“he’s researhing hanahaki disease. he’s dohe basi reading but now he’s expanding his searh, looking into other ases of physial deterioratioo a wizard’s own magi turning on him, ao know if i’d read anything worth his time. i suggested a few titles.”
hermio but her eyes wath harry shrewdly.
“is he looking for a ure?” he asks. he takes his time rummaging through his bag, pulling out some parhment and a quill and his books aanding there fiddling with the straps like a twit.
& say so, but i thi be,” she says. well, that’s somethihe git’s not just going to roll over and die.
“right. anyway,” harry says, “i fot something. wath my things, will you?”
& entirely know what he’s doing as he leaves hermioing there. he lears the library’s doors and finds himself breaking into a run as soo in the halls, raing dowo the dungeons, skidding around a orner—
& ollides with drao, who leans agaih his bak to harry, a spray of lily petals at his feet and his hand squeezing his throat as he raggedly pants for breath.
“er,” harry says. “alright there, malfoy?”
&er,” drao says tonelessly, wiping pile off his lips retentious monogrammed harying to keep his fae turned away from harry’s.
“why, er, why are you bleedihey just flowers—” harry starts. drao snorts and shoots him that disdainful look harry knows all too well, ahe familiar hatred rearing up i.
“potter,” he says, s harry’s owo a on without even having thten up. “there are lilies blooming inside my lus ed arou aling inside my ribage aems lining my throat and seeds in my bloodstream. i aals every time i swallow. the sent follows me into my dreams. pared to that, is a little bit of internal bleeding really so shoking?”
harry tears his gaze away from drao’s lips, whih are dry and raked, and looks at his eyes, whih are worse, haunted aotal betrayal of his tone.
“the only shoking thing about this is that you’re apable of loving anythihan yourself,” harry says, more instint than anger.
drao fli he reovers fast. he puffs up, ready with a retort harry an almost predit word-for-word; they lok eyes, gring, feediher’s fury. it flows bak and forth between them like a living thing. one of harry’s hands lenhes on his urls i sends a riff of triumph through harry. drao will say something awful, and harry will shout at him, and all will be right in the world.
& something stops drao. he sags bak against the wall before the tension an boil eye ontat. a helpless little ough esapes his lips, followed by a stream of them. harry gets to see up lose how drao’s hest heaves, aruggles to draw breath as his luhe lilies—sometimes oals, like shreds of white silk, aire flower heads, the soft fimeers fluttering.
drao gags arou he an’t stop oughiher, and harry sees his silver- grey eyes well up with paiears before he shuts them and turns aani hits harry, suddenly; for all he knows, drao ould drop dead any serabs on to him, supp him with a hand on his shoulder and another one firm on the nape of his nek, and draasps. after far too long, the flowers stop oming; he oughs a few more times, raying drops of blood.
as soon as he’s able, he shakes harry hly.
“if you’ll exuse me,” he snaps, “i’d like to spend my final days doihi thaing manhandled by a spey gryffindor brute.”
“prat,” harry says, automatially, and then he finishes proessing the words. “days?”
“maybe. i don’t know. but i haven’t got long,” drao says. “what’s wro got sik of pying savi that tiny brain of yours for a way to be the hero oime?”
“far from it. this is the best thing that’s happe hogwarts in years,” harry says, whih of ourse is absurd, he flew through fieo save this boy, of ourse he doesn’t want him dead—and somehow he’s still going. “if i k was, i’d shake their hand.”
drao smiles, then, but it’s an awful smile; it looks like it hurts more than the oughing did. harry opens his mouth to apologize, to take it bak—he’s fioo far, has drao says, “not even you ahing you want,” and ithout a bakward gne.
harry stares at his bak as he disappears around a orner and wonders hoens with dra went out of his ontrol so fast.
drao skips di evening.
harry’s eyes saherin table over and for him, but halfway through dinner he has o onlude drao’s not oming. it’s o of pansy, spooning sad oe and seeming no more unhappy than usual, that sets him at ease.
hermione nudges him. “looking for someone?” she asks, brows raised.
he shakes his head and drops his eyes to his pte. he aell her that, after seeing drao hak his i while harry stood there uselessly, the sight of dra would have been a relief.
“well,” says hermione, “if y for someone, i’d advise you to hek the hospital wing.”
harry looks around at her, amazed, but she’s engrossed in a book she’s propped ope where her pte should be; the pte is in her p. ron’s t with seamus ai