The Scottish Boy

by Alex de Campi

God gave him everything he prayed for, and only took the two people he loved most in the world in payment. And he can’t complain, for he had never thought to ask the cost of his dreams.

‘Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?’ he whispers, running his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. ‘And kind. I wasn’t lying, that night when I said nobody has ever been as nice to me as you are. And you were my enemy.’

He sighs. At least if he’s in a later mêlée, he tells himself, he can sleep in a little tomorrow. (He won’t, but it’s a nice idea.)