Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind him so much anymore."

"So what is bothering you, then?"

"Nothing," said Harry, and looked at his feet.

"If mum saw you like this, she'd throw a wobbly," said George. "I've half a mind to tell her, too."

"I have parents now," said Harry, stung. "I have Sirius."

"Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban, he might not be quite as quick to pick up on you looking thin and haggard as an ordinary bloke might — "

"Sirius takes very good care of me," Harry ground out, deliberately not recalling the fact that the night before, he'd accused Sirius of being a neglectful, selfish git.

"All right, all right," said George, taken aback. "Never mind. You look fabulous. Blooming. I hear under-eye circles are in for spring."

"Thanks." Harry was again having trouble paying attention to George. He had been pondering all day how he might get to his parents' graves, if Sirius wouldn't take him. Something kept niggling at the back of his mind.

"Oh, come on, Harry, what is it? Girl trouble?" George burst out in exasperation, having managed to remain circumspectly silent for less than one minute. "Hermione? She's fallen in love with someone else? You've fallen in love with someone else and you're not sure how to break it to her? You're in love with her sister?"

"Hermione's an only child," said Harry dully.

"Well, that's good, those situations are always awkward. Oh — hallo, Jana."

George hopped nervously off the desk as his petite, brown-haired girlfriend put her head round the door, a clipboard in her hand.

"How lucky I am I only have brothers," Jana said dryly. "Large, strapping brothers. George dear — there's an owl for you, and he won't go away unless I pay him. Have you got any Sickles?"

George nodded at Harry. "Be right back," he said, scurrying past Jana's clipboard and out into the hall, Jana behind him.

Harry looked after them, then leaned against the wall, happy to be left alone again. He did not want to be questioned about Hermione, or "girl trouble." He knew that he hadn't been very nice to Fred, or George either, or Ron for that matter — not lately. And somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the way he was behaving towards Hermione was, if not despicable, certainly not admirable. He wanted to be able to help it, but somehow he could not. More and more he found himself focused on exactly one thing, and more and more the trappings and distractions of ordinary life were falling away, like layers of skin being shed.

If he were to do what he needed to do, he could not be distracted or turned aside by selfish concerns. He could not worry about other people, he could not fear their reactions to what he wanted, what he had become.

There could be only hatred and the need for vengeance, only waiting and loathing and pain and despair and all the other awful emotions that existed here in this interim between dark and dark.

He turned to look out the factory window and stood there silently, his gaze on the false blue sky of another country. In his head were words spoken months ago, in the depths of a cold stone dungeon, when he had kissed Hermione for the first time.

Do you love him? he had asked her. Meaning Draco, of course.

I could love him, she had replied.

He did not want to be jealous. It was not in his nature to be jealous. But sometimes in the back of his mind, the memory rose up and chilled him -

not that she had said that she could love Draco specifically, but that she could love anyone else. He was quite sure that he could not. For him there could not and would not be anyone else. This was why he had not wanted to love her. He was too damaged, his love too fierce — such love, once given, could not be broken and remade.

He heard Hermione's voice in his head, once more. For six years I have wondered if you were the one for me, she had said. And now I know you aren't.

She had not meant it, he told himself. She had been angry and she had not meant it. But what if someday she came to a place where she did mean it. If she knew what he really was, what was being enacted inside him even now, then she would mean it. And what would happen then? When he was a child, those he had most loved had died and left him. If he was left again, he was afraid it might kill him.

Unless he left her first.

Seamus Finnegan sat at one of the long oak tables at the back of the library, reading a copy of Quidditch Illustrated and generally thinking that all was right with the world. Ginny had agreed to go out with him, and yesterday's match had been declared a draw and rescheduled, which meant the Gryffindors were not set back in the race for the House Cup. In general, life was looking up. He was just in the middle of turning a page when a shadow fell across the table and he glanced up and saw Draco Malfoy standing over him.

He bit back a surprised exclamation and eyed the other boy warily. The last time he'd seen Malfoy had been on the Quidditch pitch, and Draco, white-faced and furious, had looked like nothing on earth; now he was composed and even smiling, his arms crossed over his (expensive-looking) v-neck cashmere sweater. "Finnegan," he said. "I wanted a word with you."

Seamus tipped his chair back, trying for an air of casual disinterest. It wasn't easy. There was something frightening about Malfoy's cold composure, and the set line of his mouth. Not that he could do anything here, but what would Seamus do if Malfoy challenged him to a duel later on? He couldn't beat him, not at magic, although he suspected that if it came to fisticuffs he could quite successfully damage the other boy's perfect features, if temporarily. "Yeah?" he said. "What is it?"

"I heard you're taking Ginny Weasley to the Yule Ball," said Malfoy calmly.

Seamus was momentarily speechless. "So what if I am?" he said finally.

"How is that your business?"

"Because," said Malfoy, and leaned forward until his face was inches from Seamus'. "If you hurt her, I will beat you to death with a shovel. Got that?"

Seamus just stared.

"And if you tell anyone what I just said, I will still beat you to death with a shovel. I want to be very clear about this, Finnegan. Do you understand me?"

Seamus found his voice, although it was fainter than usual. "A shovel?"

"That's right. A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend. Keep it in mind," said Malfoy shortly, stepped back, and walked away from Seamus without looking back.

Hermione decided to skip supper in favor of studying that evening, and ensconced herself in a corner of the common room, surrounded by pillows and books. Harry gave her an absentminded wave on his way down to the Great Hall, which caused her to fantasize about throwing her copy of Dreams: Fantasy or Memory? An Onieromancer's Guide at him. It was Ron who paused and came over to see what she was doing. "Studying?

Now? Aren't you hungry?"

She shook her head. "No. Hand me that green book, will you?"

Ron handed her the copy of A Runic Alphabet that she had special-ordered from Flourish and Blotts. "Don't you think it's about time you talked to Harry?"

"I talk to Harry all the time."

"You know what I mean. About — you two."

Hermione sighed. "I know. I promise I will — I'm sorry, all this must be rotten for you. How was your trip to Hogsmeade?"

"Harry didn't tell you?"

Hermione let a note of bitterness creep into her voice. "We haven't talked today. I think he thinks I'm angry with him about missing Care of Magical Creatures."

Ron looked mildly taken aback. "Are you?"

"No!" Hermione threw her hands up, and A Runic Alphabet slid off her lap. "I mean, I missed him, I missed you both, Charlie had a baby dragon and I kept thinking about Norbert and wishing you were there. But that doesn't mean I'm angry."