Angryisbetter.Anythingisbetterthanthis.
WhenDraoomestoagain,thepieesofpanakeonhisptehavegoneold.Harry’salreadyonhisthird.
“Wipethatsyrupoffyourfae,Potter,”isDrao’swayofgreetinghim.
Harrydoesitautomatially,outofshokandembarrassment.“You’rebak,”hestatesdumbly.
“Ididn’tleave,”Draomutters,gringathispte.Harrydoesn’tknowifDrao’sgringatitoutofspite,orifheremembersthatitwasn’tutupthirtyminutesagoandisnowtryingtoreallhowitgottothatstate.Finally,Draoraiseswearyeyesathimandasks,“Didyoujustsliemypanakes?”
Harryshovesmorepanakesinhismouth,justtosavehimtheawkwardnessoftalking.Henodswhilehewing.
Draogoesbaktogringatthepanakes,andHarryfinisheshisthirdpanakemehanially.Onehe’sdoneandthere’snothingleftonhispteforhimtostuffhismouthwith(andthere’snomoreexuseforhimtoshutup),hetries,“Doyouwantmetofeedyou?”
Hebraeshimself,readieshimselftostandupandrunshouldaforkomeforhishead,butDraojustsnortsandlooksathimpointedly.“Weasel’sgoingtohaveananeurysmfromughingtoomuhifhefindsoutthatyou’refeedingmebreakfast.”
Heraisesanarmandtriestourlhisfingersaroundtheforkagain.
It’sslowandit’sshaky,butDrao’sthereandhe’strying,soHarrygetsanotherpanakeandrespetfullylooksaway.
He’snotreallyhungryanymore.Infat,he’sfukingfull,buthelikesthis,eatingpanakeslikethis.Bythetimehe’sfinishedeatingthefourth,Draohasmanagedtoswallowthreepiees.There’ssyruponhispandthefrontofhisnightgown,andthere’salsosomedrippingdownhisarm,butHarryrespetfullylooksawayfromthat,too.
Draomakesitthroughhalfofhispte,beforetheforkslipsfromhisfingersandnksloudlyonthemarblefloorofhisbalony,andHarrylooksupathim,readytoaskifheshouldgetitforhim,butDrao’sgoneagain.
Hisgazeisvaant,staringbnklyathispte.
Harrystandsupbeforethesqueezingpaininhishestansettle,andhegoesaroundthetablesoheanpikuptheforknearDrao’sfeet.
Onhiswayup,hegnesatDrao’sfae.Thereisnoreognition,nolife,butthereissyrupattheornerofhismouth.
Harrysighsandreahesforanapkin.“You’retheonewhoshouldwipethesyrupoffyourfae,”hemuttersandgentlydabsatDrao’sheek.
It’sdefinitelyweird,takingareofDraoMalfoy.
Or,well,heisn’treallysupposedtobetakingareofDraoMalfoy.He’sjustreallyheretokeephimompany,avoidthemediawhilehe’satit,andeatthebreakfastthatMalfoydoesn’teat.
ButhewipesthesyrupoffofDrao’smouthanyway,andhisarm,andthensearhesforhiswandinhispokettoharmDrao’slotheslean.
“Whatdoyoumeanyoudidn’tleave?”HarryaskstwentyminutesterwhenDrao’sbakandthepanakesandthemessonthetablehaddisappearedwithapop.Twosteamingmugsofteahaverepedthem.
Draolooksathimwearily,asifhe’sweighingwhetherheshouldagreetoengageiniviloionwithhim.Intheend,hesighsandtalks.“It’s…hazy.ButIstillknowwhat’shappening.Sometimes.Don’tthinkIdidn’tseeyouwipingmyfaelikeahild,Potter.Don’teverdothatagain.”
“ShouldIhavejustleftthesyruponyourfae?”
Draosnorts.“Youshouldhavejustleft,period.”
“Thepanakesweren’tgoingtoeatthemselves,”Harrydefends.
“Don’tyouhaveenoughpanakeswiththoseweasels?I’msuretheWeaslettewouldlovetofallalloveryourfeetandhandfeedyou.”
It’sanattempttogetunderhisskin,anditworks,beauseeverythingthatDraosaysworks,butHarrytrieshisbesttostampdownhisirritation.“Don’tallthemthat.”
“I’llallthemwhateverIlike.”
Harrysighsloudly.Hehasfottenwhatit’slike,tohaveDraoMalfoybesuhanirritatinggit.Healmostwantstoriseuptothebait.“PanakeswereFred’sfavourite.Theyhaven’tookedthemsine…Well,youknow.”
HelooksatDraothen,andisn’tpreparedfortheshamethat’sevidentonhisfae.
Heisn’tsurprisedwhen,momentster,theexpressiononDrao’sfaemeltsawayandhisbodygoessk.
“Fredisn’tyourfault,youknow,”Harrysays,anhourter,whenDraoomesbak.
He’sfigureditout,somewhat.ThethingsthatmakeDraodisappear.ButalthoughDraodoesn’tseemtoliketalkingaboutthethingsthathedidorthethingshethinksthathappenedbeauseofit,Harrythinksthatmaybe,Draoneedstotalkaboutit.
“Iknow.”
“Doyou?”
Draodoesn’tanswer.Helooksaway.“Sothat’swhyyou’vebeenominghere,beauseofthekofpanakes?”
Harryshootshimagrin.“Yougotme.”
Andthat’showtheyspendtherestofthem.WhenDrao’sgone,HarrywritesaletterforHermione.Hetellsherthatshe’llbeproudofthefatthathe’sbeenstudying.Healsotellsher,forthefirsttime,thatDraoMalfoyisoutofAzkabanandthatHarry’sbeenlookingafterhim.
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