chapter7

drao

“eon,”harryhadsaid.hewastuggingondrao’shand,hairstillmessyfromsleepandasmilepyingoverhisfae.“it’llbefun.”

draodidn’twantto.hedidn’twanttobeauseharrywasmakinghimgooutside,andtodiagonalleynoless,wherehewouldbereognized,wherepeoplewouldstareandmutterandsnawfulthingsbehindtheirhandsandmaybeevensendtrippingspellsathisfeet,andhewouldbewithharry,andifharrysawallthathewouldrealizewhatanawfulmistakehehadmade,whatkindofpersonhehadinvitedintohishome—butharrywassmilingdownathimandtouhinghimanddraoisquiklylosinghisabilitytosaynotothingswhenharryislookingathimlikethat,sohethrowstheboffofhim(idon’tsleepverywell,hermionesaidwhenshegaveittohim,thrustingabundleofblueintohishands,soithoughti’dmakeyouoo)andgettingtohisfeet.

“alright,”hehadsaid,eventhoughthethoughtofsteppingfootoutsidethishousemakeshisstomahurlinonitself,andharry’ssmilegetsbigger.“i’llgo,youbastard.”

therewasnobiteinhiswords,andtwohoursterhefoundhimselfwalkingthroughtheleakycauldron,listeningtoharrysayhitooldtom,whodespiteeveryonewhohadbeenlostinthepastfewyears,wasstillputteringaroundinhisbarandhurningoutpotsofwateryoffee.whentheywalkoutintothealley,draohastosquintagainstthesuddenburstofsunlight,androwdsintoharrywithoutnotiingit.

“alright?”

draoknew,withoutharryneedingtoreallysayit,thatifdraotrulywasn’talright,theywouldturnaroundandapparatehomeandnotmentionit,andharrywouldspendhisdayofflikehehadspenteveryotherdayoff.butsuddenly,draowantedtobeabletowalkthroughthisalleywayandsqueezehiswaythroughtheothershopperswithoutdrawingseondgnes,wantedtobeafreemanwhodidn’tfeellikeheneed

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