Harry Potter and the Adventure He Affectionately Calls Life

Harry followed Snape up the stairs to the Headmaster's office, thoughts running frantically through his head. What was so important that Dumbledore had to send Snape -SNAPE! of all people- to come find him? What was so important that spending a quiet afternoon with his girlfriend had to be interrupted? What was so important that Snape hadn't insulted Harry or taken away all the Gryffindor points after listening to Lana talk in her sleep?

"I don't know," Snape said. "You're so disgustingly predictable, Potter. You're probably wondering where we're going. Why we're going where we are. What does the Headmaster need to tell you? Why did I come to find you instead of McGonagall? I can't answer those. Even if I could, I wouldn't. All I know is that I was chosen over McGonagall because I happened to be around at that time." He paused for a minute, muttered the password, then turned around to face Harry. "I trust you know the way up from here? You've made frequent visits since your second year."

Harry rolled his eyes at the potions master, but nodded. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then proceeded up the stairs. Dumbledore's door was already open, so he walked in.

"Ah, Harry. Come in, come in."

Harry frowned at the Headmaster. His eyes, normally sparkling blue with excitement, were dull. "Er... Is something wrong?"

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said. He reached for a box and set it down in front of Harry, but seemed hesitant to open it. "Do you know what this is?"

Harry shook his head.

"Of course not." Dumbledore sighed, then opened the box and pulled out some papers. "These letters... they... well... Vol..." Dumbledore sighed again. "Harry, there is no easy way for me to tell you this."

Harry looked at the letters in suspicion. "What?"

"These letters are from Voldemort. Initially, I assumed they were pranks from the Weasley twins. This issue is nothing to be joked about, but that has never stopped Misters Fred and George Weasley. I have reason to believe that these letters are written by who they say they are, and that is what scares me."

"What scares you?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

"Sir?"

Now Dumbledore handed him a few of the letters. They were all relatively short, all written in the same handwriting Harry had seen four years ago in the Chamber of Secrets when Tom Marvolo Riddle had written fire in the air with his own wand. " 'I told you I was here in the beginning of the year'," Harry read aloud. He looked up to see the Headmaster looking at him sadly. In an effort to cheer him up, Harry said, "Looks like Voldemort's a poet." At this, Dumbledore smiled. It was a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless, and that was something to be slightly happy about. Harry went on to the next letter.

Dumbledore reached into a corner of the box. "This is the longest one he's ever written." He gave it to Harry to read. "What worries me," he continued when Harry had finished. "Is that he says he has been watching us for months now. None of the ghosts, the rest of the staff, the students, no one has reported anyone suspicious around the castle. Even Filch, who has spotted trouble many times, has had nothing to report lately."

A mental image of Filch and Fiora experimenting with her book flashed through Harry's head. He brushed it aside quickly. "So Voldemort is in the castle? Is that even possible?"

"There's no reason for there not to be. It's a huge castle, Harry. There are places in the castle even I do not know of yet. If someone wanted to hide somewhere here, it would not be difficult for him to do so once he got inside."

Harry chewed on the bottom of his lip while thinking. But he had no thoughts, and so he picked up a letter at random. "This one confuses me," he confessed. "What's wrong with six?"

"I don't think the Dark Lord wants to wait until the end of your seventh year for his final battle with you. In addition, this could work to the advantage of the entire wizarding world."

"How?"

"If the Great War happens later, Voldemort has time to build an army."

"But then so do we."

"Yes, but at what cost, Harry? Drafting young witches and wizards from their homes? Everyone you know and love, this world of ours that you have come to know and love, chances are that even if we emerge victorious, this world will cease to exist. But, Harry, you can change all of that. Voldemort is restless. He wants action, and he wants it now. You can save the world on your own."

It hit Harry like a ton of bricks. "It's either I die or the entire Wizarding community dies, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily. You can win. You can live. I never said anything about death. But yes, you can spare our community the hardship of war."

"What do you want me to do? Just say it, and consider it done."

Dumbledore smiled at him, and this time it reached his eyes. "I don't want you to do anything. I want you to be a sixteen year old boy, Harry. A young man. I'm sorry that your biggest worry cannot be Quidditch or Lana Weasley. I'm sorry that you have had to deal with more hardships in your young sixteen years than many older wizards ever have to deal with in their entire lives. This choice is yours and yours alone, Harry James Potter. No one can tell you what to do, myself included. Whatever you decide, I will aid you as best I can. Whatever you decide, you will still remain a hero in our world. Whatever you decide, it doesn't matter. You will have to face Voldemort before the end. It's just a matter of when."
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Harry couldn't sleep that night. Voldemort, according to Dumbledore, was somewhere in the castle. Had he been in the Gryffindor Common Room? Had he brewed his own PolyJuice potion and crept around the castle disguised as someone else? It had happened before, Harry remembered with a shudder. Voldemort was a very powerful wizard.

In the bed beside him, Ron slept peacefully. Neville, Dean, and Seamus slept soundly as well, but their rhythmic breathing was not enough to put Harry at rest. With a sigh, Harry slipped on a pair of slippers and grabbed his Hogwarts sweatshirt. It was still chilly in the castle.

He had no idea where he was going, but he needed to get out of here. Needed to get away from the other Gryffindors. Needed to get away from Hogwarts. He strolled out of the main doors in his pajamas, following the moonlight to the Quidditch pitch. It looked so empty, so lonely. There were no players in the sky, no equipment on the ground. The scoreboard read a solemn zero-zero.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry whirled around, startled. "Sir!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "Do you normally wander around the grounds late at night?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "I believe we both know the answer to that question." He shifted one seat over on the Gryffindor stands. "Come sit with me. Let's talk."

Harry wordlessly sat down next to the headmaster.

"Ah, yes. Now then..."

"Do you think I'm going to die?"

"Yes. Yes, Harry. There is no doubt in my mind that you are going to die, as we all must."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said.

"You're upset over what we discussed earlier on. Talk to me, Harry."

He took in a breath, then looked at the headmaster, his blue eyes sparkling with an odd combination of wisdom and curiosity. "What if I die, Professor Dumbledore? I'm sixteen, I don't want to die. Will I have died in vain? This possible Great War... what's it for? What are people fighting for?"

"It's hard, Harry. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for you. Voldemort... The Dark Lord... Well..." Dumbledore fell silent for a minute, staring up at the vast night sky. "Even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. You keep going because you have something to hold on to."

Harry looked at the headmaster, his eyes full of pain. "What am I holding on to, Professor?"

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Potter. And it's worth fighting for. That, and the hope that this will pass like a bad dream."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we should be prepared."

"Oh, lovely," Harry said sarcastically. "If I die, it's like an alarm. Potter failed, bring in the backups. I suppose I should be prepared to die? I suppose I should write about my will?"

"I was going to talk to you about that some other time, after the shock of today's news passed."

Harry whirled around. "When does it end? When does any of it end?" He stood up and walked to the edge of the Gryffindor stands. "When do I get to live like a normal wizard? A normal school free from my annual duels with Voldemort?" He grabbed the Gryffindor banner in his hand and crumpled it, enjoying the feel of the cool material in his hand. "Oh, yes. I didn't have to face Voldemort three years ago. I got to fight dementors and werewolves instead." Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. "I've got to go."

Dumbledore stood up. "Where are you going?"

"Back," Harry said bitterly. "I've got a will to write."

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Harry hunched over a piece of parchment and started scribbling by wandlight. He muttered to himself occasionally, trying to be quiet so that Ron could sleep. But he had no idea what one usually left in a will. Money? Prized possessions? Both? Neither? He decided to start with money and prized possessions, and so he didn't hear Ron tiptoe out of bed and stand beside his shoulder.

"'The Will of Harry James Potter'?" Ron read sleepily, causing Harry to jump.

"Jeez, Ron! What the hell were you doing out of bed?"

"What are you doing out of bed? And what are you writing? The story of your life?"

"My will."

"Your will? My grandmother had one of those before she died. Left me some things, she did. Binky, my teddy bear from when I was three..." Seeing the odd stare Harry was giving him, Ron carried on. "But carrying on, why are you writing a will?"

"Voldemort's coming."

Ron winced. "Don't say the name."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort." He ignored Ron as a high pitched squeak left his throat. "Dumbledore says he's here. He's written letters to me, Ron. He's in the castle, watching me."

"How do you know it's not some big joke?"

"Dumbledore believes it's not."

"Oh." He picked up Harry's will. "What have you written so far?"

"Read it," Harry said bitterly.

So he did. He cleared his throat and began to read. "In the event that I, Harry James Potter, shall pass on into the afterlife, I wish for the following items to be given to the following persons." He looked up. "Harry, this sounds so depressing."

"It's a will, Ron. It's not supposed to be cheerful."

"Good point. Reading on." He cleared his throat again. "I wish for whatever money I have stored away in Gringotts to be distributed as follows. May ten percent go to the Dursley's so that they may be reimbursed for any inconveniences I may have caused them in the past sixteen years. The remaining ninety percent is to be equally divided and given to Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Lana Weasley. Ten percent of all your parents left you to the Dursleys, Harry? Do they even deserve one percent?"

"Yes."

"And I think I should get more than Hermione or Lana. I've known you longer. I should be billing you by the hour."

"Oh, shut up," Harry said with a slight grin.

"As for my Firebolt, may it be given to Mr. Draco Malfoy. Harry, Malfoy already has a broomstick. A nice one. And he can afford enough Firebolts to use as firewood for every single fireplace in Malfoy Manor all winter long."

"I know," Harry said simply. "But he won't."

Ron stared at him blankly before reading on. Books and supplies were to be donated to the school. Ginny was to get first pick at Harry's Quidditch equipment, and the rest was to be given to the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. "Harry... I..." He broke off, biting the inside of his cheek while he thought.

"I know, Ron. Me, too."

Ron sat beside his friend, the will still in his hand. "Harry, you're not going to die."

"Dumbledore said I definitely will."

"WHAT?"

"Well, he did!"

"Dumbledore said that?"

"Uh-huh."

"I don't believe it." Ron's usually red face was white. "I can't believe Dumbledore would say something like that."

"Well, he said everyone must die. It's just a matter of when."

"That's not what I meant," Ron said irritably.

"Me either."

Ron looked down at the will again and folded it once. Then twice. Then he ripped it in half.

"Jesus, Ron! What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because you're not going to die, Harry. You can't die. You're the famous Harry Potter. You're the boy who lived!"

"Yeah. Lived. Past tense, Ron."

"Damn, Harry, what's gotten into you?"

"I don't know," Harry said in a small voice and with a resigned sigh. "I just don't know."
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Ron approached Harry timidly the next morning. "Harry..." he started rather nervously. "Does Hermione know about our conversation last night?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It depends."

"On what?"

"Did you tell her anything?"

"No..." Ron frowned in confusion.

"Then 'Mione knows nothing."

"I, for one, do not not know anything," Hermione stated crossly as she sat down next to Ron. "What are guys talking about?"

"Nothing," Harry grumbled and started focusing on his omelets as if he would be tested on it later.

Hermione looked at Harry, then looked to Ron. "What did you boys do? Honestly, if you've gotten into trouble again..."

Harry looked at her, not meaning to silence her, but did so anyway. It was his eyes that did it, for they were so full of sorrow and pain that it made her want to cry for no reason. "No, Hermione. Ron's not in trouble." He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Ron will fill you in. I need some air."

Harry didn't find air, for he got mildly distracted on the way. His mind on his problems, he didn't notice he walked right into Draco Malfoy.

"Watch it!" Draco said before he saw who it was. "Ah, Potter. Those glasses need to be upgraded, don't they?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco snickered. "Touchy, touchy, eh?"

Harry rolled his eyes and stormed off in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Draco ran after him. "Potter, it's no fun to insult you if you're not going to listen. And I don't like talking to your back. Turn around, Potter."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "You walk around if you want to talk to me face to face."

"No," Draco said, equally stubborn. "I'm a Malfoy. I don't take orders from other people."

"So many comments," Harry said wistfully. "So little time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the blonde demanded.

"Again... so many comments..."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco ordered, whirling Harry around. Draco frowned immediately. "Potter? What's wrong?"

Harry rubbed his temples. "I'm about to confide in a Malfoy," he said to no one. "Somebody shoot me now."

"Just talk, Potter." Another order, though neither of them noticed.

"Voldemort's here."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Dumbledore says he's here. I spent a majority of last night writing out a will."

"A will? Father has one of those, though my name isn't on it."

Harry stared at Draco as if he had ten heads. "Your father isn't leaving you anything?"

Draco shrugged. "Obviously not. Well, it's not as if you were left anything, either!"

Harry briefly wondered if he should put Draco in his place, then decided against it. "Whatever."

"Do you have anything to leave behind?" Draco asked. There was a tone of his voice that implied he wasn't trying to be snooty. He was just curious.

Harry looked away. "Odd, isn't it? Your father leaves you nothing, and I have something to offer." He wasn't sure why, but he felt like he was bragging. He hated it.

Draco's eyes opened wide with shock. He covered it quickly. "Potter, there is nothing you could leave me that I couldn't afford to buy already."

"Fine then," Harry said with a shrug. He stepped around Draco and headed out the main door. After only a second's hesitation, Draco followed him. (That second was spent wondering what all his friends would do if they knew he was about to follow Potter.)

Harry was sitting on the front steps, the hairs on his arm standing up from the cool April morning air. Draco sat down next to him. "What did you mean when you said 'so many comments, so little time?'"

"You said you don't take orders from anybody. But you do."
"I do not!"
"Yes, you do. From your father. From your high-class society. From that stupid book of yours."
"What book?"
"The Malfoy Family Code of Conduct"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"
Harry nodded. "Both Ginny and Lana have mentioned it, but I forget who mentioned it first. It's in your room sandwiched between a dust-collected copy of Hogwarts, A History and a ratty, well-read copy of Fantastic Breasts and What to do to Them."
"Impressive, Potter."
"You have a rule book, Malfoy? A book of rules as to how to live your life?"
Draco shrugged. "They're more like guidelines..."
"Bullshit."
"Fine! Don't believe me."
"I won't."
"Fine."
"Fine!" They sat in silence for a while, watching Hagrid tend to his animals across the field. "What sort of rules do you have in that book?" Harry wanted to know.
"Stupid things," Draco said. "What we can and cannot wear. Who we can and cannot talk to. Things like that."
"You have it memorized?"
Draco laughed. "I tried. I got stuck somewhere between Malfoys should not write love letters, but are not prohibited from receiving them, ideally in bulk and Malfoys can not have red hair."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You know what's crazy?"
"Half of the rules in the book?" Draco guessed.
"No. The fact that we're sixth years. We spent five years hating each others when we could have been friends."
"Friends?" Draco echoed. "Are we friends?"
Harry looked shocked. "I... I mean... erm... well... aren't we?" He saddened visibly when Draco said nothing.
"Harry!" Hermione was rushing towards him. "Harry! Oh, Harry." She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Ron just told me everything. Don't worry, Harry. We won't let anything happen to you. Between Ron, Lana, Ginny, and myself, you're going to be fine. And Draco, too. Right, Draco?"
Draco stared at the two of them, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder in some crazy combination of lovers and siblings, but not both. "Whatever," he said before he stood up and headed back inside the castle.

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Everyone was seated in the Great Hall waiting for breakfast to appear. The hall was filled with the heart-warming noise of chatter among friends. Hermione and Ron were sitting next to each other, Ron's head on his girlfriend's shoulder. Lana and Ginny were talking about some muggle music singer Lana had called Usher. Harry looked around at his friends and smiled sadly. He couldn't get Draco's words -or lack of them- out of his head. Weren't they friends? Maybe not as close friends as Hermione and Ron, and maybe not even to the level of Lana and Ginny, but still. He felt closer to Draco than he did to Seamus or Neville or Dean. Didn't that mean something?
"Harry? Are you okay?" Hermione asked, because she was Hermione and had always been able to tell when something was wrong.
"Yeah," Harry said, looking up as the owls came with the mail. "I'm fine."
"Okay..." Hermione said with a doubtful look on her face. "If you're sure. Ron, wake up. Breakfast appeared and the mail's here." She shook her shoulder, sending Ron landing face-first into a plate of scrambled eggs.
"I'm not eating that," Lana said, looking up from a letter she was reading.
"Neither am I," Ron said, wiping the sleep and egg from his eyes. "Oh! Mail!" He started reading the Daily Prophet, then looked over at Hermione, who had just finished reading some mail and was getting started on the newspaper as well.
Harry reached for his own pile of mail, which included the newspaper, the newest issue of Quidditch Quarterly, and a letter from Hagrid asking him to stop by and have a cup of tea with him later that afternoon.
"Hello, Gryffindors." Draco was standing next to Ron, looking down at them.
"DRAKIE!" Ginny and Lana squealed in unison, causing Draco to cringe in pain.
"Ladies, please. It's Draco. Not Drake. Not Drakie. Not Dragon-Boy. Draco."
"Dragon-Boy?" Ron asked, looking like it was nearly Christmas instead of nearly May.
"Shut it, Weasel." He looked away from Ron and faced his sister. "Ginny, I need to talk to you. Now. In private."
"Okay." She got up quietly, obviously concerned for the Slytherin, gathered her things, and followed Draco out of the Great Hall.

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Harry was on his way to Hagrid's later that afternoon when Hermione stopped him. "Let's just sit together for a while," she said. "We hardly ever get to spend time together. I know you have to go to see Hagrid, and I have to... um... do something else..." She broke off as Harry nodded knowingly. "No, not like that..."
Harry looked at her. "Miss Granger," he said teasingly. "Are you crushing on me? Are you trying to get me alone so you can take advantage of me?"
"Damn," she responded, pretending to look sad. "You figured out my plan."
Harry grinned. He turned so his back was to Hermione. "Get on," he said. He felt the weight of Hermione riding on his back. "So," he said, pausing so she could get off once they were under the shade of a willow tree by the lake. "What can I do for you?"
"I don't like the way you were looking at breakfast this morning. And I thought I saw you looking upset when you and Draco were talking yesterday. Harry, what's wrong? Is this about Voldemort?"
"No. It's worse. It's about Draco."
"What's wrong with Draco?"
"I don't think he likes me."
"Well, of course he does."
"No. Before you came we were talking about that stupid Malfoy Rule Book. Don't ask. I said it was stupid that we spent five years not hating each other when we could have been friends, and he looked sort of surprised. I told him I thought we were friends, and he didn't say anything. He just sort of stared right through me. And I didn't mean friends like the way you and Ron and I are friends, but still..."
"Oh, Harry. Draco knows you're friends. But don't forget the way he was brought up. He's not used to having friends who aren't actually half-decent people. He may not have even realized that you two have become friends during the year. But he knows. Don't worry." She hugged Harry tightly. "And you'll always have Ron, and you'll always have me."
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, surprised at how much better he felt. "I appreciate it." He kissed her forehead gratefully.
"No problem."
"Now I better get to Hagrids. And you better go off and do that thing you were supposed to do." He winked, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll see you later."
"Okay. Tell Hagrid I said hello."

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Harry was walking back from his meeting with Hagrid when he saw something that saddened him: Draco Malfoy sitting by the edge of the lake throwing stones in. Unsure if he was doing the same thing, we walked towards the blonde boy. "Hey, Malfoy."
"Potter." He threw in another stone, and it sank to the bottom with a plunk. Harry reached over and threw one in, and it skipped a few times before it sunk as well. "Prat," Draco said sourly.
"Thanks." He sat down with him. "What's wrong?"
"You're going to hear it from one of the many Weasley's. You may as well hear it from me. I ended things with Ginny."
"Why?"
"Because I love her."
If Draco had said this a few months ago, Harry would have assumed one of two things. He was kidding, or he was talking about Lana. But now Harry wasn't so sure. "Go on," he said.
"I'm going on," Draco snapped. "Can't you keep your mouth shut for five minutes so I get a word in without you interrupting?"
"Sorry."
"There you go again." Draco rolled his eyes. "I got a letter from my father today. I'm getting married."
"To who?"
"Blaise Zabini."
"Oh." Harry picked up another stone and threw it. "At least it's not Pansy Parkinson."
"That's such an optimistically Gryffindor thing of you to say, Potter."
"So what does that have to do with Ginny?"
"I told my father that I was with her. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly happy about it. And Malfoy's are usually engaged to a nice pureblood at my age. So I guess I just have to suck it up and get married. But you're right about one thing. Blaise is hot. Pansy looks like something Mrs. Norris dragged in."
Harry laughed. "And you know Blaise can sing." He laughed again at the memory of Blaise stripping and pole dancing while singing All That Jazz at auditions for Liberation. It had seemed like so long ago. Hermione's accident and his fight with Ron seemed like so long ago. It was hard to imagine so much time had passed. It couldn't possibly have been five years ago Hagrid had arrived and given Dudley pigs ears and a pigs tail. It had to have been less than that. But yet it had been five years since then, and now Draco and the Weasleys managed to coexist in harmony. "You know, Malfoy. Ginny is a pureblood, too."
"She's different."
"How?"
"Because she doesn't care. She likes muggles more than muggles like muggles. "And she's a Weasley. My parents would never agree."
"I don't think your mother would mind it much."
"True. My father, though. Potter, he'd kill me. As it is he's upset that I haven't been inducted into the Death Eaters Club."
"There's a club?"
Draco glared.
"Sorry." There was an awkward moment of silence. "What did Ginny say when you broke up with her?"
"She accepted it. I told her why I ended it. I told her the truth."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Yeah...." Harry nodded, feeling awkward again. "Malfoy, just do it. Just marry Ginny."
"What?"
"Why not? She's a pureblood, not that that's important. But she is one. You love her. She loves you. She's a nice girl."
"Thanks, Harry," Ginny said.
Harry and Draco whirled around at the same time. "Ginny!" Harry got up immediately and beckoned for her to take his seat. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there."
"Can I talk to Draco?"
"Sure." Harry looked at Ginny and Draco. "I'll be around if you need me. Maybe I'll go play Wizards Chess with Ron."
"You can't. He and Hermione were headed off last I saw them..." She winked at Harry.
"Ah. Well then, I'll go find Lana. I'm sure she's not busy with Hermione, and I somehow doubt she's with you at the moment."
"Good guess."
Harry grinned. "I hope you two work things out."
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The boys dormitory in Gryffindor tower was quiet as Harry carried Lana into his room and set her down on his desk gently. "I've missed you," he whispered to her as she smiled up at him.
"I've been right here."
"I know. I've been distracted."
"I know. I'll always be right here."
"I know. I love you."
"I love you, too, Harry."
He kissed her gently on the forehead, and she smiled at him again. "So tell me," Harry said as he gently brushed a lock of Lana's brown hair away from her face. "What have you been up to lately?"
Lana shrugged. Harry sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She snuggled up in his shoulder. "Nothing, really. Just the same routine. School, homework, Gryffindor, and work."
"Work?"
Lana smiled sadly. "Yeah. I've been working in Madam Malkins' store for a while."
"Oh." Harry wondered how he didn't know that. "How did I not know that?"
Lana shrugged again. "You've been busy."
"That's no excuse." He took her chin in his hands. "Lana Weasley, I'm sorry I've been a terrible boyfriend lately. Really, I am. I love you, and you and your cousin and his girlfriend are all I need in this world to be happy."
"It's okay. I understand."
"No you don't. Because I never told you. I've been distracted, and Ron and Hermione figured it out. So I told them." He kissed her forehead. "I should have told you at the same time, but I didn't, so I'm telling you now."
"Tell me what?"
"Voldemort is here in the castle. I've been brooding over the fact that it's going to be me in the end that rids the world of evil."
"Oh, Harry." She hugged him. "It's no wonder you've been distracted. I would be."
"No you wouldn't. You're resilient and beautiful, and Lana Weasley, you make my life worth living. You're the reason I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face and the reason I have sweet dreams most nights. You're my angel."