,respondstothehallenge.heliftsahand,reahestowardsthetable.it’sslow,buthispalmmanagestondonthefork.hisfingersshakeandharryuands,withanotherpanginhishest,thatit’sprobablybeenawhilesinedraousedhislimbs.

hedoesn’tthinkhishelpwillbewelome,butit’sbetterthanwathingdraostrugglelikethis,andharrylooksup,butthewordsdieonhislipswhenheseesdrao’sgazeisvaantagain.he’snotmovinganymore.

allofasudden,thenowfamiliarsenseofdespairtakesholdofhimandmakeshisfingersold.hiseyesarerapidlybeomingwarmandheblinkstokeepthematbay.aswallowpushesdownthelumpinhisthroatandadeepbreatheasesthepaininhishest,justabit.

draomalfoyisn’tsupposedtolooklikethis.

he’snotsupposedtobelikethis.

withanotherdeep,shakyinhale,harrystepsforwardandarrangesdraobakinhishair.

heremovesdrao’shandfromthefork,anddrao’sfingersarelongandsofttothetouh,butthey’reold,andharryrubsthemwithhisowntobringthebloodbakintothem.nevermindthatit’shisfirsttimetouhingdraomalfoy’shandshathandshakeduringfirstyear.hishandhadbeensmallthen.smooth,likeithadneverdoneaday’sworkinhislife.

hishand’sbiggernow,ofourse,butit’salloused,andthenailsarebittentotheedge,orsraped,orwhateveritisthatdraodidwiththeminthosethreemonthsinhisell.

helooksattheuntouhedpanakesandwondersifdraowillgetangryifheutsthemupforhim.

heutsthemupanyway,beausehewantstoseedraoangry.