Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"He's evil," said Sirius, impressed.

"Hey," said Lupin. "You invited him."

"I invited everyone here," Sirius said. "I seem to know a lot of gits, don't I?" He smiled politely and waved down the bar at the Mayor again. The Mayor waved back; the bailiff, a Mr. Stebbins, just glowered. "See what I mean? Gits."

Lupin pointed. "They're not gits."

"Who?"

Lupin pointed again, and this time Sirius followed his gesture and saw that he was pointing at Draco and Harry, who sat apart from the rest, over by the enormous dressed stone fireplace that occupied most of the south wall. Sirius hadn't been particularly surprised that they'd wanted to sit off on their own; they were fifteen years younger than the rest of the partygoers, after all, and Harry especially had been very quiet lately.

Sirius smiled. "No," he said, turning to study them more closely. "No, they aren't."

The two boys sat side by side on one of the long, pillow-strewn couches, both looking into the fire, both silent, or apparently so. Sirius knew, however, by the intent, inward expressions on both their faces, by the half-smiles that came to tug at their mouths at the same time, prompted by some unseen and unheard joke, that they were not silent at all; they were talking, inhabiting a locked world of conversation only they could hear. Like any teenagers, he thought with amusement, they have their own private world — take the secretiveness of ordinary adolescence to its logical extreme, and it would look a lot like this.

Not, of course, that they were ordinary, either one of them. Sirius looked more carefully. The candles and bracketed torches, coupled with the fire in the grate, seemed to catch them both in a net of dark gold light, turning the drinks in their hands to transparent jewels. He could not really see the details of what they wore, only that they were dressed similarly, in dark clothes of expensive material, elegantly cut. It was a little odd, or perhaps just interesting, that Draco, who had always been so careful about his appearance, had lately let his hair grow untidily too long, while Harry, who always looked as if he got dressed in the dark and cut his hair with nail scissors, had finally seemed to come to some understanding and appreciation of clothes: what looked good on him and what didn't, what colors did and didn't suit him. He dressed well, now.

They even had some of the same mannerisms, although who was mimicking who, Sirius couldn't have said. It all contributed to that peculiar juxtaposition of like and unlike that characterized them when they were together. Dark and light, candle and shadow: two halves of one imperfect whole.

"It's funny to see you looking fatherly," Lupin said.

"Not as funny as it is to see you smoking a cigar."

"The trick is not inhaling."

"So I've been told." Sirius looked away from Draco and Harry and back at his friend. "Do I look fatherly, then?"

"Well, you look a bit like I remember my father looking. Pleased and worried at the same time. Of course, my father had reason to worry about me."

"And I don't have reason to worry?"

Lupin made a face at his cigar and spoke quietly. "No. You do. They're very special, your boys."

"My boys? I suppose they are that," Sirius said. He waited a moment, wondering how he felt about that, and decided he felt good about it. "Not boys very much longer."

"Oh, I don't know." Lupin put the cigar down, still frowning. "They're very young."

"They are and they aren't. I mean…look at them."

"I have been. They look like they're having a good time."

"That's not what I meant. I meant, think of all they've dealt with. Loss, parental death, difficult decisions…"

"I know. I'm glad they have each other to talk to." Lupin smiled.

"Remember when we were that age and we used to talk about everything?"

Sirius nodded. "I do remember. I wonder what they're talking about right now? Something of life and death significance, I'm sure…"

"It is not a stupid girly drink," Draco said.

Harry snorted, in the process almost inhaling the rest of his drink through his nose. "It so is. Look at it. It's pink. Why do you drink that stuff? It even tastes nasty."

Draco glared down at the drink in his hand. "It does not taste nasty."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry plonked his own drink down on the table, reached out, plucked Draco's glass out of his unresisting fingers, and drained it. He coughed, made a face, and handed the empty glass back to Draco. "It tastes like lighter fluid," Harry said. "Lighter fluid with sugar."

Draco fought the urge to stick his tongue out. "It's not that sweet."

"It's sweet, it's fruity, it's pink — it comes in a poncy little glass — "

"Oh all RIGHT!" Draco yelled. "I didn't know Mai Tais were pink! I thought they were green! That's why I ordered one that time — and now I can't go back. It's my thing. It's my signature drink."

"Can I just say what a prat you are for having a signature drink? I mean, you're seventeen, you should be allowed to change your mind. What's next? Signature outfits, signature broomsticks, endorsing lines of products, soon you'll be such a pillock that no one will be able to stand you — "

"Thank you, Potter. Thank you for that vote of confidence in my future."

"Apple martinis," said Harry.

"What?"

"Apple martinis are green. I'm almost positive."

"Really?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, really." He waved a hand at a passing levitating silver platter. "Apple martini," he said, and a cocktail glass appeared. The liquid inside it was, indeed, pale green. He handed the glass to Draco.

"Potter?" Draco said, accepting the drink.

"What?"

"I thought I was already such a pillock that no one could stand me."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy, and drink your drink."

"So does he know about Lucius and Peter yet?"

"Harry? No, no he doesn't. I appreciate you telling me, by the way," said Sirius, taking a sip of Archenland beer to wash down the taste of the elm wine.

"I thought you should know, and anyway, Draco didn't ask me not to tell you."

"Did he ask you not to tell Harry?"

"No," Lupin said slowly, "not in so many words, no. But I think he was probably right. I think that Harry would take it badly. I think whether it made logical sense or not, he'd feel somehow that he couldn't talk to Draco about it and he really has no one else to talk to right now. He's very dependent on Draco. I think he'd feel terribly alone."

"He could talk to me," Sirius said.

"No he can't." Lupin grinned. "You're old."

"Ahem," said Sirius. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

Someone in the vicinity cleared their throat. "Pardon me, Mister Black, Mister Lupin." It was the round, gray-haired Mayor and his ever-present sidekick, the rail-thin bailiff. Sirius recollected that the Mayor's proper name was Michael Gray, which seemed to fit, as his hair, eyes and skin were all a grayish color. The bailiff, thin as a reed with a narrow, beaklike nose, was also gray all over. Sirius had never once heard him speak, even though he had met him before at the Manor when he'd come by to officiate over the notarization of some papers. "I just wanted to thank you, Mister Black, for extending us an invitation to this event. I'd always wanted an opportunity to meet the inhabitants of the Manor socially, so to speak."

"Ah, yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Sirius lied. "Did you, er, meet Harry yet?"

"Yes, yes, young Draco introduced us. Harry Potter! Very exciting."

"He's exciting all right," Sirius agreed, deadpan. There followed at least a quarter hour of polite and slightly stilted conversation. The Mayor wanted to know if Sirius found the weather too severe; Sirius replied that it was quite pleasant to have a white Christmas. Lupin asked about the history of the town, and the Mayor shared some salient facts. The Mayor then opined that the fellow over in the corner in the black cloak was cheating at darts by using the Expelliarmus spell, and Sirius told him in confidence that the fellow in the corner was his distant cousin Dunforth who had a reputation for eccentricity and tended to grow violent when harassed. The Mayor sidled away, and the bailiff followed.