hosetwohadkilledthedarklordlessthensixmonthsago.“fine.”theguyspitsatharry’sfeet.he’sjustgditisn’thisfae.“buttimeit’saduel.”

harrysnorts.“lookingforwardtoit.”

theyleave,anddraomakesasoundthatharrytakesforasobbutisatuallyjustaugh.he’sinhysteris,rightthereinthisdirtyalleywithhisbrokennose,andharrydoesn’treallyknowwhattodowiththat,soherouhesonthegroundbesidehimtogetabetterlookathisfae.

helikshistongue,beausethat’swhathermionealwaysdidwhentheywerehurt,andthenusestheendofhisshirtsleevetolearawaysomeoftheblood.“it’salright,drao.”hesanarmaroundhisshoulderandthenpullshimtohisfeet.“we’llgetyousortedout.”

drao

gettingbeatupsuks.

it’shappeningmoreandmoreoften,tely,butnoneasbadasthisone.ittookharryahalfhourtopathhimup,buteventhatwasn’tasbadastheideathatharryhadseenthat,hadhadtoresuehimfromthat,likesomesortofdamselindistress.andevenworsewasthefatthatdraohadn’tevenfought.

(that,hethinks,isthebiggestdifferenebetweenhimandharry.harrywouldneverstopfighting.)

“maybeishouldbeanauror,afterall.”harry’sughisalittledryforittobefunny,butdraostillsnapshisheadupwhenhesaysit.“wasgoodatit.”

hewas.he’dbeagreatone.“don’tbeomeoneonmyaount.”