athe’sthere.

he’ssobbing,headburiedinhisp,andwholebodytremblinginhiswheelhair.

harrylooksatthatsmallframe—thosesharpelbowsdiggingintohiskneesandhisthinwristshidinglittleofthestreamoftearsonhisfaerumpledindespairandagony.thelineofhisbakhunhedoveronthewheelhair,withhisshoulderbdesjuttingsosharplyout,harry’salmostsaredthatit’lltearhisskin.

itlookshideous,andhehastolosehiseyesandlookawayfromthesene,fromtheimageofdraomalfoyfallingintopiees.

hedoesn’tknowwhattodo,doesn’tknowifmalfoyremembershe’sthere,doesn’tthinkthatmalfoywillwelomeahug.notfromhim.

soheleavestheroom,asquietlyashean,andstumbleshiswaytowherenarissasaidthemasterroomwas.

hedoesn’treallyknowhowhegetsthere,hisvision’sblurredandharrybetedlyrealizesthatthey’retears.there’ssomethingreallypainfulinhishest,likesomethingmpingonhisheart,andallheanthinkofisoh,god,i’msosorry,malfoy.

heregistersthestunnedsurpriseherfaeonesheseeshim,buthedoesn’tknowwhathesaystoher,onlyremembersmalfoy’snameslippingthroughhislips,andnarissa’soff,hurriedfootsteps,andthen,downthehall,aturnoftheknobandthereakofthedooropeningandthelikasitloses.

andharryrumplestothefloor,gasping,andfinallyletshimselfry.

hedoesn’tuandit.doesn’tuandwhyitaffetedhimsomuh.

hethinkshe’sryingbeausehedidn’texpetit…likethis.heexpetedsomethingtohappen,peopledon’tgetoutofazkabanintherightstateofmind,oratall,buthedidn’t…hedoesn’tevenknowwhathethoughtanymore.