butit’snotanyofhisbusiness.

itdoesn’thaveanythingtodowithhim.

nothingatall.

hegoesabouthiseveryday,studyingfortests,avoidingphotographs,andughingwithfriends,resolutelypretendingthatitdoesn’thurt.

“harry,”ginnypleads,adayafterallthehalloweenfestivities.itisteintheafternoon,andtheskyisanoverastgrey.inanhour,itwillbediime.they’resittingtogetherinoneofthestonebenhesintheloktowerourtyard,whereginnyhadorneredhiminastditheffort.“theravenwsaredeimatingus.weneedyou.”

harrygrinsathersheepishly.they’vehadthisoionbefore,numeroustimesintheburrow,andhethinksginny’sstilltryingjustforthesakeofit.“i’msorry,ginny.ijustdon’tfeellikeit.ijustwanttofinishtheshoolyearinpeae.”

ginnysighsexasperatedly,rossingherarmslikeapetunthild.“don’tyoumissflying?”

“ido,”harrysays,ughingatherreation.“justnottheattention,iguess?besides,you’redoingwell.iwathallyourmathesandyouhaven’tletanyonesoreyet.”

ginnypreensatthepraise.then,shenarrowshereyesathim.“isit…beauseof…youknow…”

harry’seyeswidens,wavinghishands,thedenialimmediatelyonhislips.“oh,no!no,no,no.it’sfine,gin,i’mnotavoidingyou,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking.that’snotitatall.”

ginnysmiles,shouldersrexing.“okay.good.”then,shelooksaroundtheourtyard,seesnooneelse,andthenleansintowhisper.“well,isitbeauseof…?”

“of…?”

“well,uhm.”shesmiles,almostapologetially.“m

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