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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