potterpeersattheletters,butthey’reallfolded,andsodraohandshimtheone,theveryfirstone.

instead,draostopsreadingtheminthegreathall.hepoketsthem,likedirtyserets,andreadsthematnight,beforepotteromes.ithurts,ofourseitdoes,andatfirst,hehadreadthemwiththegoaloffindingoutwhotheywerefrom,butintheend,herealizesthathehadbeenreadingthemlikeanatofpenitene.

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potterfrownsathimasheenters,obviouslytakingintheseneandtryingtouandwhat’shappening.hegnesathowdrao’sholdinghiswristthat’soveredbythesleeveofhisrobes.“what’swrong?”

itbeomesfrequent.daily,even.sineomingtohogwarts,hehadalreadyaskedtheheadmistresstobanthehowlers,butifpeoplearesendinghimowlsundertheguiseofi,envelopedletters,thenthatwoulddefinitelybehardertostop.

butit’sduringonenightthatheopensaletterwithahiddenstinginghex,andthepainfromtheweltonhiswristmakeshimwonder,whyamidoingthisagain?

“i’vebeenreeivingletters.”

thewaypotter’s

“oh?”potterasksuriously,takingoffhisrobesandthrowingitonhisbedwithoutpreamble,asifheliveshere.draolikesit.

anddraohadexpetedittofeelliketattling,orlikegivingup,butwhenhesaysit,hefindsthathe’sjustreally,reallyrelievedtofinallybeabletoshareanythingwiththisman.

andit’swhenpotteromesin,stumblesonhimsittingonhisbedwithamessofopenedletterssatteredaroundhimandradlinghiswristthatherememberswhatpotterhadsaid:youanaskforhelp,youknow.

ndshimthemostdazzlingsmile,anddraothinks,withhisheartdroppingtohisstomahandhisfistrumplingthenote,no.don’ttakethisawayfromme.