Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Right," Draco said. "We have to think. What do we do now?"

There was a short silence. Then Harry spoke, his tone very careful: "What do you mean, what do we do now?"

Draco hesitated and looked harder at Harry. But Harryś face was strangely set and unreadable; his green eyes were serious and dark.

"About my father," Draco said. "What do we do?"

Harry shook his head — not so much a gesture of negation than as if he were coming up out of deep water and for a moment, could not hear properly. "We give him whatever he wants," he said. "We haven´t got a choice, have we? Heś got your antidote."

A strange, uncompromising weariness had settled on Draco. It was as if he looked at Harry from a great distance, through clouds of muffling fog.

"We´ve got a choice," Draco said. "We don´t have to do what he says."

"But then we don´t get the antidote," Harry said, speaking very slowly, as if he were explaining the situation to a small child.

"I know," Draco said. "Then we don´t get the antidote."

Realization flooded into Harryś face; he went very red, then very white.

"What are you saying?"

"I´m saying thereś no point," Draco said. "If my father says itś the antidote, then itś probably the antidote. But there´ll be some loophole, some clever excuse not to give it to us — he´ll keep holding it over our heads, make us dance like puppets on strings, and we´ll still lose in the end."

"He said it would save your life," said Harry.

"And it will — now," Draco said. "But there´ll be something else, and something else after that. You see how he is. He thinks he owns me. And as long as I exist under his power, then he´ll make me a stick to beat you with. If you give in now, he´ll just know that it works."

Harry shook his head again. "It doesn´t matter. None of that matters right now. What matters is what we can do, right now, this minute, and right now you´re dying and we have to stop it."

Draco heard himself laugh out loud. Not a very pleasant laugh, either.

"This is why you´re such a bad planner, Harry,´ he said. "As if the world doesn´t exist past the next five seconds."

Harry closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. Draco could tell that he was trying to get a hold of himself. He watched him with a detached feeling of sickness in his stomach. He did not like hurting Harry, and wondered in a desultory sort of way why he always seemed to be forced into circumstances where there was no other choice.

"What did my father say to you?" Draco demanded, finally. "To make you react like this — do I have to remind you that he lies?"

Harry opened his eyes. "Oh, I know he lies," he said. "But heś like you.

He won´t lie if the truth is at hand, and more powerful than any lie might be. He didn´t tell me anything I didn´t already know. Not really. It was the way he said it."

Draco didn´t really hear him. His mind had stopped on the second sentence Harry had spoken, But heś like you.

"I won´t let my father turn you into some kind of pawn for him to play with," he said harshly. "I won´t. Any trade he offers isn´t a real trade, can´t you see that?" He pushed back the damp hair that was falling in his eyes — despite the freezing cold, he was sweating. "I know you can´t think like that, Harry. When it comes right down to it, you just never seem to grasp how evil people can be. My father hates you. Any deal heś willing to make will not have your best interests at heart. Or mine. You´d have to be blind or stupid or both not to see that."

"Maybe I´m both. But I´m not going to let the fact that you hate your father dictate whether you live or die — "

"Heś expecting you to give in, Harry! His whole plan is built on it."

"Fuck his plan and everything else," Harry said tightly. "I´ve lost everything — all my friends. I won´t lose you as well."

"You face everything alone in the end, anyway — you said so yourself — "

"God damn it!" Harryś voice snapped in half like a bone breaking. "What would you do if it was the other way around? What would you do if it was me dying?"

"That would be different," said Draco, unfazed.

"How? How is that different?"

"Because you´re Harry Potter." Dracoś voice was clear and toneless. He was stating facts — simple facts. "The Boy Who Lived. The one who´ll save everyone. You´re needed. I´m not."

"Thatś the stupidest thing I´ve ever heard," Harry said bitterly. "I can´t believe you´d take who I am and throw it in my face like that — whatś wrong with you? You think I could live with myself knowing that I let you die because I´m famous and you´re not?"

"Itś not about being famous. And anyway, you wouldn´t have to live with yourself — you wouldn´t remember it. My father said he´d Memory Charm us both. You wouldn´t have to know," Draco said, and instantly regretted it.

Harry stared at him. The pupils of his eyes had dilated so far that they looked black, rimmed with faint bands of green. "I have never," he said, "ever, in my life, wanted to hit someone as much as I want to hit you right now."

"Hit me if you want," Draco said quietly. "But know this: if you let my father win, then Voldemort wins. And if he gets the cup, he can destroy the world with it. It sounds ridiculous, but there it is. You´re a hero, aren´t you? And this is a heroś choice. Your friends — or everything else."

Harryś hands, at his sides, flexed, and Draco wondered for an odd detached moment if Harry really was going to hit him. Then Harry said, in a clear factual voice, "I should hope that you would know what I´d choose."

Draco looked at him. And realized, with an odd sort of shock at his heart, that he didn´t know. He would have assumed Harry would have chosen, as he´d phrased it, everything else. He opened his mouth to ask, couldn´t think of a way to formulate the question, and then lost the opportunity forever, for at that moment the tower door opened again and Lucius stepped through.

He was not smiling, but he had an expectant look about him. Something gold winked at his right breast pocket, underneath his open cloak. In his right hand he carried a rolled parchment and a quill. "So, boys," he said, looking from one of them to the other. "Have you made up your minds?"

Hermione had spread the parchments out on the desk and was going through them with a shaking hand. She had managed to push her horror at being impersonated to the back of her mind: now it leaped out afresh.

Someone had copied her handwriting, copied it so well that even her best friend had been duped by it. And they had not just copied her writing, but her expressions, her turns of phrase….Pansy must hate her so, so much, Hermione thought, her skin crawling, she must have planned this for so long, watched her so closely. The hair prickled along Hermioneś spine and she shivered.

Dearest, I missed you today. I thought about you so much during Potions that I forgot to take notes — pretty soon I´ll be facing my greatest fear, what was it you said? A homework paper that only got nine out of ten?

I can´t wait to see you tonight. I wish I didn´t have so much work to do for my final project. I know itś because I´ve been spending so much time with you that it isn´t ready. We can work on the project together if you don´t mind if I bring some homework with me. Imagine me creeping along the corridors to you, my pockets full of burdock, mugwort and rue…if you wouldn´t mind bringing the yarrow root as well, that would be a help…now, don´t forget!

All I want is just to spend time with you, of course, except that will have to wait until after New Yearś, won´t it? Thank you darling for your obedience and ability to understand…I know itś been hard keeping this a dark secret. Won´t it be a relief when we can finally be together without any hiding.