiteeverything,notrunningaway.Harrykeepsexpetinghimto.“Don’tletthiswartakeanotherpieeofyou.”

Harrywishesitwerethateasy.

Chapter34

Harry

Draogetspardoned.

Harry’snotsurewhyitomesasashok,really,espeiallyonsideringhowheandHermioneandGeehavebeenshowingupattheministryoneaweeklobbyingforahangeinhisriminalstatus,butnowthattheproofofthehangeisstaringupathiminbkandwhite,Harryan’thelpbutfeellikethegroundhadfallenoutfromunderhhim.

“It’sover,”Draosays,andhe’sgottearsinhiseyes,andHarrypullshimselfoutofhisownheadlongenoughtonotiethetearsinhisboyfriend’seyesandthewaythathishandsaretrembling,justalittle,themosttheyhaveindays,andrealizeshowgreatthismustbeforhim,tonotbeamarkedmanforthefirsttimeinfiveyears.There’sadifferenebetweentellingyourselfthatyouareieverynightbeforeyougotosleepandhavingthegoverproimittothewholeworld,astheDailyProphetwouldsurelysayintomorrow’spaper.“It’sallover.”

Overisreallyafunnywordforit.There’sb

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