“notasgood,”harryreplied.“besides,theydon’tlooklikeyoudonow.”

“isthatevenaquestion?haveyouseenyou?”

draopedhisotherhand

“youareso,”draoreplied,openinghiseyestolookattheotherman.“youhaveguiltwrittenalloveryourfae.anddon’tatlikeidon’tknowwhatthatlookslike,ipratiallyhaveadotorateininterpretingyourfaialexpressions.whyareyoustaring,potter?”

“stopwathingme.”

“soilooklikeaghost?”draosaid,approahingharryslowly.

“yeah?ishowilooknowbetterorworse?”draosneered,althoughharryouldtellhisheartwasn’tinit.

“you’rehanddoesn’tgothrough,doesit?”draoasked,hisvoieimpossiblysoft.

“no,”harrywhispered.drao’ssweaterwasthinnerthanheexpeted,andheouldfeeltheheatfromhisbodybleedingthroughagainsthishand.

“hmm?”

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“ineverthoughti’dseeyourfaeagain,”harrysaid,finally,igntheflutterinhisstomahasheadmittedit.

“i’mnot.”

“youlook—ikeeptellingmyselfyoumustbeaghost.orsomeextremelyiivemirroroferised-esquevision.ikeeptellingmyselfthetimeiturnaround,you’llbegone.ori’llbehavingamomentofluidityinwhateverst.mungo’sbedi’murrentlystrappedinto,”harryrambled,turningtofinddraohadalsostoodfromhisseat.

“idon’tthinkilookallthatdifferent,”draoshrugged.

“therewerephotos,”draosaid,thoughharryouldn’thelpbutnotietheolorthatametohisheeksashespoke.

harryknewhehadbroughtthisoionuponhimself,buthefelthewasgettingtoolosetosayingtoomuh.hestoodup,paingbetweentheirtwoarmhairs.whenhisbakwastodraohespoke.

mhair,eyeslosedasheresthisheadonhishand.

“no,that’snotwhatimeant.imean,you’repale,but—”harrytrailedoffagainasdraotookhisarmbythewrist.

draotookharry’shandandpeditonhishest.