“Igotold.Gotsick.Gotuseless.”Hervoiceraisestoreachthetableacrossfromthem,aheapofredheadsallintendonignoringherpresence.“Gotshutupinmyhousesothislotdidn’thavetodealwithme.”
Itmustbeabitterlifethatsheleads.Dracowouldhavealmostthoughtthatthiswarwasablessingforher,ifonlyforthefactthatitdrovepeopleintoherhouse.Everyone,eventhemeanones,starveforalittlebitofhumancontact.It’stheonethingthatdrawsthemtogether.
“I’vehearditwasalargehouse,”hesaysfairly,mostlytodrawtheattentionbackintocalmerwatersandalsobecausehefeltbadforher,justabit.
“Yes.Yes,itis.Youusedtohavealargehouse,too.”Herwandsisrestinginherfistandsheflicksitupwardsoaglassofchampagneliftsfromthehandsofoneofhermanynephewsandfindsitswaythere,nevermindthathernearlyfullglasswasrightinfrontofher.“Andnowyouhaveacottage.”
“Ilikeitbetterthere.”
“SoI’vebeentold.”Shetiltsherhead.“You’renotlikethem,youknow.”
He’scaughtoffguard.Theentireconversationwasgivinghimwhiplash.“Who?”
“Yourparents,youraunt,alltherest.Theywalkthrougharoomlikethey’recarvedfromstoneandexpecteveryonetopayhomage.Andalotofpeopledid.Butnotyou.”Shestickshertonguebetweenherteeth,bitingdown.“You’resofter.”
“Isthatagoodthing?”Hedidn’tknowwhyhewaslookingforabsolutionwithAuntMuriel,ofallplaces.“Tobesoft?”
“It’sbettertobendthanbreak,don’tyouthink?Whentheylost,that’swhatyourparentsfoundout.”Shedrainstheglassinonego,andoutofthecornerofhiseye,DracocanseeGeorgeattheedgeoftherowoftablewatchingthem,clearlyweighingthebenefitofsavingDracoinreturnofbeingcalledthewrongname,probablyonpurpose.“Theybroke.”
“AndIsurrendered.”
“Youbent.Andletyourselfbeshapedanew.”Sheraisesherempty,witheredhandsoutaroundher.“Theworldischanging,DracoMalfoy.Besttochangewithit.”Startlingadvice,fromthewomanwhowasbeingleftbehindandseemedtoknowit.“Nowget.Ineedthatseatemptyforaredheadwhomightactuallylistentomeforachange.”
Dracoleaves.Thepowerofagoodinfluence,hethinks,whenheseesHarrybendingabitsoMrs.Weasleycanspeaktohim,andfindshispathcutoffbyGeorge.“Shealrighttoyou?”Henodshisheadathisaunt,andtherewasnoneofthekindexasperationthatheusedtobeknownfor,justadull,shimmeringhatred.“Wecansneakapukingpastyintoherfood”
“Nah,shewasfine.Andyourmotherwouldkillyou.It’salright,George.”Dracoputsahandonhisshoulderanddragshimforwardabit,awayfromalltheserelativeswhoonlyseeFred’sghostwhentheyshouldseehim,awayfromthepeoplewhocouldonlystareattheknotofscartissueonhisfaceinsteadoflookattheperson.There’snotenoughtimeinlifetowasteonthepeoplewhobringyoupain.“We’reallalright.”
Harry
Ginnydanceswithherfather,andhermother,andthenwitheachotherherbrothers.Andthen,justwhenHarrythoughtthatitwouldbeokayforhimtostopwatchingandtuckintothecake,she’sstandinginfrontofhim,herskirtgatheredupoverherarmandonehandheldouttohim.
“Idon’tdance,”iswhathesays,whenherealizeswhatshewantsandtakesintoaccounteveryonestaringathim,givinghimanuncomfortableflashbackfromtheyuleball.
“AndIthoughtyouknew.”Shelaughsathim,pullinghimup.“Today,Harry,isnotaboutyou.”
It’snot.It’sabouther,andthisiswhatshewants,soHarryletsherleadhimouttothefloorandtriesnottopayattentiontothewaythateveryoneisstaringathim,lettinghishandsfindtheirwaytoherwaist.“Ididn’tthinkI’dbeworthyofadance.”
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