Pansyisoneofthosegirlswhohardlyeverseemtolookanyolder.Hersleekbkhairisutinabob,thewayshe’salwayswornit,withagreenheadband.Herthinlipsareoveredinalightpinkgloss,whihmakesherlookevenyounger,butshe’sgrownintohersnubnoseanddoesn’tremindhimsomuhofapuganymore.She’salmostpretty.

PrettyenoughforDrao?hewonders,andthenbanishesthethought.Pansy’srushonDraointhirdandfourthyearhadbeenommonknowledgeamongstthestudentbody;evenifshe’dgrownoutofit,therewasnowayshewouldn’tgiveDraoahaneifhe’dasked.

“Well?”shesays,shuttingthedoorbehindher.

Hehasnoideawhathewantedtosaytoher.

“Thankyouforyourletter,”hebegins,awkwardly.

“Youalreadysaidthat,”sheremindshim.Hemustlookbaffled,beausesheadds,“Igotyournote.”

Harryflushes,suddenlyfeelingverysmallandpetty.

“Right,well,erm,”hesays,“Iwantedtosayinperson.ThatIappreiatedit.AndthatIdon’t…bmeyou.”

Hedoesn’t,either.Hehasn’tthoughtmuhaboutPansyeitherwayinalongtime,buthedoesn’tholditagainstherthatshe’dwantedtolive.

“Iwouldn’tareifyoudid,”sheinformshim.“That’snotwhyIwroteyou.”

“Thenwhy?”

“onfukingsense,Potter,”shesays.“TheWizardingWorldissmall,andyou’reprobablygoingtobeoneofitsinflueners,evenifyoudon’tmakeMinisterofMagioneday.WhywouldIwanttobeyourenemy?”Shetossesherheadalittle,flikingastraystrandofhairoffherheek.“Thatdoesn’tmeanIwanttobeyourfriend,either.Disiedbutourteousaquaintanes,that’sthesweetspot.I’msureyouagree.”

“Sure,”Harrysays,entirelyoutofhisdepth.“Right.Gdthat’ssorted,then.”

Shenodsone,sharply,andreahesforthedoor.

“I’msorryaboutMalfoy,”hesaysinarush,beforesheanopenit.Herhandslidesofftheknob.

“Don’tbe.He’sgoingtogetbetter,”shesays,inatonethatdareshimtoontradither.

Harrybitestheinsideofhisheek.“Doyouhaveanyideawho…?”

“Yes.”She’sstillfaingthedoor.

“Well,whoisit?”Harryasks,impatientanddroppingallpretenseoftat.

“That’snoneofyourbusiness.”

“But—ifit’ssomeoneIknow,maybeIanhelp.Bringthemtogether,orsomething.”Harryringestohearhimself.IshetopymathmakerforDraoMalfoy?Thethoughtsortofmakeshimwanttothrowup.

“No,”Pansysays.

“Whynot?”

“Don’tyougetit?”sheshrills,whirlingonhimwithhersmall,jeweledfistslenhed.“Youneverspeakthenameofthevitim’sbeloved.”

“What?Why?”Harrystammers.

“Itdoesn’tdoanyoneanygood,”shesays,furiously.“Youan’tmakeyourselflovesomeoneelse,noteventosavetheirlife.Knowingwouldonlymakethebelovedsuffer.Andifthevitimfindsout,havingonfirmationthattheirfeelingsaren’treturnedmakestheironditionworse.”

“Ifhe’ssik,”Harryargues,“thendoesn’thealreadyknowthey’renot—”

“It’stherejetion,youdolt.Rejetionmakesdeathomefaster.”

Harry’shandsahetolenhintofists,mimikingPansy’sposture,butheshovesthemintohispoketsinsteadandaffetsaarelessslouh.

“S’posethatmakessense,”hemumbles.“Sorry,okay?I’mnottryingtomakehimsiker.Iwouldn’ttelltheperson.Ijust—”

“Forone,Potter,”Pansysays,“mindyourownbusiness.”

Thatweekend,Harrytrudgesintothelibrary,expetingnottoemergefortheforty-eighthours.Thoughhe’dneveradmitittoherfae—that’sjustaskingforaleture—Hermionewasn’twrongabouthimfallingbehindonhisstudies.Nowhe’sgotthreeseparatepapersdueearlyweek,andbetweenssesandhisongoingD.A.lessons,whiharemorepopurthanever,hishomeworkneedstogetdonenowornotatall.

Heroundsabookshelf,findsthetableheusuallyshareswithRonandHermione,andstopsdeadinhistraks.Draoisleaningoverthetabletop,sribblingsomethingonapieeofparhmentandnoddingalongwhilehisompanionrattlesoffwhatsoundslikebooktitles.TheompanioninquestionisnoneotherthanHermione.

Sheseeshimbeforeheanwalkaway.DraofollowsthelineofhersighttoHarry,andgrimaes.Aflikerofhiseyeshesandthenhisgazedropsasheshakesouthisparhmenttodryit.Therearesmudgesofinkonhispale,spindlyhands.Harryisloseenoughtomakeoutthedeliateridgesofhisknuklesandtheblueoftheveinsinhiswrists.

Hehasn’tbeenthislosetoDraoinweeks.OneitameoutthatDraowasdying,he’dstoppedfightingwithHarry.Stoppedaknowledginghimaltogether.Nomorename-allinginthehallways;nomorepettysabotageinpotionsss;nomoresnipingatoneanotherwhentheyrossedpathsontheirwaytotheGreatHall;andabsolutelynomorefistfights.Thisshouldhavebeenarelief,butthereissomethingarmingaboutthisdoile,fadedversionofDraothatleavesHarryfeelingunbaned,likehe’dputhisfootdownexpetingonemoresteponthestairaseonlytofindhe’dreahedthetopwithoutnotiing.Isthisreallyhowaseven-yearrivalryends?Afizzlingout,andDraonoddingourteouslyandsaying,“Potter,”withnoiionwhatsoeverashesweepspastHarryonhiswayoutofthelibrary?

DraoisgonebeforeHarrymanagestogethisjawoffthefloor.HeroundsonHermione.

“Whendidyoumakefriendswithhim?”heasks,tryingandfailingtosoundoffhandaboutit.

Sherollshereyes.“We’rehardlyfriends,Harry,butwe’reivil.OurfirstweekbakatHogwarts,heevenapologizedforallingmeaMudblood.SometimeswetradeArithmanynotes.”

Harrysmshisbagonthehairarossfromhers,butdoesn’tsit.“Whatdidhewant?”

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