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TakeintotheAir(MyQuietBreath)

GuardianMira

Summary：DraoisdyingofHanahakiDisease.Serveshimright,Harrythinks.

He’sbeensiksinesixthyear,iftherumormillhasitright,butonlyonethewarisoverdoesDraogettoosiktohideitanymore.

They’veallreturnedtoHogwartsasthefirst-everssofeighthyears,Harryandmostofthepeoplehegrewupwith—theoneswhosurvivedandtheoneswhoouldfaeomingbak,anyway.Hisirleisrgelyintat,andiedseamlesslywiththerestofthestudentbody.

Somehow,though,thewhispersdon’treahHarry’sears.It’snotuntilheseesDraooughthelilypetalsoutofhislungsandontohisbreakfastthatitevenourstohimthatsomethingmightbewrongwiththegit.

“Isitsomekindofaurse?”Harryasksqueasily.Draoprimlydabsawaythebloodattheornerofhislipswithahandkerhief—embroideredwithhisinitials,Harryknows—andsweepsthepetalsoffthetablebeforepikinguphisforkasifnothingatallhadhappened.

AfewothersarestaringatDrao,likeHarryis,butmostlypeopleaverttheireyeswithexpressionsrangingfrompitytodisgust.

Ronswallowshardaroundhismouthfulofeggs,lookingaboutasedasHarryfeels.“It’sbloodyhorrifying,iswhatitis.”

Harry’sfaemustbetrayhisshok,beauseRonflushes.

“What?Mymum’sousinhadthesamething,”hemumbles.“Wesawheratthehospital,andshelooked…”Heshuddersabit.“Gavemenightmaresforweeks.”

“It’snotaurse,”saysHermione.“It’sadisease.”

“Oh,”Harrysays.“Is’poseMadamPomfreywillputhimright,then.”

RonandHermionetrademeaningfullooks.Harrywaitsitout,alltooaustomedtotheirsilentexhangesbynow,untilHermioneomesoutwith:“There’snoure.”

“Noure?”hesays.“So,what,hevomitsflowersfortherestofhislife?”

“Yes,Harry,”saysHermione,astentativelyasifsheweredefusingabomb.“Buthewon’tliveverymuhlonger.HanahakiDiseaseisfatal.”

Hehearsthatword,fatal,asifatagreatdistane.IsitpossibleDraoMalfoysurvivedawaronlytodieofdisease?Itseemssofarfethed.Sopedestrian.Harryised,blindinglyso,outofnowhere.

“That’sridiulous,”heblusters,“thatdoesn’tmakesense,howantherenotbeaure—”

“Thereisaure,sortof,”Roninterrupts.“He’ssikbeausehelovessomeonewhodoesn’tlovehimbak.Ifhegetslovedbak,hegetsbetter.”

RongnessidelongatHermione,andhisfaegoesfromembarrassmenttorelieftosomethingelse,somethingHarrydoesn’tfeelrightseeing,sohelooksdownathisuntouhedpteoffood.Somehowhedoesn’tthinkhe’llbefinishingit.

“It’squitesad,isn’tit,”Hermionesays.

“No,it’snot,”Harrysnaps.“Thisishisownbloodyfault.Ifhewasn’tsuhaself-entered,bigotedprat,maybesomeoneotherthanhismumwouldlovehim.”

EvenRonlooksshoked.TheotherGryffindors,absolutelyfailingtopretendtheyweren’teavesdropping,shiftminutelyawayfromhim.Harrygrabsabreadrollfromabasketinthemiddleofthetableandbitesintoitviiously,hewinglikehissdependonit.

RonunhesintoanimpromptuQuiddithdisussionaseondter,andNevillejumps—asifared-headedsomeonehadkikedhimunderthetable—andhimesin.Soon,halfthetableisovertakenbyarousingdebateaboutwho’llwintheWorldCup.Harryisanisndoffurioussileneinthemiddleofitall.Nooneisfoolenoughtotryandtalktohim.Hermionegiveshimoneofthoseinjuredlooksofhers,thesortthatdoesn’tsayyouhurtmebutratherseeingyouhurthurtsme,whihgratesonhimrightnow,beauseHarryisperfetlyfine,andsometimesHermionethinkinghe’shurtisworsethanatuallybeinghurt.

Hismouthfulofdrybreadispainfullyhardtoswallow.Helooksup,throughthegapbetweenRonandHermione’sshoulders.Draohattersathishousemates,gestiutingpassionatelyashedeliversapunhline,probablyatsomeoneelse’sexpense.It’sbusinessasusualexeptthateverysooftenhehastostopandturnaway,gaspingandsputteringashismouthfillswithpetalssowhiteevenarosstheroomitalmosthurtsHarry’seyestolookatthem.TheyfallintoDrao’splikeshardsoffrostedgss.

Dyingoflove?Hethinkshe’sneverheardanythingsopatheti;leaveittoMalfoytoesatearushtosuhstunningheightsofdrama.Hethinks,also,ofwhatDumbledorehadalwayssaidaboutlovebeingthemostpowerfulmagiofall.Hekeepsfetting—orperhapsjustdoesn’twanttobelieve—thatthispartiurmagianbedestrutive,too.

Mostofall,though,Harrythinks:whoisit?

You’dthinkHarry’stheonewho’ssik,thewaypeopleareavoidinghim.Likehe’sathingandeveneyeontatwillpassthesymptomson.

“It’ssixthyearalloveragain,”Hermionehideshim.“You’reobsessing.”

“I’mnotobsessed,”hesays,defensively.“I’mjustied,that’sall.I’veneverheardofthis.DoMugglesgetit?”

“No,”saysHermione,“andherdoSquibs.UedloveausesHanahakiDisease,butit’smagithatmakesthesymptomsmathewaytheydo.Butlisten,Harry,please,”sheadds.Shesoundsimpatient,whihisunusual,beausesheneverpassesonahanetoimpartknowledge,espeiallywhenHarry’satuallyaskingherforit.“You’refollowingMalfoyaround.BroodingovertheMarauder’sMapwhenyou’repretendingtodohomework.EavesdroppingontheSlytherins—don’tlooksosurprised,you’renogoodatbeingsneaky,Harry,Idon’tknowwhyyouthinkyouare.There’snothingyouandoforMalfoy,andsinewe’vebeengivenanone-in-a-lifetimeseondhanetodoours,weshouldreallyfouson—”

“WhosaysIwanttodoanythingforMalfoy?”Harryasks,inensed.

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