HealerRosslearshisthroat.“Wewereabletoompleteafulldiagnostiexam,andI’mafraidtheproedureisoutofthequestion.”

Draoflinhes.HarrygresatthebakoftheHealer’shead.Themanouldstandtoworkonhisbedsidemanner,inHarry’sopinion.Noallforthatkindofbluntnessinfrontofadyingboy,really.

Asifthinkingalongthesamelines,HealerDonovanintervenes.

“Outofthequestionisnotentirelyorretphrasing,madam,”hesays.“Ifyoursonostotheproedure,itwouldbeourdutytoabidebyhiswishes.Thatbeingsaid,Iwouldnotreommendit.”

Mrs.Malfoy’sstareisasarrestingasasolidwallofie.Drao’seyesaredownast.TheseHealersaretalkingabouthimasifhe’snoteventhere,andheseemshekedout,thoughHarryisertainhe’spikingupeveryword.

“Andwhyisthat?”ProfessorMGonagallstepsin.Thesternershegets,themorepronounedherbrogue.ButMadamPomfreyshakesherheadsomberly.

“I’venevertreatedaaseofHanahaki,andIan’tpretendIknowallthedetailsofwhatthosetestresultsindiate,”shesays,“butevenIouldtellthatattemptingtheproedurewouldputMr.Malfoy’slifeatrisk.”

“Theproposedtreatmentisabrand-newexperimentalproedurethatwouldinvolvesurgiallyremovingthedisease,”saysHealerRoss,atalippedpae.“Thismeans,mindyou,thatwewouldextrattheflowers,roots,andseeds,butindoingso,wewouldalsoremovetheemotionalausesofthedisease.Thatis,yourson’sfeelingsforhisbelovedwouldbegone.”

“Thatwasourhope,yes,”saysMrs.Malfoywoodenly,“otherwise,Ianonlyassume,hissymptomswouldreturn.”

“Yes,”saysHealerDonovan.“Forpatientsopingwithanewlove,thisroutemightbemoreviableandmightposelessrisk.ThatisnottheasewithDrao.Whentherootsoftheflowersaresodeeplyentrenhed—whenthefeelingsofaffetionareafoundationalpartofthevitim’sbeing—toripthemawaywouldbedisastrous.Thebodyolpsesmuhlikeatreewouldifyouhakedawayatitstrunk.”

“Speakpinly,”saysMrs.Malfoy,oolly.“Yourudedbreakthroughtreatmentonlyworksonpatientswhojustgotsik?”

HealerDonovan,tohisredit,isnotowed.

“Certainlynot,butastingloveismuhtrikiertoextratthan,say,aninfatuation,regardlessofhowfastthediseaseitselfmasorhowquiklythesymptomsadvanetothefinalstages.Yoursonhasprobablylovedtheindividualinquestionforquitealongtime.”HeaddressesDraoatst.“Howoldwereyouwhen—?”

“Eleven,”Draomutters.

“Ah,”saystheHealer.“Thatexpinsit.Childhoodaffetionswhihblossomintotruelovearethemostdiffiulttoshake.Whatyouloveasahilddeideswhoyouare,inmanyases.Inmost,Iwouldsay.”

“Butyoursymptomsdidn’tstartuntilyouweresixteen.Lessthantwoyearsgo,”Mrs.Malfoyprotests.

“Beausethat’swhenIrealizedwe’dhattherewasnohope,”hesays.“Therewasapointwhennotevenmywildestdelusionsouldhavemademebelievewe’d—itdoesn’tmatter.”

Mrs.Malfoyopenshermouthtoargue,butDraoswingshislegsoverthesideofthebed.Histhroatworksasifhe’stryingtoholdbakaough,butitesapeshiminapuffofairandpetalsbeforehebendsdownandgrabsforasmallbinsomeonehadleftbesidethebed.Whenthefloodsubsides,thebinisnearlyoverflowingwithlilies.Draorestshisforeheadonhiskneeandtakesinarattlingbreath.Hisvoie,whenhespeaks,ishoarse.

“We’rewastingourtime,”hesaysquietly,lookingatnoone.“They’vesaidtheyan’tdoit.”

“Isupposeyou’repleased,”Mrs.Malfoysays,withamixtureofangerandworrythatmakeshersoundstartlinglylikeMrs.Weasley.“Youwerelookingforareasontosayno.”

“Idon’twanttotalkaboutitanymore.”Draosrubshissleeveoverhismouth.Therobesarehangingoffhim,Harryrealizes,andwhenhegetstohisfeethetiltsalittleasifhemightfalloveranymoment.Still,heliftshispointyhinandstraightensuphisbonyframeandhobblesoutoftheroomwithasmuhgraeasheanmanagewhileamonstrousgardenyssiegetohisinnards.

Harry,inhisdarkornerundertheretivesafetyoftheloak,isreeling.DraoMalfoy—thestupid,slimybullywhoneverletaneasytargetgountormented;theonewho’dbeenbothSnape’sandUmbridge’spet;theonewho’dgoneandgotaDarkMarksppedonhisarm—isinlove.

No,morethanthat.

DraoMalfoyissoinlovenoteventhemostadvanedmedialmagitheWizardingWorldhastoofferandoanythingaboutit.DraoMalfoyissoinlovehisbodywouldshutdownanddieifthatlovewastakenfromhim.DraoMalfoy’sloveforthismysteriousindividualisfoundationaltowhoheis.

Harry’sheadspins.Noneofthismakesanysense,notunlessDraoisinlovewithsomeDeathEaterlokedupinAzkabanrightnow.ThethoughtsendssuhawaveofdisgustroilingthroughHarrythathemusthavemadeasound,beauseProfessorMGonagalllooks—hewould’veswornonGryffindor’sgrave—straightathim.

Harryholdshisbreath,butheissuddenlyasertainashe’deverbeenaboutanythingthatsheknowshe’sthere.Butshesaysnothing,andafterafewmoments,sheturnsaway.Heletsoutthebreathhe’dbeenholding—softly—andstartsshufflingtothedoor,notwantingtopushhislukanylonger.

“Gentlemen,”MGonagalltellstheHealers.“Thankyouformakingthejourney,andforexaminingmystudent.Although,Imustonfess,yourdiagnosisleavesmeheavy-hearted.”

“Hanahakiisaomplexafflition,”saysHealerRoss.“Thereisstillmuhwedonotuand.Tellme,istherenohanetheboy’sbelovedreturnshisfeelings?”

Obviouslynot,Harrythinks,alreadyhalfwaythroughthedoor.Otherwisehewou

请大家记住网站新地址http://.123.