“Iloveyou,”Ginnyissayingatthefrontofthemall,hokingbaktears,oneofthefewtimesthatDraohadeverseenherry.“Iloveyou,Iloveyou,Iloveyou,andthat,LunaLovegood,isnotsomethingthatIwasgoingtohavetheabilitytostandwiththesepeopleandsay.Wespentsolongfighting.Solongrunning.”It’slikeherwordsarereahingouttotherowd,addressingeveryone,ingeveryoneintothisirleoflovethatshehasinherheart,Harrymostofall.“Andnowit’sover.Therearesomedays—alotofdays—whereIwakeupandlookaroundanddon’tknowwhattodowithmyself,beausetherearesomanyemptypeswherethepeopleIloveshouldbestanding,somanythingsthatIandonowthathadseemedimpossibleonlyafewmonthsago—andIdon’tknowhowtohandleit.ButthenIlookatyouandIknowthatit’sokay,beauseIknowexatlywhatI’mgoingtodo.I’mgoingtoloveyou,Luna.Fortherestofmylife,I’mgoingtoloveyou.”

Draosqueezeshishandagain,andwhenHarrylooksover,therearetearsshininginhiseyes.

“Iloveyou,too.”Lunaisnotoneforspeehes,notlikeGinny,butshelooksradiantupthere,thehappinesspoffofherinwavestoitherestoftherowd.“Iloveyouwitheverythinginme.IhaveforaslongasIanremember.”

There’samomentwhereHarrythinkssheisgoingtory,butthensheshakesherhairbakfromherfaeandsmilesthatbeautiful,watery,radiantsmileandpushesthroughit.Notthatitwouldhavemattered.Lunadoeswhatshewants,whenevershewants,andifshewantstoryduringhervows,therewasnothingwrongwiththat.Weddingsaretheonepewheretearsarealwaysagoodthing.

Inhishead,heanhearDraoansweringhim.Notalways,hewouldhavesaid,ifHarryhadmentionedthethoughtoutloud,andthenhewouldhavesomestoryaboutsomefamilymemberoranotherandtheirtwistedloveaffairandHarrywouldstoplisteninghalfwaythroughjusttowathhim,toseethewayhetalksandlooksattheworldandthewaythathelooksbakathim,likeHarryisthebestthinginhisentireworld.

It’srude,todothisatawedding,butonsideringallthetimethatGinnyhadtowastelisteningtoHarrypine,hethinkshe’llbefiven.

“It’sokayifyouhavetostikwithmaybe’s.”HarryhasleanedovertowhisperrightintoDrao’sear,andotherthanaraisedeyebrowfromFleur,whoseemstohaveappointedherselftheguardianofetiquette,nooneseemstonotie.“Ifyouanneversayit.BeauseIknow.Iknowthatyouloveme,andIknowthatIloveyouwitheveryahinginhofmysoul,doyouuandDraoMalfoy?FortherestofmylifeI’mgoingtoloveyou,andthere’snothingyouandoaboutitnow.”

Draodoesn’tanswer.

Hedoesn’thaveto.

LikeHarryhadsaid—tearsataweddingarealwaysagoodthing.

Drao

Afterthewhirlwindofelebrations,DraofindshimselfsittingarossfromRon’sAuntMuriel.

Everyonehadwarnedhimabouther.Abouthowmeanshewas,howshedoesnotareaboutpeople’sfeelings,howthereisnoomment(nomatterhowunomfortable)thatshewillletgounsaid.Heronejoyinlife,atoGee,isruininganotherwisepleasantoasionbymakingpeoplesquirm.

“Soyou’rethePotter’sboyfriend?”Shewrinklesuphernose.Draoan’ttellwhatabout—himorHarryorthefatthattheyaretogether,orifshejustdidn’tlikehisologne.Somanythingsabouthimouldbeunderattakinnothingmorethanaseondandhewouldn’tevenknowwhathithim.“Iknewyourfather.”

This,atleast,wasnotsomethingthathewouldhaveseenoming.Therearen’tmanypeopleherewhowouldbringupadeatheateratawedding,espeiallywhenthatdeatheaterwasafamilymemberrottingawayinAzkaban.Butthosepeoplearen’tAuntMuriel.

“Andyourmother.AndyourAunt.Ihelpedputherawaythefirsttime.”She’stakenoverbyaoughingfitthen,onethatmakeshershouldersheaveandbendsherdowntothetable,wedfingersurlingaroundthetablelothtoeaseherthroughit.Draoisalreadyonhisfeetwithagssofwaterwhenshewaveshimaway,staringarossthetableagain,herbeadyeyessteamingfromtheeffortofathingherbreath.“TheyhadmeontheWizengamotommittee.”

Draodidn’tknowwhattosay.It’snotlikeitwasmuhofafeat,sendingBeltrixtoAzkaban.Nooneeverdoubtedthatshewasguilty.“Areyoustill?”

Wrongquestion.Heknowsitfromthewaysheholdsherself,herposturetightening.“No.”

“Whynot?”

“Igotold.Gotsik.Gotuseless.”Hervoieraisestoreahthetablearossfromthem,aheapofredheadsallintendonignherpresene.“Gotshutupinmyhousesothislotdidn’thavetodealwithme.”

Itmustbeabitterlifethatsheleads.Draowouldhavealmostthoughtthatthiswarwasablessingforher,ifonlyforthefatthatitdrovepeopleintoherhouse.Everyone,eventhemeanones,starveforalittlebitofhumanontat.It’stheonethingthatdrawsthemtogether.

“I’vehearditwasargehouse,”hesaysfairly,mostlytodrawtheattentionbakintoalmerwatersandalsobeausehefeltbadforher,justabit.

“Yes.Yes,itis.Youusedtohaveargehouse,too.”Herwandsisrestinginherfistandshefliksitupwardsoagssofhampagneliftsfromthehandsofoneofhermanynephewsandfindsitswaythere,nevermindthathernearlyfullgsswasrightinfrontofher.“Andnowyouhaveaottage.”

“Ilikeitbetterthere.”

“SoI’vebeentold.”Shetiltsherhead.“You’renotlikethem,youknow.”

He’saughtoffguard.Theentireoionwasgivinghimwhipsh.“Who?”

“Yourparents,youraunt,alltherest.Theywalkthrougharoomlikethey’rearvedfromstoneandexpeteveryonetopayhomage.Andalo

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