“still.”they’retimeintheubilewaswindingdown,whentheywouldbeforedtohandintheirreportswithoutanythingtoshowforit.itwastimeslikethesewhereharrymisseshermihemost,whenhehastodohomeworkonhisown.“istillthinkyou’velostyourmind.war’sfinallymadeyourak,mate.”

it’sajoke,butitisn’twrong.he’daughtdraoathistenightobsessions,butthat’sonlybeauseharryhashisownroutine,wherehewandersthroughthehousewithhiswandstrethedoutinfrontofhim,pokingintoeahroomandorner,hekingtheloksoneverdoorandwindow.withdraothere,hesleepsalittleeasier,andtheweightonhishestwhenhe’saughtoffguardbysomethingthatremindshimofthewarisalittleless.hethinksitisimprovement,eveniftheybarelyseemtobeabletotalktoeahother,andeveniftheywereoneonsideredtobemortalenemiestoeahother.

(itisamarkofgrowingup,hethinks,thatthetwoofthemanlookbakandseehowpurewhattheyhadreallywas,anseethesimpliitythatamefromthatonedimensionalhatred,wheretherewerenoonsequenestotheations.ifthingswerebetter,theywouldhavegrownupandgottenoveritintheirowntime,beenabletofeabondoffriendship,butvoldemortwashedthehothataway.)

(tom.tomriddle.that’swhathekeepstryingtoallhiminhishead,toremindhimthathewasonlyaman,afterallofit.it’snotathingon.)

“ireallydon’tmindhim.it’skindofnie,atually.”hewouldnotbetellingronaboutthosembreakfasts,orthenightsspentaroundthetelevision,orhowdraomanagestomaketheteajusthowharrylikesit.hedoesnottellhimhowitisonlyaweekbutthatdraoalreadyhasbeomeapermafixtureinhislife,somethingthatisnotexatlygoodbutalsonotbad,either,andhethinkshemightbesadiftheourtwouldsuddenlywaveawayhisprobationandturndraoloose.

“tellingyou,mate.”ronhashis

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