DidhethinkthatMalfoywasgoingtogetoutofAzkabanokayandtheyangothroughtheireighthyearinpeaeandeverything’sgoingtobealrightandeveryone’sgoingtofinallybehappy?
Ormaybe,maybehe’sryingbeauseofeverythinghehadn’tbeenabletoprevent.
Remus.Tonks.Fred.Snape.Dumbledore.Cedri.Sirius.God,Sirius.
AndnowDraoMalfoylosinghismindinAzkaban.
Heshouldhavebeenabletopreventatleastthat,right?
Thewar’sover.Whyarethosearoundhimstillsuffering?
Maybehe’stired.
He’stiredtryingtoavoidthepress,tryingtoavoidtheMinistry,tryingtoavoidtheBurrowandtheWeasleys’insistenethathe’sfamilynow,eventhoughhe’snot,notreally,andhefeelslikeanintrudertotheirgriefwhentheyseehimandhavetopretendthatthey’renotmason,abrother.
He’stryingtoavoidhimselfmostofall,beausehe’sspentnightsaloneinGrimmauldPeandthosenightswerelongnights,strethingimpossiblyfurther,asdarkasaforest(darkasdeath),asquietastheafterlife(likewhitenoise)(theafterlife’snotthatpeaefulafterall),witheahtikofthelokehoingthroughthewallsandountingallthepeoplethathelost.
ButseeingDraoMalfoylikethatremindshim,foreshimtoseethatavoidingtheproblemdoesn’treallyfixit,kindofmakesitbiggerandmoredaunting,andthatyes,thewar’sover,butthatdoesn’tmeanthateverything’sokay.
Everyone’sstillsufferingandhe’sstillsufferingandmaybehe’snotyetdonelosingpeopleafterall.
Hemanagestogethimselfoffthefloorandtowardsthefirepeinthemasterroom,takingthelibertytoFloohimselfbaktoGrimmauldPe.
Thenightisstilllonganditisstilldarkandthehouseisstillquiet,unbearablyso,sohelokshimselfinhisroomanddoesn’temergeuntilRon’sknokingonhisdoortheday.
Agneattheloktellshimit’spastlunhtime.
Duringthenight,exhaustedandeyesswollenafterryingsomuh,hehadsomehowfallenasleep,andforthis,heisgrateful.Hedoesn’tknowhowheouldhavesurvivedthatwholenightawake.
“Harry,”omesRon’svoiefromtheothersideofthedoor,andit’ssoftandareful,andHarryknowsatonethatRonknowssomething.
“I’mup,”Harrysays,voieraking.Heswallowsthedrynessdownhisthroat,andthentriesagain.“I’mup.”
“Mumsentyoufood.Haveyoueatenyet?”
Hehasaheadahe,butheforeshimselfoutofbedanyway.Hethinkshelooksawful,hisfaefeelsstiky,butthere’snopointhidingit.NotfromRon,anyway.
Andhe’stootiredtoevensummontheenergytolookforhiswand.
Heopensthedoor,letsRonsee.
Ron’ssharpintakeofbreathonfirmsthathedoeslookawful.“Mate.”
Harryrubshisfaewithhishands,rubsthestikinessofthedriedtearsoffandontohisfingers.Hiseyeshurt.“Thatbad?”
“YoulooklikeGilderoyLokhart.”
Harrysnorts.“Thatbad,then.”
Hesighs,turningaroundandlyingbakdownonhisbed.Hishead’sthrobbing.“Howdidyouknow?”
“Malfoy’smumsentmymumanOwl.Saidshe’sworriedaboutyou.”
“That’s…awfullyfriendly.”
“Iknow.Mumouldn’tbelieveitatfirstyesterday,keptsayingatthestartthatMrs.Malfoy’sprobablypnningsomething,butMerlin,Harry,Ithinkmum’spnningtobakeapietosendover.Blueberrypies.Itsoundsridiulous,butIthinkwaboutyouismakingthemloser.”
“That’s…Well,that’sgood.Ithink.”
RongnesdownatHarry’sfae,beforesittingonthefootofthebed.“So.Malfoy’sbak,huh?”
HarryreallstheimageofMalfoysobbinginhiswheelhairandkeepshiseyesfirmlyontheeiling.“Yeah.”
“Howishe?”
“Notgood.”
“Mustn’tbe,ifyou’relikethis.”
Harrykeepsquiet.Ronknowshimbest.KnowshisobsessionwithMalfoybest,beausehewastheonewhowassoagainstitthathehadtogothroughtheproessoftryingtouandit.Harrydoesn’tknowwhatRononludedattheendofthatproess,butRonmusthaveonludedsomethingforhimtobesoalmaboutitnow.
Ormaybeit’sbeauseofthewar.
Thetwoofthemarebothquieternow,moreintrospetive.It’smoreobviousinRon,who’susuallythefirsttoblowuporgiveintohismoreexplosiveemotions.They’vefoughtoversomanythingsduringthewar,thatanyoftheirremainingdifferenesnowjustaren’timportantenoughtofightoveranymore.
Ronlooksathim.“Heisthereasonyou’relikethis,right?”
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