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Summary
Potter laughs, more rumbustious than Draco has seen him in years. He looks better, too. His skin is less sallow, his cheeks less gaunt, his hair—no, never mind. His hair is the same mess as always. Not for the first time, Draco regrets being unable to pour his heart out to Pansy, because she could tell him—objectively—if that’s what “the glow” looks like. He thinks so. And he, Draco bloody Malfoy, has put it there.
