“You’reright.Idon’tknowwhyIthoughtIouldhelpyou,”hesays,voieshaking.Heisbzinglymad,andthereisagerouslumpinhisthroat,andhedoesnotwanttolookdiretlyatDraoforfearofwhathe’llseeonhisfae.HiseyesndinsteadonDrao’ssaggingolr,whereheanjustseethethreadysilver-whiteendofthesetumsemprasar,almostthesameolorasDrao’shair.“Butit’sridiulousyou’dthinkI’dgooutofmywaytomakeyousiker,”Harryontinues,“whenthetruthisIdon’tarewhetheryouliveordie.Youdon’tmattertome.Atall.”

HarryspinsaroundandgetsaboutthreepaesawaybeforehehearsDraohokingbehindhim.Hewavers,waitingone,two,threeseondstoseeifDraowillstop.Butthisisabadone.Hekeepsoughing,harshlyandwithhiswholebodybythesoundofit,andHarryan’tleavehimlikethat.

Hedropshisbagandturns,butthesightofDraomakeshimfreezewherehestands.Draoisnotjustoughing.Heisvomitingasteadystreamofflowers,swallowinghardandgaspingforbreatheverytimehehasahane,onlytosputterandoughoutanotherwaveofliliesasthediseasefightshim.Mostofwhatheexpelsarewholeflowerheads,therimsoftheirpetalsandthetipsoftheirinnerfimentsstreakedwithbrightredblood.Draoishunhedalmostinhalf,onehandftonhishestwherethesarHarrymadeishiddenunderhisrobesandtheotherhandluthinghisthroat,andheisstillnotstopping,he’snotbreathing,andHarryfallsatsttohiskneesandthesontoDraoasifheouldsomehowholdhimtogether.

HiseyesfallfromDrao’sopenmouthandlosedeyes—asthoughheweresreaming—tothearpetofliliesfaroundtheirknees.Somehowthat’swhatdoesit,thelilies,beforeheevengetsaroundtorememberingthelookonPansy’sfaewhenHarryhadaskedherforaname,orMGonagall’sresigned,wearyvoieashe’dfledthehospitalwing.

HarryhadatuallytoldDraohedidn’tareifhelivedordied.

Harrywillneverfivehimselfforbeingsostupid.

BythetimehekissesDrao’slips,they’returningblue.Draoistakingamuh-needed,too-shallowbreath,histhroatalreadywaroundanothersurgeofblossoms.Harrypullshimupstraightandgetshishandsonthatsharp,smoothjawline.HishandsfeeltoobigandlumsyagainstDrao’sdeliatefeatures,butDraoblinkswateryeyesathimandHarryswipeshisthumboverhislips,wipingoffthebloodasbesthean,andoversthatsofthurtingmouthwithhisown.Everythingwithinhimattunestothepeswheretheirbodiesmeet;everythingsleepingsitsupandpaysattention;heiseletrifiedfromtheinsideout.

Itstsnomorethanaseondortwo.Draofightshim.Harryloseshisheadforaninstantandtriestoholdon,resistingwhenDrao’shandspushhardagainsthishest.Harrytastesbloodandfeelsthesilkytextureoflilypetalsandhiseveryinstinttellshimtodeepenthekiss—

Andthenherealizeswhatthehellhe’sdoing,andheletsDraogo.

Draofallsfullyawayfromhim,sprawlingontheground.Theflowershavestoppedoming,butDraoisstillgasping,thistimeapparentlyfromrage.Harryreahesforhimbutdoesnottouh.

“Letme,”Harrybegs.

“Howdareyou,”Draosays,voieshakingsohardHarryanbarelymakeoutthewords.“Idon’twantyourpity.I’mnotjustanothervitimforyoutosave.”

“It’snotlikethat,”Harrysays.

Draowshiswaytohisfeet,soopsupahandfulofliliesandpresentstheminviious,morbidtriumph.

“Ithinkitis.”

“It’sbeauseyoudon’tbelieveme,”Harrysays.“Drao.Please.Ididn’tknowbefore,Ididn’tuand,butIwant—”

“Fukyou,”Draosays,andthenhepiksuphisbagandhisbookandisgonebeforeHarryanmakeanothermove.

WhenHarrysinksdowntoHermioneontheouhinfrontofthefirepe,shetakesonelookathimanddoestheunthinkable:putsdownherquillandlosesherbook.

“Oh,Harry,”shesays.

Atthesoundofhervoie,heslumps.Hepropshiselbowsonhiskneesandhisfaeinhishands.HeanstilltasteDrao.Heanstillhearhisvoie,strippedraw,anstillseethedesperatelyfearfulexpressionhe’dwornashe’dshovedHarryaway.

Harryhaddonethistohim.

“IknowwhoMalfoy’sinlovewith,”Harrymumbles.“Didyouknow?”

“Isuspeted.”

“Isitpossible—”Harry’svoiewavers;hehastolearhisthroatandstartagain.“Isitpossibleforthevitimtostaysikeveniftheirloveisreturned?”

“Itdependsontheperson.Butinaaselikethat,”Hermionesays,gently,“eithertheloveisn’ttrueorthevitimdoesn’tthinkitis.”

Soeitherofusouldberight,Harrythinks.Figures.

Thatnight,HarrydreamsheissixteenagainandsshingDrao’shestopenwithastolenspell.Inthedream,unlikeinhismemory,heknowswhatthespelldoesandusesitanyway.Hewakesoverandover,sweating,buteahtimehefallsbakasleepthesightofDraobleedingoutonabathroomflooriswaitingforhim.Hewakesforthesttimearounddawnandpushesawayfromhisbedasifithadwrongedhim.

ShmakeshimfeeliallybetteruntilhegoestotheGreatHallforbreakfast.DraoleansagainstPansy,slumped,asifhean’tsitupwithoutthesupport.Darksmudgesofpurplefromkofsleepundersorehiseyes,andheoughsoutpetalsbeforeandaftereverymouthfulofteahemanagestoforedown.Hedoesn’teat.Hedoesn’tlookatHarryoraknowledgehisexisteneinanyway.AndwhenHarryapproahes,heheaveshimselftohisfeetandfleestheHallbeforeHarryevengetslose.

Harrymovestofollow,butPansyandBiseZabiniblokhimfromthedoors.

“Don’teventhinkaboutit,Potter,”shespits.“You’vedoneenough

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