Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

His mind suddenly awhirl, Harry absently handed her a tall glass jar.

"Harry," Hermione wailed. "These are bat toes."

"Sorry," Harry said.

The brightly colored lights strung through the Gryffindor common room cast a soft and multicolored glow over everything. Ginny, demurely seated beside the largest armchair, was busy stirring a bowl of hot spiced punch Harry had brought up from the kitchens. Harry himself was standing over by the window, watching the light snow as it flurried against the leaded panes.

Hermione, having just finished arranging the stack of wrapped gifts by the fireplace, settled back onto the couch with her stack of parchments on her lap. The copy she had made of the Liber-Damnatis was slightly unwieldy: bound with loose strips of twine, it had a tendency to slide apart. She caught Ginny casting it several resentful glances and cleared her throat unhappily. She and Ginny had never really fought before and she was not enjoying the experience.

"This book is really a wonderful resource," Hermione said, aloud and slightly nervously. Harry glanced over from the window; Ginny did not raise her bright head from the punch bowl. "I'm so glad we have it. It's like an exact guide to the Four Worthy Objects, how to locate them and how they work. Some of the translating is really difficult, but it's definitely worth it. There's a step-by-step instructional about how the final ritual has to be completed…"

"You said it required blood," said Harry, still staring out the window.

Hermione didn't like how he looked: distant and remote.

"Yes. The life's blood of a dark wizard at his full power has to be drained and used in the ceremony."

"Or her full power," said Ginny, without looking up. "There are female dark wizards too, you know."

"Erm," said Hermione. "I guess that's true." She cleared her throat. "I wonder where Draco is?"

"Probably admiring himself in a mirror somewhere," said Ginny coldly.

She poked at the bowl with the silver punch ladle. "Seamus, by the way, since you all seem to care so much, is going to be a little late. He was taking a letter to the owlery."

"Oh, uh…" Hermione looked beseechingly at Harry, who shrugged as if to say this was her problem. "Who's he writing to?"

"No one. It was my letter. I was writing to my parents about Ron."

Harry turned away from the window and looked at her. "I hope you aren't going to suggest that we don't care about that either," he said. His tone was mild, even gentle, but there was a look in his eyes that took Hermione aback. That's not my Harry.

Ginny didn't lower her eyes, but her voice, when she spoke again, had lost of some of its antagonistic quality. "No. I know you do. Well — not Draco, but — "

"He cares as well," said Hermione quickly.

Ginny's mouth thinned into a straight line. "Draco wouldn't care if Lucius turned my brother into a mushroom and ate him with sprouts. Well, all right. He cares because Harry cares. But that isn't caring, if you ask me."

Harry snorted. "It bloody well is — "

The portrait door swung open, silencing them all. While they stood motionless, Draco came in, carrying several wrapped packages. The door swung shut behind him and for a moment he simply stood where he was, surveying them all with a faint but arrogant smirk. "Merry Christmas," he said. "Sorry I'm late."

Hermione heard Ginny draw in a sharp little breath. Had Hermione been a slightly different kind of girl, she might have done the same. Draco had apparently decided that the key to not being asked constantly all afternoon long how he was feeling was to look as gorgeous as humanly possible. He wore dark wool trousers, the lines as impeccably cut as if they'd been made with a razor, and a soft slate-colored sweater that managed to make his eyes look blue. Hermione was sure he'd probably spent hours picking out the color. Around his face his hair, freshly washed, waved in almost-white baby-fine tendrils.

He came forward then into the room, and glanced around with a considering air. Finally, he said, "The Slytherin common room looks better. Who decorated yours?"

Hermione was affronted. "We did."

"It looks dodgy," Draco proclaimed. "Then again, Christmas color schemes are inherently doomed. Red and green is not a good combination." He glanced around. "Is there somewhere to put these packages?"

Harry, looking as if he were trying not to laugh, relieved Draco of the wrapped gifts he was carrying and placed them under the tree. Draco immediately sprawled himself across the largest and softest sofa, accepting a glass of spiced punch from Hermione with one immaculately manicured hand. He glanced around. "On second thought, the decorations aren't so bad. At least they hide the red and orange. I don't know how you Gryffindors survive in here. Like constantly living in a giant moldering pumpkin."

"Drink your punch," said Hermione sweetly. She rolled her eyes towards Ginny. After a moment, Ginny gave her a faint smile back.

Draco's eyes were still roaming the room, seeking out something to mock.

Harry, perching himself on the edge of the sofa, complied. "You could make fun of our Christmas cards," he suggested, pointing to the large board beside the fireplace where professors' and former Hogwarts pupils' holiday cards were fastened with Spellotape.

Draco settled himself into the cushions and looked dolefully at the cards, his eyes sliding from the enormous card from Hagrid to Lockhart's showy gold heart-shaped photograph of himself. "It's no fun when you tell me I can do it," he complained, took a sip of punch, and choked. "Is that a photo of Oliver Wood in a dress?"

Harry nodded cheerily. "It was some kind of bet, I think. If they lost to the Falmouth Falcons…"

"He looks terrible." Draco raised an eyebrow. "Some people should never wear pastel. Basic black and pearls, that's Oliver. Maybe a nice low heel."

"I'll be sure to pass that along," Harry grinned. Having Draco there seemed to have made him slightly less grave: his green eyes glowed with amusement. "Here — we might as well start with the presents now."

"All right." Ginny scooted herself over to the pile of packages. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she began to sort through them. "Who wants the first one?"

"Throw over that big orange one," Harry said, stifling what looked like a mischievous grin. Ginny complied, and Harry caught the brightly wrapped package out of the air and dropped it in Draco's lap. "For you," he said.

Draco sat up straighter, a curious look on his face. "From who?"

"That one's from mum and dad," Ginny said. Her own lips were twitching.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco ripped the wrapping away to reveal an oversized bright orange sweater with dark green sleeves. Mrs. Weasley had thoughtfully stitched an enormous "D" to the chest.

"Heavenly God," said Draco, staring in abject horror. "What is this?"

"It's a sweater," Ginny said severely.

"This," said Draco, "resembles a sweater in much the same way that Millicent Bulstrode resembles a goddess-like vision of beauty."

"It looks better on," Harry said, now unable to stifle the grin.

"On what?" Draco demanded. "On fire?"

Harry gave him a look. Draco glanced from Harry, to the sweater, then back at Harry. Then he sighed, and to Hermione's great amusement, put the sweater on. It was enormous on him — the sleeves hung to his knuckles, and the hem of the sweater would have fallen nearly to his knees had he been standing. Even Ginny could not contain her giggles.

"I hate you all," said Draco, mournfully.

Hermione tried to hide her smile. "Here — this one's from me," she said, and tossed a silver package at him. As he reached to catch it she saw a flash of green at his wrist and realized to her amusement that he had turned Blaise's barrettes into a pair of cufflinks. A moment later she was distracted as Harry handed her a package in blue wrapping and Ginny tossed her a small pink box. For a few moments everything was the blissful sound of tearing paper and people exclaiming over their gifts.