Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"All right, how's this for a plan. We pick the lock on the infirmary door with a cucumber, escape from school, sneak into the crowded streets of Knockturn Alley while carrying our bell collection, hide in the shadow of a nearby Death Eater, wait till he takes us to Voldemort, then — bam! We steal his trousers."

"That is ridiculous," Harry said with a yawn. "Voldemort's trousers would never fit us."

"And the infirmary door isn't locked. That was the second flaw in my plan."

"Isverybadplan," said Harry, collapsing once more upon the nightstand.

Exhaustion was wrapping itself round him like a warm, dark blanket.

"You know," said Draco, "you can go on back to your bed if you want."

"Nerh," said Harry, rebelliously. "Stay here. Keep company. Think of plan."

"We attack Voldemort with cheese," Draco suggested.

"Cheese not scary," said Harry.

"Of course it's scary! It's mold! Mold is innately frightening!"

"Cheese not scary," Harry repeated.

"Fine, then. Instead, we wander around the Ministry going up to different officials and asking them, 'Have you seen kidnapped Ron Weasley lately?'"

"That's good," Harry said amenably, and yawned into the darkness of his folded arms. "I go sleep now."

"Okay," Draco said. His voice, for a brief moment, was devoid of reserve or irony: it was only gentle, so much so that later Harry thought he had imagined it. "You do that."

The Dark Lord was alone, unaccompanied by Lucius or Wormtail. He wore, as always, black, and his paper-white face bore a meditative stamp as he looked at Ron.

"My Diviner," he said, coming closer. "I see you are ready for me already.

Seated at the table, waiting with alacrity to play another game."

"No," said Ron. He knew that to defy the Dark Lord was to risk death and terrible injury, but at the moment, it seemed preferable to another game of chess. "I don't want to play."

Voldemort said nothing to that, only came across the room and sat down opposite Ron at the chess board. With a hand like a bloated white spider, he gently prodded at a few of the fallen pieces. "I could force you," he said. "But that might break you, and I would prefer not to break you. I should tell you, though, that now that the doors in your head have been thrown open, you cannot close them again. This is your only hope of controlling it."

"Controlling what?" Ron said.

"Controlling your gift. Gift, blessing, curse. You are a Diviner and like the ancient Oracle it is imperative that you know yourself. If you do not learn to master this talent, it will master you. Did you ever wonder why every vision you see is of terror and death, little Diviner? It is because you work so hard to block every sight of the future from your mind that only those phantasms so strong in horror that they are uncontrollable can break the barriers you have created. Eventually, if you continue in this manner, it will shatter your mind."

"I don't believe you." Ron's voice was without emotion.

"I should think that you," Voldemort said, his voice like a coiling snake, "of all people, should desire to strive to master a talent whose realization would allow you to see through illusion. Illusion, little one, has not treated you well."

Ron slowly set the rook down on the board. It seemed to look back at him out of incurious jewelry eyes. Behind him, in the cage, Rhysenn rustled in her gown. "I'll be green," he said at last.

"I rather thought you would be," said the Dark Lord.

It was the sharp pain in Harry's shoulder that woke him up. For a moment, he froze without moving, trying to remember where he was. He rarely fell asleep with his glasses on. Now they felt embedded in his face.

He raised his head slowly, wincing at the bright light that lanced into his eyes.

It was full morning and the infirmary was flooded with sun. Draco was sitting on top of his neatly made bed, reading a book. He glanced over at Harry and grinned. "Madam Pomfrey thought you were dead," he said by way of a good morning. "She saw you all draped over the nightstand and dropped her wand. It was great."

Something tickled at the back of Harry's mind. He was supposed to be somewhere right now, wasn't he. He just couldn't quite remember where.

"Did you tell her I was alive?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Draco said equably. He had somewhere along the line gotten dressed, Harry noticed. Out of the pajamas, he did look a little healthier, and there was color in his cheeks.

"Sadist," said Harry, and stretched with an enormous yawn. His muscles popped and he winced. He really needed to get some exercise; practice some Quidditch or fencing. He wondered if Draco was well enough to come with him and then felt guilty for having wondered it.

"Slacker," said Draco. "Oh, and by the way — do you remember what day it is?"

Harry, blinking sleep out of his eyes, yawned. "No." Then he paused. "Oh.

Wait. It's not — "

"And there are zero shopping days left until Christmas!" announced Draco with malign glee. "I would have written you a Christmas card explaining what the last eight months of our beautiful friendship have meant to me, but I couldn't be bothered."

"We've been friends for ten months," pointed out Harry, slightly insulted.

"I know, but the first two months were really only kind of so-so."

"Thank you, Malfoy. I am truly touched, and in recognition of the fact that it's Christmas, I will not push you off the bed. Even though I want to."

A faint smirk touched the edge of Draco's mouth. "Hey, wasn't there supposed to be some spectacular seasonal extravaganza going on this afternoon?"

"What-? Oh, you mean the Christmas thing. Well, it's not exactly a big party, Malfoy. Just a few people in the Gryffindor common room.

Exchange of presents and all that."

"Oh, that's fine," Draco said, sounding offended. "I'll just sit here in the infirmary all Christmas Day, alone and dying slowly."

"That's not funny," said Harry, so fiercely that Draco quailed, which was possibly a first ever, although Harry was not in any mood to appreciate it.

"Anyway," he added more gently, "I just assumed you'd be coming."

Draco, being Draco, didn't seem happy about this either. "Oh, I don't know."

"It's okay if you don't have presents for anyone. Under the circumstances…"

Draco sighed. "I have presents for people," he said, to Harry's surprise.

"But it seems like a Gryffindor sort of event. Not necessarily for me…"

Harry was honestly perplexed. "Well, what do the Slytherins usually do for Christmas?"

"Oh, you know. Ritual bloodletting." Draco grinned at Harry's confused expression. "Come now Potter. We celebrate Christmas just like you do.

My father was all about remembering the less fortunate at during the holidays."

"The poor?" Harry asked. "Really?"

"Yes. He said it was very important that we remember to put up wards during Christmas to keep the poor out because otherwise they might try to burgle our house while we were at church."

"You went to church?"

"Just to confiscate the collection plate," said Draco with a breezy wave.

Harry shook his head. "I never know whether to believe you or not," he said.

"Isn't that what makes me so devastatingly charming?" Draco inquired.

"Oh. no!" announced Harry suddenly, leaping to his feet with a start.

Draco looked alarmed. "Well, maybe devastatingly charming was a little strong. How about 'wickedly alluring'?"

"Oh, bugger," wailed Harry, dropping to his knees and scrabbling around on the floor for his Invisibility Cloak. "I was supposed to be helping Snape in the Potions dungeon and I forgot."

Draco chuckled lightly. "My antidote?"

"Oh, damn, damn. He's going to kill me." Harry was on his feet, shoving the cloak in his pocket. "I have to go."