Кассандра Клэр: Draco Veritas

"Itś not bloody true," Harry said again, the tops of his cheekbones dark red with rage.

"Right," said Draco. "Tell me, what classes is she taking?"

Harry blinked and opened his mouth. 'What?"

"What classes is Hermione taking this year?"

Harryś mouth remained open. "Potions," he said slowly. "Advanced DaDA with Lupin…."

"And the classes she doesn´t have with you?"

Harry looked down at the bartop. "Arithmancy," he said. His voice was unsure. "Medical Magic. Wards and Protection…"

"She dropped that," said Draco. His voice was hard. "In October. Sheś taking Runic Studies instead."

Harry looked away from him. His jaw muscles were set. "Whatś your point?"

"You have been ignoring her. Why?"

"I have not-"

"Oh, give it up, Harry," yelled Draco in exasperation. "Is there somebody else?"

Harry banged his fist down so hard on the bar that the glasses rattled.

Draco was conscious of the fat wizard on his right giving them a peculiar look. He was also conscious that his last question to Harry might easily be misunderstood if one hadn´t carefully listened to the conversation previously. Oh well.

"There is nobody else!" Harry shouted. "There never will be anybody else, not for me, not ever!"

The fat wizard nudged Draco in the ribs with his wand. "I think he really means it," he hissed in Dracoś ear. "Come on, give him another chance."

"Oh, shut up," said Draco, not turning around. He was looking at Harry.

The dark red color had faded from Harryś skin and now he was very white.

" Sorry," he said. "Itś not your fault."

"Damn right it isn´t," said Draco. "And don´t think I like being go-between for you and Hermione either, because I don´t."

"So why…?"

"I don´t like seeing her unhappy," said Draco, with finality.

At that, Harry was silent. He stared off at the row of bottles lined up against the wall behind the bar. The magical liquors inside swirled with different colors: shades of lavender, turquoise and lemony gold. "Maybe I´m being selfish," he said finally. "But itś because I love her and I don´t want to lose her even if I don´t…even if I can´t…" he paused, and Draco waited, knowing this was no time to interrupt. "Even if I can´t give her anything right now," Harry finished.

"You´ll drive her away," said Draco.

Harry was looking down into his empty glass now. The torchlight fringed his black hair with gold and lit a bright spark of fire at his throat. The Epicyclical Charm. "Might be the best thing for her," he said.

"Bollocks," said Draco firmly. "She loves you."

"Love," said Harry flatly. His voice held no intonation. "Maybe."

"Don´t be a daft bugger. Of course she does."

The bartender set another drink down in front of Harry, who looked at it out of bleary green eyes. Draco tried to recall the number of glasses of alcohol Harry had now consumed. He had a feeling it was out of the single digits. "Voldemortś coming for me," Harry said. "You know that."

Draco leaned back. "I don´t know any such thing," he said, although in the back of his head was the memory of a burning pain lancing through his palm, and a manś voice saying, The boy is unreliable, Master.

"Of course he is," said Harry. "He´ll try for me again. Why would he stop now? Slytherinś out of the way, and the younger I am and the less experienced the better his chances."

"Potter…" Draco let his voice trail away. "You don´t know."

"I know." Harryś voice was certain.

"Then….are you afraid?"

"No. I´m glad."

Draco blinked. "Come again?"

"I´m glad," said Harry, and his voice held something, something savage and primal. His hand was tight around the stem of his glass. "I´m glad. I think about it all the time, Malfoy, about confronting him, my chance for vengeance this time, my chance to free my parents… I dream about killing him. I wake up with bruises on my hands and I know I´ve been hitting the wall with my fists while I sleep. I´ve been angry before but I´ve never known hatred like this, this fierce and constant, it never leaves me, and how can I be around Hermione when I feel like that? If she knew how I really was, how full of poison and hate…she thinks I´m above those things, better than that, and I wish I was, but — " He shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs, and his black hair flew around his face. Hermione had been right. It wanted cutting. "But I´m not."

Draco was staring at him. "I didn´t know…"

Harryś breathing was ragged. "I keep thinking about my parents down there… in that place…"

Draco spoke through a tightened throat: "Did you use the Pensieve I gave you?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I can´t…." The alcohol had roughened the usually smooth edges of his voice, and given it a wild desperation. "I can´t bear it, I can´t…" and he leaned forward, and buried his face in his hands.

Draco stayed frozen, his heart beating painfully against his ribs. This was his fault, his fault, he was the one who had told Harry about his parents in the land of the dead, giving him a tool with which to sharpen all his feelings of loss and rage and despair into a now-unbearable point. He had thought the gift of the Pensieve would help, but it hadn´t, since Harry couldn´t bear to use it. He was a fool to have thought of it in the first place.

He reached out, and gently touched the now-dry shoulder of Harryś dark cloak. "Potter." Harry didn´t move. "Potter, I´m sorry. I — "

Harry fell off the chair and slid bonelessly to the ground.

"Oh, hell." Draco was off his chair and kneeling down next to Harry in a flash. He put a hand on Harryś shoulder and rolled him over. He seemed unharmed, and blinked up at Draco with sleepy half-open emerald eyes.

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

"Fine, thank you, Professor," said Harry, smiled, and shut his eyes.

"And one day I will remember why I let you drink so much." Draco sighed and sat back on his heels. Only then did he realize that the whole bar was staring at them. Even the scantly clad waitresses were looking at them curiously. "Come on, Harry, get up. No, don´t fall back down again. Yes, I know, gravity is a harsh mistress. But we have to learn to work with her.

Now come along…"

"Look, he´ll come back." Ginny gave Hermioneś hand a comforting squeeze. The two girls sat together just outside Hogwarts' great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. Both were warmly wrapped in fur-lined cloaks: Hermioneś dark blue, Ginnyś pale gold. A few flakes of silvery snow were caught in Ginnyś scarlet curls, and her dark eyes were wide and anxious as they fixed on her friend. "You two hardly ever fight."

"I know," said Hermione, through a tight throat. "Thatś what makes it so awful."

"Fighting all the time is worse by far, believe me," said Ginny, and rolled her eyes. "Draco and I — " She broke off. Despite her miserable state, Hermione found her ears pricking with interest.

"Draco and you what?"

"Nothing," said Ginny with an elegant shrug. Hermione studied Ginny out of the corner of her eye. Ginnyś scarlet hair and gold cloak stood out like beacons against the snow. When students argued over who was the prettiest girl in school, it usually came down to an close choice between Blaise Zabini and Ginny. Ginny, in Hermioneś opinion, was easily as pretty, but she didn´t try as hard as Blaise did. Hermione wondered for the hundredth time what had caused her rift with Draco. They had been quite close when they´d all returned to school in September, and then, quite suddenly and with no explanation, they were no longer speaking. In fact, unless it was at a Quidditch match, they seemed to try never to be within a hundred yards of each other.