goingtoeatthemselves,”harrydefends.

“don’tyouhaveenoughpanakeswiththoseweasels?i’msuretheweaslettewouldlovetofalloveryourfeetandhandfeedyou.”

it’sanattempttogetunderhisskin,anditworks,beauseeverythingthatdraosaysworks,butharrytrieshisbesttostampdownhisirritation.“don’tallthemthat.”

“i’llthemwhateverilike.”

harrysighsloudly.hehasfottenwhatit’slike,tohavedraomalfoybesuhanirritatinggit.healmostwantstoriseuptothebait.“panakeswerefred’sfavourite.theyhaven’tookedthemsine…well,youknow.”

helooksatdraothen,andisn’tpreparedfortheshamethat’sevidentonhisfae.

heisn’tsurprisedwhen,momentster,theexpressionondrao’sfaemeltsawayandhisbodygoessk.

“fredisn’tyourfault,youknow,”harrysays,anhourter,whendraoomesbak.

he’sfigureditout,somewhat.thethingsthatmakedraodisappear.butalthoughdraodoesn’tseemtoliketalkingaboutthethingsthathedidorthethingshethinksthathappenedbeauseofit,harrythinksthatmaybe,draoneedstotalkaboutit.

“iknow.”

“doyou?”

draodoesn’tanswer.helooksaway.“sothat’swhyyou’vebeenominghere,beauseofthekofpanakes?”

harryshootshimagrin.“yougotme.”