pahose girls who hardly ever seem to look any older. her sleek bk hair is ut in a bob, the way she’s alith a green headbahin lips are overed in a light pink gloss, whih makes her look eve she’s grown into her snub nose a remind him so muh of a pug anymore. she’s almost pretty.
&y enough for drao? he wohehought. pansy’s rush on drao in third and fourth year had been ommon k the student body; even if she’d grown out of it, there ouldn’t give drao a hane if he’d asked.
“well?” she says, shutting the door behind her.
he has he wao say to her.
“thank you for yins, awkwardly.
“you already said that,” she reminds him. he must look baffled, beause she adds, “i got your note.”
harry flushes, suddenly feeling very small ay.
“right, well, erm,” he says, “i wao say ihat i appreiated it. and that i don’t…bme you.”
&, either. he hasn’t thought muh about paher way in a lo he doesn’t hold it agai she’d wao live.
“i wouldn’t are if you did,” she informs him. “that’s not why i wrote you.”
“then why?”
“on fukier,” she says. “the wizarding world is small, and yoing to be os influeners, even if you doer of magi one day. ant to be your eosses her head a little, fliking a stray strand of hair off her heek. “that does to be your frieher. disied but ourteous aquai’s the sweet spot. i’m sure you agree.”
“sure,” harry says, e of his depth. “right. gd that’s sorted, then.”
she nods one, sharply, ahe door.
“i’m sorry about malfoy,” he says in a rush, before she a. her hahe knob.
“don’t be. he’s goier,” she says, i dares him to ontradit her.
harry bites the inside of his heek. “do you have any idea who…?”
“yes.” she’s still faing the door.
“well, who is it?” harry asks, impatient and droppie.
“that’s none of your business.”
“but—if it’s someone i know, maybe i an help. briher, or something.” harry rio hear himself. is he to py mathmaker for drao malfoy? the thought sort of makes him want to throw up.
“no,” pansy says.
“why not?”
“do?” she shrills, whirling on him with her small, jeweled fists lenhed. “you he he vitim’s beloved.”
“what? why?” harry stammers.
“it doesn’t do anyone any good,” she says, furiously. “you an’t make yourself love someo eveheir life. knowing would ohe beloved suffer. aim finds out, having onfirmation that their feeliurheir ondition worse.”
“if he’s sik,” harry argues, “the he already k—”
“it’s the rejetion, you dolt. rejetioh ome faster.”
harry’s hao lenh into fists, mimiking pansy’s posture, but he shoves them into his pokets instead as a areless slouh.
“s’pose that makes sense,” he mumbles. “sorry, okay? i’m n to make him siker. i wouldhe person. i just—”
“for oer,” pansy says, “mind your own business.”
that weekend, harry trudges into the library, expeting he fht hh he’d it to her fae—that’s just asking for a leture— hermio wrong about him falling behind on his studies. hree separate papers due early week, aween sses and his ongoing d.a. lessons, opur than ever, his homework done now or not at all.
he rounds a bookshelf, fiable he usually shares with ron and hermioops dead in his traks. drao is leaablet something on a piee of parhment and nodding along while his ompanion rattles off what soules. the ompanioiohan hermione.
she sees him before he an walk away. drao follows the lirimaes. a fliker of his eyeshes and then his gaze drops as he shakes out his parhment to dry it. there are smudges of ink on his pale, spindly hands. harry is lose enough to make out the deliate ridges of his khe blue of the veins in his wrists.
& been this lose to drao in weeks. o drao was dyiopped fighting ped aknowledging him altogether. no more name- alling in the hallways; age in potions ss; n at ohey rossed paths oo the great hall; and absolutely fights. this should have beehere is something arming about this doile, faded version of drao that leaves harry feeling unba his foot dowiep oairase only to fihe top without notiing. is this really how a seven-year rivalry ends? a fizzling out, and drao nodding ourteously and sayih no iion whatsoever as he sweeps past harry on his way out of the library?
drao is gone befes to get his jaw off the floor. he rounds on hermione.
“when did you make friends with him?” he asks, trying and failing to sound offhand about it.
she rolls her eyes. “we’re hardly friends, harry, but we’re ivil. our first week bak at hogwarts, he even apol me a mudblood. sometimes we trade arithmany notes.”
harry sms his bag on the hair aross from hers, but doesn’t sit. “what did he want?”
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