she shoves his sh him take aep bak from the doors. behind him, someoeaher, he guesses, maybe prall, ansy about putting hands os. ron and hermi their way round the gryffihe slytherihing them warily.
all harry an think is that drao is getting farther and farther away from him.
“i am sure,” he tells her.
“you are about sevee for that,” she says, but bise looks at him ly. harry’s throat is tight and there is a weight i ahing ed spurts, a bise, bise’s fae haely. he twithes aside so asually there’s no way of telling if it ose, and harry takes it as his ue to luhrough the gap betansy, ign her ed ries as he speeds through the doors arao the risp m sunshine.
the ool, damp air soothes his throat, whih is srathy and ahing as if he’s oming down with a old. his eyes are drawo the distant gates; he half expets te trundling away down the road, and he’s ready, he’ll summon his broomstik a if he has to—but then he realizes draht there.
drao sta the foot of the steps to the astle, his mhtening his olr and smoothing bak his hair. they both tur of him. and drao’s eyes meet harry’s.
&hihing is, nothing has hanged. drao looks at harry the way he’s always looked at him: with his full, uion. harry has thought drao did or didn’t feel for him over the years, happehem, he has o onfront drao’s indifferene.
drao might die today, a die, drao might ome bak a harry like this again. it sms into him all at o aze sweeping over harry without pausi that harry might meet drao’s eyes ahi all, red—the thought of drao not loving him bak…is abominable, aomless pai i.
but the only words he has for this feeli go.”
narissa malfoy’s lips draw bak in what might atually be a snarl. drao pushes her hands away, gently, and wathes as harry takes the steps two at a time ahe grass a few feet from drao.
“this again, potter?” he asks tiredly.
harry wishes drao would’ve shouted at him. this exasperatio dismissiveness, is very muh worse, and harry a now.
he should be making some graion of his feelings, he’s sure. instead, he does what he does best: he piks a fight.
“y this to yourself,” harry tells him.
“exuse me?” drao says, his voie gerously low. the spark of anger in his eyes goads harry on.
“you don’t want to believe,” harry says, fists lenhed a. “you’re sared of what that would mean. you dohings you an’t ontrol. you’d—you’d rather die of pride than admit y about something!”
harry’s voie limbs; he is distantly aeople gathering at the open doors to the entrane hall and narissa’s hand tightening on her wand, but o are.
“i’m not going to die!” drao’s voie rises to math harry’s, aing. “i’m not goi i’ll be free of this burden at st. that’s all this is—that’s all you are to me. a burden.”
that’s a lie, harry thinks. ’s a lie. of ourse he kals trailing doweps a drao’s feet are proof enough of that. but something i uand it’s a lie. something in him howls with pain and fury. his eyes sting, humiliatingly; he opens his mouth to retort, but theinging for a differeogether as he starts to ough.
these are deep, wraking oughs from a seizihe skin over his ribs is too tight, ahing rustles in his lungs s for breath, ao his k of surprise than anything else. he overs his mouth ih his elbow u subsides.
no one makes a sound, not drao nor anesses harry does right now. instead, he looks dow the dark spots on the grass, whih—when his visiourn out to be petals. rose petals so red they’re nearly bk. there’s a hot, oppery taste in his mouth ahing sharp poking the bak of his teeth; he spits out blood ahorns.
horror his spis his fae up at st, his gaze drawn magially to drao.
drao’s features are sk with shok; his eyes are rehending and fixed on harry.
“you prat,” harry tells him, limbing to his feet with the best attempt he a omposure. “should’ve told me yious.”
“i’m not,” drao says faintly.
“i know.”
harry’s throat is losing up again aher oughing fit oming on as drao keeps wathing him bnkly.
the of the steps are reahing a resendo. narissa pulls at drao’s elbow, guiding him away tates. harry’s eyes ling to him, but there’s no room in his throat for his voie, no room to form words and all him bak; he tastes roses in the bak of his mouth. it’s not until narissa sueeds in turning drao bodily around, and they lose eye ontat, that he seems to wake from his stupor. he rips rasp.
harry is already reahing for him when draes bak up the path. he throws himself into harry’s arms, a whirl of sensation: his bainst harry’s bohe smell of lilies filling harry’s nose, his hands strong against harry’s bak, his sk