Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Thank you. That clears it up nicely. Frightened of what?"

"Of feeling anything," she snapped back. "Caring about people makes you vulnerable, and you hate that. You need Harry, and whatever you might think, he needs you. And he's all alone right now, and he's more miserable than he's ever been in his whole life, and so what if he yelled at you? So damn what? Like he hasn't forgiven you for worse. When you were injured, when that arrow hit you, I've never seen anyone as upset as he was. And then he slept on the floor of the infirmary all night, remember? Or don't you? So whatever this massive poncy diva sulk of yours was inspired by, let it go. It doesn't matter. Spank your inner child, stiff upper lip, shut your eyes and think about your country — I don't care what you have to do. Just do it, and go out there, and find Harry, because I'm worried sick about him and you should be too."

Draco looked at her narrowly. She was slightly out of breath now, and flushed, her cheeks bright pink. "You done?" he asked.

She set her chin. "Don't I seem done?"

"Hard to tell with you. Sometimes you get a second wind."

"Not this time," she said severely. "So are you going to go?"

Draco leaned the poker against the mantel, and paused for a moment.

"Let me ask you something."

"What?"

"Why don't you go, if you're so worried about him being alone?"

Ginny sighed. "Because I have to stay here," she said. "I actually just came down here to get my book, and then I was going to go back and sit with Ron. I have to take care of my brother," she added, looking down at the book in her hands, and then back up at him. "And you should go take care of yours."

Draco looked at her — she was still pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, and in her kitten-print pajamas looked like a little girl, although she most manifestly wasn't. "I don't even know where to look," he said in a low voice. "I can't….find him."

Ginny shook her head, without looking at him — she seemed to be glancing around the room to see if she had forgotten anything. "Of course you can find him," she said. "Not everyone has telepathy to rely on, you know.

Sometimes all you have is how well you know the other person, and you know him better than anyone. Where would he go?"

He felt something loosen in his chest at her words — she was right. As a matter of fact, he had a fairly good idea exactly where Harry would have gone. "I wouldn't know what to say to him."

"You'll think of something," Ginny said, extinguishing the last lit candle with a pinch of her fingers. Now there was only the fire for illumination. It turned the edges of her hair to candleflame. "I have faith in you."

He almost laughed. "Well, that sets you apart from the masses, doesn't it," he said.

"Maybe," she said. "Don't tell anyone."

"Any other dark secrets I should know about?"

She looked thoughtful. "Well, I can eat an entire ice cream sundae without using my hands."

"Really?" Draco asked.

The side of her mouth curled up. "Really. Now, go on — I have to get back upstairs."

He nodded. "Okay. And… thanks."

"What are friends for," she said lightly.

"I wouldn't know," Draco said. "I think that's maybe why I…" He trailed off, unable to formulate the statement properly.

Ginny smiled at him, a little sadly. "You want to know what I think? I think you don't know a good thing when you have it," she said, "that's what I think," and she disappeared back up the stairs.

By the time Draco found the room again, through some amount of trial and error, it was full morning. Night had passed like a wheel turning, and in his exhaustion, the corridor walls and even the floor beneath his feet seemed to shimmer in the pale gray light.

He knew where he was going. A dark room, not that far from the main staircase, a room filled with old furniture and dusty unused books. And on the wall, a mirror framed in tarnished gold, a mirror he had never looked in. I show you not your face, but your heart's desire.

He had been there once, and walked out — it was not a place that figured happily in his memories. But for Harry, it would be different. That he knew. Standing by the lake, drenched in rain, that afternoon, he had felt what Harry was feeling as if it were water pouring through a sluice gate that could not be closed. Harry's happiness had layered itself over his own pain until he was no longer sure exactly what he was feeling, his emotions wavering light and dark like a Flickering Charm: happy/sad happy/sad happy/sad. He had put his hands over his ears and slid down the trunk of the tree, waiting for it to be over. He was not used to feeling with such intensity: not such happiness, nor such misery. It was like bleeding to death.

And I'm here.

He remembered the door now, the corridor outside. It had been wide open that day, now it was open only a crack. He put a hand on it, pushed it wide, and stepped into the room.

The pale dawn light drowned the walls of the room in silver. The furniture, shrouded in white sheeted coverings, looked like icebergs looming up out of the grayish darkness as Draco navigated his way across the room. Through the bay window in the east wall, he could see the world outside: white sky, white snow, the slender penciled shapes of winter trees. And on the window ledge sat Harry.

He had his legs drawn up, his hands clasped loosely across his knees. He was looking out the window, and the faint light chased the planes of his face with silver. As Draco approached, Harry turned and looked at him.

He seemed unsurprised to see him there, or if he was, Draco couldn't tell.

Harry's face was a mask.

The two boys looked at each other across the dark space that separated them, as if they faced each other across a Quidditch pitch. Had the mirror on the wall been a true mirror, it would have cast back a curious reflection: the two boys both the same height, the same slenderness, one so fair and one so dark, one in black and one in white. Some odd tableau of perfect opposites seemed to be being enacted. No living soul could have failed to notice it, but there were no other souls in the room, and Harry and Draco could not see themselves.

"I thought you'd come," Harry said.

Draco hesitated. A bitter voice spoke in the back of his head, wanting to snap back at Harry, Why did you think I would come? Because I have nothing better to do, because I follow you, pathetically, believing in our friendship, while you call me a liar to my face?

But another voice shouted that voice down. Oddly, it was Sirius' words, words he had spoken months ago… I would forgive you if my forgiveness were required… The things we do for love, those things endure.

"Well," Draco said. "I'm here."

"I see that," Harry said. "How did you find me?"

Draco glanced around the shadowed room, and back at Harry. "I thought you'd come here."

"Because?"

"It's what I would do."

Harry looked down at his hands. When he spoke, his voice was rapid. "I'm sorry."

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Draco leaned against one of the sheeted white pieces of furniture. He suspected from its shape that it was an ottoman. "Sorry for what?"

"For what I said." Harry's voice was deadly quiet. "All of it."

"Even the part where you said, 'Hey, Malfoy, what're you doing here?"

Draco asked, but Harry didn't crack even a slight smile. The faintness of the light smoothed the lines of strain from his face, made him look younger, a solemn-faced child.

"I hate everyone right now," Harry said. His voice was still even. "I looked at you, up there in the dorm room, and I hated you too."

"I know," Draco said. "It's okay."

"It's not okay." Harry took a ragged breath. "I've got no reason to hate you. You were just trying to help."