Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

In one bluish ray of light, Draco was standing, his back against the table, his head down as if he were either thinking very hard or was very tired.

Terminus Est lay in all her steel-silver glory on the table behind him, the non-light catching the etchings all along the shaft and making them glow like fire-letters. The fragile light also lit his pale hair to a colorless sort of radiance, like mother-of-pearl. He was still wearing his emerald-colored Quidditch robes, although in the darkness they looked nearly black.

"Hallo, Malfoy," said Harry, by way of greeting.

Draco raised his head. There were etched shadows along the sides of his mouth, his darkly polished eyes. "Hey there, Potter."

Harry took another step into the room. "She's all right," he said, "since you wanted to know."

"Is she awake?"

"No. Not yet." Harry was in the center of the room now. "Look, about what happened on the Quidditch pitch — "

"Yeah," said Draco tonelessly. "I'm sorry about that."

Harry sighed. "Malfoy…" He put out a hand and his fingertips grazed the other boy's shoulder. "I've been thinking we should stop."

"What?" Harry felt Draco's eyes dart towards the sword lying on the table behind him. "Stop fencing practice? Why?"

"No, not that." Harry dropped his hand and rested it for a moment on the hilt of the sword at his waist. It had, as always, a comforting weight. "Stop the feud. Pretending that we hate each other. If it had come down to it on the field, if I'd had to throw you off and you'd refused to go on your own, I don't know if I could have done it."

"We can't," said Draco, "stop the feud — remember what Dumbledore said."

"I know, but we could go to him, explain — "

"Explain what? That it's not fun any more?" Draco's voice was bitter.

"That's doesn't matter to what we're supposed to do. Of those to whom much is given, much is expected. Or whatever it was he said."

"I don't feel like I've been given that much," said Harry, with a rare flash of bitterness, and Draco looked up at him for the first time. His eyes seemed very dark, panes of steel-gray glass leaded with black lashes. He looked almost angry.

Harry checked himself. "I know, it's not true. I've got a lot. Hermione and Ron and Sirius — "

"I was thinking wealth, fame, and glory."

"You would be."

Draco smiled. It was a thin smile, but genuine. "Oh, good, insults. You always know where you stand with those."

Harry shrugged. "Did you want to practice or do you want to do that homework assignment Lupin gave us? It's your choice."

"I want to practice." Draco reached behind him and lifted his sword off the table. The weak light rayed down the blade and over the gilded hilt, set with its black-glass stones. The light picked out the words etched along the hilt: Terminus Est.

This is the Line of Division.

Dividing what from what? Harry wondered, not for the first time. Dividing good from evil, light from dark, choice from destiny? Or perhaps he was overanalyzing and it merely meant that the sword had an unusually sharp cutting edge. Which flashed down towards him now, and he raised his own blade to block the thrust, stepping forward as Draco had taught him.

Walk into the thrust, not away; this will cut off your opponent's reach.

The swords clanged against each other and rang like bells in the silent room. Harry cut at Draco; Draco returned, and they moved in the slow unrehearsed dance of fencing around the room, neither rushing nor slowing their movements. Harry liked the practice times; it allowed him a space in which he didn't have to think; he merely let his body follow the movements it seemed to know by instinct. He cut, parried, riposted, and fell back as the blades spun against each other like sparking silver wheels.

He let Draco drive him back, six steps, seven, until his back was against the wall. He let the next thrust come and ducked up under it, pushing off the wall to get extra force. His blade clanged against Draco's hard, striking a haze of sparks that lit the air between them.

Draco fell back. "Good," he said. "Good use of the wall."

Harry didn't reply, only swung his sword again, attacking. Draco parried and riposted; Harry feinted and attacked again. He took a long step back, moving out of range, then ducked under Draco's guard and attacked. His sword rode high off of Draco's parrying blow, and struck the other boy's shoulder. There was the whisper of parting fabric, and a slice opened in the sleeve of Draco's shirt.

Harry froze immediately. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

Draco, who had also paused, looked surprised. "It's fine."

Harry felt his fingers whiten as he gripped the hilt of the Gryffindor sword. "I could have hurt you."

Draco shook his head. "Not unless I let you. That was a good trick, but you're still telegraphing your moves. What's the problem, Potter?"

"I guess my mind is elsewhere."

"Hermione?" Draco said, and Harry felt himself nod. "Look, why can't you just tell her what you told me last night? She'll understand."

Harry looked down at his hand which, sheened with a light sweat, gripped the hilt of the Gryffindor sword. "There's one problem there."

"What?"

"I don't remember what I told you last night."

Draco's mouth twitched. "I don't suppose you'd believe it if I reminded you that you told me you're actually carrying on a mad secret affair with Professor Sprout and you've been exchanging photographs with her that involve you dressed like a giant woodchuck?"

"Nonsense," said Harry.

"Of course not."

"I would never dress like a woodchuck."

"Naturally."

"Now, a lemur maybe. A marmoset even. But a woodchuck? With those teeth?"

"Now you're scaring me."

Harry laughed. It was the fist time he had laughed aloud that day.

"Anyway, this is Hogwarts. Everyone knows everyone else's business. Who could carry on a mad secret affair here?"

"I thought I heard someone coming," she said. She twisted out of Ron's grasp and stood up. He tilted his head back and she could feel his blue gaze on her back as she crossed the room and looked anxiously out through the high grilled window set in the door. Outside, she could see an expanse of empty corridor stretching in two directions. There was no one there.

"You worry too much," said Ron. He was seated on the floor, shirtless, in jeans and trainers. His Gryffindor Quidditch robes were tangled in a heap beside him, where the two of them had been lying. His eyes were shadowed. "Maybe I should go," he said. "Ginny — "

"You told me they wouldn't even let you into the infirmary," she said. "I thought she was going to be fine?"

"I know. But I feel responsible."

"Well, you aren't." She came back across the room and sat down beside him, putting her arms around him. "And you say I worry too much."

He twisted around in her embrace and looked at her. "If we did get caught," he said tightly. "If someone did find us — what would you do?"

"Ron, I-"

"What would you choose?"

"It would be just as bad for you if we were caught," she said in measured tones, "as it would be for me."

"Worse," he said. His voice was a little hard. She sensed he was probably trying to hurt her, feeling hurt himself.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I love you," she said.

He blinked. She had never said this to him before. "You do?"

She nodded. "I thought you should know."

For a moment, he still looked startled; then his face lit up and he reached for her, pulling her close. "I thought you'd never — "

"Shh." She kissed him.

"I-"

"I know." She put her fingers over his lips. "You don't have to say it. I know you do."

"Hmm," said Draco. "I suppose you're right. Unless you're willing to stand in line for the Astronomy Tower every Saturday night, there really is nowhere for would-be snoggers to go here that's private."