“It’s alright.”
“It’s not.” Harry turo him, wanting him to make it better, knowi be able to. “How ould this still be a thing that sares me?”
&’s the w about it, really, how after all he had do was what the Dursleys had dohat left the deepest sars, and Hermioalk all she wants about hildhood and formative years and repressed memories, Harry khis is in and simple, and all he ever warong.
&’s sary.” Drao sat dow doesn’t touh him, and Harry is grateful. “Beause Hermione is sared of faili and Ron is sared of spiders and I’m sared of heights ahing any of us an do about it, it just is. It doesn’t make you more or less tha just makes you human.”
ho wasn’t human, Harry thought, a’s why he liked Drao so muh, beause out of all the people ihe one who really knows what Voldemort was like, how his mind worked. Who beame obsessed with his ht that it meant that he was weak. Dohat man.
He that up, now, if at a he doesn’t. “But you pyed Quiddith.”
“What?”
“You said you were afraid of heights, but you pyed Quiddith.” Harry didn’t want to talk about Voldemort or the upboard uairs or that elr. “Why?”
“My dad wao,” Drao said, shrugging, and Harry is remiher thing that Hermione said, about hoarents leave sars whether it’s iional or bothered to ask what hers looked like, but now he wishes he had. “I’d do anything to make him proud.”
& in silene for a momehen Drao speaks again. “You doo hide it, you know. When you’re afraid. At least not from me.” Harry opened his mouth to speak but ouldn’t fio say, only that he waue. “I khis thi to protet everyo, but please, love, let me take some of the bme sometimes, okay? Believe it or not, I an be helpful.”
& threatens to hoke him, so he goes for a joke instead. “Love?”
Drao smiled, knoks his shainst Harry’s before standing up. “Don’t worry about this.” He waves his hand at the elr. Harry doesn’t look at it. “I’ll ome fill it in tomorrow m.”
Stupid, Harry thinks, but due.
Chapter 40
Drao
& look like his father anymore.
For a moment, Drao thinks arou have beehe wrong ell his mahe bak of his ell aher, he man he remembered had stood so tall, so proud (was hiding behind a man who roud? Was he brave whehe sh of someone else’s wa the walls of his own house beome a age?). This man was a skeleton, his eyes suhe bdes of his shoulders promi even through his shirt, the skiight over the bones i ould he man he remembered, a—
“Dad?” He fored himself to talk, the w strahe pressure building in his throat aep loser, hands ing around the bars. He wants to yank it bak, beause it is so old, the hill biting through his skihe maurns toward him a feel the old anymore.
“Dras himself to his feet and has to hold onto the wall f tate i, lurhing steps. His hair falls arourings, and Drao wonders why he has it. “Is that you?”
His voie is barely above a whisper, strained and raking. How long has it been sine he had someoalk to?
“It’s me.” There are tears building in his eyes. Drao had promised himself that he was do’s me, dad.”
“What are you doihey are inhes away from eah other. Drao ould reah through the bars and touh him if he wa he doesn’t.
“I wao see you.” It souion. “I got permissioer.”
“Good of you.” His harembling. There are ors, but it is still not a happy pe—it’s old, and damp, the water from the waves soaking in through raks ione and spillihe floor, the only omforts a lumpy mattress and threadbare lothes that do nothihe hill. He’s heard that a few have still gone razy, left al as they are. “But you shouldn’t have ome.”
&urns his bak on Drao, a move that would have oed him, but it does he same affet now, not when he is so weak from disuse that he stumbles as he moves bak towards the bed, almost sending himself sprawling. I did his, Drao thinks, looking at his father, looking at this ell, rememberi in front of the Wizengamot and did , but nothing he did was bad enough to warrant living this ki his father—Drao had long stopped makihe things he had done. If I were here, it would be beause of him, not beause of me.
“I waalk to you.” He throws his vh the bars, but Luius does ell you things. About—about Harry Potter.”
There’s a hiss from the ell beside them. Drao doesn’t flinh.
“I’ve heard about yuards shoping.” It’s funny, how even wheer man, even wheandi side of the bars, how easily it is for someoo make you feel small. “The two of you at a e. Should I be expeting a wedding invitation any day now?”
It stings, but not as badly as Drao had thought it would. “I love him.” The words buoy him a little. His father moves, o