openandeyebrowsraised.afterawhile,draoreturnstohispanakesandsays,withoutlookingup,“yeah,whatever,potter.dowhatyouwant.”

butbythetimethey’vefinishedeatingtheirbreakfast,heisgoneagain.

harrytakesholdofhiswheelhairandpusheshimaroundthegardenanyway.

theday,harryomesanddrao’salreadyinthemiddleofthegarden,hiswheelhairfottenadistaneawayamongashrubofpinkarnations.

harrystops,hisgreetingdyingonhislips.

it’sabiggarden,morespaiousthandrao’sroom.thefloraislush,rih,andlytrimmed,andolourbloomsineveryorner.thereareroses,andlilies,andfet-me-nots.ationsandvender.inthemiddleofthegardenstandsafountain,waterdrippingdownthemarbleeyesofthewomanstandingproudlyattheentreofit.thesnakesonherheadhadtoldharrywhosheissinedayone.

andthere,underthebrightbluesky,standdraomalfoy,wearingpintrousersandasweater,lookingattheflowerswithasmallsmileonhisfae.

shewarended,harry’shadtimetolearlythinkanduandthenatureofwhyhe’ssoobsessedwithdrao,really.hethinksronandhermioneuands,too,butarejustwaitingforhimtofigureitoutforhimself.he’sfigureditalongtimeago,atually,butfiguringitoutandaeptingitaretwodifferentmatters.

butit’ssuhablowtothehesteverytimeheomesarosssomethinglikethis,thesemomentsthatmakehisheekswarmandmakesithardtobreatheandevenhardertolookaway.

draoseeshim,notieshimstaring,andturnsanamusedsmirkinhisdiretion.