Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"It is," Harry said, "a Portkey."

"Oh," Draco said. He swallowed. "Well, where does it go to?"

"I've no idea," Harry said flatly. "Away from here."

"You don't need to use it," Draco said, very quickly. "I can get you out -

Hermione's got a Portkey, she can get us all out — "

Harry looked shocked. "She's here, too? You brought her here?"

"We had to come," Draco said. "We had to see if we could find you — "

"You can always find me," Harry said, a sort of factual desperation in his voice. "I don't know why I bother running away. You keep finding me and finding me. Everywhere I go, every corner I turn, in crowds, on trains, in bloody bookshops, I keep seeing you. And when I don't see you, I hear you in my head." He shivered, and Draco saw how weary and exhausted he looked. "If I asked you to stop looking for me, would you?"

"If it was me that went missing," Draco said, "would you stop looking for me?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Draco stared at him. It had been one thing reading the letter, disconnected as it was from the actual Harry. It was another thing to have Harry standing right in front of him, completely familiar from his tangled hair to his scarred hand to the faint twist at the corner of his mouth that meant he was saying something he didn't like having to say — to have Harry right in front of him, and to have him confirming that everything Draco had hoped was a mistake was not actually a mistake. "What?"

"If you asked me to, I would," Harry said. There was a faint sulky tone in his voice. "If it was important — "

"Liar," Draco said, with all the venom at his disposal.

"I left," Harry said. "I left, and it practically killed me to leave, you know that? I look back and I can't believe that I did it. And now that you've found me, what? We get to say a friendly hello and then I leave and it kills me all over again? If you cared about me at all — "

"If I what?" Draco exploded. "You fucking hypocrite, Potter, it's amazing you don't choke to death on that bloody double standard of yours. And all this time I thought you were so honest — "

"I tried to be honest," Harry said. His voice sounded worn away at the edges, like one of his eternally frayed shirts. "I wrote you a letter. Did you…not read it?"

"I read it," Draco said, and into those three words he poured every ounce of bitterness and misery and rage in his heart.

It was enough to make Harry flinch. "I meant every word," he said quietly.

"I don't doubt that you did," Draco said disgustedly. "As if that's something to be proud of, Potter." He felt his hands curl into fists at his side. It wasn't that he wanted to hit Harry. He didn't want to hit him. It was just something to do with his hands. "And the amazing thing about you," Draco added, "is that you probably thought you were being helpful."

He expected Harry to look angry or defensive. Instead, Harry merely looked stricken. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted you to know."

"Well, now I know," Draco said. "And it doesn't change anything."

Harry continued to look stricken. "You didn't understand?" he said. "You really didn't understand why I had to go?"

"I understood why you had to go," Draco said. "I didn't understand why I couldn't come with you. You promised me you would wait for me and I believed you. I guess I thought you wouldn't lie to me. I trusted you. I never trusted anyone else in my life. But I trusted you."

Harry's mouth opened in almost comical surprise. And Draco felt the same astonishment. He couldn't believe he had just said what he had said.

He was so used to evasion, misdirection, showing what he felt without saying it, expecting others to read his motives from his actions, that having so blatantly just stated exactly what he was thinking felt as if he had exposed a part of himself, cut his wrists open and bled on the floor at Harry's feet. He wondered what the hell had possessed him to say it.

Harry pushed a damp lock of hair out of his eyes. He was shivering. His thin shoulders shook as he took a deep breath. "If you read my letter," he said, his voice set and firm, "and you still don't understand, Malfoy, then it's probably because you don't want to understand. I told you the truth.

I'm sorry if you didn't like it, or you don't believe me, or I annoyed you or disappointed you somehow. But I can't change who I am or what I want, or what I have to do."

"What you have to do? When have I ever — " Draco cut himself off, biting his own lip to shut himself up. When have I ever wanted you to be anything other than what you are? When did I ever think what you were wasn't good enough? I hated you for being what you are, and then I didn't hate you any more, and when have I ever asked you for anything? When have I even asked you for any of your secrets, for your pity or your compassion or even your friendship — I only asked you for that once, and you said no. I know better than to ask you for anything, Potter. Anything except to let me come with you and that was only because I had no choice but to ask.

But of course Draco said none of those things, nor did he think them aloud. Pride washed through him like an icy wave, freezing his spine into straightness, leveling his shoulders, forcing his chin up. "You're correct," he said. "There is no need for you to apologize. It was my mistake."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "So now it's all a mistake of yours? Look, Malfoy — "

"It doesn't matter." Draco cut him off. "It doesn't matter what I think."

"It does matter. Look, I'm sorry — "

"I told you not to apologize," Draco said, as viciously as he could.

Harry bit his lip. I hate it when you sound like that. If I could just make you understand -

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, POTTER!

The force of Draco's shout took them both by surprise. Draco felt the echo of it inside his head like the recoil of a rifle shot, slamming against the inside of his skull. He winced and put a hand to his head, but it was nothing compared to the effect on Harry, who reeled as if Draco had shoved him. He staggered back- Draco reached out to catch him but Harry twisted away, falling backward against the table — the table went over with a crash of splintering wood — and Draco's reaching hand closed on empty air.

Harry had vanished. And the Portkey had vanished with him.

The padlock, having fallen out of Harry's grasp, thumped to the floor where he had been standing a moment before. It was several minutes before Draco could bring himself to bend down and pick it up.

Hermione scrunched herself deep into the leather chair inside Mr Blackthorpe's elegant wood-paneled office, where he, along with six or seven dark-clad and official looking wizards, were embroiled in a panicked conference. She was terrified that at any moment Lucius Malfoy would join them, and the entire gig would be up. Where the hell was Draco? How could he just leave her here like this? Fortunately they hadn't asked her for an explanation, given that they didn't think she spoke any English, but she didn't like the way they were looking at her, not at all -

The crash of the door slamming open took them all by surprise.

Blackthorpe jumped; Hermione twisted around in her seat as a glowering tower of icy rage stalked into the room. It took her a moment to recognize that it was Draco.

She had never seen him angry like this. He was absolutely livid, clutching what looked like a metal padlock in one hand. With his other hand, he gestured imperiously for silence. Which he got, as everyone in the room stared at him. He looked so angry that Hermione was astonished that sparks were not actually flying off him, setting fire to the furniture.

"This," he ground out, between his teeth, the effort of keeping himself from yelling obviously a strenuous one, "this padlock secured a Portkey.