Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Her lips tightened. "You didn't think what was me?"

"I thought maybe you were trying to throw the blame on her, because it was you. You're devious enough."

"Because what was me?"

Draco shrugged and stood up. He pushed aside the hand-painted screen that separated Blaise's side of the room from Pansy's. Blaise's half of the room was slightly bigger; Pansy's was more crowded with things — several chairs, a sofa, a vanity table with a curved mirror. The surface of the vanity was thickly covered with jars, bottles, and tubes of unguents and cosmetics, just as Blaise had told him weeks ago. Why hadn't he known? I knew she had to be a prefect, he thought. And a Slytherin. Only a Slytherin would think of this.

He turned away from the vanity table and went over to the enormous, brass-bound trunk at the foot of Pansy's bed. Blaise leaned around the screen and glared at him. "You can't open it," she snapped vindictively.

"It's got sixteen different anti-Alohomora charms on them and only Pansy knows the passwords — "

"Sixteen?" Draco said softly. "Really? That many?" He took another step towards the trunk and looked at it consideringly. With the tip of his dragonhide boot, he nudged lightly at the lock. Then he raised his foot and brought it down hard. Once, twice, three times, putting all his pent-up anger into it — a fourth time, and he heard the creaking protest as the wood began to splinter — a fifth time, and the lock ripped away from the wood and clattered to the floor. The lid of the trunk sprang open.

"Alohomora," Draco said.

Blaise said nothing. She seemed to have set herself to ignoring him. Still, she stared as he knelt down by the trunk and began to rifle through the contents. Books tumbled out first, neatly piled, and underneath them were empty jars and bottles, and underneath those were a pair of pale gold silk slippers and a neatly folded set of white pajamas sprigged all over with blue and yellow flowers.

Draco's heart began to pound like a triphammer. He'd been right. He had known he was right, but not that the proof would present itself so readily.

She must have been positive that no one would guess. He plunged his hands into the trunk, shoving the pajamas and slippers aside — there were folded papers underneath them; he took them and shoved them haphazardly into his cloak pockets. Under them was a long enamel box, which sprang open when he put pressure on the ends. Folded inside was a long swath of multicolored fabric, which shimmered when he touched it…

"An Invisibility Cloak," he whispered under his breath. A smile came and twitched the corner of his mouth. Clever Pansy. He rolled the cloak into a small ball and stuffed it into his pocket. He was sure he was beginning to look extremely lumpy. He put his hands back into the trunk, but there was nothing else, just grit gathering under his fingernails. He stood up, and went back past the screen into Blaise's room. She twisted around to glare at him.

"Are you stealing Pansy's things?"

"Evidence," he said shortly.

"You're a thief," she said. "And a bastard. Turning on the members of your own House for a bunch of Gryffindor scum — "

"Shut up, Blaise."

"I'll tell. I'll tell everyone."

Draco knelt down and looked into her eyes. Face scrubbed clean of makeup, hair free of its jeweled barrettes and tangled around her face, she looked much less polished than he'd ever seen her. "Do it," he said evenly, "and I'll tell everyone exactly why you agreed to this dating charade with me in the first place."

Her breath hissed between her teeth. "You unbelievable bastard. You'd blackmail me?"

"Just keeping things fair. I don't like power imbalances. Unless, of course, I have the upper hand, which right now, I do."

"Maybe right now." Her eyes narrowed. "But not forever. Everyone knows where your loyalties really lie, Draco. And if there's one thing Slytherin House hates, it's a backstabbing traitor."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say here, Blaise. Are you suggesting that I no longer have a shot at winning Most Popular Slytherin of the Year?"

"I protected you," she snarled at him, and he was startled to see that for a moment, her eyes were oddly bright, as if she might be about to cry. And for that moment, they reminded him so strongly of another, dissimilar, pair of green eyes that he felt a spark of sympathy for her light inside his chest. "You never paid attention, but I protected you — I lied for you — I covered up how much time you really spent with Potter and his little minions, invented reasons for you to be with him — lose me and you lose the last person in this House who had any faith you might come back to us. Lose me and you're on your own, Draco."

He sighed. "Then I'm on my own. Thanks for protecting me, if you really did, but it wasn't necessary. I'm not afraid of Slytherin House."

"You should be," Blaise said, and looked away from him. "You should be, Draco."

He fought back another sigh. He felt very tired. "I'm going to untie you now," he said. "I want you to promise not to hit me the second your hands are free."

"I promise," she said, without looking at him, and the moment that her hands were free, of course, she hit him anyway.

A light touch on the shoulder awoke him. Harry rolled over and blinked.

The world was blurry, but he knew the shape hovering above him was Draco. He reached for his glasses and sat up slowly. His muscles were stiff and sore from falling asleep on the common room couch, but he had not wanted to go upstairs and face Seamus, Neville and Dean. "Hey," he said, his voice slightly rusty. "Is she…?"

"Hermione?" She's gone," Draco said, crouching down next to the sofa.

The fire was high in the grate, and the room was very hot. Draco looked bright-eyed and almost feverish. A hectic red color flushed his high cheekbones. "I have to tell you something."

"Oh, God," said Harry, with finality. "Not something else." He looked at Draco more closely, taking in the disheveled hair, the muddy boots, the scratch marks along his left cheek, as if someone had raked him with their nails. "Is it something bad?"

"Not exactly," Draco said. "I found out who it was."

"Who what was — oh," Harry said. "Oh, you mean…"

"Ron's…" Draco grinned suddenly, a wolfish grin. "Ron's mystery woman."

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up. "And are you going to tell me?"

"That depends." Draco cocked his head to the side, fair hair falling in his eyes. "Do you want to know?"

Harry sat up straighter. It was very quiet in the common room. He could tell it was extremely late, just from the quality of the silence and even of the lightless dark he could see through the windows. The crackle of firewood was loud, like shattering ice. He could hear Draco breathing.

Very tentatively, he reached towards Draco's mind with his own, trying to gauge what the other boy was feeling about the news he had to tell. Guilt, rage, pain, terror, amusement, horror? Was he afraid to tell Harry, did he worry that Harry couldn't handle it? Was it very bad? Not exactly, he had said. Whatever that meant.

"Is it someone I know well?" Harry asked softly, finally. "Is it a friend of mine? Is it someone I care about?"

"No," Draco said. "On all those counts."

A wave of relief so intense it was almost nausea passed over Harry. "Was it about me? Did it have anything to do with me?"

The light in Draco's eyes flickered. "I don't know for sure."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, although it was hot in the room.

"What are you going to do?"

"Investigate," Draco said simply. "The uh, guilty party has already left school. But that's all right. Gives me some time. I have to look into things.

Opportunities, motivation. Accomplices. Purpose."